an (1): ugh talk about being so busy you can't breathe! I've had 12 hr work days of hell, but I've survived! Here's a treat from me to you, enjoy.
an (2): this is for marley because it was her birthday not too long ago and I'm a bad friend and didn't write her something sooner. I love you!
an (3): this is mild, I know, and I would apologize for it, but lol nope! and, yes, there's a part 2 coming your way, chillax.
It's unlocked. I let the knob untwist in my hand. The door swings ajar and I peer in. It's quiet. I frown for a second; the thought that perhaps no one is home or that something is wrong crosses my mind briefly. But her fathers might just not be home.
I always hated this hallway. It's like out of a movie, a horror film. A horror film in which you stand at one end and then begin to run but it only stretches, making you think you will never get to the end of it and the killer is right on your tail. God, it's fucking scary. I hear a small noise and I nearly jump out of my skin. My eyes open wide and I sprint up to the steps.
I shake my head because I'm being an idiot, but the eery silence is just haunting. I wince and continue climbing the steps to the second floor. There are baby pictures of Rachel with her dads all over the walls as I bring each foot onto the next level. I'm sure I've noticed them at some point being over at this house so many times, but I'd never really looked.
Fuck, you're the cutest thing.
They make me both sad and happy and scared all at once. My stomach churns a little and my face grimaces at the feeling. She's a baby in an off-white blanket with gold stars printed on it. Her fathers smile softly in the photograph. Then she's about two and walking with a microphone glued to her hand. Then she's four in tap shoes and a bright red outfit, hair pulled up in a tight bun and smiling like it's the greatest day on earth. Rachel's probably in middle school in this one, with an award in her hand for some other singing competition. Her fathers squeezing her shoulders on either side and they just look so happy.
And I stop dead in my tracks when I see the one of all the glee club with our trophy.
Rachel is beaming. And I'm pregnant.
My eyes swell with tears and my throat tightens. I feel like I'm driving on a dark and lonely road. So many warning signs pass me by and yet I still keep driving. From the moment we kissed, I felt lost in the most beautiful and terrifying way possible. Lost in the pits of my religion and my family's values and what I'd been through and what I've put her through. Lost in her eyes, her touch, her words, her essence. Lost in her everything.
I feel at the edge of a tall, tall building with the wind blowing so mercilessly, just waiting for me to fall. Taunting me, shoving me closer to the open space, not knowing whether or not I'd survive the landing. There's such a fine line; I can never tell the difference: is it thrill or fear? What if I love her, too? There's a tingling that shoots up my spine and it's kin to the feeling you get when you've reached the tippy top of the roller coaster and you're about to descend. You think, 'I am definitely going to die', but at the same time you feel absolutely free.
It's so frightening and I wonder why I've come here. I have one more step to go and I'm on the second floor. In so many ways, this is my life right now. That small step is both insignificant in size but is as tall as a mountain; totally immovable; a barrier; an obstacle. And yet, all I have to do is lift my leg, place the sole of my foot onto the top and push down. And I'm there. I'm there.
I release a shaky breath. My fingers begin to tremble and my body begins to shiver. Suddenly, it feels about 20 degrees colder in this house. Who the hell turned down the air? I'm freezing. The feel of the knob beneath my palm is what leads me to believe it's nerves playing tricks on me. It's at a perfectly normal temperature. I close my eyes and repeat the same mantra I have been for the past couple of days, 'you can do this'.
When I release the knob, the door opens on its own revealing a very petite brunette sitting at the edge of her bed. Her hair is silky and falls with gorgeous locks down her back. She's effortlessly beautiful. My chest tightens. She's looking out the window, mindlessly. Or would she be mindful? Knowing Rachel Berry, that little mind of hers is never off.
I realize that I've had my mouth open for several seconds and yet nothing as close to a peep has left it. For a second I panic, thinking I've gone mute and any career in the dramatic arts has just flown out Rachel's window. And then I blush. Well, because it's a very Rachel Berry thing to think.
My brows furrow and my eyes shut; my face hanging in defeat already when, "You left this here."
My whole body shakes when she speaks. The silence of the room now gone completely. Her voice is so soft. I can see the small smile threatening her lips. She's holding onto a thin camisole. Her hands, palms up, sliding beneath the fabric, feeling the texture over her fingertips.
"You left it the first time you came over. I didn't want you to remember, so I'd hide it in my nightstand." She laughs in a small huff. "Is that weird?"
It kills me how Rachel she's being. And it's not bad or horrible or anything. It's endearing. It's flattering. All the while, she feels like I'd automatically think something of it. Which, by the way, is so wrong. She's absolutely wonderful.
My voice catches in my throat and I cough up a 'no'. I shake my head, "No, not at all."
I grab at my arm. Some sort of defense mechanism, I suppose. My foot rises, bends at the ankle, and I balance my weight on the opposite leg. I look at the floor. It's slightly irritating how bashful I can get at times.
She smiles with her lips shut. "Good." She places the camisole back in her drawer and turns her head just a little in my direction, but not far enough to meet my eyes. She pats the bed. An invitation.
A little noise escapes my lips and I motion toward the imprint on the bedspread. I sit. She doesn't look at me. Her hand creeps under mine and our fingers lace together. A volcano of butterflies erupts abruptly and my eyes water a little. Not with tears. Please. I'm just a little overwhelmed. That's all.
My heartbeat picks up. The pad of her thumb is circling over the skin of my hand. It feels so freaking nice. I missed her so much. There's an ache in my chest and now I really do feel like crying. I want to run away. Far, so far away. Away from her, and her lovely hands and what this all means. I want it to be wrapped up and put in a box and thrown out to sea. Whether the box drowns or floats, I don't care. My free hand balls up in a fist and nails dig into my palm. I need to calm down.
You'd swear it's magic or some type of supernatural power that she has. It's stupid, really; the way she brings her fingers to my face and I melt into a puddle. She traces the tear streak down to my jaw and she whispers, "Why are you crying?" Her voice so small, I can barely make out whether I heard it or imagined it.
It takes all of my strength to lift my shoulders to a tiny shrug and my brows knit tightly as I try to squeeze words through my swollen throat. Nothing works. I just make some sort of noise like, 'I don't know' and my entire body shakes.
She takes me and envelopes me in a comforting embrace. "Shh…" She tries to calm me down, but I feel like a dam; broken and shattered, and all the water just flows unevenly with no remorse. But I'm a natural disaster and she's the earth. No matter how destructive I can be, she remains rooted and ready for rebirth.
Her arms hold me tightly. She feels so warm. I think I've stopped crying. I just feel tired now. Sleepy. She lies back onto her bed and says, "Come here." I do. I move toward her. I nestle my head beneath her chin, arms folded in, wrists hiding under my own chin. I snuggle so impossibly close. Her hand runs through my hair and I blink away a few stray tears. I lay a small kiss onto her neck, she squeezes me a little tighter.
And for the first time, we simply fall asleep sleep in each other's arms.