Chapter 1

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---- Italics is Quinn ----

"I look forward to graduating Yale at the top of my class." Who gives a crap about grades? One of the thing I had realized in my four years of Yale was that I don't matter.

You couldn't see me from a few miles away, you can't see the earth from a few light years away, and you can't see the sun from a few thousand lightyears. You can't see the milky way if you're standing in the universe next to us.

If Stephan Hawking was right, and he usually is about this type of stuff, then I am as infinitely small as the multiverse is infinitely big.

Everyone will die, and everyone will be forgotten. Soon Shakespearean poetry will just be a collection of scribbles, instead of my minor. Nothing matters.

In senior year I had said that I was looking forward to graduating at the top of my class. I am, I have achieved that. But, there is no satisfaction in it.

I pushed and clawed my way to get parts in plays, and student films. But by my junior year I can't remember the part that had taken me months to memorize from a little under a year ago.

I had always said to let go of your past to keep moving forward. I tried so hard. You have to understand before you continue this that I tried! I tried forgetting and moving on, I cut my connections with almost everyone from glee club, I stopped talking to my mom regularly, I threw myself into my work. I dated Biff! Biff! None of it worked.

I have been holding myself together for years. My sanity has been hanging by a thread, so what does it matter if my necks hanging from a rope? Is there that much of a difference? Will anyone notice the difference?

After four years at Yale, I know the answer to that. It's no. Everyone will be forgotten, I might as well get a head start.

No one has forgotten me more than her. She moved on to bigger and better things and left me in the dust. Which is how I found the perfect song for my audition. Another pointless audition.

I found, throughout my time at Yale that I was rather like Robin Williams. The only thing that helped me remotely was more and more work. I had my lucky picture in my pocket and I set off to one of the many theaters on campus.

The musical I was auditioning for was student run, about a girl who talked to trees but then got Alzheimer's, and thought people were trees, so she buried alive the people in her nursing home. It was, of course, a metaphor for the cold war. The title was TREE, and I had half a mind to call up Brittany when I heard about it. Even I knew, with my sanity hanging by a thread, that this was one fucking weird play. I was auditioning for it because I wanted to do one final one before I died. Or graduated. Whichever came first.

The door to backstage was unlocked and I had a minute to adjust my makeup before I went on. I wondered if she was doing the same thing right now. I wondered if she was thinking about me right now. Of course she wasn't, but it was fun to think about sometimes. By fun I mean painful, very painful, like getting into a fight with Santana, painful. I took out the photograph of her and kissed it one last time before I went on. There were corners missing, edges were ripped and burned, there were several fold marks going through the center. She still looked so beautiful though, you can't take away from beauty like that.

I never could, not with a hundred slushies. I mounted the stage.

"Hi, I'm Lucy Fabray, and I'll be singing My Immortal, by Evanescence." the director nodded and I began.
"I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears." Why was I am so afraid of dying? Why couldn't I just do it?
"And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone." If I was going to forget her, I wanted to do it immediately, I'm so sick of thinking about her all the time!
"These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me

You used to captivate me by your resonating light." She was always a star, even when she was stuck in Lima, Ohio.
"Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams." I had been dreaming about her since I first saw her in soft more year.
"Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me." How many times had I listened to her rendition of Don't Rain On My Parade? Eight billon, fourth three million, 28 thousand and six times, thank you very much.

"These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along" I put my hand in my pocket and felt the small photograph.

"When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me." I finished the song and looked around at the director. She had an eyebrow raised.

"A strange song selection, this is an upbeat musical." She said trying to sound lofty.

"How is it upbeat? It's about murder!" The director looked rather scandalized, I gave her a classic Quinn Fabray smirk, even though that wasn't who I was anymore.

"That's only one element! It's a metaphor, of course, to sex! The feeling of euphoria you get after really good sex!" I wondered if the girl in front of me was a virgin. I certainly wouldn't have been surprised.

"It's about the Cold War!" I yelled back at her, even I had lost the train of thought behind this.

"H-how dare you! Get off my set!" She screamed. I rolled my eyes and strolled off leisurely. Whatever. I went out the exit and slammed the door.

And just like that the fragile string holding me together fell apart. Except there was no one to rewind it this time. There was no brunette to keep me alive. There was no, in short, Rachel Berry.

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