Hello, dearest readers! Now, I know I haven't yet completed To Burn, To Pine, & Perish, but this little Quinn/Rachel plot bunny bit me and just wouldn't let go! Never fear, for I love all my stories equally, and shall continue to update both Life's A Rodeo and To Burn, To Pine, & Perish whenever I can.
Now, enough babble. On with the fiction! : )
Pickaway County Fairgrounds. It reeks of trampled dust, spilled beer, and stale perspiration.
It is my sanctuary… And today, it is my stage.
My palms are slick with a thin layer of nervous sweat as my fingers dance over the thick braided rope at my hip. My trainer and World Professional Rodeo Association Champion, Shannon "The Cannon" Beiste, strides up behind me and grips my shoulders in a vice grip.
"We've been training six years for this," she practically shouts to be heard over the crowd of already intoxicated spectators.
Six years. A lot has happened since the night of graduation, when Shannon found me sitting on the steps of McKinley, a white plastic trash bag of all the possessions my mother would let me pack in ten minutes at my side. She'd been coming back to the school to get her last set of free weights out of her office, and she'd happened upon me instead. She had parked her black 1980 Ford Mustang Ghia in the space closest to the concrete stairs, gotten out, and plopped down next to me.
I told her everything.
About coming out to my parents. About my father disowning me. About my mother allowing me ten minutes to pack my things and leave the house. Everything. And, instead of the look of pure disgust and utter revulsion I'd been expecting, I received a bear hug that I'm sure did damage to my internal organs, and a place to live for the past six years.
Since that night, Shannon's been my best friend, and more of a mother than my own ever was. She even introduced me to the rodeo… And for the first time in my life, I started doing something because I loved it, not because it'd make me popular; although, I can admit, my new 'aloof cowgirl' look was a real hit with the ladies.
She's had my back, and I've had hers. She even had the simple assault charge I'd gotten when I cracked one of Cooter's balls expunged for me (he'd had the nerve to hit her right in front of me… I saw red).
Shannon smoothes my unruly shock of blonde hair down the best she can manage before gently sliding my battered and scuffed black helmet over my head. She kisses the bars of my facemask and gives me a hearty pat on the back.
"Give 'em hell, Lion Quinn."
I smile around my lucky mouth-guard (the white one Brittany had drawn lion teeth on for me when she came home from Julliard) at the name she'd given me when I cut my hair last year. As she walks to the trainer's box, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
C'mon, Fabray. Take this bull to school.
I exhale and hoist myself over the yellow paint chipped bars of the bucking chute, dropping my hips to meet the saddle of the already restless black bull. I can tell the red paint on the walls of the chute was starting to get to him. I check the Velcro on my gloves before flashing Shannon the 'ok' sign on the deck. She gives me a thumbs-up and nods to the bullfighters.
With a gust of air, the rusted metal chute doors spring open. The bull (Titus, the training staff had said his name was; it was definitely fitting for a beast his size) bucks and rears immediately, catapulting us both out of the chute and into the center of the ring. In my head, I start the count.
One. Don't tense up. – go with him.
I curl my fingers tighter on the thick leather strap and clench my thighs around his ribs as the brute twists again.
Two. That's it. Stay in rhythm.
I realize that I'm tilting forward, my momentum moving in the opposite direction of Titus's body. I inhale sharply as I start to panic.
Three. What are you doing, Quinn? You're tippin' in!
I hurriedly lean back in the seat to regain my balance, but as soon as I adjust, the fiendish creature hurls himself to the left, lifting my hips off of the saddle.
Four. What's your problem? Get your ass down and get back in the middle.
The beast begins to spin violently in tight circles, flinging my torso from one side to the other. I respond quickly, digging the heels of my boots into his sides. The tendons in my forearms feel like they're being ripped apart fiber by fiber… But I can't let go. Not yet.
Five. Don't be weak. You've got all kinds of daylight under you.
I can feel the threads popping against the fabric of my well-worn brown gloves from the strain. I bend my elbows to ease the tension, and push the crotch of my filthy black padded riding pants into the center of the mount.
Six. Alright, he's bound to kick soon. Brace hard.
Titus must have read my mind. He kicks out wildly, throwing me forward while his powerful hind legs extend into the air. All of his bone-crushing weight pistons down on his front hooves, and his back bows as the massive muscles pull and flex. My confidence swells… The kick is my favorite part.
Seven. Just one more second. You survived a natural birth; you sure as hell can beat this bull.
I set my hips before the kick comes down, bracing my pelvis against the saddle and tightening my almost numb digits around the grip. Pressing down against the mount, I lean backward and hold my breath as the impetus crashes downward.
Eight. C'mon, call it. Call it, dammit…
The buzzer sounds, and the crowd erupts in adulation. I loosen my grasp and let my body slide out of the saddle and off Titus's left flank. My protective vest absorbs the brunt of the fall, but my sore muscles still scream at me when I hit the unyielding dirt floor. I can hear the bullfighters corralling Titus back into the chute behind me as I get to my feet, his loud grunts a clear sign of reluctance. I simply raise my arms above my head and proceed to celebrate my victory.
Better luck next time, big guy.
AN: If you all love me like I know you do… Review, por favor! Gracias! : )