Quinn Fabray could feel nothing. The black engulfed her, wrapping around her broken form menacingly, and for the first time in a very long time, Quinn Fabray was scared of the dark. The dark was cruel and cold and it offered no way back. That fear kept her fighting. It kept her strong, and – what's more – strong willed.
She remembered some details about why she was in this dark. But only a few. Sometimes things would come and go, but sometimes only names stayed with her. Someone named Rachel was supposed to get married, and she was a Cheerio again (though why she wanted to be a type of cereal, she wasn't sure), and a red uniform with a WMHS shone through like a beacon of light and hope, and someone had told her to hurry up. Sue (was that her mother?) was pregnant, and even though she was mean, Quinn thought she would be a good mother.
Quinn – or Lucy, or whatever her real name was – remembered a beige truck speeding, and texting, and a red Bug, and a stoplight (but the light was red in her memories), and a pink bridesmaids dress in the backseat, and she should be there by now. Perhaps she had hit a tree? Was that why she was in this darkness? Yes, she seemed to be heading down the right track, so she steered her brain that way. Even though Quinn was slightly amnesiac, she was not unintelligent.
There had been a boy named Finn…and she had loved him. Had. Not anymore, though. That had been a long time ago, but now they were friends. That sounded right. Finn her friend. And Santana, who had a temper. She was very fierce, but very defensive, and she would protect her friends within an inch of her life. And Brittany S. Pierce, the talk-show host. For some reason melted cheese (disgusting and old cheese) and gossip and a very overweight cat resonated through Quinn's mind. Her brain seemed to pair Santana and Brittany S. Pierce together. Maybe they were best friends?
And there was Rachel…Apple? Her last name was a food, Quinn was sure of that. Or maybe it sounded like a fruit. Rachel was girly, and a good singer. And headstrong. That fact seemed to always stick with Rachel. And she had been going to Rachel's wedding, in a pink dress…but who was it that she had been marrying?
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
For some reason, that sounded very familiar. Was it a poem Quinn liked? She would have to ask Mr. Schuester later.
She gasped in her head. She remembered Mr. Schu! And Ms. Pillsbury, the eccentric (and OCD) guidance counselor with her hilarious (and helpful) pamphlets. And a choir room, and song lyrics, and an auditorium, and a gleaming golden trophy that she had earned. Or had helped to earn, anyways. And Quinn had been in a club! Oh, what was it called? G…g…gleam club? No, but almost. Glee club? Yes! Glee club! And even though she would never admit it, that club was her life, her one happiness, the thing that had kept her strong through all of the tough times.
And then all in one instant everything came rushing back. Quinn remembered everything – Puck, and Beth, and the God Squad, and her haircut, and Sam, and being a Cheerio, and winning Regionals, and being stubborn, but then finally agreeing to come to Rachel and Finn's wedding!
Oh, God! She had to get there. She had been late, and now she was really late. Quinn struggled against the darkness, trying in vain to reach her pink dress, to get to City Hall, to be Rachel's maid of honor. She was ready.
And Quinn suddenly remembered the accident. She remembered the pain. The cuts. The bruises. The glass shattering in, and hearing herself screaming almost as if from a distance. A terrible, gut-wrenching, horrified scream.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
They had won Regionals with that song. And now she was going to use it as strength, to guide her out of this comatose state. She refused to die. She had just gotten her Cheerio's uniform back, for God's sake! She was going to lead two very different groups of people to win national championships. And she WAS GOING TO WAKE UP.
"How long has she been like this?" A voice ripped through the darkness, startling Quinn. It was Rachel's voice, and she sounded like she had been sobbing.
"A couple of days," replied someone else. "Sometimes, after a traumatic accident, we keep victims in a coma. It allows their body to recover more quickly."
"Quinn?" Now it was Santana's voice. "Come on, Q, wake up. We got some butt to kick, chica."
She willed her eyes to open, forced the blackness away, shoved it someplace else to someone who wanted it more than she did. A white room came into view; it was very bland and smelled of antiseptic. Her exhausted gaze floated around the room, seeing the familiar faces, seeing the worry that was etched into them. Everyone looked startled; perhaps they really hadn't expected her to wake up.
She blinked slowly in a hello – she didn't have the strength for anything else. She felt like she had been plowed through and ran over several times with a truck, and she actually had been.
"Quinn?" Mr. Schuester stood, and walked over to her. "How do you feel?"
"Like I'm late for a wedding," she croaked slowly, glancing at Santana, knowing her humor would make the Queen of that category smile.