A/N: So basically I was writing a little mini-fic for a graphic I made on Tumblr, and the words poured out and I wrote wayyy more than expected. So I guess I'll have a little fic here. A couple chapters possibly, based mainly on this past Tuesday's episode. My sparks of writing ideas are few and far between, so I thought I might as well keep typing and publish it! Enjoy, and please review if you like.

She thinks she understands what Finn meant now. About digging deep into the depths for that pain. She thinks of My Headband and lets out a shuddery laugh and sob rolled into one. How did she ever believe that could be a legitimate song to perform at Regionals? She doesn't have some emotional devotion to her hairthings. Her headband isn't there for her, much less anyone else in her stupid, stupid life.

She tries. She really does. She knows she's overbearing, and loud, and dramatic, and occasionally selfish. She knows she is possessive of solos. Is there really anything wrong with wanting to be successful? Having a dream? Trying desperately to be a part of something special? Her fellow Glee clubbers act like friends, sometimes. Mostly for their own gain. To win the contest of the week, to get a boy, to get a scholarship, something like that. And their little snide comments after almost every word she said. One alone doesn't hurt much. But all of them together? It's like a punch, right in her gut.

She doesn't understand how she deserves this. She tries to be nice. She bakes cookies. She compliments them. At the end of the day, Rachel Berry is still that disgusting chewed piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe. Quinn Fabray telling her that she's better than this town is nice, but wait for it! Rachel's going to end up heartbroken and alone as well. And Finn's going to be a mechanic? Finn had told Rachel long ago that he had his heart set on being the head of Glee club someday. The choir teacher, a football coach, anything but a mechanic

Rachel scribbles furiously in her notebook.

That bitch. Quinn Fabray.

That bitch. Santana.

That asshole. Puck.

That sweet girl who starts MY fashion trends but takes the credit. Brittany

. My stupid mother who abandoned me. Shelby.

That damn liar who threw an egg at my face. Jesse.

That bipolar jerk-that-I-still-love. Finn.

She writes pages and pages about how much she hates them. And loves them. But mostly, hates them. And how they hate her. And then the words flow out. Little piano keys dancing in her mind. A slushie mess of words.

I'll get it right this time. I will.