Rachel slumped down on the ground next to 7-eleven, chuckling bitterly that this was where she'd wound up, right where she'd been so many times before.

She pulled the crumpled composition notebook out of her bag, and opened it, reading words, now familiar.

Dear Rachel,

I know you're never going to read this, if I'm honest with myself, I can admit it's my own fault. This thing inside me is just another disgusting reminder of how I've fucked up.

She lit a cigarette, her mascara caked around her eyes as she remembered.

I only ever wanted you. Since we were kids, I watched you singing quietly to yourself in the corner of the schoolyard, and wanted to know you. Santana told me you were weird, and icky, and I listened.

Guess it's ironic that now she's your friend.

She sniffled hard, wiping her nose on a sleeve.

I know you're smart enough to have figured out by now it was the same night. What you may not have realized is from his bed, I came straight to yours.

I know I treated you like shit. I had to. I didn't know how else to deal.

Rachel flicked her finished smoke away, and read the last.

So even though I laugh at you, and call you names, and have his disgusting spawn in my belly... I love you. And I probably always will.

Now that Mr. Schue and Mrs. Schue broke up, I'm stuck with this thing, so I'm just gonna be grateful that Puck and you look a little alike, and name her Rachel, when I'm far away from here.

I know it doesn't count for much, but I feel terrible for what you've gone through, and I'm so happy Santana helped you. It nearly killed me watching you destroy yourself, I've almost told you so many times... but I couldn't.

I still can't. I don't know what's wrong with me, why I can admit it to myself, but not to you. Maybe I'm afraid you wouldn't feel the same way, maybe I'm afraid you would. Maybe I'm scared that God will strike me down like my daddy always told me He did to gays.

I just can't.

Rachel placed the book on the concrete, and slowly, carefully, knelt next to it. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a lighter, and lit the edge of the cover, watching as it slowly began to burn. Standing, she pulled a baggie out of her pocket, slit it open, inhaled its contents, and walked away, her back to the tiny blaze.