A/N: This is a very dark and very short one shot, inspired by 'Bloodbuzz Ohio' by The National. It's a wonderful song and you should check it out if you haven't yet.
The story is very much open to interpretation, so do with it what you will.
Reviews are very much appreciated, especially since it interests me how you experience this piece of writing.

Trigger Warning: This is a dark story, there's an implied drug addiction as well as suicidal undertones.

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Glee or any of its characters. The song and with it the title of this fic aren't mine either.

Bloodbuzz Ohio

You touch the ground carefully, your foot caressing it like a newfound lover, whom you believe to know, but can't quite trust yet.
The coldness seeps through the thin material as you watch curiously. So soft and pure, the snow, and so cold.
You trace your childhood as it forms footsteps in front of you. Little feet, blurred by yours when you follow their path, too big to fit.

You feel your veins burning. Red hot fire, punishment for the part of you that is him. Chasing your heart, treacherously beating and pushing him through your body.
You have killed him a thousand times. Your body remembers, scars whispering and screaming for the needle that makes you not you. You give in. But as long as you live, it lives with you, feeds off you, feeds you.
You come up for air every time, even as it scorches your lungs. The sinking escapes you.
It's quiet, but not as quiet as when the noise silenced the screams.

So far away. You've been journeying back for seven years, without moving. How you returned, you don't know. But the years build a wall, not glass, no, soft and comforting, making it impossible to shatter. Maybe that's why the wind is so cold and your blood is so hot.
You press the ice onto your racing pulse and watch as it melts. It drips down your bare arms, like it's crying. Or bleeding.

There's a child, it skips. She looks like yours. You want her to hold your hand, you offer. She runs, she's not yours, you lost yours, she doesn't remember you. The child must have felt the burning, must have seen him gazing through your eyes.

Your body knows the way. It's seeking its own kind. The windows are lit. There's no fire. There should be. You feel him burning inside. A face spies through the window. It looks like yours. She turns around, she's forgotten you.
You can't remember calling it home, but maybe you once did. You can't remember calling him daddy, but maybe you once did. You can't remember being his, but maybe you are.

You force your body over the pavement. Your heart chases your weightless, powerless body.
You refused to feed it, the body that doesn't obey, that doesn't stop, that's made of him.

There's her house, you sink down before it. The snow envelopes you, to comfort or to devour, and still it's alive.
You're on the tightrope between you and her. You want to fall, but he holds you on the up there, your cruel balance.
Clicking, light, radiating warmth that cools your blood.

"Oh, Quinn"
So soft, pushing him off you, leaving you alone on the rope, yourself, your name, not his. You're free to fall now. She remembers you.
You let go, but soft hands lead you to her side, despite your blindness, despite the deep nothing that's calling from so near.
And she holds you and calms your heart and stills you scars, and she doesn't care and you can't cry, but it's okay, because she cries for you.

"I got you, Quinn."