Rachel's POV
I hold her in my arms as we lay in my bed. We're wrapped in my sheets even though we're both sticky and sweaty and hot.
Quinn snuggles with me and nuzzles my neck, planting soft kisses there. I try to enjoy the attention but I can't relax. Not when I know the three words that can destroy my world are only a moment away. These little booty calls don't last long enough for me.
"I should go," Quinn whispers against my neck.
I don't nod, don't loosen my grip on her, don't make any attempt to acknowledge what she said. I don't want her to go.
Quinn kisses my neck one more time before untangling herself from me. She sits on the edge of my bed, and my eyes trace the curve of her back all the way down to my favorite spot, the dip where her lower back meets her perfect, toned ass. She turns to look at me, feeling my eyes on her. She smiles softly, and I smile back weakly.
Quinn stands and begins to gather her clothes that have been strewn around my bedroom floor. She dresses and I watch, silently wishing each article of clothing she puts on could come off again.
Quinn goes to the door, about ready to leave. She doesn't come kiss me goodbye. We tried that back when this all started, but we'd usually end up having sex again, which made Quinn really late.
Quinn looks back at me, and tears start to sting my eyes. "I'll text you," she says before stepping out of my room and out of my life again.
She will text me, in about two days when she wants to do this again. Until then, Quinn, my Quinn, the real Quinn is gone. Replaced by the HBIC facade she works so hard to keep up.
I get to see the real Quinn, but only when we're in my room, naked and in the throws of love. We talk about it sometimes, how she has to keep up her facade, how she wishes she could be my girlfriend when we're at school, how it'll all be different once we graduate.
I believe her, but it's still hard to watch my Quinn change into someone I loathe and to have to interact with that evil version on a daily basis. Sometimes my Quinn will peak through the mask. Sometimes I catch a fleeting glance in the hallway or a slight smile when I sing in Glee. Sometimes.
I curl into a ball on my bed as the tears pour down my cheeks. It hurts so much, these booty calls. I feel so used. I wish I could stop but I'm not that strong. If this is the price I have to pay to get to have my Quinn, even for only a few hours every week, then I will suffer the heartache.
My phone vibrates on my nightstand. I have a text message. I reluctantly uncurl myself from the comfort of the fetal position and check my messages.
"I love you -Q"
I don't reply. It doesn't need to be said. Maybe someday these simple gestures will give me butterflies and make me long for her. Someday when we can be together openly. But for now, they only serve to make my heart hurt a little more.
Tears stream down my face again, and I curl back up into myself. I love her, but right now that's not good enough.
