She contemplates cutting her hair, more seriously than she ever has. Since the ninth grade she has only ever trimmed it. Rachel can't remember what it feels like for her hair to simply brush the top of her shoulders. In the back of her mind she can feel his hands running through her hair. She can feel the strain on her scalp from when he used to tug on the ends of her curls between performances. She remembers the week he showed her what it meant to belong to someone. The way her body responding to him. The way she was never in control, the way she learned to like. After Finn dropped her off at home she couldn't do anything but stare into her bathroom mirror and think of him. How could she possibly feel this way about him, how had it snuck up on her and why did she have to realize it now? He used to call her princess. She remembers that every time she would correct his behaviour or ramble off a statistic he would cock his head to the side "okay, princess". She thinks she misses that. Finn only calls her Rachel. She can't stop running her hands through her hair. The feeling in her chest begs her to do something, tear something, just fucking break everything but she can't move. Just tug and tug at her curls, strand after strand. Her hair was curled that day on the bleachers. She wants so badly to look away. This image has him written all over it. Nothing about this is hers, none of it Finn's. Noah loves her curls, has since they were kids. So many girls have straight hair he told her one day after temple, if you're gonna be different anyway Berry might as well be different and hot. She can see him running the tips of his fingers along the hem of her skirt. She can hear the smart ass comment about the kinds of fantasy skirt like hers invoke in men like him. There is just enough sheer in her top and just enough lace in her camisole to entice him, like a surprise that's guaranteed to good. God everything about her is tied to him in some way. How, how had that happened? Exhaustion finally gives way and she falls against the tub unable to look at herself any longer. She feels the tears against her cheeks, wonders when she started crying, wonders if she'll ever stop. So many thoughts and she can't focus on one long enough to find a solution. The harder she tries the stronger the urge to tear her hair out. She'd never understood it before but now she can see why some people cut, why some people starve themselves, why people do drugs. Its sorrow, its heartache, it's the desire to take back control, the desire to forget once you fail. Her desire to rip every strand of hair out one by one is no different than someone's need to drag a razor from left to right over and over again. Control control control. She needs to regain control.
He runs on autopilot. He doesn't know how fast he was driving. He doesn't know how many stop lights he stopped at. He has no recollection of getting out of his car, or getting back in. He doesn't remember going home. He doesn't know if his bedroom door is look but he prays it is. He's half way through his first two-six of Jack Daniel and he'd slow down but he can't. Besides, he can clearly see another three bottles. He's fine. Maybe a drunken coma is exactly what the doctor ordered. He left her there. No good he can do from this day forth will make up for that one fact. She was broken, she was crying out for him and he turned his back on her and walked away. He downs the last of the bottle without a second thought. Open another. Drink. Drink more. Punch the wall. Ow, he thinks that hurt. How could he just leave her there? What kind of a person does that. Drink more. More. More. Don't stop. Keep drinking. Finn will take care of her. That's how he did it, that's why he did it. Noah Puckerman was not her boyfriend, he was not the love of her life, he was not her knight in shining armour. This was for the best. He could feel her falling, giving in to the attraction between them. It would have ruined her. The only good thing he'd ever accomplished was being there for Sophia, and he'd had to give her away too. Drink more. He had the next three days to forget about the pain. The next time he saw her, he had to be sure. No going back, hell there was nothing to go back to. She wasn't his, never had been. Drink.
Santana for once kept her mouth shut. She asked no questions. There wasn't a point really, she doubts that Rachel has any answers to give her. "Ruin me" she had said. She'd shown up at her doorstep looking as though someone had put her through a shredder and just stood there. If there was one thing that Santana could say about Rachel it was that she was meticulous in her appearance. Her style had been questionable for a while there, but there was never a thread out of place. Perfect from head to toe, until now. When she'd asked her what she wanted, what she was doing at her house… Santana doesn't know what she'd expected but not this. I need you to ruin me. Ruin me, how many times had she said that same thing to herself. Tired of the way she saw herself, enraged by the way others saw her. Ruin me, the last thought before reckless actions. Every time she found herself under another nameless face, or standing over her latest victim. Outwardly she was on the attack but inwardly she begged for them, ruin me. Change me. Make me over. I'm tired of being myself. So, as bad of an idea as this may have been she stepped aside and let Rachel in. You can't do it yourself, Santana knows that and apparently Rachel does to. Other people validate you, tell you if you're doing something wrong, show you how to do it right. Other people break you. Other people change you. Ruin me, I'd do it myself but I don't know how.
It's Saturday night and Mike asks no questions. It's partially because he's a guy and partially because he's know Puck forever. When he's ready to talk then they'll talk. Until then though, it was jd and cod. He doesn't ask why everyone's here but Finn, doesn't really care. The longer Finn's with Rachel the less he's likeable… to anyone. So the boys sans Finn drink. Noah's got a pretty impressive head start but they're catching up. When everyone's properly slaughtered he tells them what happened. Tells them he walked away from the one girl who could change him. Tells them that he's got to let her go, for her. Tells them that he might be in love with her and Finn can never know. Mike thinks he's heard more bullshit in the last twenty minutes than he has his entire life but he keeps his mouth shut. So does Artie and so does Sam. No one knows how to bring up Rachel, how to change his mind without facing certain death. No one can get him to see that as much as Rachel changes him, he changes her too. But they're dudes, and they're drunk, they don't talk. So they pass him more because they won't be able to change his mind. And they listen, and they drink because they've got his back. Mike wonders how glee is going to work, and then he drinks because it's gotten to the point where all rational thought is giving him a headache. Sam makes a comment about getting rid of Finn, Artie suggests that Rachel is more Pucks type anyways and he makes sure to mention the way she looks at him when she thinks no one's looking. They all try and slip support into his psyche because they're good friends but in the end they drink more than they say and they help more than they know.
"Do you own jeans?" What an odd question, and yet it makes sense to her. She tries to feel out of place, tries to feel awkward but she doesn't. After standing in Santana's bathroom, over the sink full of her hair being at the mall with her seems like any other Sunday. No, she doesn't own jeans. Skirts, yoga pants and leotards; that was Rachel Berry. Jeans are easy she says. One in every shade and you never have to think about your outfit. Just grab and go. It'll be too hard she says, too hard with everything going on in your head to put any real effort into how you look. Rachel thinks she's right, because even now the thought of getting ready for school seems exhausting. Pointless. All of it, the outfits, the care she took, all of it was so pointless. Santana mentions other things, tips and tricks to make it through the day. Says it's a good thing its spring. Jeans, a tank and a sweater. Thirty seconds and she can be out the door. Ponytails, though her hair was short enough that she wouldn't really need it. Mascara, maybe some eyeliner, powder if she's feeling up to it. She stares at Santana as if seeing her for the first time. Instead of the usual cheerio uniform it's a pair of faded denim skinny jeans and a chasmere cardigan over a black tank top. Her hair as always in a pony tail, and some mascara. No thought at all and yet she's still one of the hottest girls in Lima. Rachel starts to think about how many other broken girls are looking so well put together. Be careful young ladies, pretend so well and soon no one will think anything is wrong. No one will ruin you good and solid. She fingers her hair. It just barely touches her shoulders. She's in a pair of yoga pants and a concert tee a size too big. She looks relaxed. She feels so heavy and yet so light. She was broken, but she would survive.