Setting Rain on Fire 8/?
Chapter Eight: Not Myself
“I need you more than you'll ever know. I still do, willing to let it show.”
Silence, Aly & AJ
I snap the phone shut with a loud snap. For a short moment I just sit on the ground, thinking the information through. It’s a struggle to sort through my emotions. I have no idea how I feel, or how I should be feeling. Vengeful? Relieved? Angry? Murderous? I think all I feel is hollow.
A car horn blares and I’m pulled out of my muddled thoughts.
Brittany.
I jump to my feet, shoving my phone into my pocket. I continue walking the direction I was initially headed, towards McKinley. In my mind I’m sorting through memories, creating a mental list of all the places where she might have disappeared off into. The duck pond? She still can’t stand the sight of ducks. BreadStix? That would be my go-to place, not hers. Her parents’ house? What for, they’re not there anyway.
McKinley High comes into view and I pause for a moment to sweep my eyes over it. There are so many memories here, both horrible and precious. This is the place where I once felt imprisoned in my own skin. But this is also the place where I learned the freedom of loving completely - and joys of being loved back.
And I realize Quinn was right. I do know where she is.
I walk slowly. The hallways feel familiar and strange at the same time. The lockers have been replaced, and the walls repainted. But I don’t lose my way; I don’t even make a wrong turn. My feet know exactly where to take me.
The door to the choir room is open, and I can see her. She’s sitting on a worn out chair by the grand piano, leaning against it while idly tracing in the dust. The words ‘sad panda’ rush into my mind.
“Hey Britt.” I call out softly, walking into the room. Her head lifts and turns to my direction. She stares at me for a few minutes, her expression slightly dazed.
“You found me.” She breathes. I walk over to her, pulling over a chair and taking her hand lightly in mine.
“Yeah, I did.” I pause. “Are you alright?”
She nods absentmindedly for a while, then adds, “I was getting a bit worried. You took really long.”
I feel guilty for a moment. “I’m sorry. Quinn called.”
She looks at me sharply, gripping my hand. “Did she tell you?”
I nod in response. She looks down again, staring at the pattern she had formed over the piano. I lean slightly to get a better view of it, and my heart contracts painfully when I realize they’re letters.
Nicholas
* * *
The choir room feels a bit like home.
Especially now that Santana’s here, holding my hand in hers in the silence. I want to apologize for not telling her earlier about the phone call, and for leaving her the way I did, but she’s staring at the letters I’ve written on the piano lid, a distant look in her eyes.
So instead I pull her close towards me, tightening my grip on her hand. She says nothing.
“I wish,” I begin tentatively, “I wish we could have brought him here.”
I feel her tense against me, but I just hold her even closer until she relaxes again. She inhales slowly. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
I shrug slightly, and she turns to face me. “So many things happened here. So much of who we are today is because of things that happened in this room.” I look around the room and for a brief moment I see shadows of our past selves, surrounding us in smiles and tears and laughter. “It just feels kind of fitting, you know?”
She makes no response for a while, then nods thoughtfully. She turns away again, and whispers, “I wish a lot of things.”
I feel tears forming in my eyes, because I know exactly what she means. I push my cheek to her shoulder.
“Sing to me.” I say softly, already half wishing she didn’t hear me. But I hear her breath hitch, and I know she has.
She gets up from the seat slowly and looks at me.
“Only if you dance with me.”
I feel myself swallowing. Somewhere in my mind I realize exactly how much we’re asking for from each other. She hasn’t even hummed since the funeral, and I can’t even nod to a beat.
I feel my head move up and down once before I can even think about it. She takes both my hands and pulls me gently to my feet, moving towards the open space in the middle of the room.
She turns to look at me, and takes a deep breath.
“Suppose I said, I am on my best behavior?
But there are times I lose my worried mind.
Would you want me when I’m not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?”
I feel a lump forming in my throat, and I drape my arms around her shoulders and pull her closer. Her arms encircle my waist, and I feel her chin press against my shoulder, so she’s singing directly into my ear.
“Suppose I said, colors change for no good reason?
And words will go from poetry to prose?
Would you want me when I’m not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?”
Slowly, we spin around the room. I feel my shoulder getting wet, and I realize she’s crying. Just like I am. I pull her closer until space is nonexistent.
“And I, in time,
Will come ‘round.
I always do.
For you.”
She pulls back gently until she’s staring me straight in the eye. She presses her forehead against mine and finishes softly,
“Suppose I said, you’re my saving grace?”
**Not Myself - John Mayer
“I need you more than you'll ever know. I still do, willing to let it show.”
Silence, Aly & AJ
I snap the phone shut with a loud snap. For a short moment I just sit on the ground, thinking the information through. It’s a struggle to sort through my emotions. I have no idea how I feel, or how I should be feeling. Vengeful? Relieved? Angry? Murderous? I think all I feel is hollow.
A car horn blares and I’m pulled out of my muddled thoughts.
Brittany.
I jump to my feet, shoving my phone into my pocket. I continue walking the direction I was initially headed, towards McKinley. In my mind I’m sorting through memories, creating a mental list of all the places where she might have disappeared off into. The duck pond? She still can’t stand the sight of ducks. BreadStix? That would be my go-to place, not hers. Her parents’ house? What for, they’re not there anyway.
McKinley High comes into view and I pause for a moment to sweep my eyes over it. There are so many memories here, both horrible and precious. This is the place where I once felt imprisoned in my own skin. But this is also the place where I learned the freedom of loving completely - and joys of being loved back.
And I realize Quinn was right. I do know where she is.
I walk slowly. The hallways feel familiar and strange at the same time. The lockers have been replaced, and the walls repainted. But I don’t lose my way; I don’t even make a wrong turn. My feet know exactly where to take me.
The door to the choir room is open, and I can see her. She’s sitting on a worn out chair by the grand piano, leaning against it while idly tracing in the dust. The words ‘sad panda’ rush into my mind.
“Hey Britt.” I call out softly, walking into the room. Her head lifts and turns to my direction. She stares at me for a few minutes, her expression slightly dazed.
“You found me.” She breathes. I walk over to her, pulling over a chair and taking her hand lightly in mine.
“Yeah, I did.” I pause. “Are you alright?”
She nods absentmindedly for a while, then adds, “I was getting a bit worried. You took really long.”
I feel guilty for a moment. “I’m sorry. Quinn called.”
She looks at me sharply, gripping my hand. “Did she tell you?”
I nod in response. She looks down again, staring at the pattern she had formed over the piano. I lean slightly to get a better view of it, and my heart contracts painfully when I realize they’re letters.
Nicholas
* * *
The choir room feels a bit like home.
Especially now that Santana’s here, holding my hand in hers in the silence. I want to apologize for not telling her earlier about the phone call, and for leaving her the way I did, but she’s staring at the letters I’ve written on the piano lid, a distant look in her eyes.
So instead I pull her close towards me, tightening my grip on her hand. She says nothing.
“I wish,” I begin tentatively, “I wish we could have brought him here.”
I feel her tense against me, but I just hold her even closer until she relaxes again. She inhales slowly. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
I shrug slightly, and she turns to face me. “So many things happened here. So much of who we are today is because of things that happened in this room.” I look around the room and for a brief moment I see shadows of our past selves, surrounding us in smiles and tears and laughter. “It just feels kind of fitting, you know?”
She makes no response for a while, then nods thoughtfully. She turns away again, and whispers, “I wish a lot of things.”
I feel tears forming in my eyes, because I know exactly what she means. I push my cheek to her shoulder.
“Sing to me.” I say softly, already half wishing she didn’t hear me. But I hear her breath hitch, and I know she has.
She gets up from the seat slowly and looks at me.
“Only if you dance with me.”
I feel myself swallowing. Somewhere in my mind I realize exactly how much we’re asking for from each other. She hasn’t even hummed since the funeral, and I can’t even nod to a beat.
I feel my head move up and down once before I can even think about it. She takes both my hands and pulls me gently to my feet, moving towards the open space in the middle of the room.
She turns to look at me, and takes a deep breath.
“Suppose I said, I am on my best behavior?
But there are times I lose my worried mind.
Would you want me when I’m not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?”
I feel a lump forming in my throat, and I drape my arms around her shoulders and pull her closer. Her arms encircle my waist, and I feel her chin press against my shoulder, so she’s singing directly into my ear.
“Suppose I said, colors change for no good reason?
And words will go from poetry to prose?
Would you want me when I’m not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?”
Slowly, we spin around the room. I feel my shoulder getting wet, and I realize she’s crying. Just like I am. I pull her closer until space is nonexistent.
“And I, in time,
Will come ‘round.
I always do.
For you.”
She pulls back gently until she’s staring me straight in the eye. She presses her forehead against mine and finishes softly,
“Suppose I said, you’re my saving grace?”
**Not Myself - John Mayer