This story takes place from Sam's break up with Quinn in my other story "Who is Sam Evans?"
You don't have to have read that story since basically all you need to know is that Sam dumped Quinn and she's pissed.
Mercedes walked into Quinn's house, knowing immediately that something was wrong. The door at been left wide open and the house was dead quiet, except for a long, slow scratching sound coming from somewhere inside.
Her first thoughts was that the house had been robbed and she was going to walk in to find Quinn beaten and lying on the carpet, trying to pull herself across the room to call 911.
She walked slowly through the house, following the scratching sounds that she assumed would lead her to her hopefully still able-bodied friend.
She found Quinn sitting cross legged on a couch in her living room, scratching at something on a piece of paper with a knife. A broken picture frame lay beside her, and across the room it looked like someone had thrown something ceramic at the fire place.
Her next thoughts were that Quinn had lost her mind.
She was pretty close.
"Quinn...you ok?" she asked tentatively, sitting down next to her and never taking her eyes off the knife in her hands. Quinn looked at her, a strange expression in her eyes. Part anger, part hurt and part something Mercedes couldn't and didn't want to name. She could see now that the paper in her hands was a picture of her and Sam, and she was slowly scratching Sam's face off.
Yup, definite mind loss-age.
"Quinn, sweetie...what are you doing?" Mercedes asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
"Scratching Sam out of this picture" Quinn said. Mercedes noticed she was blinking a lot less than usual. It was very creepy.
"Yes, Ok I can see that...but why."
Quinn continued to stare at her, unblinking, for several seconds before answering. She turned away and went back to her face-scratching. When she did answer, it was so quietly that Mercedes barely heard what she said.
"...Sam dumped me. Said he didn't want to be with me anymore, because he didn't know who he was."
"...And what did you do?" Mercedes asked hesitantly, worried she might have to help Quinn dispose of a body.
"Broke a vase and yelled" Quinn said plainly, never pausing in her slow, rhythmic scratching.
"Ok...well thats good...but sweetie, don't you think you behaving a little, well...in-frickin-sanely?"
Quinn stopped her scratching and turned to Mercedes.
"Nope." She said before taking her knife and stabbing the picture.
"Ok, girl that is enough." Mercedes took the knife and now destroyed picture from Quinn before she could stab it again. Quinn offered a small "Hey!" in protest, but otherwise did nothing.
"Your upset, I get that. No one likes to be dumped, trust me I...ok well I don't know, but I can imagine." Quinn stared at her blankly, and she continued "But this is not ok. You can't freak out and go nuts just cuz some puff-lipped boy doesn't want to date you anymore. It sucks, sure, but your better than him, and better than this" Mercedes finished, gesturing to the torn picture and knife.
Quinn looked down, her hands folded in her lap, not speaking again. Mercedes waited for her to answer.
Finally, Quinn spoke. "Its not just him. Its all of them." Mercedes nodded in understanding, realizing she meant men.
"I'm just sick of their fucking bullshit. Finn, Puck, Sam. It doesn't matter, their all the same and I've had enough of it."
Two hours later, Quinn and Mercedes were basically in the exact same place then been before. The only differences were they had moved up to Quinn's bedroom.
Instead of taking her frustrations out an innocent photograph, Quinn was currently taking her frustrations out on an innocent bowl of Ben & Jerry's and Mercedes ears. Mercedes was sitting next to her, picking at piece of pizza, and at the same time trying not strangle her friend.
It wasn't that she wasn't compassionate, its just that after two hours of listening to Quinn bitch about how men were responsible for all the evil in the world, she was about an hour and a half past fed-up.
"And another thing" Quinn was saying, stabbing her ice-cream with a spoon "Have you ever noticed how men seem to just be at the root of every feminine problem. Menstrual cycle, Menopause, Guy-necologist. It's like they just need to…*"
"No More!" Mercedes shouted, cutting Quinn off mid-rant. "I simply can not take one more second of this...this...whining. Don't you look at me like that. You are whining and have been for what feels like the last 10 billion years. I refuse to endure one more second."
Quinn made no attempts to reply. Instead she just stared angrily at the bowl in lap, as though it was the one telling her to shut up.
"Quinn, we are not going to sit here complaining about how you no longer have a man, eating ice cream and acting like a pair of dopey female stereotypes from a TV show about teenagers with problems."
"We're not?"
"No, we're not."
"...Why not?"
"BECAUSE!"
"Because why?"
"Because I am about to strangle you with this pizza. That's why. And don't think I can't do that. I've got moves."
Quinn stared at Mercedes, trying to decide whether to punch her or laugh. Because she would be lonely if Mercedes left (as she would surely do after being punched) she chose the latter.
"That's more like it. Now get your skinny white-ass off this bed and go find something cute to wear." Mercedes instructed, having gotten off the bed herself. She was holding her pizza up in one hand like it was a weapon, and the effect was so comically threatening that Quinn dared not argue.
"Can you at least tell me why I'm doing this? I assume we're going somewhere...or are we just playing dress-up?"
Mercedes raised an eyebrow and put her hand on her hip. "Don't you be smart with me. Yes, we're going somewhere. And yes, even though you didn't ask, its going to be awweesooommme" she said, singing the last word in a high excited voice.
"And this awesome place is..."
"Its a karoke bar Kurt and I discovered about a month ago. It's called Chant, and tt's about 30 minutes from here, so we could only go twice so far but it seemed pretty fly."
Quinn grimaced. "A karoke bar? Mecedes, singing in the last thing I feel like doing now."
"Oh don't be like that, it'll be nice to sing with no pressures for a change. Just for fun. No Rachel 'I'm going to be the world's biggest star so you should all start kissing my feet right now' Berry giving you the stink eye, no Mr. Shue and his no-follow-through pep talks, no worries." Mercedes walked over to Quinn and poked her encouragingly in the shoulder.
"You'll have fun, I swear on my ability to hold final notes for a freakishly long time."
Quinn made a face, then sighed. "Fine, I'll go. But you can't complain when I only feel like singing Alanis Morissette**."
Mercedes squealed and clapped her hands together excitedly. "I promise, no such complaints will come from my incredibly luscious lips" she said, hugging Quinn and smiling obnoxiously.
*Just for the record, I in no way come to that realization myself. I read it on the internet. And I am also aware that is not how to spell gynecologist, but I needed to illustrate my point.
**Funny side note, when I typed in Morissette my auto-correct changed it to merriest. Now that's ironic.