A possible one shot. I'm not entirely sure.

That was wrong.

The thin red line, pointing to the dot that symbolised the number 95 was lying. She couldn't have lost weight. She knew she hadn't because she could feel the extra fat on her body, its presence lingered on her stomach, her arms, her face. She saw it there when she looked in the mirror. It had been there that very morning, all the disgusting fat that clung to her, the very reason she wasn't pretty, and now this device was trying to tell her she had lost two pounds.

Rachel scowled and climbed off them, giving them a nudge with her foot as she left the bathroom, not bothering to turn off the light as she did so. They were broken, she'd have to get some new ones as soon as she came out of school. The run to the store would do her good, help shift some of those pounds she had felt herself putting on with every scrap of food that had passed her lips over the past week.

Her feet carried her across the room, almost against her will and brought her to a stand still in front of her full length mirror. Looking at her reflection was not something Rachel liked to do, especially not now. Even less so in the morning before she had the time to apply the concealer that carefully covered the deep dark rings scarred under her eyes, the paleness of her skin and the ugly marks that covered it.

But a little make up could cover all that. It could give her skin some colour, hide the spots, the dark circles. A hot iron could sort her lank hair. With a dash of eye liner, she could bring out her eyes, the one feature she could actually stand on herself, and direct attention away from her nose. She could even fix her height with a pair of heels. But no amount of make-up could hide the rest of her body. That was still on view to the world, even when she hid it with baggy clothes. They could see her face, her round, podgy face that still held every once of fat she had tried so desperately to shift.

With one last filthy look at the girl in the mirror, Rachel turned away from her own reflection, disgusted. And ignoring her aching bones, her drooping eyes and her muscles screaming in protest, she plugged in her i-pod and climbed onto her exercise bike, forcing her moaning limbs to move, minutes leaking into hours as she forced her body to work to the chanting voice in her head, assuring her that it was what she needed.

…

It had not always been that way. There was a time she had loved her own body, even in the face of the taunts of almost everyone she came into contact with. Rachel had learned to ignore the comments flung her way about her height, her nose, her clothes, her personality and even her weight. She ignored each one of them, knowing that one day, she'd be the one on top and they'd be claiming to have been her best friend in high school. When that time came, Rachel would take no greater pleasure than in reminding them of just how much of a 'friend' they were to her.

But something changed when she joined Glee Club. Suddenly, the taunts were much worse. For a while, Rachel had thought she had found friendship. She'd thought that maybe, she would be able to join together with the rest of those in her school were at the bottom of the scrap heap, in the same position as her, but it just hadn't been like that, and somehow, their comments were even worse than those of the popular kids.

There was something about hearing the football team taunt her that slid right over her head, she knew they were just being jocks, proving their place and putting the losers in theirs. When they taunted her, even when they slushied her, Rachel didn't take it personally. She knew they'd do it to anyone, even one of their own as soon as they fell from the top. But the Glee Club, that was different. They were already on the bottom, they had nothing to lose by being kind to her, but still they could not manage it. Rachel was just a voice to them, and they let her know it.

But still Rachel forced the show face on each day and hoped that she would be able to rise above their comments just as she did everyone else's. She told herself they were just jealous of her talent, they wanted to be her and knowing they couldn't made them put her down. And for a while, that worked. Their comments hurt, but she was able to brush them off, at least pretend they didn't care, and comforted herself in the knowledge she would one day be on top.

Then she met Finn. And from there, for a while, it was all better. Rachel didn't care what the rest of the Glee kids thought of her, as long as she had Finn on her side, who had shown he cared about her. He had even kissed her, although he had Quinn Fabray, the hottest girl in school, head cheerleader, for a girlfriend. For the first time, Rachel wasn't just able to ignore the insults, but actually feel good about herself.

When he had broken up with Quinn, she had seen it as her chance. Her chance to be happy, to finally have someone who loved her for her, knew all the faults and still wanted to be with her despite the hate of the rest of the school. But it hadn't taken long for her to realise Finn was no different from the others. Or maybe he was, maybe she was the one who was wrong. 'To find his inner rock star' was the reason he had given for breaking up with her, but Rachel knew what that really meant. She just wasn't good enough, popular enough, pretty enough.

The loneliness had taken hold of her, stronger than ever until Rachel could barely breathe with it. She had started to look at herself differently, take notice of all the put downs, even those of the popular jocks, insults that had only grown worse in the weeks that had followed the Cheerios joining Glee. And when she started to notice them, she couldn't stop. They were all she heard, even when she was alone, everything that had ever been shot at her whirled around in her brain, making it impossible to believe anything else.

Jesse had been her one escape from all of that. The person who made her feel special, pretty almost. He told her sweet things, all she longed to hear. Words that could sometimes talk over the taunts, make her forget for just one moment how much of a loser she really was. His kisses took her somewhere else, some place she mattered and wasn't just a voice.

Just weeks after she had met Jesse, Rachel had found her mother. The one person she had longed for her entire life, and finally, she dared to believe she wouldn't have to wait until she was on Broadway to be happy. Jesse was wonderful, but he didn't understand her like her mother could. He didn't know what it felt like to feel so unpretty. He was on top, he didn't know the pain of daily insults and slushies.

But her mother would know those things. She knew how it was to have her dreams knocked down again and again, and finally, Rachel was going to have someone to talk to about all the thoughts in her head that told her she wasn't good enough, that someone would always be better. She'd have someone to tell about how ugly she felt, how horrible she even thought her own personality, something she had always prided herself on before Glee. And most of all, she was going to have someone to love her unconditionally.

Something inside Rachel had broken when her mom had wanted nothing more to do with her. She had known she was wrong somehow, but she had never thought her very own mother would see it too. She was supposed to love her. Clearly, her mom thought her just as unlovable as everyone else did. Then Jesse too. The relationship that had been a lie all along. And suddenly, every sweet word he had ever spoken to her, every kiss that had made her feel beautiful no longer mattered because none of it had been real.

Everything that had made her feel good about herself was gone just like that, and Rachel was back to hearing the insults, taking them in and listening to them over and over again like a record stuck on her least favourite tune. She heard them every time she saw her reflection, in the mirror, in a car windscreen, in her bedroom window, even on the oven door. They whispered in her ear even when she wasn't looking at herself, reminding her every last moment that she would never fit, never be who she wanted.

So she had decided to do something about it. And that time, there had been no one around to save her. Even when Finn had came along, a week later, it had been too late by then. Rachel was already in the grip of her own destruction. She couldn't believe him when he told her she was beautiful anyway, hearing only the voice of his inner rock star, telling her she wasn't enough.

…

School seemed like even more of a chore than ever that day. Rachel hadn't even wanted to go in, but she had a perfect attendance record and wasn't about to ruin that just because she was too lazy to handle a little exercise. It was nothing unlike she had done before. However, that day wasn't helped by the second slushie of the morning to hit her in the face, drenching her hair and clothes, clinging to her face and rolling down her neck, even reaching her bra.

Laughter erupted around her and Rachel resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. The students had seen her slushied over and over again, most of them had done it themselves at one point or another, so why was it they still got such a thrill out of seeing her humiliated? Had the novelty of seeing her dripping in flavoured ice not yet worn off? Was it really so amusing to see her crumble, the confident smile wiped off her face yet again? Clearly.

Blinking slushie from her eyes, Rachel hurried to the bathroom, cursing herself for not bringing a second set of spare clothes. She should have known she would get more than one facial. Why did she always have to be so stupid? She had been dumb enough to think people would actually like her in high school. That she'd be popular, loved, known. She was certainly known throughout the school. Known for being a loser.

The bathroom door slammed behind her as Rachel stormed into it, furious with herself and her peers for always putting her in this situation. A loser at the bottom of the tower. But perhaps if she were prettier, she'd move up. Perhaps if she were prettier, she would stop dragging down Finn with her. Maybe he wouldn't shy away from it when she tried to kiss him in the halls. Maybe he wouldn't laugh at Santana's taunts, maybe he would stand up for her and maybe, just once, he would be proud to call her his girlfriend.

The slushie had soaked her top through, but as she had no change, Rachel knew she was just going to have to live with it. Even so, she made a feeble attempt to shift some of it using paper towels, but soon realised it was pointless. She would have to take it off and change into the top she had been wearing first thing. It was also covered in slushie, but at least it may have started to dry out by now.

The top was half way over her head when Rachel heard the door swing open and immediately froze. She wanted to whip it back down again, hide what lay underneath her clothes, but for some reason, she didn't move. She stayed there, in the same position, hoping the person would go right into the cubicle and not look at her, that their gaze wouldn't linger long enough to see. But by the time Rachel did snap to her sense senses and yank the material back over her body, it was far too late. She knew by the hand that covered Quinn's silently gaping mouth that she had seen.

As quickly as she could, Rachel dashed into the nearest cubicle, knowing Quinn couldn't follow her there, and bolted the door, slamming it much harder than necessary.

One bell rung. Then another. And another. Still Rachel did not come out of the cubicle. She had missed Trig and probably Biology by now as well. It would be time for Glee Club after English, and as much as her dread mounted at the thought of seeing Quinn, Rachel knew she would go. Glee was the one place she felt at least sort of accepted, even if everyone did ignore it as Santana and Quinn shot her down time and time again.

With enormous effort, Rachel pushed herself up off the loo seat and unbolted the door, squirming uncomfortably when her sticky t-shirt clasped at her skin. If she hadn't been looking down to avoid the sight of herself in the mirror, she would not have spotted it. Even when she did, she couldn't quite believe it. It must have been a mistake, left there by accident. But even though the truth was even more confusing, Rachel could not see how Quinn would accidentally leave behind her own spare top, when she had not even been covered in slushie when she had walked into the bathroom.

…

Come on, Rachel snapped to herself. It's not a hard dance, everyone else can do it. She forced herself to carry on, fighting against he aching bones that were begging her to stop, sit down, take a break and never get back up again, but she had miles to go yet. Literally, the run to town stretched over five kilometres, and on the way home she would be carrying the scales. Her car was where she had left it that morning, parked on the driveway. She never drove anymore. Running was better. Running burnt away the calories.

Then Mr Schue was speaking, ordering them to take five and Rachel had never been more relieved in all of her lie. She stopped, she finally stopped and allowed her exhausted body to rest. Or at least she would if she could get to a chair, but it suddenly looked so far away, like more energy would be required to get to it than Rachel had.

What was wrong with her? It was just some dancing, not a long hard workout. It was nothing compared to what she was used to. So why wouldn't the blood pounding in her ears quieten down? Why wouldn't the room remain still? Why did she suddenly feel so weak? Too weak to hold herself up, Rachel realised as her legs shook underneath her. The others were beginning to give her strange looks, probably scornful at how pathetic she was, exhausted after half an hour of dancing. The room would not stay still.

"What's wrong with you, man hands?" Snapped Santana without a hint of concern, but Rachel barely heard her. It was getting hard to hear anything through the roaring. There were more voices, but they all sounded like they were as far away as the chair seemed that she longed to collapse into. They were slowly fading, becoming nothing but background noise as the world became a hazy...distant...blur...

"Rachel? Rachel!"

That's my name.

"Rach?"

And Finn's voice.

"Talk to me."

I can't. It's too hard.

"Open your eyes."

No.

Fingers pressed into her neck, feeling for the steady beat of a pulse. It was annoying, and Rachel wanted to shrug them off so she could sleep in peace, but she didn't have the energy.

"Do you think we should call an ambulance?"

Panic overtook, almost strangling her where she lay. If she went to the hospital, they'd know what she had been doing, they'd make her eat and then sit around and do nothing so the calories turned into fat, collecting onto her body and making her look even more disgusting than she already was. She couldn't put on more weight. She couldn't.

So with enormous effort, Rachel forced open her eyes. The first thing she saw was Finn's worried looking face, which immediately broke into an expression of relief. The roaring in her head had finally stopped, and without it, the room seemed eerily quiet and to her even greater relief, the room was no longer spinning. It was still, at the angle it should be. But one thing that hadn't disappeared was the tiredness. The bone aching exhaustion that had set in long before Rachel had begun to dance.

"Are you okay?" Finn's hand was on her shoulder, bolting her to the floor, and Rachel made no effort to push him away. Getting up seemed like all the effort in the world, and she would have quite happily gone to sleep there and then, but if she was going to convince everyone she was all right, she'd have to act the part.

"I think so," she told him, cursing herself for her weak sounding voice. Rachel struggled into a sitting position, with the help of Finn's arm around her shoulders and leaned against him for support, suddenly aware of the eyes of the whole of the Glee Club on her. She squirmed uncomfortably, for once not wanting to be the centre of attention.

"Okay guys, I think we'll leave it there for today. Everyone clear out, she doesn't need an audience." Rachel felt a rush of gratitude towards her teacher, eager to get back on her feet and have the whole incident forgotten about, which would have been so much harder with everyone's stares on her. Especially Quinn's. Oh God, Quinn's. Had she said anything about the bathroom? What if she'd told everyone? Surely then they'd put two and two together?

Reluctantly, everyone began to file out of the room, some shooting Rachel smiles, Puck merely nodding and Santana ignoring her. Then Finn was helping her to her feet, slowly and carefully, leading her to the chairs that had seemed so far away minutes ago. He sat down beside her and for the first time, Rachel was grateful for her height which allowed her to lean against his shoulder, easily.

"Rachel, what happened?" Asked Mr Schue, his voice sincere and laced with concern. Rachel twisted her hands in her lap, suddenly nervous. What did she tell them? She couldn't tell them the truth, how weak would think think her if she couldn't even deal with a half hour dance routine? And it wasn't as if it was the first time they'd done something like that in Glee. She opened her mouth, struggling to come up with something that sounded believable. In the end, she decided to go for at least part of the truth.

"I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and this afternoon, I didn't have time for lunch. I got slushied twice this morning and spent my lunch hour in the bathroom trying to clean the ice off my change of clothes as I had no others on me. Quinn lent me her spare clothes in the end, but then the bell went and I came here, tired and hungry and I guess it just all got the better of me. I'm sure after an evening of re-watching Funny Girl with a bowl of popcorn and a good eight hours sleep, I'll be all right again."

She shot them her confident, winning smile that had always convinced people in the past that she was the bright, bubbly girl they all thought her to be. The one who looked past everyone's comments and despite them all, had a confidence in herself that they all ridiculed. The smile that was just one more lie to add to the endless list.

Mr Schue looked relieved, for not one moment doubting her story. He knew Rachel was a sensible girl, she almost always did as she was told and she wouldn't have deliberately skipped out on lunch, not if she knew she had a dance rehearsal after school. It was that sort of thing that would get in the way of her career and if Mr Schue knew Rachel as well as he thought he did, he knew that was one thing she would never risk. Not for anything.

…

Three days later, and Rachel felt no better. She had managed to get through the school days, and even the dance rehearsals at Glee without any more dramas, but workouts were getting harder by the day. They had always been exhausting, but now they felt like something else entirely. So much, that it was hard to carry on, but one look at her mirror was enough to give her the final burst of energy she needed to finish. Not only did she see herself but she saw all the negative words that had ever been used to describe her, scrawled across the glass in thick eye liner. She had put them there after the first time she gave up to remind herself of why she never could.

It took Rachel a while to realise the ringing sound she could hear was the school bell, and not just inside her own head. The bell. That meant it was time for Glee. She tried to summon the enthusiasm she had once felt for the club, but it wouldn't come. Of course, she still loved to perform. If it came with an energetic dance routine that would help her burn whatever tiny salad or half a piece of fruit she had eaten for lunch.

Slowly, Rachel began to trail to the choir room, managing a slight smile at the thought of spending it with Finn. He was sweet to her, even if she could never match up to his ex. He never told her that, and she knew he never would. It was Santana and Quinn who sent her that message. Flaunting their perfect looks in front of her, putting her down in the process, calling her all the cruel names they could think of so she believed she was so much less than perfect.

Rachel took one look at Santana's scowl as she entered the choir room and knew she was in trouble. The expression wasn't directed at her, but she knew the ex cheerleader would find a way to make whatever was bothering her Rachel's fault, or at least take it out on her anyway. It was what she always did.

Just as she expected, Santana shot Rachel a glare before she had even taken a seat. "What are you looking at man hands?" she snapped. Rachel turned her head away and sat down, trying to ignore her. The insult was old and should have washed over her, but it didn't.

She smiled at Finn, the grin more bright than she felt, who returned it, hesitantly, as if he were afraid Santana would call him out for daring to show any sort of affection for her. "You okay?" He asked her as she settled into her chair. He had taken to doing that over the past dew days. He'd check up on her at random moments, as if trying to slip her up. Rachel knew he was still worried about the way she had passed out in Glee, he hadn't been entirely convinced by her story.

"I'm fine," she assured him with another of her winning smiles for added conviction. Her heart sank at his immediate belief, a part of her wanting him to ask her again, to make her look him in the eye and tell him that, because then she knew she could not lie. Lying to Finn was bad enough when she could keep her eyes away from him, she would never be able to do it if she was forced to look right into his warm eyes that used to make her feel so safe.

Without thinking about it, Rachel took Finn's hand in hers, locking their fingers together. She felt his hand curl around hers in return, and for the first time in days, managed a real smile. She might not be beautiful like the others he had dated, but he seemed to genuinely want her. A flicker of happiness lit itself inside her, warming her insides in a way she hadn't felt for as long as she could remember.

But of course, Santana spoiled it all. "Do you think by holding his hand you're going to make him anymore yours Rupaul?" She snipped, and Rachel stiffened, but said nothing. She didn't even turn around.

"Lay off Santana," Finn said, awkwardly. He had never been good with confrontations, but Rachel still felt a rush of gratitude that he was trying. For her.

"You weren't so keen for me to do that last year, or have you forgotten?" She taunted, and then it was Finn's turn to stiffen. He had kept her quiet about what they had done up until now, but even he could tell Santana was in a foul mood. One that wouldn't have been helped by him snapping at her.

"I wonder if your hobbit knows what went down between us."

Rachel's head snapped around to face her tormentor, curiosity getting the better of her. "What are you talking about Santana?" She snapped at her, glaring at her as if that could rewind what she dreaded hearing so it would never have happened.

"Oh you mean he never told you? Your boyfriend and I, we totally got it on that night. So you can clutch at his hand as much as you want if it makes you feel better about the pathetic little dream you have in your head where he actually wants you, but we both know it's me who has what you never can and let's face it stubbles, I'm much hotter than you. Everyone is."

It was at that moment Mr Schue chose to finally stroll into the room, calling out to them all to settle down as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and Rachel could do nothing but follow his instructions, turning away from Santana as if they had exchanged no more than a chat about the weather, her hand falling from Finn's.

...

Rachel let out a scream of fury, mingled with hurt at she flung the first object to hand at her mirror, the reflection inside it becoming too much to bear. The straightening irons hit the glass with a loud thunk, a huge crack appearing, long and jagged across the middle inches of the mirror, distorting Rachel's figure so she herself looked torn in half. Broken.

The one action unleashed a new kind of anger, one she had never felt before that pulsed through her veins making her want to fling everything in her room, trash every last thing until there was nothing but destruction around her. She wasn't mad with Finn, she wasn't even mad with Santana. It was herself she was furious with. She had pushed him into her arms. She was the one who wasn't pretty enough, skinny enough to be his girl.

A desperation took over her, an overwhelming urge to get rid of every last bit of the fat that clung to her, right there and then. It had to go, it had to, it had to. It disgusted her every moment it was there, she disgusted her. She disgusted Finn too. He'd slept with Santana when he was too ashamed to so much as go on a date with her. But it wouldn't always be like that. He'd think she was pretty too if she were thinner.

Rachel forced her body up using her arms, again and again, all the while Finn's voice encouraging her inside her head. She's super hot. She's super hot. Super hot. Hot. Hot. HOT. It was like a stuck record, repeating the words that had torn through her like a barbed wire fence over and over again. He had never said that about her. Not once. The words were followed by his laughter. The laughter at Santana's comment about the way she dressed.

Over and over again she forced herself up, pushing and pushing until she was sure her body quite literally couldn't take it anymore. But she made it. She had to. She did push up after push up, squeezing her eyes shut against the voices that swirled around and around in her head. Super hot. Laughter. Man hands. Rupaul. Stubbles. Hobbit. Willow. And then came the song. Music that had always been her friend, but now turned against her. Just one lyric, repeating itself over and over, an enemy taken out of context. So damn unpretty.

..

Two weeks. Fourteen days. 336 hours. 20,160 minutes. However you wanted to count it, the days had passed in a blur. One merging into the other in a haze of calories, counting each one that went into her mouth, exercise, day after day, hour after hour in every spare moment. Straight home after Glee, hours free to do all the workout she needed before collapsing into bed, exhausted, her homework forgotten and neglected.

In those two weeks, she had barely spoken to Finn. Not because she was angry with him, but because she didn't have the time. Not anymore. She needed to be good for him, when she was that, she could see him again, properly. They could go on dates like they used to and he could be proud to call her his girlfriend. She wouldn't have to drag him down anymore, and then maybe he'd call her super hot too.

The smile was important. Her confident smile that she couldn't get through the day without. Because then they'd know something was wrong, they'd sense it and they'd stop her. They couldn't stop her. Not yet. Not until she was perfect.

I don't know whether to keep it like that, or write some more when I should be taking notes in sociology. It depends what people who read want, and if I feel like working in my next sociology lesson.

Please review :)