A/N: This is the first story I'm posting online. It's not much right now but I've got some good ideas for it. I would love you hear what you think.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Please don't sue me.
For so much of my life, I've been led to believe this insane idea that once you meet the one person that you're supposed to be with you will just know. One day you'll just walk into a coffee shop and make eye contact with someone and you'll be smashed in the chest with this unintelligible force, throwing off your defenses and pushing you toward them. That's not exactly what happens. Not in cases that aren't written specifically for the big screen.
It starts with the looks; small and generally unnoticeable. Then the coy smiles and quick glances, far from discreet but uncontrollable. Then the way your heart stops when you see them giving you those coy smiles. You dread the way your body betrays all your mind's desperate pleas to keep calm when they are near, but not really. That's the part you unconsciously crave, that rush, that thrill. You're driven by this incessant need to be near to them, and you normally highly value your personal space. At some point you realize that you should probably be more comfortable with them than anyone, but it's the exact opposite. This tension exists, either in your head or palpably between the two of you. It's hard to tell anymore. Your rationale starts to slip and the logical person you used to be starts to deteriorate. Everything becomes a whirlwind of maybes and what ifs and you become a slave to your emotions.
This version of yourself that you never knew existed pops out of nowhere and you can't embrace it, but the more you try to fight it, it consumes you. But that's only an extra part of the draw to this illness. For once you're not in control and you don't want it back, not quite yet. You want to ride this wave because you just know it's right. This was meant to be. And for a while it is, until the human condition creeps in and fucks everything up.
Or maybe that's just me.
"You know, I've always wanted to be an artist. Live in Paris, spend all my time writing and drinking coffee."
"Okay Hemmingway," I chided, shoving her a little with my shoulder. She laughed in that short and joyous way she does when she felt unencumbered.
"Don't make fun of me! You never know what I could accomplish in the next ten years. I could blow this town and start eating baguettes and wearing a beret." Quinn turned towards me on the bench we were sharing and look at me more fully.
"That would probably work out a lot better if you looked good in hats." She shoved my arm and got off the bench, walking towards the railing by the water. I tried to hide my smirk at her retreating form. The light of the setting sun bounced off of her blond mane, making her almost glow, which was more than appropriate for her boisterousness today. Quinn rested her head on her crossed arms against the rail and looked towards the Brooklyn Bridge. Since she called me that morning she had been bouncing around, speaking in excited snippets and grinning like there was no tomorrow.
Sighing, I dragged myself off of the bench to place myself alongside her again, rather than shout a conversation from ten feet away from one another. That might actually delight her today though. "So what brings on this sudden career – or lack thereof – focus?"
"I don't know I've just been thinking about the future lately," there was this pregnant pause in which she got this small smile. "David is coming to dinner with me tonight, to meet my parents while they are in town."
I forced a smile the best that I could and silently hoped that she was too caught up in her own excitement to notice that anything might be off. David worked with me in one of my first productions. We all went out for drinks one night after a show and Quinn joined me. I just wanted her to meet the cast and vice versa, but Quinn and David really hit it off, exchanged numbers, started "talking" and now they've been dating for nearly a year.
"That's awesome!" If I could have poured an ounce of sincerity into my voice, I would have, I swear. "So this is getting to be pretty serious, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess it is!" That girl beamed like I had never seen her beam before. How cold is the Hudson in May? Could I just topple over and play it off as an accident? I really don't want to partake in this conversation. Damn. "I mean you know how I am with getting too serious too fast. I was trying to play this one cool but the other night he asked to meet my parents. How amazing is that? Maybe this is actually going to go somewhere. It's weird isn't it? Considering we met through you, do you guys still talk often?"
"No."
"I thought the two of you were best friends?"
"We got along alright. We ran in a lot of the same circles, disliked a lot of the same people. He does other things with his time now. I'm sure he'd rather be around you than me." Quinn shot me as sideways glance and shook her head, still smiling like she didn't know how to cut it out.
"I know he's busy most of the time, but have you even tried to talk to him?"
"There's no reason to."
"Did something happen between you two?" The look she bore into me now was frightening, like she was trying to say "if you lie, I'll know." My eyes went wide and I stared back at her incredulously.
"No nothing happened between us! That's disgusting." She spun around so her back was leaning against the rail and she kept gaze with mine, suspicion pouring out of her.
"It would make sense if it did. And I wouldn't be mad at you since I'm assuming it would have been before I ever met him. But you get all uptight when I talk about him. You give these short answers and fake smiles and I just want to know if you two had a thing and maybe you still have some feelings for him." Damn this woman for her ability to see right through me but not really. I stared at my knuckles as they began to turn white gripping the rail. How can I possibly explain away how much I detest her relationship? Should I just tell her? Would she understand that the fact that every time his name falls from her lips, she tells me about a wonderful date, or she just talks about how much she loves him, she might as well just punch me in the gut? It would take a hell of a lot less time and I would feel about the same in the end. Could she possibly understand that my disgust for that man has nothing at all to do with the man in question?
I feel a light pressure on my shoulder and I whip my head to the side. There's worry in her eyes now, which makes everything so much worse. I get lost in my ruminating and she's just there compounding and making things up in her mind that probably result in things so much worse than the truth. My eyes feel heavy, there's a slight sting lingering in them. I know that no tears have fallen yet but they're on the brink, waiting until I crumble. Slowly, I step out of her reach and look away from her, knowing that if I look into those caring eyes again I'm going to lose this battle that I fight with myself every day. I desperately want to say something but the tightness in my jaw prevents it. Instead I turn and walk away.
"Rach!" I hear her shout after me.
For now it's better if she just believes this lie, that I'm struggling to see her happy with someone that I secretly yearn for. The truth would just tear us apart, I'm sure of it, and that's something I just can't take. So I'm just going to continue to try and hold myself together around her. I say for her sake, for the sake of our friendship, but really for my own.