She didn't think as she made her way down the shadowed hall, through the kitchen and living room, out the front door. She gulped for oxygen, as if air alone could heal her heart, but she did not think.
Until she stepped onto the front stoop, staring a moment into the night's near-blackness, and realized she had no way home.
Then all she could think was a long string of the curse words she never ever spoke out loud.
She let out a shaking frustrated breath, the idea of a long walk home in the freezing darkness really only being one of the reasons she felt so tempted to turn around and go back inside.
But she pulled her hat farther down over her ears and took one step, and then another.
And once she started she couldn't stop herself, practically running the whole 17 blocks to her house, a burn building in her lungs as the sting of wind whipped at her tear-dampened cheeks.
She was disappointed to see a little light shining through the drawn curtains of the front window. She didn't want to tell her fathers anything, she didn't really even know what she could say, so she paused at the side-view mirror on her daddy's car to wipe any moisture from under her eyes and to make sure nothing of her inner turmoil was written across her face.
Her fathers had heard about the win and were surprised to see her home so soon. But despite what she deemed the worst performance of her young life, they seemed to believe her offered explanations of Finn's exhaustion and her concern for her voice being out too long in the cold. She kissed their cheeks with chapped lips and said goodnight.
In a childish wave of spite she decided that she wouldn't let this, him, interfere with her routine. She was not so affected that she could do nothing but wallow. She was stronger than that.
So she brushed her teeth and washed her face and combed her hair smooth before pulling it back. She slipped into flannel pajamas taken from her top drawer, ignoring the much too-large McKinley High Athletic Dept. t-shirt that was folded neatly beneath her pillows. She turned off her light and climbed into bed and forced her breathing to slow.
But she could not make her eyes close. She could not capture sleep.
Because now she was thinking; all sorts of things, way too quickly, and she could not make it all stop.
She was a girl who was used to thinking fast (and talking fast, and moving fast; she had a bright future she was hurrying towards, after all) but this was different. This was all blurred and heavy, dizzying.
She was distracted by a hollowing sensation in her belly, a scorching in her throat, an ache at her temples. She laid in agony.
And she wasn't really sure why.
Was it the anger that was wreaking havoc on her body, or the jealousy eating away at all sense in her mind? She was emotionally hurting, was that why she felt like she was still suffocating after every breath?
She was falling apart, but did she even have the right to be? This didn't really change anything, did it? Anything important, anyway?
Like he said. It was before they were together.
Before they were in love.
He'd still picked her, hadn't he?
He'd wanted her, loved her, spent the last five months at her side.
Didn't that all count for more than one night with Santana…before?
She thought she knew that it did. But it felt like a complicated math equation. One where she suspected she had the right answer, but still needed to carefully check her work. Maybe it was a multiple-choice quiz. Those always tried to trick you.
Her mind began to replay the saga of her and Finn Hudson, from the moment they had met. She stared through the dark and saw over a year's worth of her life flash by, almost every important moment somehow devoted to him.
She woke to morning light, unsure of how or when she'd finally fallen asleep. Unsure of how his t-shirt had gotten curled up in her hands.
Still, she got up and went through the motions of a typical Saturday morning. But her legs felt sluggish, heavy, as she forced herself onto her elliptical. Her decaf soy latte was thick and bitter in her throat. Not a single thing in the latest New Yorker sparked even a glimmer of interest.
When the afternoon arrived she finally gave up all pretenses, curling into her favorite oversized armchair and watching the drab November day pass slowly, grateful her fathers weren't home to witness her melancholy.
She was almost mad at herself for being surprised at all, being shocked that something like this would happen. Since she'd met him, had she not told herself countless times that he was out of her reach? That he couldn't possibly fill the role she so desperately wanted him to? Because real life wasn't anything like a musical, and no matter how great their voices sounded together, girls like her didn't get to end up with guys like him?
But even as she tried to scold herself with "I-told-you-so"s, she knew that these things weren't really true.
If he couldn't fill the role she'd wanted him to play, it was only because the real Finn was so much better than she'd ever dared to imagine, and loved her more than she'd ever thought to dream. In the last five months she'd learned they went well together in many more ways than just vocally.
Like how she fit perfectly on his lap.
And how they each only liked certain colors of Sour Patch Kids (her: orange and yellow, him: green and red) so they could split a single bag whenever they went to the movies.
Or how they both wanted a collie because of old Lassie reruns.
And how sometimes when there wasn't anything good on TV he liked to listen to her read from Harry Potter out loud, and didn't mind that she used the opportunity to practice her British accents.
No matter how much easier it might make things, she honestly could not doubt for a second that Finn truly loved her. And she could not regret having taken the risk that he'd hurt her when she'd kissed him again last spring. Even knowing how lost she felt now.
She wasted hours, tucked into herself, crying sometimes softly, and wondering where they could go from here. She'd decided nothing important had really changed, but somehow things still felt different. And she wondered when or how she'd be able to look at him and see only that he loved her. Not that he loved her, but had still given something she'd wanted badly to someone else.
When the house began to darken as the late afternoon slipped towards an early sunset she dragged her tangled limbs from the chair and made some soup. She blew on it softly, sipping at it while the steam floated up against her face. It tickled. And the sensation made her smile.
It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, and already that smile felt foreign to her features. And suddenly she was desperate to not have that be the case anymore.
She set her dinner down quickly, and rushed up to her room. She bypassed the mirror entirely as she threw her hair in a ponytail and pulled her coat tightly around her frame. Making her way to her car she tried to write a script for what she needed to do, what she wanted to say, but by the time she'd driven to his house and parked the car she had decided whatever felt right in the moment would probably be best.
She was relieved that his truck was in the driveway, and also that his mother's car was gone. She knocked on the door tentatively at first, but then remembering who she was there to see, gave it harder pound before standing still to wait.
He opened the door and she almost collapsed. He looked awful.
Still beautiful, of course. But drained and weary. Like even a simple smile would be foreign to him too.
He blinked slowly, twice, and she assumed that meant he thought he was unsure of what he was seeing. She reached forward without a word and took his hand, and when he stepped back in surprise at the contact she pushed her way in and started the familiar route to his room.
She let go of his hand to turn and shut the door behind them. She unhurriedly removed her coat and hung it on the back of the desk chair for some last minute stalling, but she felt him watching her intently so she finally forced her gaze back to his.
She swallowed desperately when she saw through the tears in her own eyes that his were wet too.
She took the two steps necessary to stand right before him, and still without a word passing between them, she leaned down and forward to kiss him lightly.
A sob broke the silence at the meeting of their lips, and she wasn't completely sure but she thought the cry had come from him.
She could feel how tense his entire body was even through this minimal, almost-motionless contact and she internally questioned whether he didn't respond because he didn't want to, or because he was afraid she'd pull away if he moved.
She drew back and opened her eyes gradually, taking him in. He remained still, eyes shut, back straight. He sounded like he was struggling to breathe.
"Finn. Look at me."
Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her own ears, roughened from being so unused all day.
His eyes opened, and she saw hope in them, but it was floating beneath what she suspected were sadness and caution.
It was so difficult for her not to throw her arms around him. She wondered if he felt that way too.
"I need you to understand that I'm not angry with you. Because I can see how terrifically unfair that would be." She cleared her throat a little, trying to regain at least a little sense of self. "You were right, it was before we were together. And I lied too. Maybe you should have told me sooner, but I'm not sure it would have hurt any less if you had."
He winced a little, but she soldiered on and noticed her voice strengthen with a sudden simmering fury.
"But I am angry, over a million other things. Circumstances and fate. Your choices, mine. I'm so angry with Jesse for getting in the way, and Shelby for putting him there. And, I'm so furious at Santana I could scream. For being so careless about things that should matter, and thinking everyone else should be careless too. For undoubtedly taking for granted something that I would have cherished for the rest of my life."
She hated that his face crumpled at her words when she honestly hadn't been trying to make him feel worse, but she needed to say all this and she did need him to listen, so she looked away but she didn't stop.
"I hate how envious I am, Finn. I guess I hadn't really thought about how much it meant to me that we'd get to be together first, that way, because since we started dating I assumed it was going to be a given. And now that I know it's impossible, that someone else already has something I'd unconsciously been counting on? It's like no other feeling I've ever had. I feel as crazy as everyone else always thinks I am right now. I desperately want something I truly cannot have, and it's maddening. But I know that I can't blame that on you. I wanted to be your first, but I had no right to just expect it. Your actions only have to measure up to who you want to be and what you want from your life. What I want has nothing to do with it. You made me no promises. You didn't owe me anything."
He tried to interrupt her there, an anguished first syllable of her name slipping from his mouth in rebuttal. But he froze when her eyes returned to his, pleading.
"I'm saying this because I want you to know why I needed to leave last night, and why I needed to isolate myself all day. But I'm not finished yet, because I also need to tell you why I'm here now."
She moved to sit beside him, not quite touching but so close she could sense that he was shaking. She moved her hand to hover over where his rested on his lap then she took a deep breath as clasped it tightly.
"It was never a matter of if I could get over this. Just of when. And I came here tonight because, no matter what, I could never willingly go back to that place where you weren't mine, to that time when I had no right to just kiss you because I wanted to. And I can't pretend, even for a day, that losing you is a price I'm capable of paying. I want to be with you, Finn. I've always wanted to be with you. And now that I am, I'm not going to let us be something else Santana takes from me. I'm not okay with it all just yet, but I know that I will be. And I needed you to know that you were right; we love eachother and we can get through anything."
She was momentarily stunned as all the weight of his existence, physical and otherwise, launched at her, enveloping her totally. He was so warm and his hold on her was crushing her in the most welcomed way, and she could taste relief on his skin as she pressed her lips to his neck. His voice was muffled by the fabric of her sweater and the flesh and bone of her shoulder, but she knew what he was saying clearly as the "I love you"s vibrated through his chest.
He clung to her as minutes passed, maybe hours. She didn't mind.
When he finally released her from the lock of his arms, he sniffled and wiped at his nose with his sleep. Rimmed in red, his eyes were still breathtaking, and she ran her thumb in a caress along the top of his cheek to remove the last of his tears.
He spoke softly. "I really am sorry, Rach."
"I know. And I'm sorry, too."
They sat another moment, just breathing and watching each other, before his eyes flickered to the pillows behind her and she caught the question in them. She nodded, just slightly, and waited for him to lay down and find a position that was comfortable, before fitting herself into the limited space beside him.
His head was turned to face her, a tiny smile pulling at just the edges of his lips. "You still love me."
She whispered as she kissed him. "I really, really do."