"It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, but rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears." ~Kahlil Gibran

She's standing by the piano, her shoulders tense and posture rigid. She looks up at him and he notices the moment of hesitation in her eyes, that small little flicker that gives him a reason to continue to hope.

It only takes a few words for that hope to be crushed.

"It wasn't even that big of a deal," she shrugs, "when it was over I wondered why I was so nervous in the first place."

He swallows back the bile and forces a smile. For a minute it feels like he can't breathe and then his heart slowly cracks. "That's great, I'm so happy for you." The lies flow off of his tongue easily, disturbingly so. He's not sure if she sees the pain in his eyes or hears the catch in his breath but there is something there, in the features of her face.

It almost looks like regret.

Minutes later he finds himself sitting in his chair, watching the people around him sing. He knows he should be joining in, but as much as he tries he cannot force his mouth to move.

It's too late.

He's too late.

The bile is rising, burning his throat, and he finds himself up and out of the room before he even thinks to tell his feet to move. His shoes skid against the tile, his breathing is ragged and as he reaches the bathroom door he feels the burn in his eyes.

He knows without a doubt that he has no right to feel this way. He is the one who pushed her away, the one who hurt her time and time again. He's also the one who met up with Santana in that trashy motel and gave himself willingly to her.

But even as he thinks it, he also knows that knowing and feeling are two completely different things and he can't stop the pain from spreading through his chest.

"I need to get out of here."

"Then go the fuck home," a voice calls from the doorway. He turns, shocked to see Puck standing looking at him with confusion on his face. "Quinn sent me," Puck mutters his brow furrowed, "she thought you were upset."

He doesn't feel the need to say anything. Puck doesn't feel the need to stay and wait for an answer.

He doesn't feel like he can concentrate on his driving, which only seems to make it harder for him to do. There are flashes of the mailman, the cracked windshield, and shaking he pulls over to the side of the road.

It's then that the images start to taunt him.

Rachel and Jesse are together in bed, he's hovering above her and her hair is fanned out around her face. Her cheeks are flushed and he is grinning down at her.

His hands shake as he grips the steering wheel, eyes clenched tight at the barrage of thoughts.

Jesse is thrusting inside of her and her head is thrown back, mouth open wide in ecstasy. His hands are all over her, claiming her as his lips claim her mouth.

He feels dizzy, nauseous, and he rolls down the window trying desperately to gasp in the fresh, clean air. No matter how much he breathes it doesn't help the pain.

He can see her face and hear the sound of her crying out for more. Jesse is above her, grunting as he continues to pound into her. Suddenly she is coming and his name falls from her lips. "Oh god, Jesse."

Finn is surprised to find there are tears in his eyes and he sweeps them away quickly, each shaking pass of his fingers shedding the evidence of his hurt.

"I love you, Jessie."

He finds himself out of the car, his legs making long strides down the sidewalk towards one of the local parks. He knows it isn't far from where he is, and he can leave his car there and pick it up later. As much as he would like to be, he is in no condition to drive.

Finn plops down on one of the swings, amazed at how close to the ground they actually are. He remembers them being taller when he was younger; now his legs are scrunched and he can barely rock back and forth in them.

She was on top of him, her body moving back and forth. Jesse's hands dig into her hips, guiding her movements, and Rachel throws her head back in ecstasy. "So good, Jesse."

It's as if his brain is on autopilot and he can't get the images to stop. They burn through his body and he feels his heart break a little.

'This is your own fault,' he tells himself as he rises from the swings. 'You hurt her and pushed her away. Now she has found someone else and you will have to deal with the consequences.'

He can still picture her face that day by the lockers when he told her he needed to find his inner-rock-star. The way she had looked so defeated and her body had crumpled in a little bit.

'That was your fault.'

It isn't until later that night when he is laying in bed that the truth hits him like a ton of bricks.

He loves her.

He loves her.

The pain of the realization bubbles in his chest and he finds himself reaching over to his phone. He may not have her now, but that doesn't mean he should give up. He punches each key distinctly, letting the letters blaze across the bright screen.

"Good night, Rachel."

He hits the send button and watches the little envelope disappear, letting him know his text was sent.

He doesn't know what to expect, but not a minute later his screen lights up in reply.

"Good night, Finn."

He smiles at his phone and closes his eyes pushing out all images but one; the one he will fall asleep to.

She is laying in bed, phone in hand, and a smile on her face.

Well this is my first Glee fic, so let me know what you think! :)