Author's Note: Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed! I'm a little new to the Glee fanfiction world but I'm excited for this story and hope I can continue to please you guys with it. I also have some ideas for some Glee one-shots featuring other characters that I'm pretty excited for! Anyways, this is Rachel's perspective on what happened and it's a lot harder to write from Rachel's POV for sure... I tried to get into the diva-mindset but if you guys have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them!

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of the characters.

SURRENDER

He's a poor, high school drop-out trying to find a way to pay for his mom's hospital bills. She's an upper-class, famous Broadway star. Opposites attract. He kidnaps her to get the money he needs. Should be simple enough. Demand a ransom, get the money, and hand her over. But wait. He never planned on falling in love.

Genre: AU/Romance/Drama/Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T (for now)

Warnings: Violence, Language

Chapter 2: This is all Will's Fault

Rachel

Damn these road trips and damn these hotels. Why can't they see that we should just stay in New York? In New York, my name is in the lights and people love and worship me. I mean, what's the point of going around and touring to different states like godforsaken Ohio? I mean, I admit that I do have an obligation to my fans and that I do enjoy all the attention, but couldn't we just do the exciting states? Like California and New York and... well, Hollywood and New York are all I care for, really. I mean, what other states matter?

Does Ohio even have fans? Because, I mean, for the most part, don't Ohioans just have cows?

I suppose I shouldn't be so condescending. I mean, I was born in Ohio, but I swore to God that if I ever got out I would never get back again—and I haven't. I mean, it's not like my dads mind—once I got the news about Glitter, they both moved out to New York anyways, and with my busy schedule with all my auditions and practices, it works out better that way. I didn't leave anything behind in Lima that I couldn't bring to New York—and I mean absolutely nothing, I brought everything—and Lima definitely doesn't have anything New York doesn't.

Yes, I'll admit, living life from show to show is hard sometimes and sometimes I would like to engage in conversation with someone other than my fellow cast members—most of whom resent me for my talent anyway, but they can't help it, they're just jealous of me and wished that they had a single ounce of my talent—but to be honest, I wouldn't have it any other way. Sure, my schedule is busy and waking up at 6:30 in the morning can be kind of tiring as well as my tutoring lessons with Blaine, but I am a star and to be great I must make sacrifices. And sacrificing a social life with average, normal people? Not a heavy price to pay for the truly glamorous, celebrity lifestyle I lead.

Turning sixteen has at least made these trips a tad more sufferable. My fathers have agreed to let me bring my car on the road with me so when I need time for a breather and just some space, I can take my beautiful Mercedes and drive off somewhere so I can hear myself think for several seconds. And it also gives me a break from riding in that godforsaken tour bus of ours.

Really, who wants to ride in that tour bus all the time? I mean, I have been attempting to get closer to some of my cast members, but they never seem to want to hear about my talent, and I feel as though my skills are something important and wonderful to share to the world. The people who don't want to listen to me aren't worth it. I'd rather listen to Broadway classics in my sleek car, and the reason they are all resentful is because they're just upset that they don't have the luxury of distancing themselves once in awhile.

Oh but this rotten hotel too. This may be the worst one yet. Honestly, you would think that Will would find a better place for us to say—after all, what kind of director doesn't take the best care of his stars? We—at least I—deserve better than this hotel. We are staying here for only one night and are hitting the road again tomorrow, so why couldn't Will have found a better place? Now I am sitting in this utterly dingy room that smells of stale bread. I'm lucky to have my privacy—Will at least allowed me to have my own room rather than sharing with Santana or Brittany or Quinn, but it was the least he could do since he put us in such a crappy place to begin with.

Where in the hell am I, anyway? Actually, hell may be right. I mean, I am from Lima, but I'm not sure what city in Ohio we're even in. This town is the slummiest of the shanties I've ever been. There must be a poultry-processing plant nearby because I've counted eighteen trucks full of caged chickens through the window in the past two hours. The air outside is dank from the stench of it and this environment cannot be good for my voice in any which way. I highly doubt there are any good vegan places even around to accommodate me, so on top of the suffering I have had to undergo so far, I may be lacking food too, which may cause me to become even more exhausted and disgruntled. I will try to keep my current circumstances from affecting my stage presence, but honestly, Will just was not thinking when he put this place on the map for our meet and greets.

What kind of hotel doesn't have Wi-Fi? Honestly. By the looks of this town, I wouldn't be surprised if they still used dial-up. All I want to do is just get on the internet and check my Facebook for the latest comments on my last uploaded video and my newly posted pictures from the Rolling Stone photo shoot. It may sound a little pretentious and diva-ish, for lack of a better word, of me, but I have a duty to see what my fans are saying about me. I like the attention and the compliments, and it's important to understand what people think so that I can make myself even better—if that's even possible.

That's it. I can hardly stand it any more. I'm going to go to the local movie store—apparently there's a Blockbuster down the street, though I don't now why a star like me would have to go get it myself—I should have a bell-boy or a servant or something. I have had the urge to watch the Rodgers and Hammerstein production of Cinderella for quite some time, and plus I want to take my car out on the road. Perhaps if I explore this disgusting town I'll find somebody worth talking to—oh a girl can wish, can't she? I'll run in, grab the movie, and run out—as long as none of the cast members find out, but judging from the noise next door, they are all probably partying in Mike's room and are probably so inebriated at this point that Will will be absolutely furious at how they are embarrassing themselves tomorrow. Knowing this backwards town, the Blockbuster will only have VHSs, but that's fine, this room has a VCR included with the TV from circa 1989.

I am going to fill out an extensive complaint card for this hotel tomorrow. And I will be sure to mention in my next interview that nobody in his right mind should stay even five minutes in this so-called city.

I put on my favorite purple dress—I have to look good in case I run into any of my many admirers—wrap a scarf around my neck—Will doesn't want us to be going out and being recognized publicly so I can at least try that—and throw my purse over my shoulder and run out the door. I'm almost knocked over by the reek of the poultry plant. This town is disgusting.

My cell phone rings. It's Kurt. Damn it. He's probably just intoxicated and if I answer he will probably criticize some aspect of me when obviously he is the one who is flawed. I take a breath and answer.

"Hello-"

"-Rachel, darling, why don't you come and join us in Mike's room... we're all insanely giddy right now and even your sour personality could not dampen the mood-"

"-Well, Kurt, as kind as that invitation is, I don't need your company to-"

He laughs at something in the background and I can hear Mike giggling like an idiot in the background. Kurt starts with something else when I see kid walking towards my car. From the distance, I can tell he would tower over me. He has short brown and an exquisite physique, but he looks as if he hasn't taken a shower in a week. How revolting.

He gets closer and comes within a hair of brushing against my car. If he touches it, I don't care how big he is, I am calling security or the police or something. This Neanderthal is not allowed to even blink near my car.

I realize he's coming to me so I hang up on drunk Kurt so I can confront this overgrown loser in front of me.

When he is within a few steps of me, I glimpse that he's startlingly handsome. But he is trash and this is no time to flirt with this probably homeless stranger.

He stops nervously in front of me and begins to inquire. "Uh, do you have the time?"

Sighing to myself, I check my phone, and as I am about to answer, the brute slaps me viciously across the mouth and throws me over his shoulder like I am nothing but a pillow.

My heart pounding furiously in my chest, I do the only thing I can think of. Despite how filthy and grungy this thug is, and how squalid his hand probably is, I close my eyes and bite down as hard as I can. The taste of blood fills my mouth and I almost gag, but I hear a yelp.

Triumphantly, I open my mouth to scream, when the wind is knocked completely out of me. This man—no, he's an animal—hit me! How dare he?

Dizzy from the pain, I collapse and cannot move as he throws me in the backseat of a pathetic piece of transportation and slaps duct tape over my mouth.

Only when he starts driving do I realize what a predicament I am in.

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