Hi my lil luvs. Back again.
Before i start i have two very big thank yous. 1)Wifey 2)Brie (Yellowbrie3) for correcting all my british slander for the american spelling.
This fic has been in my drafts for a whole year or so and i sort of lost my love for glee. At this point im just using the characters as a baseline. All mistakes are 10000000% mine and ill own them because everyone worked hard.
All copyright goes to whoever and whatever. Just dont be a snitch about it. Don't steal my story either hoes.
Anywhos, later chapters will be tougher reads i think, which is why im going with explicit. Havefun, dont get triggered.
luv u all xx
On a crisp Saturday night, the close-knit gang eagerly ventured out into the bustling streets of New York City. It had been a few years since their college graduation, and life had led most of them to the vibrant heart of the city. Finn remained rooted in Ohio. Despite the distance, Finn made it a point to visit his long-term friends whenever he could. The periodic reunions were a cherished tradition, amongst a few of them.
The only person they didn't know about was Rachel. After senior year, they had all lost contact with her. Not intentionally, of course. Instead, she went off the grid. No one could find her. A day after senior year, they all went to her house only to find out her dads had put it up for sale.
A few of the glee members had noticed Rachel wasn't herself. She became distant and quiet in the final weeks of school. No one tried fixing it, though. They all let her slip away- of course, they regretted it - some more than others. She just remained a topic unspoken about between them all. Although most of them thought the same, her name was almost like Voldemort-she who shall not be named.
Yet they continued to enjoy themselves. They had ended up in a bar in Lower Manhattan called The Back Room. It was rather significant, with substantial leather seats, stools lining the counter, and deep red and orange hues. It was along a strip of clubs and bars. They agreed on the bar specifically because it had a stage and a house band playing that night. They weren't looking to get wasted, just to have a good time and to enjoy some good company.
With all their drinks ordered and flowing, they chose a sizable leather couch on the far side of the bar, away from the crowds and a reasonable distance away from the stage. Everyone was engaged in separate conversations, laughing and catching up on things over the last few weeks, until a slightly tanned man appeared on the stage.
"Wassup' folks!" he cheered into the mic. There were a few wolf-whistles, Santana being one of them. Most of the audience just hollered and shouted, which he gave a cheesy grin at.
"My name is Brody, and I'll be performing with this wonderful house band- The Stereo Bodies," he gestured behind himself, "and tonight I have an exceptional guest with me. Her name is Rachel," the bar roared excitedly. Most of the glee group just whistled and cheered.
"We will start with Creep by Radiohead!" He stepped back, conversed quickly with the band, and returned to the mic.
When you were here before,
Couldn't look you in the eye,
You're just like an angel,
Your skin makes me cry,
His voice seemed to hush the crowd. Floating over everyone, he was good, outstanding, in fact. As he sang, it was as if you could almost glimpse the raw emotion on his face. Each note carried the weight of his feelings.
Oh, you float like a feather,
In a beautiful world,
Oh, I wish I was special,
You're so fucking special,
Her voice was magical. It sounded like velvet, caressing the ears of everyone listening. There she stood. It had been over four years since anybody had seen her.
"Holy shitballs," Santana whispered, gaping earnestly. She couldn't tell if the alcohol was playing tricks on her, but glancing at the rest of the table, they saw the same thing.
"It can't be right?" Puck gulped, feeling his stomach churn at the sight. Rachel had lost weight. She was ridiculously fit in high school, yet looking at her now, she looked frail and exhausted. Her voice was still so silky; she had training at some point, although she never really needed it, in their opinion.
Oh, but I'm a creep (I'm a creep),
I'm a weirdo (I'm a weirdo),
What the hell am I doing here? (What the hell am I doing here?),
I don't belong here,
Rachel tightly gripped the microphone in her hand, her fingers almost white from the pressure. She was well aware of the unspoken rule: she couldn't outshine him. A heavy sense of foreboding loomed over her, a reminder that there would likely be consequences waiting for her at home if she dared to overshadow him.
She had been encouraged to inject emotion into her singing; that was the only way to keep the audience engaged. The fear of becoming dull and losing her audience's interest weighed on her. She couldn't help but acknowledge that people were growing weary, their patience wearing thin. She knew, deep down, that her voice could have soared even higher, but she was forced to rein it in.
As she belted out the notes on stage, she desperately hoped that Brody wouldn't catch a glimpse of the patrons' expressions.
A bar staff was passing by collecting empty glasses when Finn called him, asking, "Do they perform here often?" The staff member frowned. "They're our favorite duo, though he's a dick. He beats that girl up far too much and comes in with black eyes and bruises. Shit is fucked up, man," he said, turning to the stage. "We tried to talk to her, but she don't wanna hear it," he finished collecting the glasses and returned to the bar.
Oh, don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control, oh, oh,
And I want a perfect body,
I want a perfect soul,
She met Brody at NYU, studying Drama and Theory of Broadway. Brody had taken such a strong interest in Rachel that she quickly fell under his spell. He was charming, sweet, and romantic until they moved in together. He would starve, beat, and tell her things that would mentally berate her. Over the four years, she had come to lose those around her, the most brutal loss being her fathers.
I want you to notice,
When I'm not around,
You're so fucking special,
I wish I was special,
Brody moved his head to look at her. He wanted her to understand every word. She needed to know she would be nothing when he wasn't around. Rachel trained her eyes on him, feeling her hair stand up; of course, she noticed when he wasn't around. It was the only time she could cry or breathe freely. She would jump or cringe at every sound she heard, even though she knew he was no longer in the building.
As she was taking her breath for the chorus, she caught sight of gorgeous hazel eyes blazing into hers. As she scanned the rest of the table, she saw them all. Every single person she never wanted to see again.
But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo, What the hell am I doing here, I don't belong here.
She had missed her lines, too caught up in the faces looking at her. Brody frowned, having not heard her sing. He turned to face Rachel, which snapped her out of her trance. She looked back at him with worried brown eyes. His frown deepened, staring straight back. He was pissed. Rachel knew she had messed up big time. Undoubtedly, the Glee club would come looking for the singer after the show, most likely when Brody used her as his punching bag.
Ohh, ohh.
He's running out the door,
He's running out,
He's run, run, run, run, run.
Rachel gave it her all, belting out every note with an intensity that bordered on recklessness. At that moment, she simply didn't care anymore. She was acutely aware of her prior mistakes, and in her mind, overshadowing him was just another layer of the mess she had already created.
On the side-lines, Brody watched with a shake of his head, attempting to clear his cluttered thoughts. Her repeated mistakes were frustrating, and he couldn't help but feel that, by now, she should have been better trained. The mounting frustration lingered in the air, amidst the music and performance.
"I think I'm gonna' vomit," Kurt held his hand over his mouth, looking pale. Tina and Mercedes nodded their heads in agreement.
"Kurt, I'm asking you as nicely as possible. Be quiet," Santana huffed, keeping her eyes on the brunette, flicking between Rachel and Brody.
"Why don't we just beat him up?" Finn asked, red as a beetroot. He couldn't believe what the waiter had said to him.
"Don't be stupid, Finn, "Quinn retorted firmly, her voice laced with a touch of exasperation. "There's no evidence. And even if there were, think about it; he hasn't done anything to us. If we jump into this without proof, it's us who'll get into trouble, not him." With a dismissive roll of her eyes, Quinn continued, "I mean, for all we know, that dude could be lying."
Santana spun her head towards Quinn, "Does it look like he's lying, Q?" she angrily asked.
Whatever makes you happy,
Whatever you want,
You're so fucking special,
I wish I was special.
Rachel slowly reopened her eyes, the world coming back into focus. Brody's gaze, intense and unsettling, bore into her like a dagger, his eyes aflame with an anger that sent a shiver down her spine. Turning her attention to the rest of the glee club, she noticed their huddled conversations, it was evident that something Finn and Quinn had said had upset them deeply. Rachel couldn't help but wonder why no one had reached out to her. Her mind drifted back to the countless missed calls from her fathers. She remembered how Brody would casually pick up the phone, acting like everything was fine. But the calls eventually dwindled, she couldn't blame her fathers; maybe they had given up hope, just as everyone else seemed to have done.
But I'm a creep,
I'm a weirdo,
What the hell am I doing here,
I don't belong here, mm,
I don't belong here.
As the final lines of the song reverberated through the bar, the audience erupted in a thunderous applause, a deafening chorus of appreciation for Rachel's performance. She seized the moment to make a swift exit, not daring to look back and see if Brody was following her.
In the dimly lit mini dressing room, she snatched her coat from its hook, her fingers trembling with a mix of worry and unease. She knew she had to act fast. Without a second thought, she made a dash for the fire exit that led into a narrow, dimly lit alley. The cold air outside hit her like a shock, causing her heart to race even faster.
Her thoughts raced as well. What if the group came looking for her? How would she explain her sudden departure? Would they even realize she was gone? Panic coursed through her body, each breath feeling more labored than the last. Rachel pressed her back against the wall of the alley, gasping for air and trying to steady her racing heart.
"Are you alright?" Rachel heard the voice. The panicked girl knew who it belonged to. These used to be her friends who bullied her relentlessly and never believed in her. The friends that left her.
"You need to go," Rachel choked out. She didn't dare look up. Her arm rested on the wall, with her head resting against it. Her heart was slowing down, though she was still gasping for breaths.
"That's what you have to say. After four years, Rachel, that's it?" Quinn hissed out in a panic. She was angry. Angry at herself for letting her love go, angry at herself for not looking for her, angry at herself for letting this happen to Rachel.
"Don't, Quinn," she heaved in a sob, "you don't get to come here and lecture me," she clenched her eyes shut.
"But I do get to do that, Rachel. You're not you. You've changed. Is it true?"
"Is what true?" Rachel snapped, her head whipping up to clash with those same hazel eyes, those same hazel eyes that proceeded to let her down time and time again.
"Don't play dumb with me. Does he hit you? Does he beat you, Rachel?" Quinn's voice softened once she realized the severity of the situation, which she didn't want to be true. She wouldn't wish it on anyone. Quinn needed to hear it, though, from Rachel. She needed to know how she could get Rachel out of this situation and back home with everyone again.
"It has nothing to do with you, Quinn," Rachel said boldly, finding some strength to face her high school love. However, her boldness was short-lived. Her panic was filling her head again with the bile rising in her throat. Brody would soon be coming out to find her. She didn't know what would happen, she was already in shit with him, but to be in even more, she didn't know how to deal.
Quinn silently studied Rachel's face, looking for anything unusual. She found faint scars and old bruises. Her eyes traced down further, seeing similar signs along the other girl's forearm, which were slightly on show.
Rachel's eyes flicked down out of embarrassment and shame. "Look, I get it, alright? You know my father wasn't the best man," Quinn took a step closer, "all I want to do, Rachel, is-is to help you and to be your friend, once again…"
Rachel found herself struggling to process Quinn's words. It was difficult to fathom why, after all this time, Quinn would suddenly express a desire to be her friend. A wave of suspicion washed over her. Could there be some hidden agenda, a twisted motive lurking behind Quinn's unexpected offer?
Before Rachel could even vocalize her questions and doubts, Quinn continued speaking, leaving her little time to digest her own thoughts and feelings.
"I understand you don't trust me, Rachel. I wouldn't expect you to. I just need you to believe me, okay? Puck is in there stalling, Brody, so I can get you out, so you can be safe with us. I know it's a lot to take in. Believe me, I know. Please, I can- Santana can get you somewhere much safer," pleaded Quinn. Never once breaking eye contact with Rachel in an attempt to convey her truth.
Rachel's mind felt like it was caught in a whirlwind, thoughts spiraling and colliding with each other. Each time she attempted to grasp one idea, another came barreling in, creating a chaotic mental storm. As Quinn spoke, Rachel managed to muster only a single word in response, her voice tinged with uncertainty, "Stalling?"
"I don't know how long Puck can keep him, so I need you to trust me. Make a run for it. I don't know everything, so you can decide later on. All of us want you safe, Rach." Quinn hadn't meant to call her that. She was just highly aware of how much little time they had. She needed that small bond, something Rachel would surely notice.
"I can't…" sobbed Rachel, instinctively rubbing her belly. The action was not unnoticed by Quinn, who, by even her surprise, caught on to what Rachel was implying. A lot of complications bombarded Quinn, nothing she couldn't manage; of course, she just needed to get Rachel out now.
"You can. I promise you-"
Quinn's words were abruptly interrupted by a deafening crash, succeeded by a pained groan. Brody stumbled out of the exit door. He appeared disoriented, his steps unsteady.
Acting swiftly and driven by a protective instinct, Quinn reacted by positioning herself in front of Rachel like a human shield; she stood ready to face whatever unforeseen threat had emerged, determined to protect both of them from harm.
"Ah," he grunted, "I found you. Oh!" he carried on in mock surprise, "Who is this beauty?" He gave a suggestive look towards Quinn with a slight smirk on his face.
"Quinn, the pleasure is all mine," she falsely greeted and held her hand out to shake his.
Brody's cast downwards to the outstretched hand before him, but he offered it no acknowledgment. His mood was far from accommodating, and the prospect of making friends or engaging in any form of social interaction, especially with the girlfriend who had effectively sabotaged their performance, was simply out of the question. To say that he was merely "pissed off" would be an understatement.
Brody looked around, searching for that small girl, which stopped when he realized Rachel was not there. He overlooked that minor detail when he stumbled out of the bar. "I don't suppose you've seen that girl…Rachel?" Brody kept looking around like she was going to appear from thin dust. His attention was now back on Quinn.
"I can't say I have." She lied easily. Although, she may have failed to mention to Rachel that Santana would get her anyway, with or without her consent. There was no way she was letting Rachel go this time, certainly not with that abusive prick.
Quinn felt a pressure in the small of her back, which she knew well. Puck. It was something they started back in college. He saved her that day. "Hey, I see you've met Brody." The two of them had this weird connection. The lies would flow out, though both knew it was better this way. One for Quinn's safety, who could take down men twice her size. It doesn't hurt to have backup and a witness sometimes. Quinn turned, smiling at Puck nodding, their eyes speaking a thousand words to each other.
"We really must get going, Bazooka, our dog is probably going wild at home," he chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. Puck stuck his hand out for Brody, adding how much it had been a pleasure to meet him along with the band, cringing deep within, trying his hardest not to kill the guy there and then.
As the duo hurriedly retraced their steps to locate Santana and Rachel, a somber moment enveloped them. Puck turned to Quinn, his expression filled with remorse. It had become a familiar routine, the apologies he offered whenever he played the part of Quinn's pretend boyfriend. Deep down, he knew it wasn't right. With each sincere apology, the burden seemed to grow heavier.
In that moment, a silent understanding passed between them. They both knew that the battle was far from finished. Their immediate focus had to shift to Rachel, ensuring she received the help she needed. But lurking beneath that shared purpose was a simmering resolve, a determination to deliver swift justice to the one responsible for their current predicament. That son of a bitch was destined for a reckoning that would send him straight to the depths of hell.