Rachel's had pretty much the same plan for her life since she was 12. She was going to graduate high school (with honors, of course), and her incomparable talent would win her an easy admission to Juliard NYADA. In school, she'd star or support in every play they put on and when she graduated, she would live off of her trust fund (of course, with scholarships and her father's support, not to mention voice tutoring students who wanted to broaden their talents, she wouldn't need it while she studied) for the 6 months, tops, that it would take her to land a Broadway or Off-Broadway role. By 25, she'd have a Tony and after she won that, love would be easy. She'd never have to compete with girls like Santana and Quinn (in Rachel's dream world, a stripper and a disillusioned housewife by now) again. She would be pick of the litter. She'd be the one who turned heads as she strolled down the street, decked out in whatever designer duds her personal designer (Kurt Hummel, of course) dressed her in. She'd be grown up, beautiful, experienced, perfect, and men would flock to her. She'd have her pick, and only the smartest, most attractive, most talented (in his field and out) would be given her time.
And when she felt ready, when she knew he was the one, she'd give herself over to him and it would be as perfect as the rest of her life. Passionate and amazing and all the things the movies say that losing your virginity can't be. Soon afterwards, they'd have a perfect, lavish wedding in Central Park (also planned and designed by Kurt Hummel) and after honeymooning (she could never decide on Paris or Italy), they'd return home and after two years, she'd retire from her show (or if her show came to an end soon before that, she'd stop auditioning) and they'd plan a family. As much as she'd loved growing up an only child, she'd always wanted more than one child of her own. More than two. Once plans were solidified, they'd settle down and have children.
All of this, she'd written down and revised, over and over, for 6 years. And the day she left for New York, she'd stood in her room and poured over it. All these hopes and dreams that seemed so far away, so impossible now, and she'd been near tears when there'd been a knock on her door jamb. When she turned, she'd come face to face with Noah, who'd only smiled and nodded to the picnic basket in the corner. Food for the ride. Grab your shit, Berry. We're gettin' the fuck outta here. is all he'd said before he headed down the stairs to the truck idling outside.
And when she pitches the notebook into the wastebasket near her bed, she thinks maybe, the part about that amazing, talented boy who loves her, who makes her feel more perfect and beautiful than Santana and Quinn will ever be, is the only part that matters. That it's the only part she got right.
Maybe 2 or 3 months ago, if they'd slipped up, embracing their mistake would have been easier. Sure, there probably would have been anger. Fear. But coming to terms with what they'd done, getting excited, would have been infinitely easier. But now? She'll have to back away from her dream job, give up everything she's worked so hard for and the fear that she'd resent Noah and/or the baby is worse than the thought of having to give up Wendla. Because she loves him. She knows that he's an amazing father and that she could never ask for anything better for her child. And she can't do that to him again. She can't be the one who makes him feel like he's not. Like he can't be. Like he's not good enough all over again. Thankfully, they both agree that now's not the right time and he's agreed to be as careful as she wants to be.
Not that that matters, right now.
"I know." Her voice gives out, turns to nothing but air as he drops his hips down and slips inside, so easy, as if he's made to be there (maybe he is). Her nails dig into the palm of her hand and she whimpers, chasing his lips for more of those soft, lingering kisses. "I love you. I love you so much. So much."
no subject
JuliardNYADA. In school, she'd star or support in every play they put on and when she graduated, she would live off of her trust fund (of course, with scholarships and her father's support, not to mention voice tutoring students who wanted to broaden their talents, she wouldn't need it while she studied) for the 6 months, tops, that it would take her to land a Broadway or Off-Broadway role. By 25, she'd have a Tony and after she won that, love would be easy. She'd never have to compete with girls like Santana and Quinn (in Rachel's dream world, a stripper and a disillusioned housewife by now) again. She would be pick of the litter. She'd be the one who turned heads as she strolled down the street, decked out in whatever designer duds her personal designer (Kurt Hummel, of course) dressed her in. She'd be grown up, beautiful, experienced, perfect, and men would flock to her. She'd have her pick, and only the smartest, most attractive, most talented (in his field and out) would be given her time.And when she felt ready, when she knew he was the one, she'd give herself over to him and it would be as perfect as the rest of her life. Passionate and amazing and all the things the movies say that losing your virginity can't be. Soon afterwards, they'd have a perfect, lavish wedding in Central Park (also planned and designed by Kurt Hummel) and after honeymooning (she could never decide on Paris or Italy), they'd return home and after two years, she'd retire from her show (or if her show came to an end soon before that, she'd stop auditioning) and they'd plan a family. As much as she'd loved growing up an only child, she'd always wanted more than one child of her own. More than two. Once plans were solidified, they'd settle down and have children.
All of this, she'd written down and revised, over and over, for 6 years. And the day she left for New York, she'd stood in her room and poured over it. All these hopes and dreams that seemed so far away, so impossible now, and she'd been near tears when there'd been a knock on her door jamb. When she turned, she'd come face to face with Noah, who'd only smiled and nodded to the picnic basket in the corner. Food for the ride. Grab your shit, Berry. We're gettin' the fuck outta here. is all he'd said before he headed down the stairs to the truck idling outside.
And when she pitches the notebook into the wastebasket near her bed, she thinks maybe, the part about that amazing, talented boy who loves her, who makes her feel more perfect and beautiful than Santana and Quinn will ever be, is the only part that matters. That it's the only part she got right.
Maybe 2 or 3 months ago, if they'd slipped up, embracing their mistake would have been easier. Sure, there probably would have been anger. Fear. But coming to terms with what they'd done, getting excited, would have been infinitely easier. But now? She'll have to back away from her dream job, give up everything she's worked so hard for and the fear that she'd resent Noah and/or the baby is worse than the thought of having to give up Wendla. Because she loves him. She knows that he's an amazing father and that she could never ask for anything better for her child. And she can't do that to him again. She can't be the one who makes him feel like he's not. Like he can't be. Like he's not good enough all over again. Thankfully, they both agree that now's not the right time and he's agreed to be as careful as she wants to be.
Not that that matters, right now.
"I know." Her voice gives out, turns to nothing but air as he drops his hips down and slips inside, so easy, as if he's made to be there (maybe he is). Her nails dig into the palm of her hand and she whimpers, chasing his lips for more of those soft, lingering kisses. "I love you. I love you so much. So much."