That night, she reads all the letters. Some of them twice, three times, until she's sure that she's out of tears to shed, only to be assaulted by a fresh wave of them, reminding her of the man she's lost because she was too selfish and ignorant to realize what she'd held in him.

After her dads call her down for dinner, which she picks at without much interest— it's Finn's text message that finally jolts her from her tenth reread of one of the letters.

hey rach, im starting 2 get rly worried about u. r u sure u dont want 2 talk about it?

Another buzz.

ily xx

He means well. It's the only thing keeping her from tossing the phone across the room right now, surrounded by pictures of her and Jesse, letters written to her by Jesse, inane details about his day in between impassioned pleas to believe everything he wrote to her in his letters.

This isn't fair to Finn, and she knows it.

But that doesn't change how lonely she feels right now, and if nothing else, his messages, his phone calls, his prodding at her to talk to him about what's wrong during class— that feels good. Like she's still wanted by someone, at least, still desired. There's no telling how long it'll last, how long Finn will put up with it, but for now, in the midst of the letters threatening to drown her, she needs an anchor.

"So I've heard you've been spending a lot of time in here lately."

She doesn't expect to hear Quinn's voice in the other stall, making her jump as she angrily stares down at her feet's betrayal.

"I-I don't know why you're here, Quinn."

She hardly even recognizes her own voice, quiet, unassuming, trying to hush up the fact that she's been crying over her water cress sandwich for the last half hour of lunch.

"Because... we're kinda friends. And if I don't want to lose that, I'm going to have to keep pretending I care about you."

The slightly soft quality to her voice is a hint that she's kidding, that she really does care more than she lets on. Rachel swears she can hear a smile tucked away between her words, genuinely kind.

"I heard about what happened."

Rachel is certain she feels her heart stop, her chest tight as she puts her sandwich down, suddenly no longer hungry.

"Look, I know what it's like to lose something like that. Something you'd never even think you'd miss in the long-run, and suddenly there it is, staring you in the face, taunting you with how happy you could have been if you'd only been a little... wiser a little earlier on in life."

"But... how do you learn to move on?"

"I'm not... the best person to ask about this, because I'm honestly not sure that I'm completely over it yet, but... you can't bottle it up forever. I tried that all last year, and let me tell you, it only made things worse. I don't care who it is that you talk to about this, but you need to talk to someone."

There's a terse silence between them for a moment as Rachel listens to Quinn get up and unlock the door of her stall to leave.

"You— you won't tell Finn, right?"

"Why would I care about what Finn thinks?"

She doesn't come out of her room much anymore— that is, if she leaves at all, instead pouring over letters and spending all her time remembering Jesse.

Her fathers understand. She informs them, very quietly, one evening over dinner, and from that point forward, they stop asking her if she's okay, instead content to just let her grieve. Nevertheless— they do offer to let her take a few days off of school, which she ultimately turns down, not wanting to hold up her life completely in the face of Jesse's passing.

She's grateful, of course. After a few days of having everyone stare at her and ask her what's the matter during every single period, it grows to be a lot less exhilarating than it seemed at first, and reveling in attention because of the emotional wreck Jesse's death has turned her into feels... wrong, somehow. He deserves better than that, and by the time a week passes her by, she starts snapping at people to leave it alone already.

Finn especially.

She hasn't spoken to him in a good four days by now aside from the obligatory no, Finn, I don't want to talk about it, and yes, Finn, I'm fine. A part of her— the part that knows that it only took so long for people to find out Quinn's big secret during their Sophomore year— wants to come up with some other stupid reason for being this depressed, before Finn finds out about Jesse.

But in the end, she doesn't.

Finn, the boy who should have been her lifeboat in the hurricane that is losing Jesse, isn't, and Rachel feels lost at sea in the midst of a tidal wave.

Their relationship won't make it through this, not that she even wants it to. The thought of touching anyone but Jesse, even just thinking of anyone but him feels... wrong. Deceitful.

It's that Saturday that her dads are out at a flea market, Rachel volunteering to stay home and wash the dishes, housework the only real distraction she can count on anymore. She doesn't even dare accompany the work with music, every single song bringing up thoughts of Jesse.

The dishes are plenty wet enough already, they hardly need her tears to aid the cause.

The sudden dialing sound from her phone has her cursing herself, realizing that her pocket most likely called someone by mistake from all the moving around the dishes have had her doing.

Scrambling to dry off her hands on the towel beside her, the phone is not two seconds from her ear as she realizes her mistake, Jesse's voicemail picking up for him, a choked sob suddenly trapped in her throat.

You have reached the voicemail of Jesse St. James. If this is one of my students, what are you doing calling me? Don't you have a routine to practice? Anyone else, leave a message after the beep and I might get back to you if I have time.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she feels her body slide to floor, more collapsing than anything else, Jesse's voice filling her head, her emotions proving traitor to her thoughts.
She's about to hang up when she hears his voice again, clamping down painfully on her finger, teeth digging into her knuckle to keep from sobbing, to keep from missing even a single word of his.

... if this is Rachel... please leave a message? And I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Promise.

"I miss you so much," she whispers to the empty kitchen, helplessly shaking her head as though anyone but her heart were listening, as though Jesse's voicemail could actually hear her, could talk back.

That night, she listens to his message over and over, until her eyes are red and puffy and she's certain she can't cry anymore, that there aren't enough tears left in her body to keep going.

"I miss you," she softly whispers, reaching out to hold his hand, and coming up empty. "Do you miss me at all?"

"I never stopped."

Rachel squeezes her eyes shut as she reaches out to him again, but every time she comes too close, the mirage disappears, and she starts crying harder again.

"I don't even know what to do with myself anymore without you here."

Another swipe at air, and he slowly backs away from her.

"Please! Please, I just want to hold you one last time!"

He just shakes his head, looking a little sad. "I'm not real, Rachel. Not anymore. I'm just part of your imagination, and this is nothing but a dream"

"No! Please— please, I'd give anything! I was so wrong, and so stupid— when you made a mistake, I forgave you! Why can't I be forgiven of mine?"

"I do," he whispers softly, a gentle touch of air reaching out to caress her cheek. "Forgive you."

When, just over a week after the funeral, Finn decides to call and ask her if she was ever planning on hanging out with him again, she agrees with a strained sigh, insisting that she go over to his place instead of the other way around.

Hiding Jesse's things isn't something she feels even remotely capable of, even if she feels guiltier with every passing day over where her attention is focused. Going over to Finn's place to spend time with him there seems like the ideal compromise, and her own personal reminder to herself that she could really use the comfort of another human being who is still alive— as opposed to Jesse's letters, his voice, haunted whispered words and memories that keep replaying for her— solidifies her resolve.

Pulling into his driveway, Rachel can't stop her hands from shaking as she holds onto the steering wheel, her heart in her throat.

He's expecting her, and Rachel has never liked being late, so after ten or so minutes of staring helplessly at her car's dashboard and feeling herself tear up all over again as she remembers the cause of Jesse's death, she finally unbuckles her seatbelt and clambers out into the cool autumn air. It's just chilly enough that the light jacket she has over her dress isn't quite enough, and she hurries up the stairs to the front door with a soft shiver, Finn opening the door before she even gets there.

"What were you doing waiting out in your car for? I've been waiting for like, ten minutes for you to come in."

Swallowing hard, she shakes her head, moving to sit somewhat awkwardly on the living room couch. "Where... is everyone?"

"... out. I thought it'd just be like... you know. The two of us, or something. It's... kind of been a while, you know?"

It's been thirteen days and two hours, but Rachel doesn't say anything, biting her lip as she lightly shrugs. She expected there to be Kurt and Carole and Burt around to buffer her here, but she resigns herself with a sigh, nodding slowly. "Okay."

He can't fix this, doesn't even know what's wrong with this person that used to be his girlfriend.

"I mean... yeah. We— we can have sex."

They've only been doing this since summer. Finn thinks he took her virginity, and Rachel doesn't care to correct him, especially not now, what with Jesse on her mind what feels like 24/7.

It's not something she particularly wants to do or has even felt like doing for the past few weeks, sex with Finn, sex at all. But she is his girlfriend, a bitter reminder of the responsibilities she's been neglecting for too long now. He's bound to feel lonely without her, and she feels bad.

She's lonely, too.

"I mean, we can just spend time together, too, it doesn't have to automatically be... sex."

It's sweet, but his tone belies how much he does want her again in that way, and Rachel shakes her head, wondering if this is what she needs, if anything can get her mind off of Jesse.

Sex with Finn has never been particularly passionate. It's not something she especially minds, it's just something she has come to accept over time as taken for granted, and it's okay. Sometimes it's even sweet, though tonight she doesn't let that happen, can't.

He pulls off her dress, letting her get rid of her bra as he drags her panties down just before undressing himself as she lies back for him.

When she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine it's Jesse.

She fakes her way through an orgasm, the necessary motions and noises, and never does come, realizing too quickly that closing her eyes means seeing Jesse, and seeing Jesse means crying. She doesn't need Finn asking too many questions, so she keeps her eyes focused on his ceiling as she pretends to whimper and pant like the good actress she is.

He even believes the act, and Rachel feels disgusted with herself.

When she finally does leave— right after he finishes, despite his pleas for her to spend the night, for her to let him hold her for a bit— she feels sick.

She cries the whole way home, cursing herself for being weak enough to go over to Finn's, for giving in to her loneliness, needing some kind of comfort, inevitably leading him on further when he doesn't deserve it at all.

By the time she locks the door to her bedroom, she doesn't feel any better. Everything seems hollow, meaningless, and the scalding hot spray of her shower, a desperate effort to scratch and tear Finn off of her skin, doesn't help.

Scrubbing desperately through three layers of soap and only crying harder through each one has her body tinged an angry shade of red when trembling feet find the cold tile floor outside of her shower again, and the sight of herself in the mirror has her feeling even more ashamed than she felt before.

Everything hurts, most of all Jesse's memory, thudding impossibly loudly in her soul.

"Why can't I forget you?" she whispers into her pillow that night through a fresh haze of tears, hating herself a little bit more with each sob that wracks her body.

There are a couple of things Rachel hasn't dared to touch yet— the mixtape for her that she found among the letters for her in his drawer, the video file still hidden away in her iTunes, and one particular letter of his that she stopped reading two sentences in.

He's everything. Not a single part of her life has gone untouched by his memory, and she realizing she can't escape no matter how hard she tries, somehow makes it easier.

Tonight, it's the letter.

Her Jesse playlist hums along in the background, and she slowly unfolds the carefully re-sealed letter, biting her lip as she lifts it to her face, closing her eyes as she inhales him, slow and sweet.

It still smells like him, and the tears pricking at her eyes make her wonder if it's possible to drown in the memories of a person, in love with a ghost.

Rachel,

I miss you. Your skin, the way your hair feels in my hands, your hands, the way you used to touch me when you knew exactly what you were doing...

Remember the night we climbed on top of your roof? Blankets, pillows, and nothing else but each other? The way you let me turn you into a constellation of my very own making, my mouth marking you over and over?

You were so perfect that night.

Some days even getting off feels like cheating when I think about how much more incredible it is when I get to have you under me. No one would have ever thought how greedy your tiny little hands can be when they know what they're going after.

I always think about you. You've even ruined porn for me— they're all so different from you, and then I close my eyes, and suddenly, all I want to think about is you.

Your perfect little breasts, the way you giggle when I pinch your nipples too lightly, and moan when I do it just right. Your mouth falls open in this beautiful, perfect 'O', and it's all I can do not to call you up right then and there and remind you where you belong.

You have no idea what I'd do to come there and ravish you on the spot, no matter who is around and watching. My hands running down your front until you're squirming, getting you out of that blouse that cuts just barely too low for me not to be distracted from thinking about you all day, sucking one of your pert little nipples into my mouth while my hand slips into your pants or under one of those short skirts... into your panties... driving you crazy while I draw circles on your clit until you beg me for more.

God, baby, I'm so hard for you.

(See? Didn't I tell you not to read these?)

I want to go down on you again, fuck you with my tongue and my fingers while I watch your face as you come for me, over and over again. There isn't anything more beautiful than watching you come. Nothing.

This is a bit more... uncouth, I suppose, but god, I miss making love to you, too. There's this... incredible look on your face that you get when you lose yourself in the feeling, right before you're about to come and make me follow you that I can't help but stare.

You're so beautiful.

You have this gorgeous little freckle on your butt. Did you know that? If you kind of tilt your head and squint it looks a little bit like a star. I miss the nights that I got to do nothing but worship you. Your skin, your lips, every damn inch of your face.

God, Rachel.

If I ever get you back (and I will, just watch me) I'm going to take a whole week off just to make sure every single inch of you is worshiped like you deserve. Every single last one. Or die trying.

I promise you, if you'll ever let me be yours again, there won't be a day in your life that I don't remind you of how much I love you, and how beautiful you are, and how lucky I am.

This is the kind of love they write about in musicals, Rachel. I'd know. I've been in my fair share. The kind of love that aches in your gut, that makes you want to tear your heart out of your chest if only it'll mean the pain will stop, if only I could see your perfect face again.

I'm probably boring you. My roommate is due to get back pretty soon, so I'm going to take my recording of you singing "Don't Rain on My Parade" into bed and think about you for a bit longer while I still have some privacy.

All my love,

Jesse.

She's crying by the time she reaches the end, clamping down on her lip too hard as she tears at her hair with one hand, needing to feel something other than Jesse and coming up empty.

"I love you, too," she whispers to the empty room as tears stream down her face, a few drops raining down onto the parchment of his letter. "And I miss you so much more than I can possibly ever hope to say."