I don't know where this came from. I guess I just felt like writing something a little different today. Okay, just by the way, my last story, "The Grass is Always Greener" has been out for a week or two now. Guess how many reviews it got? 0. So, if you like this at ALL, (or even if you hate it) please still review so I don't get disappointed into thinking my writing is total crap.
Anyway, hope this isn't to sad for ya'll.
-xoxoSilveryInkLetteringxoxo
The piano was the only instrument she bothered to learn to play. Her father's said she didn't need to play instruments when she could make all the music with her voice. But still she learned, and her father's paid for her lessons, and practiced with her on rainy days, but every time she would miss a note, and cry because she was no good, they'd just remind her she didn't have to learn. But of course, she did anyway.
And soon, the piano became her sanctuary. Though she was hesitant to admit, singing wasn't always the best way to express emotion. There are some things words just can't describe. So every time she was sad and lonely, she'd lose herself in the ivory keys, and play until her hands were sore, memorizing every note, every sound the keys played.
She thought it was rather marvelous actually, that piano. Because that sweet, imperfect sound could be created with the press of a key. Whereas millions of people across the globe practiced daily to attain something to even the slightest resemblance to the piano, and her it was, at the tip of your fingertip.
Her father's always said that her eyes would light up at the piano, they said they could hear her voice while she was playing it, singing or not, like it just translated through the music. She wondered briefly what they would say if they were here, if they would say they could hear it.
She couldn't.
Because every time she touch the tip of the piano key she could feel the vibration in the air, feel, and sense there was music about, but she didn't hear the sound that had grown to comfort her all these years, all she heard were sounds like bullet shots, going off, piercing further into her heart.
But she kept playing, though she had no audience, and heard no music. Because she knew this was the last music she'd ever be able to make.
She wasn't sure when he found her. All she knew was that she hadn't stopped playing, she was afraid if she removed her fingers from the keys, she'd break, into a million even smaller pieces than already.
Needless to say she's still surprised when he walks in. And when he opens the door for a split second she can hear the buzzing of all the students in the hallway, and she can hear the laughter, and for a second her fingers trip and tumble over the keys. And for a second she wants to scream at the director of life, because he obviously missed his cue. The world should be crumbling around her, and the planet should be in tears, and the spotlight should be on Rachel Berry's last musical notes, the world coming to a stop.
But it's not. In fact she's the only one who's even paying attention to her. Just her and him now.
She sees him walk in with his cocky grin and usual swagger, and she wants to leap of her feet and yell at him until her voice is hoarse. She wants to tear him and scream, and make him feel the tiniest fraction of what she's feeling now. And she wants to cry and ask him why he had to be so cruel all these years, and rip away the slightest shot of her surviving something as tragic and horrific as this, giving her nothing, no one to fall back on.
But she's not sure how. Because she knows she's abrasive and bossy and conceited and wanted this, so much more than anyone else had every wanted anything. So none of them could ever feel the way she did right now. Not until they found Einstein and stripped him of his brain, or a goddess and strip her of her beauty.
Because they could feel it, to have something great and to lose it. Something that truly could have benefitted the world in the best way possible. To be an obsessed dreamer for years, and being torn from all hope.
So no, Noah Puckerman could never feel that. She wasn't sure if he even had any dreams.
"S'up Berry?" Her mind runs in turmoil trying on habit to pick herself up, and show no sign of weakness. Her brain moves a million miles per minute thinking of anything and everything she could possibly say until it's all lined up behind her tongue, waiting for its cue to tumble out. But it doesn't gets it chance, because Rachel just hesitates a moment before biting her lip, and beginning to play again.
This stumps him for a minute. Because she knows, even when she's mad, even when's she's truly ravenous she's never quiet. But he just continues to walk up, smile faltering slightly as he says with a grin, "Silent treatment huh?"
And she nearly opens her mouth to tell him politely to go away, or at least go back and send someone in who cares more than he does. But at the moment she can't think of anyone to replace him. At the moment she can't really think. And she really doesn't want to; it's just proceeding out of habit, and natural ability.
"What? You get dumped or something Berry?"
Jesse. She's reminded dully. The name triggers a memory, a break-up text just moment after the doctors' call. So obviously it hadn't been important at the time, as it wasn't that important now.
But yes, she supposes sourly, she did get dumped. But it wasn't his fault he picked the absolute worst day, worst hour, the worst minute in fact, to send the break up text. Text, by the way. He sent her a text, but he probably had Vocal Adrenaline practice to go to.
"Okay Berry, you're starting to creep me out. Aren't you gonna say anything?"
A little corner of her mind flashes with annoyance, but she lets none of it show. She just keeps playing the piano, pressing the keys to the rhythm, trying to tune him out in her mind.
What shall we do,
What shall we do,
With all this useless beauty?
All this useless beauty…
He stays by her side for a while after that, talking every now in then, getting more desperate each time. But she'd not really paying attention to anything other the humming in her mind.
She's trying to remember singing these words, and what it sounded like when she did. And in another corner of mind she was planning out what to say when she finally spoke again. A small, dryly humorous part of her was thinking of sending tapes of her MySpace videos to Broadway, just so they could know what they missed.
"Rachel!" His voice finally snaps her head up as she wills herself to turn away from the piano for just a moment, just a moment she promises herself. And so she blinks up at him, unaware of the expression on her face. But when she sees the pure, honest concern on his she feels a small tear fall down her cheek, and she feels ready to crumble.
Then the moment is broken by the buzz of a cell phone.
She hears him curse under his breath and she doesn't hesitate to turn back again. He fishes the phone out of his jacket pocket, and brings it back to the bench, where he sets it on the piano. She can faintly make out the name Kurt on the caller ID. Puck turns to her for a moment, before sighing and putting the phone in front of her on speaker.
"Hey Hummel."
And cry of outrage is heard from the other end of the phone. "Where are you?!" She hears multiple voices ring out from the phone. "You're on speaker." Kurt adds.
Puck sighs and runs his hand through his Mohawk. "Dude-"
Will's voice fills the room. "Puck, I know you might not like Glee, but we do need you here, and Rachel hasn't shown up and she's not answering her phone-"
"I'm with Rachel." Silence on the other end.
"What?" She hears Finn's voice echo.
"I'm with Rachel. In the auditorium."
"Doing what?!" She hears Quinn's voice ring shrilly.
"Look." Puck begins to explain. "You guys are on speaker too. Hear the piano music in the background? That's Rachel."
"Wait, why hasn't she said anything?" She hears Artie's voice at the other end, and winces at the mention of her name.
Puck eyes her for a second before answering. "I, I don't know." Puck admits. "She's being weird. I came in the auditorium and saw her playing the piano, but she's like, not talking. She's just sitting here looking like someone spit on her puppy and playing All This Useless Beauty over and over again, and she's not even, like, singing."
At this Rachel can't suppress the mangle sob that escapes her lips. It was loud and somewhat obnoxious, and no doubt they could hear it on the other end.
"Was that her?" Kurt asks quietly.
"Yeah." There's silence for a moment.
"Puck? This is Mr. Schuester, we'll be right down."
She tries desperately not to move, or even blink as the doors open again. In enter the Glee club, all wearing different masks of concern.
"Rachel?" She didn't look up to see who it was, she just presses down harder on the key, until it's as loud as it will go. A soft hand touches her shoulder, but she doesn't look up to see who it is.
"Rachel? It's Ms. Pillsbury, would you like to come to my office, everyone's worried about you."
She grits her teeth and presses down even harder, tears rolling down her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye she can she several kids shooting each other tentative glances. Then Finn walks toward her.
"Rachel-" He places a hand on her, which she shrugs away immediately, causing his hand to fall to his side dejectedly. That's when Santana speaks up.
"Come on RuPaul, stop being such a drama queen."
And just like that her hand freezes, her shoulder go rigid, and she turns around to face them. She has no idea what expression was on her face, all she knew was the second Santana saw it she shut up. In fact, for the first time since she'd known her, Santana looked genuinely scared, as did the rest of the Glee club. Then Rachel turned around again, her fingers pressing even harder on the keys, as if that would somehow help her situation.
"Rachel." Ms. Pillsbury said, trying again. "Why don't you just tell us what happened." Rachel just shook her head again, desperately trying to hold back tears, and she finally switches tunes, beginning Fur Elise.
She heard a scramble of chairs behind her. "Puck, don't-" But it was too late. Rough hands were already grabbing her shoulders, spinning her around to face him. And for a moment, green eyes met brown, until she lowered hers, forcing herself to look anywhere else. But he wasn't having that; he grabbed the sides of her face, and pulled her eyes toward his again.
"Rachel, what's going on?" Maybe it was because he actually seemed like he meant it, or maybe it was the audience around them, or the way his eyes flashed when he called her by her actually name, but she finally succumbed into speech.
Or the closest form of it anyway.
She jerked out of his hands and stood her legs sore from sitting for who knows how long. She walked carefully over to her backpack, her hands shaking as she unzipped it and took a large yellow folder out.
All eyes were on her as she rose, and slowly made her way back to the piano, a mixture of notes clashing together as she willed her head to fall forward on the keys, the precious yellow folder now in the hands of her teacher.
She couldn't see if he was reading it, or what part he was at, but she could feel it. She could sense the silence as his eyes passed 'lung disease', and 'infection of the vocal chords'
She though vaguely of the time she was little, singing in her room and being terrified when only a small squeak came out. And when she rushed to her fathers to tell them of her predicament she was met only by a sore throat and nasty cough. They laughed a little and told her it was not to worry, that it was only temporary Laryngitis. And she remembers coming out of the disease always promising herself that she would love her voice even more now that she knew what it was like without it. And she remembers thinking how awful it was to be born a mute.
But she was wrong. This was so much worse.
Because she had heard her voice, she knew what it sounded like and she fell in love with it. She had dreams for it, and depending on it, her voice just being a natural blessing to her. She devoted so much time to her, to making it perfect, and somehow it slipped through her fingers. It was just gone.
Just like that.
"Oh, Rachel…" She was surprised to hear such sincerity, and true sadness in the words, and she looked up to see Mr. Schuster, sitting with file in hand and all of New Directions reading over his shoulder.
And she was surprised as all of their eyes watered just as much as hers, and how a strange silence over took them all. She was surprised at the sympathetic looks and the pats on the back as she switched back to her original song.
And they all sat around her as she cried and played, because when Rachel lost her voice, she felt like she lost a part of the world, a part of her life, a part of herself. And they somehow felt that too.
So they held her hand and hummed quietly with her, mourning the loss of Rachel Berry.
All this useless beauty…
R&R!