"Love is a choice you make from moment to moment." – Barbara De Angelis

Eva finally leaves a few days later and life resumes a somewhat normal schedule. I spend most of my time at the theater; Noah at work and with his friends. It's almost a week before I realize how little I have seen of him. I call in my understudy and take the night off, claiming personal reasons. I'm in the kitchen cooking dinner when Noah finally trudges into the apartment.

He takes in the small apron I have tied around my waist and the pots and pans on the stove, his eyebrows rising in question. "I thought you had to work tonight?" he questions. He moves to stand behind me, giving me a small peck on my neck as he leans over to look at the food.

"I took a personal day." I reply, grabbing a spoon to stir the sauce before placing the lid back on it. I'm pulling my hair up into a bun, when I see the frown on his face. Brushing my bangs from my forehead and blowing air up onto my face, I lean back against the counter. "What's wrong?"

He moves away from me slightly, letting his body rest against the counter, his eyes scanning over the food on the stove. "The thing is," his voice is hesitant and he sounds like he's building up to something that is going to upset me. I find myself setting down the spoon and turning my back to the stove, watching him wring his hands together. "I thought you were working tonight. And I sort of have plans to go out with the guys. I'm supposed to meet them in like fifteen minute for drinks and wings."

I can feel the frustration bubbling up inside of me, but I refuse to be the nagging girlfriend and throw a fit. He can hang out with 'the guys' anytime, but the one time I take a night off of work he's too busy. I'm swallowing back the hurtful things that want to spew from my mouth, instead forcing a smile. "That's fine, have fun." I watch his eyes rake over my features nervously, before turning my back to him. I can feel the tears threatening to spill over, but refuse to let them putting all my focus on making sure that my noodles don't stick to the bottom of the pan.

I'm so focused that when I hear the door click I almost pull the pan off of the stove. I've lost my appetite, so I flick the burners off and place the food in a few Tupperware containers. I go over my plans for our evening disappointedly; the dinner, the music, the sex I was hoping we would be having. Instead I'm forced with an evening alone in our apartment when I should have been on stage. A normal person would have been content with a quiet evening at home; a normal person wouldn't have minded an evening off of work. I guess I'm not normal.

I'm sitting in my reading chair, staring at the pages of the book unseeingly. It's too fucking quiet. The conversation just keeps playing over and over in my mind. And the thing is, the longer I stew the madder I get. I'm upset and angry and feeling neglected when I find myself reaching for my phone, my fingers hovering above the numbers as I look at the highlighted name. I stare at the screen, letting my heartbeat fill my ears.

I can't do it.

I scroll down and select San, letting my phone rest against my shoulder. I listen to the ringing, counting each annoying bring. After four rings it kicks into voicemail and I find myself cursing under my breath. I hang up without leaving a message and try Britt, fingers crossed that she picks up. I listen to the steady beep as it connects to her line and hold my breath. My hands are shaking and I find myself getting up from my chair and pacing the living room silently praying for an answer. I don't get one.

All I Know is that the walls are closing in on me and I am feeling more claustrophobic than I have ever felt before. I've worked myself up to the point now that if I don't talk to someone, if I don't get these things that are boiling inside of me out, then I will likely explode. On any other occasion I would have called Tina to talk, but with the way things ended between us I'm just not comfortable enough to.

And really that leaves only one person.

But I promised myself that I wouldn't go down this road, promised myself that I wouldn't make the same mistakes. So I take the battery out of my phone and stick it in one of the drawers, then I take my phone into our bedroom and throw it on my nightstand. Grabbing a coat, I find myself locking up the apartment nodding slightly as one of our neighbors walk past.

I refuse to worry about the dishes, refuse to worry about the fact that I have no phone. I'm down the elevator and on the street before I realize I don't even have a destination in mind. But being outside, being away from my phone and the apartment and all of the drama is like a breath of fresh air. I avoid any place that is familiar, which is how I end up at some rinky-dink old time movie theater I've never been to before.

They're playing Sabrina and I find myself buying a ticket and settling into a seat towards the back. I finally feel like I can breathe easier and as I watch the screen flicker in front of me, I'm able to forget, at least for awhile, all the drama. I watch Audrey Hepburn as William Holden romances her and she falls in love with Humphrey Bogart.

There are only two other people in the theater besides myself, which is probably why, I finally feel free enough to let the tears fall. I want the kind of love that someone will go to great lengths for, the kind of love that is so overwhelming it takes over your life. I want to be the most important person to someone else, and right now I don't feel like I am.

I wait for the other two people to leave the theater before making my way out of my seat and out into the night air. It's a bit chilly and I find myself clenching my coat to my chest as I continue to walk. As selfish and as immature as it sounds I want more time alone and I know I need more time to think. Instead of heading back to the apartment I find a small bistro and order myself a sandwich and a cup of coffee.

I force myself to finish both.

I try not to notice the lady at the counter and the way she keeps looking up from her crossword puzzle to stare at me. Finally, she gets up the nerve to talk to me, her eyes scanning over my features. "You alright, sugar?" I watch as she slides her pencil into the bun of curly black hair and for some reason it reminds me of the mother I will never have. She leans against the counter, one hand resting against it as the other fills up my empty coffee cup.

"Just a fight with the boyfriend," I reply as I sip at the drink, letting it warm me inside. "I took a night off work, made supper, and what does he do but go out with the guys instead!" I try to sound lighthearted but I can tell that it fails when I see the sadness in her eyes.

"Do you love him?" her voice is serious and she looks at me in a way that makes me feel exposed. Almost knowingly she reaches out and rests her hand against mine, her eyes even sadder than before. I nod my head, acknowledging that in fact, yes I do love him.

My voice cracks a bit as the words tumble out. "But I also miss him."

"Love is never easy," she replies, her hand reaching to fiddle with her wedding band. "It's hard work and sweat and tears and blood. There will be times that you feel like giving up, there will be times that you feel like walking away, but deep inside you know that you can't."

Her eyes are haunted and sad as they reach mine; I find myself leaning forward, her words barely a whisper. "Because they hold a part of you that you will never be able to get back, no matter how hard you try or how many years go by. You don't want to be the person who one day wakes up and realizes that you're too late; that it's too late." Her fingers stop twisting the ring and she closes her eyes, a single tear dripping down onto her smock.

Moments later it's swept away by her palm.

#

I'm not really sure what I expect to find when I arrive home.

Okay, if I truly want to be honest, I expected to find Noah sitting on the couch, a bundle of nerves over where I've been all night. After apologizing over the evening he would sweep me into his arms and take me back into the bedroom, truly apologizing in a way only he can.

Instead, the apartment is empty and dark. It's almost one o'clock in the morning and I'm really not sure whether to be pissed that Noah stayed out so late or relieved that he wasn't sitting at home waiting for a confrontation. I'm really sick of the drama plus stress is bad for you when you are trying to conceive, I read it in Cosmo, I think.

I'm brushing my teeth and wiping off the last traces of the day from my face, when I hear the key turning in the lock. I spit and rinse my mouth before making my way into bed, rolling onto my side. I close my eyes, letting my breathing even out, and pretend to be asleep. I'm exhausted and as much as I love Noah I really just want to forget how truly abandoned I felt tonight. I listen to the movement in the hallway, the soft whisper of voices, and find myself being lulled to sleep.

My dreams are hazy, a smattering of voices and images that are disjointed. I wake up sometime, a bit too early to be considered morning, to find myself covered in a sheen of sweat with the sheets tangled around me. I can feel the dip in the bed, signifying Noah's return home. Instead of rolling over and falling back asleep or curling up closer to him, I find myself staring at the ceiling above me.

I'm discontent, my brain racing at a mile a minute as my muscles twitch to get up and move about. I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something, that if I close my eyes and roll back over and go to sleep that I will be changing everything. I ignore the feeling for as long as I can until I realize that there is no way that I can reasonably lay there staring at the ceiling any longer; which is how I find myself in the kitchen doing dishes at four o'clock in the morning.

I flick on the small light above the stove and set to work cleaning up my mess from earlier. My arms are elbow deep in hot water when I hear the noise in the living room. I stop all movement, hold my breath, and count to twelve before I hear it again. I grab a small knife and force myself to push open the small door and peer out into the room.

I'm a bit surprised to find the living room packed full of sleeping people. Britt and San are curled up on the couch, their limbs tangled together beneath a small throw blanket. Matt and Finn are sleeping in the two reclining chairs, each of them reclined back as far as they can be. I'm wondering why none of them slept in the guest room and a bit confused as to why they are all here, anyway. Any other time it would have been an amusing sight, but I'm so tired and a bit disoriented so I just find myself shrugging as I move back to the kitchen.

I'm using a bristle pad trying to scrape the now hardened sauce from the side of the pan when the door opens and San walks in, her eyes squinting against the small light.

"What in the fuck are you doing?" She leans against the counter, one hand covering her eyes as the other holds her weight up. I'm too busy trying to figure out how she got untangled from Britt and if I woke her up to answer her question. "Hello. I'm fucking talking to you." Her hand waves in the air in a bit of an annoying swoop and I find myself blinking at her for a moment processing her words.

"Good morning to you too, San," my voice is gravelly and grainy from lack of sleep and I find myself setting the bristle pad down and wiping my hands against a rag. "As for what I am doing, I am simply doing some dishes that I didn't get done last night. I was unaware that you were in the living room and that doing so would wake you. I can go into the other room and finish these at a more acceptable hour."

I'm walking past her, my hands playing with the edge of my sleep shorts when I feel her hand reach out and grasp my arm. She looks at the clock over my shoulder, a few choice words escaping her lips, before she leads me down the hall and closes the door behind us. "What are you doing up at this time, Rach? I thought you were all about getting eight hours of sleep."

I shrug my shoulders, letting my body slump into one of the chairs. "I couldn't sleep." It seems like a simple enough response and I find myself sighing softly as she sits down beside me, her arms wrapping around my shoulder.

"And the shit in the kitchen?" she sounds almost confused as I feel. I must look it, because she mumbles for a moment and then responds. "You sounded like a fucking zombie."

"Probably just tired," I answer honestly realizing how crazy that sounds. There is no point in lying to Santana as she is almost as good as Noah or Finn in telling when I am faking it. "I woke up from a weird dream and couldn't shut my mind off, doing the dishes seemed like as good of a thing as any to pass the time until morning."

The room is silent; the only noise the small ticking of a cuckoo clock that I loathe more than I can even begin to explain, hence its exile to this room. I find my eyes drooping a bit and jerk myself awake, meeting San's worried gaze. "You tried to call me tonight." It's not a question and both of us know that. Instead of answering I nod my head, my eyes refusing to meet hers. "You didn't pick up when I called you back." I don't really have a way to answer that without sounding crazy.

I find myself wondering, what if I can never get things right? What if I am doomed to live miserably no matter who I am with? And why does it feel like the harder I try the more things around me seem to crumble? Life shouldn't be sitting and waiting for the perfect moments, it's too short for that. It's then that I find the words tumbling from my lips before I can even do anything to stop them.

"San," I whisper, "What would you say if I told you that in the future you hate me?"

Her face is filled with confusion, her eyes warily scanning mine. "I think that you need some more sleep, Rach." She's got her arms around me steering me towards my bedroom but for some reason I can't stop now that I've started, the words spewing forth.

"What if I told you that in the future you and Noah get engaged?"

Sorry for the delayed posting and responding to reviews, apparently my laptop wasn't as fixed as I thought it was. Most of this was typed on my iPad and then formatted over, so hopefully I caught all the errors. Updates should be coming quicker now that my laptop is supposedly fixed... crosses fingers. Thanks to all of you who took the time to review and let me know your thoughts/feelings/ect.

So how completely amazing was the Britt/Britt episode? I think the version of Toxic was my favorite. Did you all love it as much as I did?

N