Shut it down, Puckerman.
It only gets you in trouble. It always gets you in trouble, like, seriously bro, if you get all fucking bitch eyed about Rachel Berry, about anyone, you're left feeling like a shithead.
You have Quinn.
And look how well that's working for you, Puckerman. Where's Quinn now?
Seriously, fuck relationships.
So shut. This. DOWN. All of it, any of it. You don't need this. Because it's only going to blow up at you anyways, you dick.
Puck took a deep breath, drew his hand away, and rolled over. "G'nite Berry," he mumbled.
But fuck, it feels so fucking wrong to roll away from her.
How the fuck is he supposed to shut anything down when he feels like…
Dammit.
Rachel laid awake, motionless. She felt that familiar, wanting-to-cry feeling in her throat, but she wasn't sure why. She couldn't quiet her mind from running a million miles a minute.
She's Rachel Berry. She scrutinizes. Even when she is trying to not scrutinize, she scrutinizes why she's trying to not scrutinize.
He didn't have sex with me. Again.
I begged him this time.
It's not that her pride is hurt. In fact, not at all. The lack of sex, that certainly isn't the reason she's upset (because, my goodness, Noah Puckerman. My. Goodness. Her sexual appetite is completely and totally satisfied, thanks to his expertise). It's more than that.
She knows it's not that he doesn't want to have sex with her. It's that he does, but he's choosing not to.
And for what? This is Noah Puckerman, self-proclaimed (and, ok fine, rightfully earned) sex god, that plays with desire like a cheap toy, throwing girls away no questions, no promises, no problem. Who's to say that's not what he is doing to her? Is she getting hypnotized into believing this...mirage?
But not once, twice. Twice he chose to not have sex with her. Maybe because he feels guilty, for cheating on Quinn? Maybe it's some sort of line that he doesn't want to cross, into, like, super-bad cheating?
But he said...the first time, he said, "it shouldn't be this way." What does that even mean? "Should" does not equal "is", but it implies a "could", or a "would."
Rachel creased her brow. Have you forgotten, this is Puck. The same Puck who slushied you, who cajoled and mocked you, who tore you down. You cling to these fairy tales, like that first kiss story, but, still, he was one of the people that almost ruined you the first year of high school. She just can't let him go. She never could, despite of it all. Stockholm Syndrome, or something, she muses.
But he changed, she thought. He was...he did change. Once she talked to him, really talked to him again, he wasn't Puck, he was Noah. Sophomore year, she saw him. Run Joey Run...when he gave up football for Glee. When he apologized for all those slushies. All those times, he was Noah.
The same Noah who cleaned her scrapes back in third grade. The same Noah who stuck up for her throughout the Finn and Santana chapters of her life. The same Noah who begged her not to change her nose, who organized a huge mob. For her.
She suspects not many other people have been privy to the Noah behind the swagger of Puck. She wonders if there is a reason she, of all people, was.
Is. Is she still privy to it? Is that what keeps her coming back?
There's always been something. There's always been this...this thickness in the air around them, something that pulls her back into him, makes her want to be a part of his life, wants him in hers.
Why does it always have to be so hard to even know what you feel, to define what you feel?
She's afraid she's always half-loved Noah Puckerman without realizing it.
She's afraid he doesn't feel the same way.
But she's more afraid that he does.
And she's still not sure why that thought is so terrifying to her.
Fuck.
I do need to shut something down.
And it's Quinn. I have to end things with Quinn.
Cause fuck if he knows what's going on with Rachel, fuck if he knows what the fuck he's doing, and fuck if this isn't going to all blow up on him, as usual.
What he does know, though?
It's over with Quinn. He's done.
It's been done for awhile now, and he's just really realizing it now. Thanks to...
Shit.
Rachel didn't want to be one of those women who sneaks out in the middle of the night. Similar to those scenes from trashy romance novels or midday soap operas; that's not Rachel Berry.
So she waits until early morning instead. Or, at least, she plans to wait till morning, but when her eyes open in the beginning stretches of dawn, she doesn't feel as compelled to move yet. Instead Rachel turns to her side and sees Noah laying on his back beside her, and she can't help but stare at him.
She studies the outline of his jaw. His mouth, slightly ajar, taking long breaths of air. His body relaxed, peaceful, still and quiet. She doesn't see Puck, angry shards and jagged edges. She sees Noah, soft lines, gentle touch, easy words.
That's all I've really ever seen, isn't it? He shows Puck. I don't see Puck. Her face contorts into a frown. No matter how he acts, I just see Noah. Is that my choice, to see that? Or his? Or something...someone, a higher power?
It's when he wants to show her, when he chooses to show her, who he is under that bravado, she starts to feel like she could easily fall in love with that person (if I'm not already, she thinks miserably).
She's scared because she's looking in a mirror. She can be just as cutting and horrible as he can be, in her own way, she can be as closed off as he can be, in her own way.
But he has Quinn.
I've been down this road before. I'm not putting myself out there to another one of Quinn Fabray's boyfriends. Yes, technically, I won. Finn was mine in the end, and no, I am not the same person that I was when I was 15. I am stronger.
But that doesn't mean I want to, or should, re-live a plotline from my past, juggling various players around in different roles yet again. I can't.
It's decided. She's decided. It's time to leave the past in the past, all her doubts and fears and who Rachel Berry was, that stays in the past. Today is a new day, and today is the day she will trust herself, moreover, trust and work towards her future. Today is the day she will look forward, move forward, and stop anything that might bring her backward.
And that includes Noah Puckerman, and whatever feelings-not-feelings that I am conjuring up in this Nicholas Sparks-esque plot of mine. I am Rachel Barbra Berry. Clearly, I am attractive and sexually desirable, as it has been reinforced to me numerous times over the past few days. Henceforth, a new chapter, with new men, shall be forged. I do not need to be confined to the men of my past as my only option for love.
Sex. I mean sex. Noah Puckerman was, is, an option for sex.
The sex he refuses to have with me.
Stupid inner voice.
I'm not going to stop being a part of his life, she reassures herself. He's only here for a few more days, anyways, and if our "relationship" is purely physical, then once we are no longer physically in each other's presence, well then, there goes the relationship. Out of sight, out of mind.
So I only have to do this for 3 more days. Think of it as practice, Rachel. Think of it as a goodbye, a finale to the life you had in Lima, the life in NYC, up to this point. This is the culmination, and afterwards, you will emerge like a phoenix from the ashes.
With one more glance at his sleeping form, she slips out of Puck's bed. Rachel creeps around his room soundlessly, packing last night's garments into her tote bag, pulling on a pair of yoga pants.
Self preservation, Rachel. It's time to move forward. This chapter, the Noah Puckerman chapter of her life, is done. Has to be done.
After some more fooling around, of course.
But the emotional part, that's done.
The outside sky was turning to morning, a mix of pink and purple overshadowing the navy of night, and Noah began snoring away (despite the specifically physical nature of this relationship, I can still leave those printouts on sleep apnea for him, she thought to herself, pulling a sheaf of papers from her tote). She silently snuck out of his room, shoes in one hand.
She's not going to acknowledge that she's still wearing his shirt.
Tip toeing, she reaches the bottom of the stairs, and jumps when she hears a voice from the kitchen.
"Rachel?" A pajama-ed Becca was sitting at the kitchen table, hands clasped around a steaming mug, feet perched on the chair across from her. The table was backlit - the first strands of morning sun were streaming through the window behind her.
Busted.
"Hi….hi, Becca," Rachel stammered. "You're up...early."
"Yeah, well, I'm a morning kinda gal." She takes a sip of tea and looks pointedly at Rachel's shoes in her hand. "So. Whatcha dooooooin'?"
"I was just..."
Becca raised her eyebrows, but remained silent.
"I'm not...this isn't..." Rachel replied indignantly. "Not...necessarily." All her certainty about moving forward is instantly replaced by guilt of being caught.
Becca sighed. "I know I'm just the little sister, Rachel. I can be a pain in the ass to him." She paused. "But I love my brother. And I know him better than most people, probably better than he knows himself."
Becca's foot pushes the empty chair towards Rachel. Rachel doesn't accept the gesture, but also doesn't leave the doorway of the kitchen.
She studies Becca. Rachel's always been fascinated by the coinciding identities and appearances of brothers and sisters, probably because she doesn't have a sibling of her own. Becca is a carbon copy of her brother - piercing hazel eyes, dark hair, tanned skin. Rachel doesn't know Becca, personality-wise, but the thought of a female with Puckerman genes, and the potential of being on the opposing side of said female, disarms her enough to not leave, not yet at least.
"I know he doesn't want me to get involved, and, believe me, I could totally wreck the shit out of Quinn and that relationship if I want to. And, damn, do I ever. But I'm not going to fuck around in that, because I'm pretty sure it will blow up somehow and you guys will all be screwed."
Yup, same Puckerman mouth. Same Puckerman demeanor.
Rachel sighed. "Well, despite what you may assume from the situations as of late, for the record there is nothing going on between Noah and I. And you are most certainly not the ideal person to even discuss that with. If there was." She adds.
And there's not, because I'm pretty sure I am just getting swept up in silly romantic notions. Moving forward. Not backward.
"No," Becca shook her head nonchalantly. "No, I'm definitely not the right person to discuss my brother's love life with. Buuuuut, that's not about to stop me." She nudges the chair to Rachel again. "See, whatever you guys are? You're a something. Damned if I know, but a something is there."
Ok, so maybe there is a 'something' between us. But I'm not going down that path again.
Rachel finally sat down across from Becca.
"She's not good for him, Rachel. You and I both know that. Quinn was his brass ring, this reward to prove to himself that he wasn't the Lima Loser everyone said he was. But she's not for him, you know?"
No, she's not.
"I appreciate this insight you are giving me but really, I, of all people, also do not want to interfere or analyze the relationship matters between Noah and Quinn. Just because I'm here, just because I spent a few nights with him as a...as a warm body," she swallows at the thought. "Doesn't automatically mean that I am the penultimate choice to accept the starring role as Noah Puckerman's girlfriend. It doesn't mean I should, could, or even need to be the one ousting Quinn from that place, for the mere fact that you don't like her." Rachel stiffened in the chair.
I wonder what it would be like, though. Being his his girlfriend.
"See, again, that's where you're wrong, Berry," The familiar nickname freezes Rachel. Becca shuffles away from the table to fill an empty mug from the steaming kettle. She offers it to Rachel, simultaneously tossing her a tea bag. "Rooibos. I don't do coffee, tastes like shit." She sits back down to face Rachel.
"He always watched you in temple. Every service we went to, we always had to sit in the same vicinity as your family. Three rows behind you, couple seats to the left."
Did he?
Rachel shook her head. "Puck likes girls. I doubt there is anything special about his seating choices during any events, other than to hide himself so he could sleep without Rabbi seeing him." Rachel said doubtfully.
He always sat next to me at Regionals. And Sectionals. And...Nationals.
Or maybe I sat next to him.
No. Purely coincidental. Don't get swept up, Rachel. Don't search for things that aren't there to be found.
"My brother is a dick. He can be pretty cruel, especially to chicks, but it's self-preservation." (Rachel feels a pang of discomfort when she hears her M.O. repeated). "I do it too, sometimes. I mean, not to girls. Well, yeah, sometimes to other girls, but mostly guys. It's easier to be a jerk than to be real and honest and shit."
So much easier. I'm so sick of everything being so difficult. I'm so tired.
"Becca, with all due respect," Rachel said. "I feel that everyone goes through those moments. I can certainly see where it applies to Puck, but I fail to see how that demonstrates some...connection between us. This really doesn't involve me, specifically, in the slightest." Still, she doesn't leave, and begins to sip her tea.
But...ok, maybe, but...
Oh goodness, she...she could be right, it actually, maybe kind of...does?
"I know, I'm getting there," Becca scrunches up her nose and swirls her spoon around in her mug before continuing. "You know, I don't remember much about growing up. I was so little when my dad left, but I do remember the awful shouting matches they would get in to. And how he would come in and out of our lives on his terms, especially after he left for good. Puck hated our dad but wanted a dad so much, that every time Dad would come back, Noah'd fall for it. Dad would keep fucking with him, promise the moon one day then knock him around the next, and you and I both know, to an impressionable kid who just wants a dad? That's not any sort of help."
Rachel stared in disbelief. "Do you normally psychoanalyze your brother? How do you know this much?"
Becca smiled and shrugged "Therapy. I was troubled, too. I had my moments, and my mom, she helped a lot, she got me to a therapist and shit." She nodded. "I could tell her stuff. Noah couldn't, he's a guy. But I could, even the hard stuff. There's that….bond between a mom and a daughter, yeah?"
No. No, I don't know. Rachel fixates on the repetitious swirl the cream makes in her tea. Shelby comes into my life, Shelby leaves my life. Shelby never stays long enough in my life for any kind of bond.
Rachel chose her words carefully and slowly, after taking a deep breath. "Becca, I'm terribly sorry for all the horrible things that Noah and you have been through in the past, I truly am. It breaks my heart, believe me, and I could certainly see how it destroys a child during his most formidable years. But, if all the evidence you have about this supposed love affair between myself and Puck, is some staring and a damaged childhood, well then...I'm not sure you're on the right track."
I'm not here to save him. I'm not here to fix him or the mistakes of his past.
"Love affair?" Becca looks furtively at Rachel.
Shoot. I didn't mean...but she's going to think I meant...
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Becca."
"Just sayin."
They both sat silently for awhile before Becca spoke again. Quietly, deliberately. "You never gave up on him, Rachel. I know how shitty he was to you at the beginning of high school, but you never stopped being there for him. He was so screwed up then, with the baby and Quinn, and everyone threw him under the bus during that. Even when you were with Finn, you still made a place for him in your life."
Rachel bristled at the thought of how many arguments between her and Finn centered around how Finn felt she should actively hate Puck. How she should disown him from her life, for the mistakes between them.
Why didn't I?
I should have. Should I?
I...couldn't.
"Everyone kind of forgot he stepped up for that baby, for Quinn, and albeit a little screwy, he tried. But once Beth was gone? Everyone went back to assuming he was a fuck up, wrote him off. Especially Quinn. And he went off the deep end with all his anger again."
I never deserted him.
"People change, Becca. Quinn went through a lot, too, she grew up so much over the next few years. She isn't the same person that she once was." Rachel couldn't believe she was defending Quinn, but at the same time, is Quinn the enemy here? Is there an enemy? "We were young, still babies ourselves in the grand scheme of things; nothing that any of us did or didn't do should be held against us."
But I used him too. Every time I "needed" him...it was to get to Finn.
I used him too.
Maybe I'm no better than the rest of them.
But...but I don't. ..I mean , if i did, quote , unquote, "love", him...it's not out of pity.
If I did. Do?
"I know that. Much as I dislike her, Quinn's not the AntiChrist. I guess." Becca rolled her eyes. "She makes him happy, sometimes. I think. But I just, I dunno, I just don't see it. The fact that she didn't even bother to come for more than a night for him? I mean, really? What the fuck?"
Rachel nodded reluctantly. Indeed.
"I miss my mom like hell, she was - is - my best friend. But Noah, he's going to go through it much worse. He's been through more than me, he doesn't know what to do with himself, with his emotions. People leave him, Rachel, they don't stay for the long haul because they just see his surface, they see how much of an asshole he can be, but they don't try to find what he is underneath all of that...damage.
I do. I see it. That's the Noah...that's the Noah I...
"You know, he protected me? Through all that crap with my dad. Whenever Dad was in his stupid family man mode, Puck would send me to Nana Connie's or find some reason to get me out of the house. And then when Dad was really gone for good, Mom was constantly working doubles, just to cover the bills. So Noah cooked for me, he helped me with my homework, he put me to bed. He forged my permission slips, he packed my lunches, he woke up with me when I had nightmares. But no one saw, or sees, that side of him. He doesn't let anyone see that side of him, and if they do, they write it off. He's got such a crazy shit-ass past, it's just easier to make him an asshole.
"I have no idea what you guys do, what you talk about, if you even talk at all." She shudders with a small smile. "Ugh. Gross. Anyway, I know you're here now, you've been here, and you come back to him, for him, despite what he has done to you before. And I see the way he has been looking at you, still watching you, and, don't you deny that you look back at him the same way." Becca finished the last sip of her tea and put her mug in the sink basin. "So, ok, if it's easier for you to leave right now and not come back, fine, I'm not going to make you feel guilty about it. He'll deal, he always does. But Rachel, you haven't given up on him yet, so don't do it now."
Becca turned and left the kitchen, Rachel sitting at the table alone, dazed.
When Puck rolls over and sees the empty space next to him, his first inclination is, oh fuck.
His second is, oh, phew.
His third is, again, oh, fuck.
Because her bag is gone, her shoes are gone, any and every trace of Rachel Berry is gone from his room. And that's what he wanted, right? To be a one and done (or two...three...and done…) thing. But, ok, maybe now he feels kind of shitty about it. Not as relieved as he should be.
You've got to break it off with Quinn.
He fumbles around on his nightstand, looking for his phone. Four missed calls from Quinn, three texts.
Puck, I'm back in Amsterdam. Are you ok?
I'm thinking about you. Call me?
Puck, I'm really concerned. Why aren't you calling or texting me back? Are you ok?
No, Q, I'm not ok, he thought angrily and miserably. My mom's dead. You couldn't bother to stay here, but what's worse, I don't think I even fucking want you here anymore. And I want to fuck someone else, but I'm too much of a pussy to even do that, so I am pretty much fucked and have been fucked and continue to be fucked.
But he doesn't text that to her.
Not yet, at least.
Because maybe Rachel made the decision for him. She left, didn't she? Fine. Let her leave. Maybe then he can forget this entire week happened, and go back to how pig-in-shit happy he was before his entire life turned into a fucking gong show.
He doesn't need this shit. He's got enough to deal with right now, his ma, he doesn't need this. He doesn't want this.
Noah Puckerman doesn't need anyone. Or anything.
He rolls over onto his back again and punches the wall next to his bed. Fucking everything. As usual, fucking everything.
Girls are the worst.
Rachel doesn't leave.
She's still sitting at the table an hour later, when Puck enters the kitchen, in track pants and a hooded sweatshirt. He's shocked to see her there, and his sneakers screech on the linoleum as he skids to a halt.
She lifts her head. "Good morning, Noah," she greets him, quietly.
"The fuck are you...how long have you been down here?"
"Long enough," She replied. She stood up from the table, and he noticed her coat on, shoes on, all ready to leave but. Not.
"I was gonna go out for a run," He said, uselessly.
"In February." She stated. "With snow on the ground." Rachel raised her eyebrows.
"Whatever, there's only snow on the grass," He replied defensively. "I don't give a fuck about the weather."
Why am I defending myself to you, Berry? You left.
Rachel took a breath. "Noah, I need to tell you something."
"'Kay," He said.
I don't need anyone. Or anything.
"If this were Sam's mom? Or Artie's dad, or Mike's, or any of the guys. I wouldn't still be here," She studied his face, then looked thoughtful. "I would have sent a card, not made the trip here. Don't get me wrong, I cbsolutely would pay my respects and offer my support, via phone, email, what have you," She paused, and nodded, reinforcing her new-found revelation, not only to Puck, but to herself as well. "You know what, that is true. If it were anyone else, no. No, I wouldn't have come. I wouldn't. And if for some rare reason I did? I certainly would not have stayed past the necessary."
So? So what.
She picked up her bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. "But because it's you, Noah? I came. And I stayed," She shrugged with a helpless smile, because now, now it's starting to all click for Rachel. "And I'll come back. For however long you want me to, because I want to, because...because it's you." She bit her bottom lip, still with that small smile on her face and another slight shrug of her shoulders, then turned and left.
Fuck, Rachel. Don't you leave.
Puck catches the front door before she can completely close it, grabs her wrist and pulls her into him. His arm encircles her waist, fingertips pressing in the curve of her hip, holding her there to him, steadying her. His other hand cradles her head gently, curling his fingers around strands of her hair. His lips, soft yet sure, meet hers; his nose nuzzles her cheek ever so lightly. Rachel is immobile, taken aback, frozen in place.
It's very much not his typical, "I want you in my bed right now so I can do dirty and illicit things to your body" kiss. It's the absolute furthest kind of kiss from that.
When they finally part, she stares at him, wide-eyed, wordlessly, her fingers absently touching her lips, as if they didn't exist, as if this didn't just happen.
He's kissed her before.
But not like this. Never like this.
It's a "swelling orchestral crescendo, Princess Bride, 'as you wish'" kiss.
A "Disney princess, happily ever after" kiss.
A "West Side Story" kiss.
A very Un-Noah-Puckerman-like kiss.
Holy…oh my...I...he just…
"I'll see you later, Rach," He goes inside and closes the door.
He doesn't go for his run.
Yet.
If he doesn't break shit off with Quinn now, he's going to bitch out.
And Noah Puckerman doesn't bitch out.
So he's going to call her now.
He's not nervous. Nope. Fuck that noise.
Q call me need to talk
No response.
Ten minutes.
No response.
Ok, fine. I'll call her myself.
One ring. Two rings. Three...
He checks his watch and mentally does the math. It's not middle of the night there. What the fuck
Voicemail.
Fine. Fuck that. Fuck you, Quinn.
Time to take his temper out on the pavement and go run.
Rachel sat in her car in a daze.
That kiss was a…
That was…
Huh. Ok then. Well.
Her entire self preservation plan?
Out the window.
Focusing on the future, not the past?
She'll focus on the future. Cause she's pretty sure her future is going to include some part of Noah Puckerman.
She smiles to herself as she puts the car into gear. Mmm hmm, the dirty parts.
But also, the sweet parts.
The "Noah" part.
Rachel vows to call Noah after she catches up on homework. Her professors were quite amiable in letting her bring a week's worth of work home, and she doesn't want to fall behind. Her phone buzzes with a text around 3pm.
gen tsos tofu or veg tempura
Well, he beat her to the punch. She grins as she types her response.
While I believe you are referring to Chinese food, am I correct in assuming you are discussing dinner plans that involve me?
Bec and I are gonna get food come over like 6
I will see you shortly, Noah.
peace
She rolls her eyes with a chuckle and starts to pack up her textbooks.
Is this a date?
She doesn't care.
Her inner voice is calm. I think I know what I want, and I want Noah, and whatever and however that's going to happen, then I'll go with it. I don't have a definition. I'm not creating a plan.
I'm taking control...by letting go of my control.
And, Heavens. That kiss.
She texts her dad (who has been quite...lenient with all the time she's not spending at home. Granted, she is an adult, but still, a daughter) and packs her tote.
After his run he was kind of pissed (ok, fine, really pissed) that Quinn didn't text or call back. Seriously, he just wants to get this shit done and over with. He's fucking impatient.
It's been going to shit for awhile, this Quinn thing. It's crappy to admit it, he tried to ignore it, he wanted it to work. He wanted something in his life to work out, and it felt so fucking good for once, to have everything dialed in, so he wasn't about to fuck it all up.
But now? So maybe I have a more than just a hard-on for Rachel Berry.
And I'm done with this bullshit Q and I are trying to do. The fuck am I forcing shit for?
She doesn't care. She never came to my boot camp graduation. I bought her that plane ticket, she didn't use it, but went to Lima instead. I have a life, too. She's not the only one with shit to do, but she acts like I'm just dicking around.
I do shit too. I like the shit I do. Not that she would ever know. Or fucking ask.
Fuck that, man, I have a career. A cool-ass, fucking awesome career with planes and shit.
He's not a pussy, so he's not texting Quinn again. Fuck that noise, she can come to me. I got shit to do.
He spent the afternoon with one eyeball on the phone (silent. No texts, no calls, and really, fuck you, Quinn) and the other on the tv, an old school zombie marathon.
Becca sauntered in halfway through. "I'm hungry and if I eat one more bite of brisket I'm gonna puke," she complained.
"You a bad Jew," His eyes didn't leave the screen.
"Jesus, that's gross," She scrunched her nose up as a decapitated limb and blood spurts sprayed on the screen. "Yuck. Barf."
"Ooh, you know what, I could go for some sweet and sour pork," Puck's eyes lit up. "Let's get Chinese."
"Please don't tell me this is what's jonesing your appetite," Becca replied disgusted, gesturing at the tv.
He laughed. It felt good to laugh.
He texted Rachel. He wants to see her again tonight.
His phone buzzed around 5pm.
Quinn. Finally.
"Quinn," He answered. Ok, Puckerman. You're not a pussy, let's do this. "We need to talk."
"Puck," her voice was all sugar and sweet. "Puck, why haven't you answered my texts? My calls? I'm worried about you."
"I texted you, like, this morning, and you just called back now."
"I texted you first."
"Seriously?"
Quinn laughed. Dammit. I feel like a dick. That laugh though.
But it's just not there anymore. Fuck.
Maybe I could just...
"So...how are you, Puck?"
No. Do it. "Quinn," Puck sighed. "I want to break up."
"What? Puck, I...what? Where is this coming from?"
"I can't do this anymore. I don't want to do this anymore."
"Are you serious right now?" She asked incredulously, and he was silent. "You are serious. Holy shit. Puck. What the…?"
"Come on, Quinn. It hasn't been right for awhile. It was great in the beginning but just…" His voice trailed off. "I mean, I dunno. I feel like you don't care…" Holy shit, does he sound like a pussy.
"This is because of your mother, isn't it." She stated it, not asked it. "Jesus Christ, Puck, are you dumping me because you feel guilty I'm not a Jew?! Is this some bizarre, like, bending to her wishes since she's gone?"
And if it was? The fuck, Quinn?
"What?! No! Are you kidding me, no, Quinn! This has nothing to do with my ma, or my religion." He paused. "Well...I guess it kinda has something to do with my mother."
"It's because I didn't come. It's because I couldn't stay isn't it. My God, Puck, you said you understood, you said you weren't mad."
"Well, kind of, I mean, it's been shitty for awhile Quinn, like, fuck, you always put yourself first and -"
"Are you absolutely kidding me right now, Puck?! Did you even listen to a word I said when I was there? I couldn't leave! You're lucky, I mean, I'm lucky I was able to get out for as long as I did! I was in the middle of midterms and I am so close to this internship -"
"My ma fucking DIED, Quinn! DIED! You couldn't tank a few tests to fucking hold my Goddamn hand?!"
I can't even fucking -
"Puck-"
His temper rapidly boils to the surface, and all the suppressed anger from the last few days explodes. "Jesus, I don't care about your tests! I don't give a fuck about your internship! That shit has nothing to do with me! I needed you, Quinn, I fucking needed you, and you couldn't be here!"
"But you said you understood! You said you were fine!"
"So maybe I fucking lied," He retorted. "I didn't understand, I don't understand, and I am mad!"
It's done. This is done, done, fucking done.
Quinn was silent on the other line, and then placating. "Puck, this internship is for us. This internship...it would set my career up for both of us. It could make me."
"Yeah, and it would make you stay in Holland where you won't answer my calls or texts or whatever again. I could clearly see how this would help us." His sarcasm was biting and sharp. "I have a career too, you know. You ask me fuck-all about my shit, you didn't come to my graduation -"
"It's not Holland, it's the Netherlands," she interrupted.
"The fuck, Quinn, I don't care what the fuck it's called!"
"Ok, fine, so I won't take the internship! So I will come home and be your good little girlfriend and bake you cookies while you go out and shoot your guns in the sky!"
"I'm not asking you to do that!" He throws his hand up in disgust.
"Then what are you asking, Puck?"
"I needed you for four days, you couldn't spare four fucking days!" He shouted over the line.
"This is ridiculous. We can talk discuss the internship and its implications, but I cannot believe that my presence, or lack thereof, is going to be the dealbreaker in this relationship. I'll make it up to you, but I am not going to argue about something that I've already spoken my piece on and can't change. "
"I don't want you to make it up to me. I don't want anything right now."
"So you don't want to break up."
His voice is tight, hard. "No, Quinn, I do want to break up."
"But Puck -" She started.
"It's a big deal. It's a big fucking deal that you can't make time for me. I know I sound like a little bitch right now, but, fuck, Quinn, you never put me first. You never answer me when I call, you never text back, I tried fucking sexting with you -"
"I was in CLASS! Jesus! I can't be at your beck and call, Puck! I have a life!"
"And I don't?! You only fucking do shit about yourself!"
"That's not true."
"I needed you Quinn."
"And I was there."
"For a day. Not even a day." He couldn't stop himself, he couldn't stop the words, and then... "You know, Rachel..." He froze. Shit. Shit, Rachel, why the fuck did you bring up Rachel? He slaps his hand over his forehead.
"Rachel. Rachel. Berry." Her voice was ice cold. "Tell me, Puck. What does Rachel Berry have to do with this?"
He was silent. Which was pretty crappy, because no matter what he said next, he was screwed. Totally fucked. He didn't want to bring her up, he didn't want to mention her name, and, fuck, it just slipped out and now it's turning into some fucking high school bullshit again.
"So that's what this is about. She's a piece of ass in front of you and because I'm not -"
"Quinn, I swear to God," his voice was low, warning. "I swear to motherfucking God Quinn, don't you -"
She laughed bitterly. "Ha. I just - ha. Again, I'm fighting with a guy and Rachel gets involved. This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."
"Quinn, this is between you and me."
"No it's not. It stopped being between you and me the minute you put your dick in Rachel Berry,"
"What?! The fuck, Quinn! Jesus, I didn't fuck her!"
"Well, gee, thanks for that Puck," She replied sarcastically. "What a gentleman you are."
"Stop."
"No, you stop. Go to hell, Noah Puckerman. You're the same person you always were, and I'm an idiot, an absolute fool, for thinking that you somehow changed. That you had it in you to be faithful to someone, anyone. I thought I was something, someone special," Quinn's voice was all anger now. "You told me I was your soulmate," She spat the word out with such derision, disgust. "Was that just to get into my pants? Did you spin that line on Rachel too?"
"I told you, we didn't -"
"I don't care Puck. You know what? I don't care. You're no different than you were when we were 16. You don't know how to love anyone but yourself. You put yourself first. Whatever is in front of you, if it has a pair of breasts, it's your soulmate," Again, she delivered the word with loathing and repulsion. "It was ridiculous to think there was any kind of future here. To think you were the type of person that anyone could have a future with."
He was silent.
"I can't believe I thought you were different," She vehemently repeated. "You only think with your dick. Fine, Puck. Fine. You want it over? It's over. Go fuck Rachel Berry.
"It's a blessing in disguise, you know," she continued sullenly. "My professor has been giving me the eye for weeks. And you know what? We kissed once or twice, that's right, we did, and I was wracked with guilt over it, over you! And that was a kiss, just a kiss, for Heaven's sake! But I never. I never had sex with anyone else."
"Fuck you, Quinn, I told you I never -"
"Whatever, Puck, it's done. I don't care if you swear till you're blue in the face that you didn't. You will. I know you will, because you always do. That's all you are, and all you ever will be, one big horny . Done. Don't call me, don't give me any bullshit about being friends after this, and for God's sake, wear a condom because Lord knows if there's one thing you are good at, one thing that you are consistent at, is you're certainly good at knocking a girl up and then ruining her life."
She hung up. Puck pitched his phone across the room. It slammed against the wall and the battery chipped off.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuck.
He knew it wasn't going to go well. But this? Seriously?
Fuck, I was doing the right fucking thing.
I didn't sleep with her. I made a fucking point not to cross that line and, shit, ok, I did cheat on Quinn, but Jesus, I thought breaking it off and coming clean to her was the right fucking thing to do.
Shit.
Shit.
He stared at the wall, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. He shoved his thumbs into his eyes, and his vision clouded into brights and lights and flashes and black.
You just had to get your hands in Rachel's pants her the first chance you got, didn't you, you fucking asshole? Fuck. Couldn't fucking control your dick, Puckerman.
She's right. Fuck, she's right, I'm a dick. I'm a huge dick.
She might have missed all this shit with my ma but I ...shit. I'm the asshole here.
I thought I was being all fucking honorable and shit by not fucking Rachel.
But. Fuck. Fuck.
I'm the one that fucked everything up. I still cheated. I. Still. Fucking. Cheated.
Like I always do. Like I always did. I'm the asshole, I'm the shithead.
I don't want Quinn anymore. But. Jesus fuck.
This is high school all the fuck over again. Nothing has fucking changed. She's right. Motherfucker, she's absolutely right about me, isn't she.
FUCK.
He punched the wall a few more times, got up, and paced around his room, panting angrily, heavily.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck.
Done. I am fucking done, with everything and everyone. Fuck all of this.
He fumbled around under his bed, sweeping his arm until his fingertips brushed glass. Half full bottle of Jack Daniels. He took a long gulp.
FUCK.
Rachel almost skipped up the Puckerman's front steps, her tote on her shoulder. She's getting used to these sleepovers of theirs.
It's refreshing. This is refreshing.
She smooths her hair and smiles as she knocks on the door, rocking back and forth on her heels.
The promise of something...amazing. Something groundbreaking. She feels like she has a secret, like she figured out a key, the key, to her past.
The pieces falling into place. Things are starting to make sense.
Becca greets her on the other side, jubilant. "Rachel!" She almost shouts, then lowers her voice. "Rach, I think they broke up!" She whispers it, conspiratorially.
"Oh...oh, wow," she reacted, astonished, stepping into the living room.
That was...quick.
I mean, I admit, I did want that to happen.
Rachel, don't move so fast. Lose control, but don't...just calm down.
Becca is almost vibrating. "I heard him yelling, he was cursing a lot, there were a ton of fucks on his end," She grinned. "It sounded pretty damn epic."
Hold your horses, Rachel.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again when she realized she wasn't sure what to do next. "Wow. Ok. Ok, then."
Becca grimaced. "Umm...he's been up in his room for, like, over an hour. I...I don't want to get involved and shit, so I didn't knock on his door but...yeah. He's been in there and I haven't heard a peep. He might be dead."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Becca."
"If he's dead, or not downstairs in 10 minutes, I'm eating the sweet and sour pork."
Rachel shook her head and made her way up to Noah's closed door and paused.
I can take baby steps, I don't need to know exactly what this is, she coached herself. But I do know this has the potential to be a new chapter. At the very least, this has the potential to be the first step to a new chapter.
She opened the door. "Noah?"
He had been drinking straight Jack for the past, who knows how long. Since he hung up the phone with Quinn. An hour? Two? The bottle was only half full to begin with, but now, it's completely empty. And it wasn't exactly a small bottle.
Puck was sitting up on his bed, leaning against his headboard. His head is in his hands, elbows leaning on his knees, fingers still clenched around the neck of the empty bottle of whiskey. He scowls at her.
Oh, goodness. He's drunk.
He's very drunk. And very angry.
She hesitated, and took a step towards him. "I...how...are you?" She carefully began.
Puck put his head back in his hands and chucked the empty bottle on the floor. "Fuck."
Rachel sat on the edge of his bed, gingerly, facing him. "Noah…" she swallows. "What's going on?"
He sighed and didn't look up. "Quinn and I broke up."
Ok. Ok, it's a given that he might be a little...upset about this. After all, she was a very integral part of his life. Choose your words carefully, Rachel.
"Oh, Noah," She looked mournfully at him. "I am so sorry."
He looks up, his eyes hardened. "You should go. You need to go."
She's taken aback. "I should what?"
"Go," He slaps his hand on the nightstand. "Go!"
"Noah, what are you talking about?"
"Jesus Christ, Rachel, just fucking leave!" He's yelling. "I don't want you here!"
"But you said...before…," She trailed off.
"I was fucking wrong!" He snarled. "I just say and do fancy shit to get into your pussy, Rachel, I don't mean any of it!"
Oh. OK. I could see where this is going now.
She still doesn't move from the bed. "No. Noah, no you don't," She reaches out for his hand, her voice quiet, soothing. "I know you, Noah, I know you, and that's not you."
"Yes it is, Berry," he rips his hand away from her as if she was on fire. "'S'is." He sits up and glares at her, hard and angry. "I've been trying to fuck you since we were fucking fourteen. You didn't give it up to me, so I'm done, you fucking tease."
She, in turn, set her jaw and matched his glare. You show me "Puck", fine. Show me. I'm not backing down, Noah.
"I'm bored, Berry. I'm fucking bored of you," he growled and waved his arm around dismissively. "I got to do all the dirty fucking things I wanted to, and now I'm done with you. If you're not gonna give it up, then I have no fucking need for you."
Bring out the big guns, Rachel.
She narrowed her eyes. "But you didn't fuck me, Noah," she enunciated the word. "I told you, the other night to fuck me, and you. Chose. Not. To." She lowered her voice. "Because you are a good person. You chose not to because you care. About. Me."
"The fuck kind of bitch-ass do you think I am? Some fairy-ass Prince fucking Charming? I don't know what kind of shit you're making up in your head, but I don't care about you. I don't care about you, or anyone. I want to fuck you. And now I'm bored because I didn't fuck you, so leave. You're fucking useless to me now."
He stood up and walked to the window, his back to her. "I don't need this relationship bullshit. I'm not fucking made for that candy-ass shit. I like pussy. I like tits, I like licking and sucking and fucking and being fucked and that's all." He turns around to face her. "Like I told you the first night, if you think I'm gonna fucking propose to you because you let me tickle your 'super secret special place', you're fucked in the head. I don't do relationships or love or any of that shit, I'm Noah fucking Puckerman. I don't 'make love.' I don't even 'have sex.'" He makes air quotes and contorts his face. "I don't get caught up in this feelings bullshit, with Quinn, with you, with any bitch. I. Just. Fuck."
She stomped towards him, nose to nose. "Then fuck me Puck. Fuck. Me. Bend me over that chair, throw me on that bed, fuck me and fuck me hard and hateful. Fuck me like you don't. Care." She rips her sweater off, unbuttons her skirt and kicks it across the room angrily, standing in front of him in her panties and bra, hands on her hips. "You just want pussy? Then fuck me. Do it. DO. IT."
He glowers at her, unmoved.
"Come on, Puck," she spits his name back at him and opens her arms wide. "I'm ready. Fuck me. Bring it."
He stares at her with ice in his eyes, but slowly, she sees something behind it. Something behind the anger, the ice.
She sees the Noah she saw the night his father crashed shiva. She sees the snap, the break, and it's tiny, minuscule, and if she blinked, she would have missed it, but it's there. The chip in the facade. The Noah in the Puck.
"No," he mutters in a low voice and closes his eyes. "No." He growls low in his throat.
"Can't hear you," she sings. "You need some help? You want me to start?" She motions to his groin, and hooks her fingers into the waistband of his pants.
"Fuck," he swears, louder, and pushes her away. "Fine, I can't, ok?" Puck sighs raggedly, sits down in his desk chair, and puts his head in his hands. "Jesus. Fine. Fuck." He mutters in a practically inaudible voice. "I can't."
Rachel pulls her sweater on over her head, and crawls to sit on the floor in front of him, her hands on his knees. "Noah," she says softly. "Noah, I know you loved Quinn. I know you cared about her. And whatever she said to you, whatever cruel words she used...it's her anger talking. She's allowed to be angry," Rachel hides a small smile. "You're worth getting angry over, you know. But...but whatever she said. That's not you. This? This isn't you."
Puck didn't move, didn't lift his head up.
"You're allowed to care about someone. You're allowed to love someone. You're not just this...you're not just hormones and lust. You never were. And you never will be."
He talks into his hands, still refusing to meet her gaze. "She didn't even listen to me. I told her we didn't have sex. She didn't listen, she just assumed we did because that's who I am. That's all I am." He finally lifts his head up and looks at Rachel. "And that's who I always fucking will be. The asshole who can't keep his dick in his pants."
Rachel bit her bottom lip to keep from smirking, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "You know, it feels kind of wrong, kind of ironic that I'm about to say this, but...I'm actually proud of you for not having sex with me. Because you did. You did keep it in your pants. For the most part." She full-out grinned. "Kind of."
Puck pauses contemplatively. "It is kinda fucked, isn't it?"
"I mean, Noah, you...you did still cheat on her," Rachel started carefully. "But. But sometimes, things aren't just black and white, and maybe...I don't know," her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes. "Life can be...serendipitous. And serendipity doesn't have to coincide or align with what's right and wrong."
"Dunno the fuck that means."
She smiled. "It means happy accident. Finding something…" she faltered, blushing. "or some...someone you weren't intently looking for."
"Fate bullshit."
"I don't know if I, personally, would call 'fate' bullshit, but...there is an element of fate in serendipity."
They both remained silent, still, until he exhaled and broke the spell.
"I'm sorry, Rachel. I didn't... all that mean shit I said, that's not..."
"I know, Noah." Rachel nodded. "I know." She rested her head on his leg.