who // rachel berry, mentions of shelby corcoran, and honestly most of way out!
what // rachel tries to sleep off her hangover before her set, but her brain won’t stop moving
when // wednesday, september 26th
Rachel had spent most of her life trying to just figure out who she was. Was she a performer, an actress, a singer, a writer? Did she want the spotlight, or did she prefer the quiet? Was she straight, gay, something inbewteen? Did she love Effy, or Nathan or the guy who did a shot of tequila out of her belly button who wound up in her bed that night?
Now she was on tour, surrounded by artists who inspired her, who could both bring her best and worst side out, depending on the day, the moment, her own attitude. It only made things more confusing, more isolating.
Spending the entire night out with Kitty was a stupid idea, in retrospect, she knew that. But she’d spent a week on the sidelines, a week playing second fiddle. And she was Rachel. Rachel Barbra Berry - she was number one. She was the one everyone was supposed to be talked about. And she’d ensure she was, no matter what it took.
They had hotel rooms, but Rachel slunk away to the tour bus instead, hoping to catch a small nap in her small bed. Instead, she lay there, staring at the bunk above her, holding onto an old stuffed bear she brought with her for good luck, her mind whirring at a thousand miles an hour.
This tour was supposed to be her big break. She was supposed to behave, to keep her diva-tendencies in check, to make friends and put her name out there. And she’d been trying, so hard. Harder than anyone probably realized. Because they didn’t know that her first instinct was to be annoyed that Tina Cohen-Chang had started the tour with a scandal that overshadowed everyone else before they even left California. Or that she was tired of Ryder’s spiral just because he didn’t know how to separate sex and love. Or that she was annoyed at the lack of time Sam spent with her, choosing to go spend time with a girl who was blatantly trying to screw over her own band with Rachel’s fake boyfriend. Or that she was jealous and pissed that Tina had slept with Jesse while she was supposedly with Ryder.
She was keeping those things quiet. It was better that way, she knew. Because if she told everyone what she truly felt, she’d be left on her own, making far more enemies than friends, and it would be an incredibly isolating three months. Her reputation as a bitch would ruin her ability to tour with others in the future, her name slandered as another spoiled child star who never bothered to find a true talent outside of the spotlight.
There weren’t many people Rachel could honestly talk about these things with. She felt like maybe, one day, Kitty could be that confidante. Already, there were little slips she’d let out that gave her true feelings some space to breathe. Because Kitty was suffering in her own way, a torn heart between who she was and who she pretended to be. It was something Rachel could understand, could empathize with. And never once did Kitty try and usurp her talent - no, she supported her, and Rachel felt the same. Together, she felt stronger with Kitty. Powerful. Like maybe she could handle the bullshit so long as she had Kitty there to forget it all with at the end of the day.
But that relationship was still too new, and she wouldn’t put that kind of strain on it. So instead, she called her mother; her fathers would never understand, of course, though they’d try endlessly. But Shelby would. Shelby had tried her hand on the Broadway stage for years, being shunted aside for others less deserving before she started her own family. And if Shelby couldn’t put things into perspective -
“Sorry, babe,” Shelby’s voice sounded winded, and Rachel frowned, figuring the now 8 year old Shelby called her own was demanding her attention, “I can’t really talk right now. But I’ve seen videos and you’re doing amazing. Keep it up, okay?”
Rachel threw her phone across the bus, shoving her face in a pillow to quiet her scream.
All she wanted was one person. One person to understand, to listen to her, to feel what she felt inside. One person who could even begin to comprehend how it felt to want the entire world, to want everything and still feel as if they were getting nothing in return.
She’d just have to put it into her music again. To perform in front of a new crowd, and hope there was one person out there, one individual that might connect. And maybe they’d find Rachel, or Rachel would find them, and she could finally, finally feel like herself again.
