Prologue

Beth Puckerman-Fabray is an avid fan of war movies. If anything, it adds to her intense fascination for all things falling under the masculine gender type, despite her mother's silent resentment towards it. She's seen tens and thousands of movies ranging from purely historical ones like movies about the holocaust to more gun-related movies with incredible special effects. But no movie conjured up by Hollywood twits could compare to the raging battle between the tiny girl of sixteen and her statuesque mother, Quinn Fabray.

"Mom!" hollers Beth, following her mother's retreating form. She's sure she could feel the burning sensation of her mother's five-inch, Manolo Blahnik heels on the freshly waved floors of Rochester Academy. Or perhaps it's just her over-active mind coming up with that. Quickening her pace, she sighs.

"Mom, please," the tiny blonde could feel her mother's palpitating anger towards her. She has spent nine months being attached to her mother. Even at sixteen, she still felt every bit as attached to her as the day she was conceived. "I'm sorry," sprinting in front of her Quinn, the sole's of Beth's cowboy boots leaving dirt on the ground, she grasps her arms.

"How many times have I told you about celibacy, Elizabeth?" Beth's name isn't actually Elizabeth, but sometimes Quinn added the rest on simply to reinforce her anger. And though it should be easy for the brown-eyed girl to shrug it off, it isn't. And people wonder why such a beautiful woman at thirty two could possibly be the owner of her own fashion studio.

"Forty-six since last month,"

"Beth,"

"Sorry," she mutters quickly, eyes fixed down on the ground, the guilt stricken look on her face pitiful to any other human being's eyes. But Quinn isn't any other human being, she's a mother, and that made her every bit as immune as she is pained by the look on her face.

"Your body is a responsibility, Beth. It isn't just something you can give away under the pretense of infatuation! I get it. You're young, you have hormones and boys are a little bit more handsy than they are in that dance studio of yours," Quinn begins slowly, placing her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I know, remember,"

"And you regret it, right?" snaps Beth, not because she truly believes this to be the case, but on some occasions, it gets her off the hook. Quinn's gaze does not waver. She backs down.

"No, I don't regret having you," she says, in that motherly voice that makes Beth forget she's only thirty two. "Having you so young, though," it's those words that make Beth almost regret her and her boyfriend's impromptu, erotic, clumsy stumble into the choir room. That almost makes her want to do as her mom always preached and wear a chastity ring and pledge to abstain. That almost makes her wish she saved her virginity.

But she doesn't. Mom has her mistakes, it's her turn to make her own.

"You regret having sex with papa," her voice is tight and desperate. There's a level of hypocrisy that Quinn's exemplifying that doesn't sit well in her stomach. Not once did either Quinn nor Noah "Puck" Puckerman promote the idea of her taking things laying down. She's a Fabray-Puckerman, and being right no matter what is in her blood. Just as it is in her mom's.

"Beth, you're not grasping what I'm saying here," snaps her mom desperately.

"What's there to grasp? We're being safe!" she yells, her voice echoing in the empty hallways.

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is that making love is reserved for marriage. For true, lasting, relationships," returns the elder blonde firmly, eyes blazing with frustration.

"Like you did with Papa?"

"Puck was a mistake-"

"You can't just say I'm not a mistake and then say fucking dad was a mistake!" Quinn closes in on her daughter, eyes dark and firm. Placing both her hands on her hips, she lets out a heavy sigh, her green orbs still resting on her daughter's.

"You have no idea," that condescending tone, it's what does Beth in.

"No, you have no idea," she crossing the line, she should do as every good, perfect, rich, Los Angeles girl does and take on the role of the dismissive, façade-wearing schoolgirl. But she's a Puckerman. She's far more rock and roll than that.

"Mom, you have zero idea what it's like," she begins pleadingly. "It's not about sex, it's about love," Beth ignores the scoff her mom emits.

"You're sixteen,"

"You're telling me you've never been in love at sixteen?" she doesn't wait for a response. Who is she kidding? It's miss holier-than-thou, cocky, emotionally cold Quinn. The queen of maturity, the epitome of practicality; everything she isn't. So she turns around, exiling herself to the passenger seat of her mom's Mercedes Benz, unaware of the look of pure, unadulterated hurt and painful nostalgia in Quinn's eyes.

If only she knew.

Author's Note: I genuinely tried to make this prologue far more impressive, but I just really wanted to give a a tease before I dive into the past. This is Fabang, as you all know, but there's no Mike mentioned yet. He'll be in the next one, now whether or not it's present or past, I haven't decided. Anyways, this is sort of a side project to Seasons of Love. SOL is still my largest priority, but this was so interesting, I had to write it. Well, here you go, please review :)