Hello dear readers!
Here it is, the long-awaited sequel to Come On Get Higher (song I'm actually listening to right now:))! I can't promise to upload as frequently as I did COGH or ISL cause school's started! But hey! Guess what? One of you owes me the honor to have your child named after me: TWiM.
This probably won't be as long, but it is under Drama/Romance soo you've been fairly warned :p
Yes, yes - dear inpatient reader: Faberry IS endgame, just like we saw at the end of COGH.
Anyway, thank you Iza.G for reading this and giving me your honest opinion; thank you AlsoAngels for asking me about it and encouraging me to write it; thank you BSheep for your continuous support when it comes to COGH or ISL or even that secret fic we're brainstorming together; and thank you to all the rest of you who in some shape or form have asked me about it, encouraged me to write it, or simply just read COGH.
I love you allll!
Without further ado:
A Sequel to Come On Get Higher: She's So High
Chapter 1 - Other Side of the World (KT Tunstall)
Other Side of the World (KT Tunstall)
I look out at my audience in this particular setting. I know she's here. I have to try this. No matter how many times I've tried speaking to her, she won't give me an in. This is my newest strategy.
I'm at a stupid party I don't actually want to be at, because Santana swore to me by her dead grandmother that she'd be here. Isn't it ironic that the one person who hated Quinn the most when she and I started dating knows more about her than I do?
I look at my "band," or the guys I contacted in the past week to practice this with me. They all seem to only be awaiting for my signal. I want to start; my nerves are building. Nerves shouldn't get to me anymore, with working on an off-Broadway - very soon to be on Broadway - show. But this is a different circumstance. I need to do this. And I want to just get it done with it, but I can't find her.
It took a while to let the party host to let me do this, but after a lot of persuasion by both Santana and I (and some light making out by Santana and Britt - I know, I'm ashamed I even asked), the guy let me.
As soon as I spot her, I give my band a quick nod and the guitar starts with the intro. I don't have to do much else to grab her attention but clear my throat quietly into the mic (provided by me, of course, as well as all the other audio stuff, that Jessie helped me set up). Hazel eyes burn into mine immediately, and I let her gaze sink in before coming in right on time.
Give me love like her,
'cause lately I've been waking up alone,
Paint splattered teardrops on my shirt,
Told you I'd let them go,
And that I'll fight my corner,
Maybe tonight I'll call ya,
After my blood turns into alcohol,
No, I just wanna hold ya.
Give a little time to me or burn this out,
We'll play hide and seek to turn this around,
All I want is the taste that your lips allow,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love.
Give me love like never before,
'cause lately I've been craving more,
And it's been a while but I still feel the same,
Maybe I should let you go,
You know I'll fight my corner,
And that tonight I'll call ya,
After my blood is drowning in alcohol,
No I just wanna hold ya.
Give a little time to me or burn this out,
We'll play hide and seek to turn this around,
All I want is the taste that your lips allow,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
Give a little time to me, or burn this out,
We'll play hide and seek to turn this around,
All I want is the taste that your lips allow,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
My my, my, my, oh give me love.
M-my my, m-my my, m-my my, give me love, lover,
M-my my, m-my my, m-my my, give me love, lover,
M-my my, m-my my, m-my my, give me love, lover,
M-my my, m-my my, m-my my, give me love, lover.
I've practically begged her to take me back, and yet she still seems cold. She's simply staring at me from where she stood through most of my performance. No. Not performance - my declaration. Ripping my heart open for her and letting it bleed with all the want in it, in the way I know best. I can't talk about it but I can sure as hell sing it.
The party has quieted down. Since I started singing to Quinn until now, not a word has been uttered. I smile at the owner of the apartment and he gives me a thumbs up before turning the loud music back on and people go back to dancing.
I take my time to her. First, I stop by the keg to grab some beer because, nerves. Then, I gulp half of it down.
"Hey," I say when I approach. I can see that she's nervous about letting me come too close.
She looks around at the raging party going on around us, trying to analyze in that way of hers if this is really happening. She looks so gorgeous in the teal tee and ripped jeans- casual is how I love her best. Her hair reflects the lights flicking on and off to the insistent beat of the song.
"Hi," she tells me, finally, after what seems like ages and doesn't linger her eyes on mine. Nervously, she licks her lips, like I knew she would, and tries to not look at mine. I know it; I know her. I miss the fuck out of her.
She isn't going to say anything else if I don't keep the conversation going (since I started it). My racing heart is competing to kill me faster than her stare. "How have you been, Quinn?" The taste of her name on my tongue, as it passes my lips, and leaves my mouth, feels intoxicating and it makes me want to just say it again for no reason other than to just say it. I have been purposely avoiding saying the damn name because of the reactions it causes on me, ever since she broke up with me.
She isn't willing to let this get carried away. I see it that she is struggling to stay there and I fucking hate it how much effort she has to make to be in my presence now.
Does she not fucking miss me like I miss her? Does she not fucking care? Did she not fucking love me? No. She did. She did love me. She does, I just know. I feel it. I need her to. I persist, "did you like the song? It's by Ed Sheeran. I sang it for you." I tell her that bit of info even though I know she knows.
"I've been good, Rachel." She replies succinctly, irking a rage within me. Knowing that she's been 'good' without me doesn't make me happy, and if that makes me selfish then fuck the world. I don't give a shit. She doesn't ask me back how I'm doing, and it hurts to know she doesn't care. She doesn't even acknowledge the song.
I frown, and ask, visibly hurt, "do you not miss me at all?" It comes out as a whisper, the anger practically tangible.
She winces at the question and looks around again, away, looking for something or someone. I see her fidgeting with her fingers, my chest constricts, my head feels like it'll burst. "Rach..." she starts, trying to not let me go there. Her eyes betray her feelings, as they've always have. Any other person looks into them and sees hazel, and I look into them and see everything: the stars (galaxies and galaxies of them), the hurt, the pretense, the memories, and how much she misses me.
"No, Quinn. Don't give me this bullshit." I say, slightly irritated, rising the hand holding onto the red cup, filled halfway with beer from a keg. I throw some hair over my shoulder with the free hand and look her up and down, disgusted. "Just tell me how you fucking feel."
"As I remember, Rachel," she spits back, with just as much disdain in her tone of voice, "you were the one who always had trouble expressing your feelings."
"I know I fucking suck at talking, okay? But I can sing and I sang for you! And - just. I'm here now and we can talk. We'll talk all you want."
She doesn't say anything for a while and I just wait. We stare at each other in a silent battle of egos until she says, "listen, Rach. Let's not do this here or now... Nothing good will come out of here so-"
I can tell she wants me to tell her I'll go and leave but I don't though. Because I'm not ready to, yet, and I just - I have to show her that I want her just as much now as I've always had. "Quinn, ask me how much I miss you." I try, with a different approach.
"I can't, Rachel," she says. It's been almost a month since we broke up, on terrible terms, really, and I haven't been able to get her out of my head - my thoughts, dreams, my longings, my memories. "I can't ask you that," she says and bites on that lower lips that I've always loved to love, kiss, bite, touch, lick.
"And why the fuck not?" I grit out through my teeth, squinting at her, pissed. I'm pissed at where we are; pissed I let it get here; pissed she is 'good.'
I'm not good. I haven't been good.
Santana shows up in my line of vision, behind Quinn, looking worried and like she's about to intervene. Even with all the bodies between us, she can sense how this can get ugly real bad. I simply shake my head at her - no -and she stops moving. I focus back on Quinn, who's still trying to come up with a stupid lame-ass excuse. "Just fucking say it, dammit." I urge.
"I can't because I'm afraid of how I'll react to your answer," she finally admits.
So there is hope. It's all I need. At least we're fighting again - means there's passion. We're still in this, no matter what she or anyone else says. "So you do miss me," I expel with a certain air of victory, smug. I cross my arms and dare her to say otherwise.
"Of course I do, Rachel. Every fucking day, are you happy now?" Without even asking, she takes my fucking beer and downs it, swiping the back of her hand over her mouth. It's sexy. It shouldn't be - considering the situation - but it is, and all I want to do is throw my body at hers and suck the beer off her lips.
"That was mine." I protest, without being actually upset at her for doing it. I think it's actually beautiful that she just claimed it like that, as if we're still together - as if she can.
And she can. She'll always can.
"You don't care," she tells me, pointing at me, and I nod in agreement, because I don't. "Look, Rachel," she tries again. "Maybe we should talk at another time, okay? Enjoy the party, go dance with some girl, and - I don't know. Just...let's not do this tonight. I'm tired of fighting." I hate it when she uses that tone of voice, raspy and pleading, combined with that look.
"So you don't care if I go dance with some random," I comment on her passing statement, lingering. I'm annoyingly persistent, I know that, but it's just to provoke her and continue reminding her that I'm still around.
"No, I don't, Rachel." She says, irritated. "We're not together anymore so it's none of my business who the hell you dance with." Rude. She says it all rude and shit, and I just hate her so much despite how much I love her.
Probably because of how much I still love her.
"Fine, be a fucking bitch then." Is what I say to her. I don't remember the last time I insulted her like this, meaning it, and with every intention of hurting her feelings. "Fuck you, Quinn."
She knows I'm not over her. And I know she's not over me. A month is definitely not enough fucking time for her to be over me. I scoff at her, and walk away, trying to keep some of my pride intact.
Before I make it back across the room to the keg, for a refill, Santana is grabbing me by the elbow. "You're not drinking anymore tonight."
"Fuck off," I say, taking my elbow back to myself. "I've only had half a cup."
"I know, but I don't want to see what you'd do with any more alcohol in you, you ass." She's upset and affected by the whole situation. Quinn and she have become incredibly closer over the year.
Quinn broke up with me in the beginning of February, just shy of our first year anniversary and her birthday. I had already bought her the gifts. I left them at the house anyway, the night of her party, with one of her cheerleaders. That night has been the first in a week that she contacted me. She thanked me for the lovely gifts over text and that was it.
She was - is - trying to move on. But I don't want to let her. And I won't. Not without fighting for her. I hear her voice echoing through my head: "I could, you know." Get over you. Is what she had told me once and it's come up in my thoughts consistently the past month. She said she would. I'm afraid she will. She can't, because I won't be able to.
I wasn't trying hard enough, she had said. She was tired of putting so much effort, and feeling like I didn't care enough. Same old, same old. I told her that I was just busy with the musical and school and she countered with the fact that she's also studying and she's the head cheerleader AND she is juggling a paid-internship at a small firm near campus. But somehow, she had said, she still made time for me; I was coasting through our relationship now.
Fuck that.
I hate the term, 'coasting.' I was present. I am present.
It's ridiculous, really.
We began to fight regularly right around Christmas time, when I didn't want her to go back to Ohio (again), and she didn't want me to stay in New York for the musical (again). But this time the musical was much more important than before because it had been successful and it continued to garner supporters, fans, and the attention of the media.
She went to Ohio. I stayed.
This time it was more strained than the first time, but we argued that if we made it through once, we could again. And this time it was only about two and a half weeks, compared to almost half of summer.
"I won't do anything stupid, San." I defend myself and pour the beer even as she glares at me.
"So, speaking to Quinn - what, does that go under the 'not stupid' category?" I fucking hate it when Santana starts speaking to me like this, so I show her my middle finger, and walk away.
The party is boring, at least so far.
At some point, I make eye contact briefly with a short black-haired girl on the other side of the dance floor with 'fuck me' eyes. It's only when I look back and realize that she's still staring that I make my way over.
Now standing in front of her, I smile, in that charming way from before Quinn, and introduce myself, already claiming possession of her waist with the empty hand. "Rachel Berry," I say it in her ear, with a giggle in my voice and second intentions in my mind. "What's your name?" It's hard talking when the music is so loud, vibrating through every cell of my body, but she nods as I speak to let me know she can hear.
"Hailey Gordon, but most people call me Hey."
"Hey, as in - the greeting?" I ask, sort of laughing, but completely intrigued by her.
She smiles as pulls away a little to look at me in the eyes and nods. When she comes closer again, resting her warm cheek against my own, she says, "I saw you talking to Quinn Fabray; you guys used to date, right?"
I shake my head against hers, wanting to forget all that, and take a long gulp of the sweet nectar in my hand, to give me time to avoid the question. "But we don't anymore," I say. "So, Hey, do you dance?" I point behind me, and she looks bashful for just a second.
"I'm afraid I'm really bad at it," she says without convincing me. "I'd need instructions."
With a sly smile and the conviction I'm the best dancer, I grab her hand and lead her past the people to the middle of the dance floor.
I position myself in front of her, and hold her hands, having discarded my beer cup along the way, and start stepping side to side to the beat. "You're doing pretty well," I compliment her.
We get closer and close as the song progresses and gets heavier. I let go of her hands and move mine down her body, pressing her closer. The way her body moves against mine drives me crazy, and it makes me thirsty - for water, for her, to forget the other one.
When I glance to the right, in the middle of a song that Hey is grinding into me hardcore - her ass pressed into my front (suddenly she knew how to dance) - I catch Quinn looking. She's leaning on a blank space on the wall, sipping on water from a bottle. One of her eyebrows raise at me, and I can't be bothered by her look. She can't be upset. She told me to dance, she's trying to move on so I have every right to. I just send her a closed-lip smile and turn my attention back to Hey.
"You lied, babe." I tell Hey, smirking at the way her hand snakes up and around my neck to hold me closer. "You know how to dance."
"I do," she giggles. I feel it more than actually hear it. I decide to go for it, because the best way to get over someone...
"Do you want to get out of here? I live about a block from here." Mike isn't home tonight, I'm almost one hundred percent sure.
By this point I'm simply hovering my hands over her waist, watching her move deliciously against me and my desire grows with each second that passes.
"Yeah," she says breathlessly, so I take her by the hand and we leave, passing right by Quinn.
I don't look at her, but on my way to not looking I her, I see Santana looking at me with the biggest disappointed look sketched on her face.
I don't let her control. I take her roughly up against my front door, then somehow we make it to my bedroom, where I take her on my bed. Twice.
She is the polar opposite of Quinn - in looks and personality, but I almost slip-up when I come a second time.
Quinn's name almost tumbles out of my mouth in my ecstasy, but I catch myself when I open my eyes and see dull brown staring back.
"Was she at least good in bed?" Santana shakes me awake with that question.
Hey is still next to me. I groan because I shouldn't have let her stay. "San," I hiss, and make a gesture for her to leave.
"Get up, let's go." She orders me, and doesn't stop shaking me. It's making me even more frustrated, but I get up to make her stop.
I pull up my panties and jeans, watching carefully to see if Hey wakes up with my absence beside her. "Where the fuck are we going?"
"Brunch." She turns around and leaves me alone at last. Only when I go pick up my discarded The Smiths shirt, do I realize that Hey is waking up.
The worst part of it is that she looks thoroughly fucked and still gorgeous. She blinks slowly, trying to understand what's going on. It wouldn't be hard for me to like a girl like this if I wasn't so hung up on another one who looked even prettier after a night of sex.
I'm not exactly heartless, so I lean over her and kiss her quickly on the lips, "Morning, gorg. I have to go to brunch with my friend. I'll call you, alright? Stay as long as you need."
There's barely even time for her to comprehend what I just said when Santana barges in again, pulling me by the hand. "Bye," she tells Hey with a sarcastic smile.
"You could start learning to be nice to the girls I'm going to start seeing." I say when we're outside of my apartment building, Santana looking like she's deciding where to go still.
"Well, well. Start seeing huh?"
"Yeah."
Santana pulls the coat she's wearing closer to her body and scrutinizes with those brown eyes of hers. "Whatever happened to fighting for Quinn? How do you intend on fighting by sleeping with other chicks, you idiot?"
We start walking South together, making our way to Fred's, a breakfast joint we both enjoy. They serve the best omelets. "I don't really know what I'm doing, San. I just want one of two things: be with her, or be over her. And I know that right now, neither one of those options is going to happen."
"Rach, you're my best friend," she starts as she opens the door of the diner. "So I have the right to tell you when you're being ridiculous. After you left with the chick last night, Quinn spent the night crying in Britt's arms."
I stare at Santana at the front of the diner, and a waitress awkwardly waits for us to pick a table to sit. I stay quiet.
Santana chooses a spot and I follow her, unable to come up with anything to say to the information she just disclosed. "I'm with her all the time, and she's fucking devastated."
"She has a way of showing -" I say while looking over the menu, even though I already know what I'll order.
"You don't make it easy. She's just hurt right now. Maybe you should try being her friend."
I stop looking to stare at Santana. Friends? Quinn and I don't know how to be friends. I don't want to just be her friend. I want all of her. "I can't just be her friend."
"Can't or won't?" She's said that to me before. Once, when Quinn and I weren't speaking. I hate it that she knows me - us - so well.
"Can't and won't," I reply, stubborn as ever.
The waitress comes back with a small yellow notepad and a blue pen and asks us if we know what we want. I order a spinach and chicken omelet and black coffee, Santana gets their Marvelous Meat Omelet, with every kind of meat available in it, and coffee.
"Well, anyway," I try to change subjects. "Last night - me leaving with Hey, was all her fault."
Santana blinks at me and hands the menu to the waitress. "Hold up," she says with a snicker. "That's her name? Hey?"
"Yeah," I say and shrug. "It's Hailey, but people call her Hey or whatever. I think it's cute."
"O-kay," she rolls her eyes and her sleeves up, after taking off her coat, and continues. "And how is it Quinn's fault again?"
"She told me to go dance," I say as if it's a sufficient answer.
"How - wait. How exactly does that mean 'take a girl home and fuck her'?" She scrunches her eyes at me, not understanding my behavior at all (and honestly, I don't really understand it either).
"I asked her if she didn't care who I danced with and she said she doesn't because we're not together anymore..." I elaborate. "If she doesn't care who I dance with then it's none of her business who I sleep with. She can't get upset."
"How would you feel if she had left with someone, Rachel? Think about it like that."
I stay quiet and politely smile up at the waitress in her mid-thirties, but who could pass as a 50 year old, when she brings my coffee. I drink it slowly, maintaining eye contact with Santana, because I don't want to respond.
She's right. Of course she is, but I won't give her the satisfaction.
How would I feel? I think. I'd be pissed, obviously. I'd probably throw a tantrum and make sure that the girl heard that Quinn still loves me. I'd make Santana make Quinn stop. I'd cry on Britt's shoulder and call Kurt to cuss her out. I'd probably end up crying all week in my room, and Mike and Tine would have to come pry me out to eat. Jesse would have to come over to feed me.
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear a familiar voice call me out from the door. I look up, and I'm surprised to see Gaea smiling and waving at me. She sees me because I'm facing the door, and Santana has her back to her, so I stand, and point at her so Santana can come say hi too.
We meet her halfway and she hugs us both excitedly. It's been a while since I've seen her, and we've never been close friends (in fact, I didn't like her for a long time because I was sure she liked Quinn), but it actually is nice to see her. She looks a little more tan right now than when I saw her last, before Christmas break. The darker hue of her skin really brings out the light color of her eyes.
"Hello, Gaea. It's so nice to see you," I say and hug her. She hugs me back and shares the sentiment and then hugs Santana.
"I haven't seen you guys in ages. How's everything?" She asks, her eyes smiling as big as her lips.
"Good," Santana replies before I say anything. "Everything's great with me."
"What about you, Rachel? I mean, where is Quinn?" She frowns, confused at the absence of my ever-present (ex-) girlfriend and looks over my shoulder to see if she missed her.
"I," I stutter, nervous, "I - we're... She and I are not longer seeing each other, so." I'm surprised Quinn didn't tell her or she hasn't heard it through the grapevine.
"What?" Her round eyes get bigger and she immediately apologizes for bringing it up. "I'm sorry. Are you -" she hesitates but asks anyway. "Are you okay?"
"Well," I sigh. "As okay as I can be, really."
Santana interrupts here, "hey, looks like our food's ready." I look behind and the waitress is setting our plates on the table. She looks at Gaea again, "want to join us?" She's just being polite. I know she doesn't want her to accept.
Gaea isn't dumb. She shakes her head, "no, I'm just going to grab something to go."
"It was nice talking to you," Santana offers and gives me a pointed look before retreating back to our little booth.
"Yeah, you too." Gaea says to her back. When she looks at me, I see how concerned she is, but I can't tell who she's concerned for: me, Quinn, or both. She pulls out a pen from her purse and grabs a napkin quickly from the counter. She scribbles something on it and hands it over. "Here, my number just in case you wanted to talk."
"Thanks," I say, softly. "I'll see you around."
She's already turning to the counter, "see you."
I make my way back to Santana and our eggs and sit, sticking the napkin into my back pocket. "How is it?" I ask, referring to the food.
"What's that?" She asks, pointing at the hand that's now empty, on its way back from my pocket. Chewing very unlady-like, Santana raises her eyebrows waiting for a response.
"Nothing," I dismiss it.
"You're not actually thinking about calling her..." Santana comments, shaking her head, and I take my first bite of the delicious food.
I laugh, "chill the fuck out, Santana. It's just in case I need to talk."
"She's Quinn's friend, Rachel. That'd be so wrong."
I ignore it and go back to eating.
Hey becomes my fuck-buddy, for lack of a better term. I couldn't say friends with benefits, because we are not friends. As long as no one gets too attached we're good, because I can't afford to start liking another girl when I'm still hung up on my ex. Hardcore.
She usually leaves before I'm awake now. The first time was a one-time thing. It is important - to both she and I - that Mike isn't up and in the kitchen when she leaves. She met him that Sunday all by herself and it had been awkward because he remains a Team Quinn. They know each other for years, so his side is obvious (and apparently everyone forgets that she ended things with me).
It's another three weeks after that when I see Quinn again. This time I make it a point that she sees I see her but am purposefully avoiding her. So I do want her back, but my ego is a little bruised and I can be a bit stubborn at times. I have my dignity to think of here.
Barely raising her cup of coffee from where she is, is her way of acknowledging me.
The bitch.
Soon, she's looking back at her book, sitting on her corner of the coffee shop (that was mine first, but whatever).
There is a heavy weight on my chest. I turn, before even ordering, and make way for the door. A song begins speaking loudly over the speakers. Of course it'd be this song. My hand hovers over the door handle only for the introduction of our damn song. I look torward Quinn, who's already looking at me with pained eyes, brimmig with tears carrying apologies and pityness in them. I'm out of there as the singer begins; it's impossible to hear If You're Wondering If I Want You To (I Want You To) and not be assaulted by so many of our memories together.
I think I better leave right now
Before I fall any deeper
I think I better leave right now
I'm feeling weaker and weaker
Somebody better show me out
Before I fall any deeper
I think I better leave right now
The song is on repeat. It's my life's anthem at the moment. I've made the decision, after two and a half months of not being with Quinn that I need to just get out of this - whatever we're in.
I've made a decision and I'm sticking with it.
The pictures finally come down.
"When was the last time you actually talked though?" Kurt insists, over a bite of his sandwich, and three other familiar caring eyes stare at me waiting for a response. Sitting around the small round table are Jesse, Blaine, and Kurt. It's late evening, and we're grabbing dinner before going to the show. Blaine has to get to a night class after this, but he usually eats with us for Kurt.
I think about it. "At a party, maybe three months ago? We had broken up a month before."
Blaine reaches across the table, seeking my hand and I give it to him, "Honey, I think it's time you move on. I love Quinn - we all do, but -" he sighs, heavily. It's like he thinks he has to be the bearer of the bad news.
"I'm trying," I say, defensively, frown, and pull my hand away. I wrap my fingers around my Veggie Wrap, and take a large-sized bite. "I'm trying really hard," I reiterate, speaking while chewing.
"Chew first; talk later, Chip." Jesse says, tapping his fingers on the table. He's been done with his salad for a while.
I groan, feeling like a child, "whatever." I mumble. I've been constantly this angry since the break up. I was not this fucking sad before, and I blame Quinn for breaking me significantly.
"Babe," Jesse says, softly, and my eyes lift from the table to his. "Just take it slowly. Let's all go out tonight for drinks. Maybe you can invite that girl you've been seeing."
"Not seeing - fucking." Kurt corrects him before I even have the chance to agree or disagree with his plans.
"Cheers," I say sarcastically in my best British accent and raise my cup of tea. Quinn hates tea. She would probably not kiss me until I brushed my teeth after drinking this. My train of thought just makes me lose my appetite and I drop the wrap on the basket they serve it on. "I don't know, Jesse..." I don't want to invite Hey along. She's not supposed to be complicated. She's supposed to be an easy lay.
"Come on, even if you don't invite your fuck-buddy, bring a friend. I want to go to the Stonewall. I've been single longer than you." He smiles, that charming smile and I regret my decision already.
"Hey, is this Gaea?" I ask as soon as the connection is made.
She chuckles on the other side and guesses, "Rachel. You finally make use of my number."
Santana and Britt are out on a date night, and I can't invite Hey out. Not options: Quinn, for obvious reasons; Tina, because Mike would be upset; Mercedes because Sam also took Quinn's side.
The show just ended, it's almost 11 PM, and I'm in fresh clothes: a dark long-sleeve shirt with a gray scarf around my neck. I grab my favorite leather jacket from the chair, and sit on the couch in my small dressing room to tie my shoes. I can't at the moment, because of the phone, so I cross a leg over the other and focus on the conversation. "Are you busy tonight?" I go straight to the point. I'm not asking her out on a date (technically I am, but well).
"Not doing anything extremely important," she responds. "Why?"
"Some friends and I are going out for drinks at The Stonewall. I was wondering if you, maybe, wanted to come with me."
"Rachel Berry, are you asking me out?"
"Sure," I admit easily. "I can ask you out, right? Friends do that."
I can practically hear her smirk on the other side. "I was always under the impression you didn't like me very much..." she admits.
I concede, "I didn't. Not when I thought you wanted my girl - ex-girlfriend. But you are a beautiful girl, and I don't feel like going alone, so will you or will you not come?"
She's silent for a few seconds and then says, "I'll meet you there."
Just as I'm making my way up to the entrance, Gaea shows up in a ridiculously hot, little black dress with a dark coat, around the corner. I stop, near the door where a bouncer is scanning for IDs and appreacite the view. I lick my lips, and wonder how I ever not gave her much credit before. She can really clean up. Red lips are distracting, I note.
"Hi," she says from a few feet away.
"Hi, yourself." I say. "You look... Really good." I gulp visibly, and rake my eyes over her again, checking her out.
Moments like these, when I find myself in front of hot girls (even if they're not my usual type: blonde, tall, hazel eyes), I forget about a certain girl (blonde, tall, hazel eyes).
She smiles, eyes falling to the ground for a beat, and then she brings them right back up. "We should... Talk. Before going in. To be sure where each of us stands. So it doesn't confuse anyone."
This is what I was dreading when I had thought about calling her earlier. Of course she's also going to be on Quinn's side of this entire ordeal, and she's about to ditch me, but she didn't want to do so over the phone.
I'm getting colder standing outside and I'm in jeans and jacket, so I can only imagine how she feels. "We can talk inside?" I offer, not really fond of the idea of staying out here any longer. Inside will probably be loud and dark and maybe then she'll forget.
She shakes her head, "it'll be quick, I promise."
I nod, giving up, and follow her to lean against the wall of the establishment next to The Stonewall. "So." I say, biting my lower lip in expectation.
"I just want to know why you wanted to ask me out on a date."
"I told you -"
"I know what you told me. But Quinn, she's my friend. Well, she and I haven't talked in a while but I still consider her a friend."
"I thought you were seeing some dude," I say to try to get her to stop talking about Quinn.
She dismisses that quickly, "that dude was from ages ago." Not ages. They were together at the beginning of the last semester.
"I thought you were straight," I try again, and she responds just as quick as my first inference.
"I don't like labels. Stop trying to change subjects. I - I guess I'm asking what this is for you. A date with intent of another to follow, a one-night thing which ends with us on your bed, or a night which we'll each go back to our own and never speak of it again."
Too much pressure for one girl. I share a sly smile with her and try to seduce her with my vile ways, "Gaea, come on. There's no need to get all -"
It doesn't work because she interrupts me quickly. "It does. Because I don't want to be your rebound girl. And if that's all I am, I need you to tell me right now; give me a fair warning."
"You're not," I reassure her.
"Are you using me to get to Quinn?"
"No," I tell her. I had never considered Gaea as a potential girlfriend, probably because of me always thinking she had eyes for Quinn, but it seems like she didn't. "I don't know why I called you earlier, but now that you're here, I'm glad." I smile, and it seems to convince her because she smiles back and takes my hand, leading us to the door.
I follow behind, letting her drag me (usually I'm the one doing the dragging), and she says, "I've always thought you were cute and interesting but you were always googly-eyes at Quinn..." she nods at the bouncer who just lets us through - cutting in front of a long line - and I must look astonished because she laughs when she looks at me. "I'm kind of a regular here." She laughs again, before continuing. "Do you think Quinn will be pissed at me?"
"Yeah," I say without thinking. She stops walking to look at me and I quickly try to explain my answer. "Well, I don't know. But maybe you should talk to her about this anyway."
"It's just an outing," Gaea excuses us. "She has no reason to."
"And it's not like it's exclusive. I'm sure you're seeing other people."
"Totally. And you, too. We're just... hanging."
"Yeah, okay."
We stop talking and make our way to the bar together. She orders us both beer and I don't complain. The bartender cards her, and she provides a fake ID, while I smile behind her, looking coy.
The night is wonderful. After a few beers, and a couple of shots, I'm well on my way to Drunkville. Gaea is not as drunk as I am, but is getting there. Jesse tells me it's time to stop and swaps my current bottle of beer for a bottle of plain, boring, dull water. "Santana warned me that you'd act like this around alcohol," he mumbles mostly to himself but I hear him.
"Yeah, yeah." I say, "you were the one who wanted me to come out. Here I am!" I throw my arms up in the air with exaggerated actions.
"Okay," he says. "You're really doing a fine job in keeping any potential suitors away from me, since I have to keep babysitting you. I should've just let you sulk in your apartment one more night."
"Jesse," I whine. "You're never this mean to me." Gaea hangs onto my arm as we laugh at my stupid tone of voice. I look at her and her eyes shine.
"Because you're frustrating me," he tells me. "I'm going to go find the Wonder Twins so they can babysit you. This is getting fucking ridiculous."
I gasp at his cussing; he rarely does that.
Gaea pokes my cheek, "I think you made him mad."
I poke hers back, "I think you should leave with me."
"Mkay," she says and smiles.
The next morning, I wake up sore to the sound of Benji and Bandit scratching at my door. My head is killing me and I'm thirsty as hell.
Instead of getting water to parch my thirst, I decide that I want to take Gaea out for a nice breakfast where I can get tons of coffee. And by nice I mean omelets at that breakfast joint that San and I ran into her the other day. I know she likes there, and I like there. "Come on," I shake her shoulder and she barely opens her right eye, squinting with the sunlight hitting her eyes. "Let's go, I'm starving."
My white sheets barely cover her naked body. It's kind of a sight to see. I stare. She opens her eyes with a smirk and I blush. "You have a way of waking people up."
"Just pretty girls I bring home," I wink. "Seriously though. I never take them out to breakfast but I want to take you."
She gulps hard and stares me down, "really?" She doesn't hide her skepticism.
"Yes."
"Okay," she smiles. "I guess I can do free breakfast."
We pass by the dogs on our way out and Gaea stops to pet them. She does stop, but she doesn't linger. And I get a pang of missing Quinn because that girl loved spending hours with the babies.
Mike is in the kitchen, and he averts his eyes when we hold hands, "I'll walk the dogs."
And then it only gets awkward because we run into Quinn at the breakfast joint.
I immediately let go of Gaea's hand when I spot her. She's walking out of the place and we're just coming in. Her eyes fall to our hands, now in pockets. "Oh, hi." She blinks and I can read she's putting up a wall. "Rachel, Gaea." She sounds confused, and she looks betrayed, and I regret last night.
"Quinn," I say and step forward.
I bet Gaea is regretting the night before. "Hey, Quinn. We haven't spoken in a while, how have you been?"
"Why are you out with her?" Quinn asks me, throwing a dangerous glare at Gaea.
"Woah, Quinn." I tell her and put a hand up to keep her from doing anything stupid. "She's my friend. We're getting breakfast."
Her eyebrows quirk up with skepticism, her lips purse in a way I know she thinks I'm lying. "So there's nothing going on between you two?"
That's when I remember her telling me to 'go dance with a random' because it doesn't matter to her anymore. Or it shouldn't anyway. But here she is now,a couple months after our breakup, when I'm finally trying to move on, making a big deal about it. So what if I'm moving on with a friend of hers? She has absolutely no right to say anything about it at all. "If there is, it's none of your business." I tell her through clenched teeth.
"Listen, Quinn," Gaea starts. Quinn narrows her eyes in her direction. "I know this is kind of weird but -"
She chuckles, "weird? It's fucking weird! She hates you!" She says and gestures at us. "She's never liked you and now she's taking you out to breakfast?!" She gives half a smile and then nods once, "Yeah, okay. That's gonna last. I'm going to go now."
With another look, she puts on those damn aviators and walks away.