A New Beginning

Once at home, I blared my music to drown out my thoughts before sitting down in the middle of my bedroom floor in a meditative position. I had gone to therapy, and I had figured that I was better. In fact, I’d almost forgotten that the whole event occurred, since I was in a whole new place, a whole new beginning.

If only Santana hadn’t brought up our deal. I would be fine, and what happened in Texas a year and a half ago wouldn’t be tormenting me.

It only took a few minutes for me to get my mind back to where it usually was: normal and calm. Mostly.

The flashbacks stopped coming, and I was able to sit down on my bed and get my homework done within a decent amount of time.

The day that I had scared me deep down to my core. After all the time that had passed, I figured that I would have been better. Well, I was…most of the time. But the periods of serious lowest-of-lows that I had made me realize that I was still recovering, still maturing.

For a girl who had been pretty strong and independent all her life, it was pretty damn frightening.

* * *

The next day at school, Finn walked with me everywhere, always looking at me from the corners of his eyes. I knew he was trying to be subtle about it, but he wasn’t doing such a hot job.

“I’m fine,” I finally told him, laughing a little. “Really. I just had a bad day yesterday.”

He didn’t seem completely convinced, but he nodded anyway. “Okay.”

I let out a small sigh that I didn’t let him hear. “You know, if you ever want to talk about whatever was going on…you can talk to me.”

For a second, I stared into his eyes and took a deep breath. “I appreciate that. Thanks.”

* * *

Later that night, I was playing around on the piano in the basement, trying to work on converting (I Hate) Everything About You by Three Days Grace into a softer, more emotional song. It had been an ongoing project for me, but with the move, a lot of time had passed since I'd had time to work.

A sense of overwhelming joy filled me as my fingers finally brushed against the smooth ivory keys once again. It was as if, just for a while, I could slip away from the world around me, disappearing into my project, my work. It was rewarding, too, when I could play the whole song through, without any hitches or tone problems, even if I never performed for anyone else to hear me.

Upstairs, I heard Aunt Marisol talking and assumed she was on the phone with one of her friends. She was always too loud when she was on the phone. It got annoying sometimes, but I was used to it.

Instead, I just worked on playing a little bit harder, a little bit louder, to try to drown her out. To try to dive headfirst into the music and lose myself.

Right after the song was finished with a few inconsistencies, I leaned forward to the staff paper in front of me, working to try to fix a few notes.

“Wow,” said a voice from behind me.

My pulse quickened through my veins and my eyes went wide. There was no way he heard me sing. No way. He must have just heard the end, the last bit with the music. No one had heard me sing, not really. Not when I was trying.

Slowly, I turned around to face Puck, trying to keep my heart from leaping into my throat.

“Why aren’t you a part of Glee Club? Your voice is…you’re really good.”

It was strange, seeing him so…not cocky and stuck-up. Like he’d been at school. And, apparently, he’d forgotten my freak out.

“It’s a long story,” I mused, closing the top of the piano. “So, here to screw Santana?”

“Returning her shirt, but she’s not home.” He held a white tank top in his hand to emphasize before putting it down on the chair. “She left quickly last time we-”

I held up a hand to stop him before getting up from my seat. “Really. I don’t need the gory details.”

He raised his eyebrows and smirked, clearly willing to give me details. “So, you never answered my question.”

“I said that it was a long story. That not answer enough?”

“No.”

Sighing, I conjured up a lie as quickly as I could, “It’s just that I need time away Santana, you know? It’s bad enough having to live with her, but having to see her at a club function, too? No thanks.” After observing his face for a second, I let out a small laugh. “And you’re probably the last person that I should be whining about her to…considering you guys are kinda close.”

“We don’t really talk a lot,” he reminded me, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Ah, right. I don’t understand that. You don’t want to be in a relationship with someone, love someone? You just want a buddy that you can have sex with when you’re feeling horny?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Rolling my eyes, I pointed toward the door. “Well, I want to get back to playing, so if you don’t mind, can you leave?”

“Why? You can just pretend I’m not here and keep playing like before. Trust me. I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do. I don’t like people watching me perform. It’s a personal thing for me. Another reason why I would never join Glee. So please…leave.”

He got close to me, so close that I could feel his warm breath on my face, as he whispered, “But you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

Struggling to keep my cool, I pushed him away from me. “And I won’t ever. So just get out.” All traces of my polite behavior were completely gone as I pointed toward the door. He already had some strikes against him, being a jackass, as well as invading my personal time. Not that he gave a damn.

He shot a smile, alerting me that he was not in the least bit offended (to my dismay), before making his way up the stairs, the aged wood creaking under his feet.

Clearing my throat, I turned around and sat at the piano, fixing a couple more notes that I remembered were off. Though I knew I missed some, thanks to Señor Mohawk throwing off my groove.

So I started to play again, closing my eyes as the revised soft introduction filled my mind, trying to forget everything once again.

Every time we lie awake
After every hit we take
Every feeling that I get
But I haven’t missed you yet.