"Dear God,"
That was always how it started. And these days, that was how it ended. Because how could she continue?
"Dear God, I hate you for letting me get pregnant."
Not acceptable.
"Dear God, I'm pregnant with a baby who is not my boyfriend's. I told him it was his. I'm royally screwed."
God knew that already.
"Dear God, I think I'm in love with Rachel Berry."
Whoa. Just whoa. Where had that come from? Maybe the Devil. That made sense. The one who tempted…
Rachel Berry. Loud, irritating, prima donna, beautiful, small, impertinent – girl. Girl.
"Dear God, save me from this."
That sounded about right.
But did she want to be saved from it? From being cornered by Rachel in the hallway, from hearing Rachel yell at her, from feeling that tension between them, that passion, from admitting that it was she, Quinn Fabray, head cheerleader and president of the celibacy club, who had drawn a rather accurate rendering of a nude Rachel in the bathroom?
That it was she, Quinn Fabray, confused sixteen year old girl, who laid in her bed at night and wondered what it would be like if Rachel would kiss her?
But Quinn had never kissed a girl. Sure, she had gotten drunk on wine coolers and slept with her boyfriend's best friend and gotten pregnant, and yes, she had made the lives of several hundred high schoolers miserable, but that was a line she had never crossed.
Weren't lines made to be crossed?
"Dear God, can you hear me? It's Quinn…Fabray. You know me. We used to talk. When I was younger and more … virginal. I've…failed. I mean, you know that. But I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about something more, something dangerous, this feeling, that maybe I love a girl, but she couldn't love me back. She couldn't love the pregnant ex-cheerleader who can't even hold a lead in glee club without running to the bathroom. Who can't even pay her doctors bills without forcing her boyfriend to get a job."
Quinn fell back on her bed and pulled her pillow over her face to muffle her sobs.
"Dear God, can you help me?"
And for once, she didn't mean help with her secret baby, or her boyfriend, or her baby daddy, or fitting into her blouses for another week. And God seemed to know it, because her phone vibrated on her nightstand. It was a text message from someone in Quinn's phone as "Lima Minnelli," and it made her heart flip.
"Thinking about you. Sleep well 3."
Quinn sniffled and wiped her nose with her arm. She thought about responding, but instead, she laid back down and cradled the phone to her heart.
"Dear God?"
For a second the silence between her and Heaven didn't seem quite as thick. She thought that, if she went to her window, she might see God smiling down on her. Maybe what they said in church was right; maybe God really did want you to be happy, no matter what trials befell you. And maybe having a crush on Rachel Berry wasn't a trial. It wasn't like they'd had a quickie in the girls' bathroom before class or anything. It wasn't like smiles and touches were something God could frown upon.
And maybe, when she went to glee rehearsal tomorrow, instead of flicking her hair in Rachel's direction, she'd smile. And if Rachel smiled back, maybe she'd mention the text, and how it had made her smile on a night that had been full of tears.
Or she'd mention the text, anyway. And they'd take it from there.
She still had drama, and a boyfriend and a baby daddy, and a crush that may or may not be requited, but she had a promise. A tiny, five word, one symbol promise. And that was enough for tonight.
"Thank you."