AN: The story was inspired by, of course, The Killers' music video. It was also randomly inspired by the Lucy x Mina story on Dracula which is just...ugh. Watch if you haven't.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but I wished I did because then my babies will never experience heartbreak if I had a say in it.
"Hi."
"You're late."
"I'm sorry, work."
Rachel took the answer like she would a regular greeting, too wrapped up in her bubble of bliss to really question Quinn on it. She threw her arms over Quinn's shoulders and gathered her up in a soul-crushing hug. "I'm glad you can make it. I know how busy you've been in the studio, so this means the world to me."
I wouldn't miss it. You're my best friend. I'm here to support you. All the things Quinn should be saying but couldn't because if she opened her mouth, the truth would come out. I'd rather get hit by a truck than make this. You're more than just a friend. I don't support any of this.
Rachel pulled her out of the doorway by her star-shaped cufflinks, not the least bit concerned by her silence. Quinn's steps faltered, but she was anything but a coward to her heart. She held her head high and eluded confidence. She walked through Rachel's living room with a smugness that made the people nearest to them turn their heads and whisper, "That's Quinn Fabray."
"How do you like it?" Rachel asked when they reached the living room, the center of it all.
It was sickeningly cute and so very bright. There was too much white – from the tablecloths, the calla lily centerpieces, to the cutout star-shaped place cards, with pink and violet colors dotted in every now and then. There were hanging streamers and balloons with pictures of the happy couple attached to the bottom of them. There were enough things to hit Quinn in the face, over and over again, every which way she turned until she felt like vomiting.
Her smile must have looked like someone in a fit of nausea. "It looks great."
"Great!" Rachel clapped her hands together in glee. "It best better be. I spent my entire childhood dreaming of the perfect engagement party. To have it finally come to fruition is just…is just…there are no words, Quinn."
"I'm sure."
Heat. Lights. Screams. Someone's panty is thrown on stage. Their drummer accidentally tossed his stick into the crowd. Their bass guitarist slid across the floor, miscalculated, and rammed into the pianist. A fan managed to crawl halfway upstage before security tackled them down linebacker-style. All the while, Quinn Fabray shouted into the audience, "Thank you, New York! It's been a pleasure!" and fist pumped the air, erupting more applause and screams.
She kicked over her micstand and strutted off stage.
Backstage was even more hectic, but Quinn continued her trek to the dressing room as if she's the only one there, ignoring the stage managers, PAs, makeup and wardrobe people clawing at her. She flipped off a few of her bandmates when they teased her about the bras and panties stuck to her outfit.
"Hey Quinn, you were excellent," said Sugar, a shrilly yet efficient PA. "Are you sure you don't want any help taking off your makeup and clothes? Because I can help you...or you'd rather I call the wardrobe people because I can do that too."
Quinn's hot as fuck in her button down and blazer, and she's pretty sure the sweat is melting off her makeup, but she'd rather bleed out than be around people after a crazy performance like that.
"I'll be fine," she told Sugar with a grin, slowly unbuttoning the top of her shirt just to see the blush forming on her assistant's face. "I'll call you if I need you."
There was something sadistic about how quick Quinn is to reaffirm Rachel's life decisions. She's not a complete idiot – she's aware that bending over backwards for her 'straight' best friend was no way to live a life. But how does she go about changing something that felt inherent to her since they were wee kids on the playground?
How could she tell her best friend that, no, she would never allow Rachel to decorate anything of hers.
"Do you like this?" Rachel pointed excitedly at a white chocolate fountain.
A white chocolate fountain.
Quinn forced a smile. "Yeah, it looks very…yummy. All chocolate-ty and, oh look, you even have marshmallows and crackers, and Sterno cans."
"It's a S'mores bar! I discovered it through Pinterest."
"Is that your face printed on every can?"
"I threw in a personal flare of mine," Rachel proudly declared. She picked up a bamboo stick, stabbed it into a marshmallow and ran it through the white chocolate fountain. Quinn wasn't in any position to decline when Rachel forced the marshmallow to her face and demanded her to eat it.
"Pinterest is an amazing site," Rachel said, licking at her fingers in what Quinn would describe as a distraction from hell. "I also learned how to knit and sew because of it. Take a wild guess as to who's getting a feathered up blazer fit for a rockstar this Christmas!"
Quinn licked at her own fingers, but in a more clumsy and awkward way. "Rach, I'm not sure if you're supposed to be telling people their Christmas gifts."
"Oops, then I probably shouldn't mention Secret Santa to you?"
"I thought you were Jewish, Rachel Berry," a woman chimed in next to them, also going for the white chocolate fountain.
"I am. My daddy raised me as Jewish, but my other dad also happens to be Catholic. So, while I'm not completely festive during the Christmas season, I can appreciate the gesture and message behind gift giving."
The woman seemed pleased with the answer, or maybe she just didn't care. Her smile grew wide when her gaze shifted over to Quinn. "You must be Quinn Fabray, the little New York celebrity. I've heard a lot about you through my colleagues."
"And she's very grateful that she has a fan," Rachel cut in, pulling at Quinn's cufflinks again. "She has to go now, as hostess I must show her around my home."
"What the hell was that?" Quinn asked when Rachel dragged her to the nearest room. "Why am I in your study? I've been here a thousand times."
"Yeah, I know, I just get very annoyed by that lady."
The implication wasn't lost on Quinn, but she also didn't want to get too ahead of herself over such a vague statement. She couldn't help smiling toothily. "And why's that?"
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Because. Because that was Cassandra July. Because she's been nothing but a miserable, horrible critic of my show since it ran. I invited her because I wanted to show her how rich I am and how perfect my life is. Now I realized she only played nice to me personally because my best friend was Quinn Fabray, the little New York Celebrity."
"Babe, there's nothing little about me at all."
"Oh my god, ew, you did not!"
Rachel's face scrunched up, playfully punching Quinn's side. Quinn, not being one to easily get pushed around, pulled Rachel in by the wrist and started tickling her ribs. The smaller girl tried to fight back with her own tickling fingers, but Quinn was just way more coordinated than her. They struggled together, laughter filling up the study room until a much deeper voice called out and sliced through it.
"Rachel? Baby, where are you?"
Like getting tossed at with a bucket of cold water, Quinn halted then became visibly annoyed at the sight of Rachel's fiancé.
"Uh...yeah...of course, yes you will be...why wouldn't you be fine?" Sugar stammered, staring dazedly at the creamy-yet-moist exposed skin of Quinn's chest from between her unbuttoned blouse. Sugar caught herself before Quinn could tease her about it, which the blonde was known to do. "I'll just be over there...somewhere...in case you need anything, which I'm sure you will. And stuff."
She pointed somewhere over her shoulder. Quinn found her entire act cute, really, but it's in the same vein as finding puppies stumbling over their own legs cute. To Quinn's dismay, she recently discovered that her heart just wasn't into women who didn't have a specific pair of eyes (brown), or hair color (brown), or attitude (determined), or voice (magnificent). Pickiness, she found, had now become part of her adjective.
"Oh, but, Quinn," Sugar went on, "Before I go I want you to know that you have a visitor. They told me not to tell you who they were. It's a surprise, but don't worry, it's safe. Not a groupie." Her face wrinkled in disgust.
Annoyed, because Quinn Fabray does not do visitors, and intrigued, because it must take someone with balls to get pass Sugar, Quinn dismissed her assistant with a nod and retreated to her dressing room.
For several seconds, her heart thumped erratically inside her chest as she stood in front of her dressing room door. Possibilities and scenarios raced across her mind - could it be Rachel? But only for several seconds, because she's too old to dream and too cynical to wish. Maybe she'll be wrong for once, said the tiny voice of hope lodged deep in the back of her head. Maybe it's Rachel, coming back for her.
She opened her door.
A childish, naive, idiotic part of Quinn had hoped that when the time actually came, when it all dawns that this is really happening, Rachel would realize her mistake. They would make eye contact from across the room and Rachel's doe eyes would scream "Save me!" Quinn, being the knight in shining armor that she was, would whisk her damsel in distress away and the credits would roll with them riding off into the sunset.
What she got instead was an awkward four-way conversation between herself, Rachel, Rachel's fiancé Sam, and Quinn's ex-girlfriend Tina. All the whiskey on the rocks could not dull the pain that became.
"I can't believe you helped her do all this." Tina slapped a hand on Sam's bicep, and Quinn noticed the not-so-subtle squeeze of the muscle that follows. "You don't often hear guys being as invested in their wedding plans as their wives."
"That's because he's gay," Quinn muttered over her glass. One gulp, two gulps. Oh, her whiskey's almost done.
Tina gave her an annoyed look. "What was that?"
Quinn gave her back a bright smile. "What a great day."
"I love her," Sam said with a shrug, unaware of the sudden tension. "That's the least I can do, right?"
"Aw, you're sweet." Rachel giggled, attaching herself to Sam's arm. "But you can stop now, you've already put a ring on it."
Quinn bit the inside of her cheeks. "Yes, please stop."
"Come on, Quinnie," said Tina in a breathier, baby voice, sounding even more annoying to Quinn's ears, "Be a little more enthusiastic will you. I'd put in more effort if I were you, being the maid of honor and everything."
Quinn finished off her drink before flashing Tina a mocking smile. She could feel Rachel's and Sam's eyes on her, waiting for some sort of response. Well, if they wanted a response. "You know, I thought you'd have gotten over the fact that you were second choice. Again."
"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
"Ok, how about I put on the karaoke machine?" Sam piped up before Quinn could snap. "Want to help me out there, Tina? We'll sing the first song and dedicate it to my future Mrs."
"That sounds lovely, Sam," said Rachel, slipping out of Sam's hold while staring Quinn down. She waited until Sam persuaded Tina away before circling in on Quinn. "That was incredibly rude, Quinn. You promised me that whatever drama you had as a couple were in the past, that we could all be mature about this."
"She started it," Quinn mumbled.
"Oh, don't give me that, we're not 12. She's my friend too, you know, and I will not tolerate bickering at my engagement party or at my wedding."
Quinn clenched her jaw, staring hard at the floor, until she begrudgingly said, "I know, I'm sorry."
"Hey, look at me." Rachel cupped her cheeks, tilting her head until she looked up. Quinn studied her eyes then had to accept the fact that there were no cries for help, no sign of regret, no need to come in and save the day, no damsel in distress. Just Rachel Berry concerned for her friend. "Are you ok? You're not feeling under the weather are you? Was it a long day at work?"
"No, I'm fine."
"So then promise me you're going to be nice to Tina."
Quinn jutted her bottom lip out. This decision was at the top of things she didn't want to do - like perform pop covers, get matching BFF4Ever bracelets, become a sellout, or attend Rachel's wedding. She nodded anyways.
Rachel rubbed their foreheads together, something they've done since they were children, before pulling back and letting go of Quinn's cheeks. "And promise me you'll smile more."
And like for everything Rachel has ever asked for, Quinn gave.
Finn Hudson greeted her with a boyish smile and a little wave. He had taken over her entire couch with his foot propped over the armrest. She didn't bother giving him anything more than the nod of her head, frustrated that she once again allowed herself to feel disappointment; this time, over his appearance instead of who she really wanted. In a lapse of stupidity, she thought it was okay again to hope.
"You're not even going to ask me why I'm here?" he asked, as if he's been waiting to surprise her all day.
Quinn stared at him through her vanity mirror, carefully slipping out of her blazer. "You're my manager, am I supposed to be surprised when we see each other?"
"Jeeze, Quinn, I just wanted to fish for a simple, 'Hi Finn! Glad you're here, Finn! I missed you, Finn!'"
"I tell no lies."
He laughed, but it quickly died out into the silence of the room. Quinn occupied herself with taking off her makeup until the silence irked even her. She glanced at his reflection again and saw him staring right back at her unyieldingly. "Is that the jacket Rachel knitted for you for Christmas?" he asked.
She nodded, lips pressed together. It was enough to make him smile knowingly.
Goddammit, this was going to be hell.
From behind a doorway, Quinn watched them sing and dance around each other like they've been doing it all their lives. She watched Rachel laughed into his arms, watched him do a bad Tony Manero impression, watched everyone around them eat it up like a good play. Her hand shook as she drowned her third drink of the night and slammed it back against the kitchen counter. She's not even close to being tipsy.
That probably said something about her.
"Look at you, acting like a broody musician," she heard whispered behind her, directly by her ear. Quinn shivered more out of disgust than anything, and tried her best to ignore Tina's presence. "What a cliché Quinn, I thought you were better than that."
Quinn ran her tongue across the front of her teeth, keeping her eyes glued on the way Rachel's dress move as she twirled.
"They look like such a fairy tale happy couple, don't you think?" Tina continued. "The southern, shy boy from nowhere, Texas finding his one true love in a big town girl. Everything's such a cliché."
Quinn remained quiet, despite the feeling of Tina's fingertips running down her spine, over her dress shirt.
"Aw, you're playing the ignore game now?"
The snip at her ear nearly caused Quinn to jump in her seat, but she was cooler than that. More collected than that. She turned her head around and scowled.
"Retract your claws, rock star, I just wanted to talk." Tina moved to Quinn's side, breaking her moment of peace and seclusion. "What you last said to me wasn't cool, but since it was the honest truth, I'll let it slide. Truce?"
"Rachel made me promised not to be a bitch to you," Quinn said, after realizing it took more effort trying to ignore Tina than was worth it. "But god, it's so hard."
Tina chuckled, snaking an arm across Quinn's backside. "Then why are we fighting, goodlooking, when we could be doing so much more? You're miserable being here, and I'm bored out of my mind. I'm pretty sure Rachel has a nice deserted trophy room that we can disappear into. What do you say? Like old times?"
Quinn had wondered what she ever saw in Tina. Besides the looks and the brains when she wasn't being a villain, Tina was also exceptional in bed. But this was Rachel's party, and Rachel would kill her...
Just then, Rachel looked in their direction and Quinn felt her pulse beat at an unmatched rhythm. The megawatt smile on Rachel's face dropped slightly and she raised an eyebrow at Quinn, silently asking if everything was okay. Butterflies flew in Quinn's stomach, because leave it to Rachel to stop a show just to make sure Quinn was comfortable.
Then again, Rachel would probably do the same with Sam.
"On one condition," Quinn drawled, tearing her eyes away from Rachel's questionable ones.
"What?"
"Let me use her name."
A discernable look passed Tina's otherwise pert face. She's quick to cover it up with a wicked grin. "Why not? You can call me Sam for all I care."
"I had Kurt for my secret Santa," Finn told her. "No offense to him but what about me that screams I need a cashmere scarf? When have I ever worn scarves?"
"You wear skinny jeans and your haircut is always uneven, you don't get to have taste."
"Oh, snap. See, I knew the real Quinn was underneath all that emo-ness."
Quinn flipped her seat around and lolled her head to the side. "What do you want, Hudson?"
He pushed himself forward into a sitting position, popping a few joints in the process. "I saw your show, awesome as always. Although that last number was like, Arms of An Angel level of depressing."
"Still not telling me what you want."
"Look," he held his palm up, attempting to give himself a few extra minutes before she kicked him out; she always kicked him out, "I have an offer for you, so hear me out. Ok so, it's going to be 40 shows at the Pompeii Pub, starting in the beginning of Feb. They'll cover us for accommodations like travel and stay, and a nice paycheck to boot. Tripled of what we're making now."
She mulled over his offer, because it sounded like something he would have contracted on the spot without bothering to ask her. Hell, she would have agreed to it on the spot.
"What's the catch?" she asked.
"You'll have to spend at least 6 months away from New York. They have joints throughout the country so we'll be doing a bit of traveling as well as spend some time in California to broaden your, you know, exposure. There's gonna be plenty of breaks in between concerts for promotions so it doesn't completely overwhelm you guys. Think of it like your first miniature tour."
He raised one eyebrow, then the other, then the same one again, opening his arms out in invitation. His smile was so huge it made Quinn almost smile herself. "Well? What'd you think? Wanna do it?"
Wham bam thank you ma'am had crossed Quinn's mind several times. Even with a nice pair of thighs pressed against her cheeks, and taste of familiarity on her tongue, Quinn had never felt so distant. It's called an out-of-body experience, the wise Rachel Berry would tell her if she were here. Rachel would also tell her she needed to stop making these bad choices one after another, because one day the tabs will pick up her name and make her their new target practice.
"That was bad even for you," Tina said, fishing her bra from under a couch.
Quinn continued buttoning down her shirt and pretended Tina was just another piece of furniture. She definitely had sex like one.
"Did you even come?" Tina threw out.
"Pretty sure I didn't," Quinn replied nonchalantly.
Where did her boots go?
She spotted them next to the lamp, and just as she reached them the door tossed open and light streamed into the darkened room.
"To the culprit who locked and hid inside my trophy room, you've been busted!" Rachel announced, flipping on the light switch.
Quinn didn't bother to look surprise when Rachel's shock was enough for the both of them. At the sight of Quinn and a half-naked Tina, Rachel gasped – too dramatically – clamped a hand over her mouth – more dramatically – then stormed out of the room – of course, dramatically. Any other day Quinn would have found her antics cute, but now she's just irritated beyond belief. Especially when…
"Not cool guys," Sam said, clicking his tongue. "You know Rachel's going to want to sanitize everything, so there goes my weekend. I was looking forward to new episodes of Bob's Burger too."
Quinn flipped him the bird on her way out. She easily found Rachel inside her bedroom, because storming out anywhere else in the middle of her own engagement party would warrant unwanted gossip. To Quinn's disbelief, Rachel wasn't hyperventilating, she wasn't crying, she wasn't breaking things; she paced around the room, arms crossed, nose flared. She appeared angry, but she didn't look like a girl who had discovered newfound feelings sparked by jealousy.
She wasn't Quinn every time Quinn saw her with Sam.
"I'm sor–"
"No, Quinn, don't give me that," Rachel cut in through gritted teeth. "This was supposed to be my engagement party, my happy day, and you decided to have sex with your ex in my trophy room? The place where my coveted Glee Club Nationals trophy reside? What sort of a best friend ARE you?"
Shame filled Quinn to the core. She could admit it was a dick move since Rachel cherished that room like she would her own unborn children. "I was just – Tina was –" She visibly fought with her answer, wincing at every turn. "Honestly, I don't know what to say besides I'm sorry."
Rachel shook her head, eyebrows pressed together. "How about being a decent friend? How about you stop being selfish for once in your life? How about you pretend to be happy for me on my special day?"
"I am happy for you."
"Stop lying to me! I know you don't like Sam, but you can at least –"
"I'm in love with you."
Silence.
In an act that would forever haunt her, Quinn stepped forward to cup Rachel's face. She barely graced the service of smooth, tan cheeks before Rachel's arms shot out and pushed her back against the shoulder. She stumbled backwards, shocked and shamed by her disastrous move for a kiss. Shocked and shamed by Rachel's wet eyes.
Quinn didn't know what was worst, the sound of her own heart shattering or the sound of Rachel's empathetic, "Oh, Quinn."
She rubbed at her eyes, hoping to ease away the impending headache. 6 months on the road, away from New York. The answer came surprisingly easy for her.
"I'll do it."
Finn looked surprise. "Really? That's it?" He laughed goodheartedly, and Quinn momentarily felt bad for cold-shouldering him earlier. His stupidity aside, he was one of her best friends after all. "Awesome, I'll make the calls. I actually thought you were going to put up more of a fight."
"Why? You always said New York's a little town compared to the rest of the world. If we want to be successful, we have to expand."
"So you do listen to me."
"It's common sense."
"Alright, alright. Can't a man feel a little useful now and then? But this is good, very good. I just want you to be like, the most successful thing in the world since slice bread. You deserve it." He stood up and stretched out, looking pleased with himself. His happy demeanor then faded into a pensive one reserved only for her during their serious moments. "It'll be good for you to get away from all of this."
She nodded, hoping that's the end of this 'conversation.'
Except it's not, because he continued, "You know, as one door closes, another one opens. And there are plenty of fishes in the sea - in different shapes and sizes and fins and um, species. Because, really, if you look at it this way, she's just another girl. Or fish." He ended it with a reassuring grin.
Quinn knew what he was trying to do, and a part of her was grateful, but this was a guy whose first instinct is to tell a girl (any girl), 'I love you,' just to cheer them up. She couldn't help but look at him like he shouldn't be giving anyone advice. Since he wanted to give her some sayings, she's glad to give him one right back. "Finn, have you ever felt like you're drowning, except you don't get the luxury of dying in the end?"
He squinted. "Um, no?"
She smiled condescendingly at him. "Then be quiet. You don't understand or know how this feels. We grew up together, we did everything together. I associate her with everything. She's not just someone, she's…Rachel Berry." That's the absolute truth and her resolve, and she's sticking to it.
They sat on opposite sides, Quinn on the floor and Rachel at the foot of her bed. The door's locked, because the last thing either wanted was Sam barging in, although he did knock a few times asking if they were alright. What a great boyfriend slash fiancé slash future husband.
Quinn felt heavy and exhausted. The outpouring of her words did nothing but trapped her while giving someone else the control. The only saving grace was the someone else being Rachel; her sweet, perfect, beautiful best friend Rachel. She took suffice in knowing Rachel would sooner lead an army down a warpath than purposely crush her heart.
"How long?" Rachel's voice sounded tired.
Quinn shrugged a shoulder. "Freshman year of high school? Middle school? The moment I pushed you down in the sandbox and instead of crying you comforted me and said it was going to be alright?"
Rachel let out a shaky, choked breath that almost passed as a laugh. "Why are you telling this to me now?"
"You know why."
She shook her head, disbelievingly. "You've had all these years to tell me – years where I was single and available – to tell me, and you choose my engagement party to do so?"
"I…I'm sorry it came out that way. I never meant it to." And Quinn did mean it. She'd already made peace with never telling Rachel about her feelings, and blamed everything that transpired on bad whiskey and the classic spur of the moment. "If you want we can just forget I ever said anything."
"Why are you being so blasé about this?" There's hidden anger in Rachel's eyes that Quinn wasn't used to, causing the blonde to look away. "You can't just drop this bombshell on me right before my marriage, Quinn. What exactly do you want me to do with that information? What were you expecting?"
She shrugged again, biting down the need to cry. Pressing her nails into her palm seemed like the better alternative. "I don't...It wasn't my intention to make you do anything, Rachel. I would never put you in that position."
"Well, you unknowingly just did. You tried to kiss me." In a softer voice, Rachel whispered, "I'm happy with Sam. I can't afford to throw away three years of a stable relationship with someone…Quinn, you know I think you're beautiful, and you're the greatest friend anyone can ask for, but I'm sorry, I don't return your feelings."
Quinn chuckled humorlessly. Bitterness rose in her chest, superseding the hurt. This emotion she could deal with. Anything but the hurt. She accepted how people saw her, as some sort of female lothario rockstar that would sooner bed a woman than know her name. She's lived and dealt with it since high school when she picked up her first guitar and dumped her first girlfriend, but somehow, it stung worst knowing that's how Rachel saw her too.
"I never expected you to." She chanced a look up and was taken back by Rachel's glare. "Lets just forget this happened, please?"
Rachel's answer was silence. It felt like hours for Quinn until Rachel finally nodded, visibly working her jaw.
"I'll leave," Quinn mumbled, pulling up to her feet. She swallowed down the disappointment she felt when Rachel didn't protest. She didn't want to stay another moment to embarrass herself further since Rachel made her feelings very clear. What's the point in fighting a war she knew she'd lost from the very beginning? "For your information, I am happy for you and Sam, because it makes you happy. That's all I want, Rachel, for you to be happy."
Rachel said nothing and everything with her silence. Quinn could feel those eyes boring through her as she made her leave. She stopped at the doorway when Rachel suddenly called out her name. Quinn's heart betrayed her with an excited anticipation.
"I…" Rachel started, holding Quinn's gaze before ducking her head and glancing away.
"Goodbye."
"When was the last time you spoke with her?" Finn asked, looking uncomfortable but knowing he couldn't just leave without trying something.
Quinn thought back to the party, memories rushing past her mind's eye. The all white decorations. The cheesy chocolate fountain. Tina. Rachel's expression of betrayal when she tried to kiss her. The memories were vivid enough to make Quinn hung her head and shrink in vulnerability.
"Directly? At her engagement party. Is it sad that we had to go through friends just so she could give me her Secret Santa gift?"
"Yeah," he smiled crookedly. "Seeing as how I was the friend that you had to go through."
She narrowed her eyes at him until they were near slits.
"Ok, ok," he relented, slowly backing out. "I see I'm failing at this whole supporting thing."
"You are. I just don't really want to talk about it right now. I'm still a bit angry over my actions so all I'll probably do is lash out at you."
He smiled sadly at her. "I think I'm just going to go now before I make an even bigger ass of myself. But I hope you get better, Quinn, because I miss going out to the bars with you and telling hot chicks I have a rockstar as my wingwoman."
Quinn couldn't help the little laugh that escaped her. She waited until he left before collapsing against the vanity, eyes shut tightly. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to cry.
She went nearly two weeks without crying, she can do so now.
Even as her eyes stung when they opened; her hands trembled when they rubbed down her face; her throat constricted every time she breathed. She wasn't going to cry.
The knock at her door reminded her of where she was - inside a dressing room at the local concert theatre with hundreds of people milling around. She remained immobile in her spot until the knocks sounded again. The idiot's cashmere scarf – green and gray colored with an S sewn on it – was left on her couch, so Quinn had a hint as to why Finn came back to bother her. She snatched up the scarf and swung the door open, expecting a giant oaf on the other side.
What she got instead was a pair of familiar brown eyes wearing a surprisingly shy smile.
"Hi."