These are the facts, tangible facts that cannot be manipulated.
Puck was angry at Berry for being a pain in the ass. Fact.
Puck drove Susan home because she needed a ride. Fact.
Puck did kiss Susan but he will rationalize this in his head. He only kissed back because she leaned first. It was an accident, and he wasn't thinking properly. Fact.
Nothing happened. False.
He scratches his head. It may have turned into something more after that but he's too ashamed to think back. Fact.
Puck doesn't call Rachel that night, he doesn't see the point of telling her something that would only antagonize her further, especially after what happened between them earlier this afternoon. He laughs at the memory, she always gives as good as she gets, sometimes even better. He thinks he could keep the afternoon a secret, the truth covered by a hidden veil. He thinks he could trust Susan, a girl with a reputation for bragging, to not tell. This will be his sole indiscretion, a blemish on the clean slate of his relationship. Nothing like this has happened before, he consoles himself. Nothing like this will happen after.
When he wanders into school the next morning, late per usual, he sees smirks passing him by and his eyes narrow. He wracks his mind; nothing out of the ordinary comes to mind for the stares, aside from the fight with Rachel but he shrugs his shoulders at the thought. He doubts the school body, if anyone at all, cares about the argument with his girlfriend. They've become known for their arguments, he thinks wryly. Arguments between them are old news at this point. His first thought is not of Susan and her loose lips.
When Rachel doesn't meet him by their usual spot, he has a sinking feeling in his stomach that something happened, that she knows. She is always there, she always shows up even when he's late. He knows she is in school, he glanced in at her room on his way to the nurse. He swallows uncomfortably, convincing himself to not jump to any rash assumptions.
He waits by their meeting spot for several minutes, his feet moving back and forth. She doesn't come, and her phone goes to her voice mail. He walks away, careful not to make eye contact with any of his fellow students. He should have known better, Puck curses to himself. He should have known that Susan would not keep her mouth shut.
When he finds Rachel, she's sitting on the floor of the closet, her pen scratching across paper, her ears filled with her iPod headphones. She doesn't look up when she sees him slip him into the room but she knows he's there; she's always possessed an uncanny ability to sense his presence nearby.
For the longest time, he sits there on the floor, across from her and not next to her. He wants to reach out and brush the stray strands curving to her cheek but his fingers are immobile, they're partially frightened by the expression on her face. He expected anger, maybe tears, perhaps an argument. He didn't expect a stare void of emotion and he finds himself wondering which is worse.
"Hi," he whispers softly, his eyes boring onto her, waiting for her to look up, to say something; anything. He shifts his weight back and forth uncomfortably when her only reaction is silence.
"Can you, like, yell at me or something? That would be nice."
He thinks screaming would be preferable to her cold silence, the chill that emanates.
She looks at him, her gaze fixated on a point above his head; she doesn't make eye contact and when she finally speaks, her tone clipped.
"After the Finn debacle, where I tried numerous methods to catch his attention, I gave up and promised myself that I would never let a boy humiliate me that way again. I promised myself that I wouldn't allow myself to be put into a similar position but here we are, a replica of my previous experience."
She pauses, allowing herself to catch her composure. She will not cry or break down, or show emotion; she does the best to keep the trembling from becoming evident. There will be nothing of the sort. Her lips are tightly pressed together, only allowing the wisps of the words to travel freely.
"When I began to date you, we agreed there would be an out clause that either of us would be able to trigger, an out clause in the event that one, or both, of us were becoming dissatisfied with the relationship. This option was designed specifically for the dissolution of our relationship with both our desires and feelings in mind."
She swallows her bile before continuing; she can feel it increasing rapidly at the bottom of her stomach.
"We had an out clause that you had the potential to effectively used instead of humiliating me in front of the entire student body. On my way here, I could see it in people's faces, how sad they felt for me; the sympathy in their eyes that my boyfriend couldn't keep his hands to himself after a fight. In the two minute walk to find a hiding spot, I heard stories ranging from you're a serial cheater to you had sex with her several times in the back of your truck, that you whispered into her ear how much better she is than me. Do you know what that's like? To hear those words uttered to your face; people not bothering to hide?"
She wants to explain how everything feels magnified, how the act plays on loop beneath her eye lids; how she's grateful she's sitting in the dark because she thinks she would lose her insides at the sight of him in the light. Briefly, she allows herself to wonder if there's sorrow on his face, if regret clutters his features.
"I'm sorry," he says weakly, feeling worse and worse by the minute. He wonders if this feeling can be traced along the lines of sorrow, regret, mistake. He wonders what words would rectify the situation, even he knows how wrong i'm sorry is.
"I love you," he bursts out suddenly, the words surprising even himself. He says them and he feels ashamed; he knows she can see right through his intentions.
A time ago, she would have killed for those words from him. A time ago, her heart believes she could have loved him too. Tiny fragments in her brain spin in circular patterns, she can't help but wonder if he felt that way about Quinn once.
"Don't do that. Don't use love as a method of forgiveness. I shouldn't have expected change from you, especially given your reputation. I should have realized pursuing a relationship with you will only lead me down a road of disappointment."
"That's not fair, Rachel."
"Don't talk to me about fair. We have a fight and this is how you repay me. After Quinn, I would have assumed that you learned your lesson about cheating. Everything makes its way to surface eventually."
The silence between the pair continues to widen, growing and growing until she's sure it's run out of space.
"I don't think we should be friends. I'd rather not pretend that everything is satisfactory between us. I would prefer we keep things civil and orderly, nothing out of the ordinary. Regionals is coming soon and I would hate to see the team be at an advantage because of the animosity between us," she says quietly.
"That's it, then? This is our end? After all this, those petty arguments and everything we've been through?"
Rachel stares at Puck, a mixture of pity and disgust evident in her eyes. He can feel her the sadness of her smile in the darkness, a quiet smile that he's come to know so well. He remembers how easily she molds against him the darkness.
"How did you think we were going to end?"
She can feel him look away, her eyes heavy on his face.
He runs his hand through his hair, it makes its way down to the back of his neck to scratch.
"I don't know. Not like this." I didn't think it would, he thinks.
She is the first of the two to leave the room. He watches her stand up from her position on the floor, smooth out the lint that accumulated on her skirt and gather her books. Her body moves gracefully, as he imagined she would. Her hand is on the door handle and she turns to look at him; he half expects her to say some biting comment; a part of him hopes that this was an elaborate dream sequence and she's going to turn around and say gotcha! any minute now. His hope is wrong when he looks up again. She leaves without a good-bye or even a nod of acknowledgment and in the back of his mind, doubt begins to creep its way in. They weren't supposed to end like this, he expected a better ending of sorts. He stays there on the floor, and his mind grabs for the memories that begin to slowly seep in.
He remembers feeling warm prior to this, he remembers he began to change for her but he couldn't change himself enough, not nearly enough if this is where their relationship has led to. He puts his head in his hands, the harsh light of reality hitting his system like a tornado flying through the air, and he wonders what to do next.