I've gotten a few requests from people to post my P/R drabbles here... I've finally caved. Each of these oneshots are unrelated one-shot prompt fills from the LJ Puck Rachel Drabble Meme.. So for those of you who are having issues with livejournal or don't have an LJ account, here ya be.
Prompt from GoingVintage: "He's going to be here in ten minutes, Noah! You've got nine to convince me not to go with him."
I've never really considered myself a good person. I mean what kind of person actually does? I know that it's a fucked up thing to think, to say, but sometimes you just got to lay it all out there on the line as it is. I'm selfish, I get cranky if I don't get my morning coffee, I curse worse than a sailor, and sometimes I deal with my emotions by fighting. That's not to say that I haven't done honorable things in my life. I go to synagogue with my Nana sometimes, for years I was the primary care giver to my little sister, and I gave a baby girl away that I loved more than anything else because I knew her life would be better because of it.
I also let the only girl I felt like I could ever love go, because I thought she deserved better.
"I can't pretend that this is nothing." Rachel had whispered. Her voice was filled with anguish as she looked up at me; eyes brimming with tears.
"I know," I responded my hands reaching out for her one last time. I had brushed the tangled and matted hair from her face, my eyes clenched tight. Then I leaned down and pressed my lips gently against her forehead. The smell of her hair triggered something inside of me and suddenly my lips were covering hers.
I could feel the sparks shooting through my body, my hands tangling through her hair to pull her closer, tighter to me. She let out a soft moan, her neck arched backwards as her breathing cascaded through the air around us. For a moment I pictured what it would be like, what we would be like and then I let her go.
"You leave tomorrow."
She had tears streaming down her face, streaking the pink of her cheeks. I watched her hooded eyes, close, her head shake softly. Then she simply nodded. It didn't need to be said that it would be better this way; that we were over. I could feel my arms aching to reach out and hold her, to give her some form of comfort. Instead, I stood and watched her walk down the street and out of my life. Her eyes never turned to look back.
And for some reason, I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever get over her.
I'm in the carport walking back to my car when my pager goes off. I let out a curse under my breath as I dig in my pocket for the thing, praying it's not work calling me back in. It's after eight and all I really want to do is get in my car, go home, and drink some fucking beer. I pull out my cell phone and dial into the hospital, listening to the monotone beeping as it connects me.
"Bout fucking time, Puckerman! Could you like make me wait any longer?" Santana, who is a pro at bitching through the phone, seems to be using what she knows. "I've got some fucking news for you that is just going to make your day." I can hear the sarcasm in her tone and find myself pinching the bridge of my nose.
"I've literally had like the worst fucking day, San. What can you possibly say that's going to make it any worse?" My voice is grainy and a bit growly, the frustration and stress of the day wearing on my nerves. I'm sick of my job, the bullshit of it all. I need a nice long vacation or at least a different line of work.
Her laughter is like pure evil and I get a nice little taste of it as I arrive at my car and unlock my door. I'm just sliding the key into the ignition when she lets the bomb drop, literally.
"Rachel and Alex are eloping."
I only told Rachel once that I loved her. We were six years old at the time. Shut up, fuck you, it so does count; because even though we were far too young to understand the repercussions of such words, we were old enough to be able to say them and think we knew what it meant.
I was horsing around on the playground, trying to figure out just exactly how high and far I could jump off my swing without hurting myself, when I saw her. She sat on one of the benches by the sandboxes, the ones normally reserved for parents or babysitters, with huge teardrops dripping down her face. The braids in her hair were frizzy and her shirt was covered in mud but the thing that really drew my attention was the huge scrape across the skin of her knee and the streak of blood that ran down her leg.
I had found myself sitting next to her moments later, fascinated by the wound. There were small bits of sand and gravel ground into it and it looked really painful. I remember looking up into two of the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen and thinking that there was something special about them.
"You okay?" I questioned, my hand making its way to her back, to gently rub it in a soothing manner. It was something that my mother had done for me a few weeks prior after my father had left us. There was something in the movement of it, in the way the feeling started in one spot and spread outwards that had made it special. I hoped it would work for her, too.
"It hurts, bad," she had whimpered, her eyes clenched tight as she tried to look away from it. I looked around the park at all the parents, trying to figure out which one was hers, but was confused to find that none of them seemed to be paying her any attention. "I knew I shouldn't have snuck out to come to the park."
I couldn't help but laugh at the guilty look on her face as she looked at me sheepishly. If she didn't have an adult here to take care of her, then I would have to do it. I remember pulling the candy cigarettes from my pocket and handing them to her, telling her that they would help. She pulled one out, took a bite out of it and sniffled through a smile.
It was probably one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. When her tongue snaked out to lick the sugar off her lips she turned to look at me with stars in her eyes. "I love you."
I had never had a girl (other than family that is) tell me that she loved me before. I felt like such a badass and couldn't help but smile in response. "I love you, too." I had replied, shrugging as I nudged her with my shoulder. And the thing was I actually meant it.
I know lying is bad and all that bullshit, but what did you expect me to do? The moment I hung up with Santana I found myself dialing my boss. When I explained that I had a family emergency, that I wouldn't be in for a couple of days, and that I had to drive home he was more than understanding. Honestly, the guy's a bit of a lazy ass and I could have told him my cat died and he wouldn't have wasted the energy to question me.
Pulling onto the highway, I sent a single text out, my eyes focused on the road as I pressed the keys.
I'm on my way –P
It was easier to imagine that things were different, easier to pretend that I hadn't fallen so far. I pulled my hand back, letting my wrist snap as the slushie flew through the air and splattered across her face. I watched her mouth open in shock, her fists clench as she bit her tongue to hold back her scream.
And I laughed.
As the other football players swarmed around me, their hands clapping me on the back in congratulations I watched her storm off leaving a small puddle in her wake. I was getting everything I ever wanted; a spot on the team, acceptance, friends.
But I couldn't help but wonder about the pit in my stomach and the quiet thought that suddenly everything had changed.
I'm less than an hour away when I get a text back. I've been driving all night in a truck with no air and a radio that only works some of the time. I'm pretty sure I smell about as awesome as I feel, but all I can really think about is the fact that I might be too late.
Where the fuck are you? You're going to miss her if you don't hurry your ass up! – S
Once I reach the city limits, traffic is brutal. I've heard horror stories about getting stuck in New York City traffic and I'm starting to believe them. I'm basically sitting at a standstill, checking the clock on my phone every twenty seconds, when I realize that I'm not going to make it.
I do the math in my head, my eyes scanning the street around me as I contemplate my next move. My phone buzzing basically makes the decision for me.
He's on his way. You've got thirty minutes, tops. Where the fuck are you? –S
I pull my car over to the side of the road, ignoring the honking horns around me as I cut a few people off. I figure I've got a mile and a half to run, two tops. I let my feet hit the pavement, dodging and swerving past the crowds of people.
I run until it hurts to breathe and then push myself and run some more. I haven't run this much since high school and I can feel the effect of it wreaking havoc on my body. My muscles ache and scream in protest but, surprisingly, I find myself relishing the pain of the movements. At least I am feeling something other than the ache in my chest.
I keep my phone clenched in my fist, bringing it up to my face to check the time with every few blocks that I pass. At each red light, I find myself pacing as a few curses are muttered under my breath. Each minute that ticks down makes me push just a little bit harder.
I can't lose her again. I just can't.
"Your Mom keeps looking at me funny," Rachel whispers. I crank my head around to find my Mom and Nana ogling the two of us. I swear you can almost see the drool pooling on their chins.
"Sorry," I reply, my shoulders shrugging as I turn back towards the stage. My sister is up next and I can sort of see a small chunk of her through a gap in the side of the curtains. "She's crazy. You know how like in love with you she is. She's probably planning our wedding." I listen to the soft giggle beside me and can't help but throw my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to me.
"I've missed this, missed you." She's quiet, her eyes watching the small girls on stage twirl and tumble. I can tell by the way her brow furrows and the edges of her mouth bend that she heard me though. It's been two years since we graduated from high school, two years since I kissed her goodbye and watched her walk away into the sunset and into her new life.
It hasn't gotten any easier.
"Noah," she whispers, her eyes turning away from the stage to look at me. "I think I need to tell you something," the way the words fall from her lips, all soft and gentle, make my heart ache. "I've met someone. His name is Alex and he is in one of my dancing workshops."
My hand stills in her hair, dropping the tendril I was curling around my finger. I look into her eyes, let the words settle in, and pull my arm down off of her chair to rest in my lap. I can see my sister moving onto the stage in front of us, feel my heart beating in my chest, and let the words tumble from my lips.
"I'm happy for you, Rach." And the thing is I should be. But as I watch my sister dance, watch each of her graceful movements across the stage, I can't help but hear the resounding echo of the crack that has just happened inside of me.
I'm leaning against the door jamb one hand resting on my knee as the other pounds heavily against the door. I can barely catch my breath, let alone stand straight so when the door whips open I find myself tumbling inside. "Noah!" Rachel hollers as she drops to her knees next to me. She's looking over me, grabbing my wrist to check my pulse, when I see Santana walk into the room. She shakes her head in amusement and then leaves. Bitch. I can feel the sweat pouring down my face and can't help but groan as I force myself to stand up.
"Rachel, don't marry him." Or at least that's what I'm trying to say. It comes out more like "Racheldon'tmarryhim." But I'm pretty sure she gets the drift because she drops my wrist, her mouth open in surprise.
"Who told you about that?" Rachel questions as her eyes dart back towards the living room where I can hear San laughing quite loudly on the phone. The bitch is probably calling everyone she knows to tell them what an ass I am making out of myself. The thing is that I find that I could give a fuck less as I look into Rachel's eyes.
They are still so fucking doe like and brown.
"Please, don't marry him." I've finally been able to catch my breath and the words coming out of me are starting to sink in because I can see the way she's looking at me with confusion on her face. I look down at my sweat soaked shirt and start explaining without her even asking. "I drove all fucking night to get here but got caught in rush hour traffic. I didn't want to miss you and the cars weren't moving, so I ran like two miles. No biggie."
Rachel has this look on her face that I can't quite read but it's a mixture between confusion, amusement, and embarrassment. I can't seem to force myself to say the words that I need to which, to be honest, really fucking sucks.
"He's going to be here in ten minutes, Noah!" She sounds out of breath and a bit panicky as she looks over her shoulder. There is a suitcase setting next to the stairs and I feel my heart drop into my stomach. "You've got nine minutes to convince me not to go with him."
I've never been good with words; which is how I find myself showing her what I am unable to tell her.
My hand reaches up, tangles in her hair, and yanks her down to me our lips meeting. They gently brush twice and then I find myself deepening the kiss, nipping at her bottom lip. The sparks are still there, shooting through my body, and my hands reach up to wrap around her waist and pull her closer. Our tongues touch and I feel her angle her neck adding to the pressure.
I can feel myself losing control, grasping her tighter to me and as I maneuver her on top of me she lets out a small moan into my mouth. When she finally pulls back her breath is cascading over my face, coming out in pants. I find myself leaning up and trailing soft kisses on her forehead, her face, eyes and nose.
"You shouldn't go with him because he's not me." I whisper, my hands brushing her hair back from her face so I can truly look at her. "Because every time you walk away from me my heart breaks just a little bit more." My voice wavers a bit as I continue and I find myself peeking over her shoulder to make sure Santana isn't standing there watching. "And because when I told you that I loved you when I was six, I had no fucking idea how true it was. How true it would always be."
She has a smile on her face and I watch the few tear drops slip down her trembling cheeks. I use my thumb to wipe them away watching each emotion as it flickers across her face. I can see the love shining in her eyes and I'm pretty sure that she feels it too, but I've got to get one last point in there that I know she can't argue with. "Plus," I reply trying to fight back a huge smile, "he will never really understand what it means to be a Jew."
Her neck arches as she throws her head back in laughter and I can't help but burry my face there. I'm taking in the smell of her skin and her hair and trying not to let out a huge groan when I hear the knock on the door. She looks down at me, her face blotchy and red from her tears, and I'm amazed at how beautiful she looks.
Her lips meet mine once, twice, before I find myself deepening the kiss. Her tears have made her lips taste different, salty in a way. For some reason, it doesn't bother me. I hear the click of Santana's heels as she brushes past us and whips the door open.
"Your services are no longer needed," A loud slam echoes through the entryway. Rachel pulls back, her mouth and eyes wide in shock. I'm biting my lip to hold back my laughter, my fingers digging into her sides to keep her from moving.
"SANTANA," she screams; her brow furrowing as she scowls up at her roommate, "That wasn't very nice."
"Like I give a fuck," Santana winks at me and traipses out of the room. For some reason, I can't contain the laughter any longer.