Hello, fellow gleeks. My first story, made true to the angst whore that I am. Hope you enjoy, or cry. Based on R&R, will add more chapters. Actually, no, this is my baby... I'll probably post chapters regardless.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I am not that crazy psycho named Ryan Murphy, and do not own Glee. Darn shame.
Empty.
It was the only way to describe how she felt. It was never there - just this numb ache, somewhere beneath the surface. Sometimes it hurt. Most of the time... It just was. It never stopped, though. It was always there. Just this sort of shadow that followed her.
She didn't want it to.
As Quinn turned on to the hallway, empty was all she felt. Even then. Even as her posse of cheerleaders followed her, attempting to entertain her with conversation. She faked interest, smiling and nodding when necessary. She was a good actress. They always bought it. She idly watched Santana and Brittany's restrained motions, raising her eyebrow slightly. She knew they were in love. There had been a time when she had cared too. She didn't anymore. She just hoped their love lasted.
Her hands closed over the slushie in her grasp, squeezing it tighter. She didn't notice the cold. She was far too used to that temperature to care. She looked into it. A glaring red... She looked away. It was a disturbing colour. It reminded her too much of blood. She reached her arms forward, putting more distance between herself and the beverage. At least she had the assurance of being able to relieve herself of it soon.
She looked up to the wide expanses of the hallway in front of her, lock glanced around for her target. It was hard to miss her; the girl was especially good at being noticed. For all her flaws, Quinn could give her that. It wasn't long before her eyes locked on to the brunette, short stature, Jewish nose and all. She hoped she liked the taste of red dye #7; she was probably used to it, anyway. Quinn and her cronies were awful persistent.
"There she is, Q," Santana smirked. "You know what you've got to do."
Quinn merely nodded. She didn't really have to do it. It was more of tradition than a necessary act. There were times when Quinn felt desperately sorry for Rachel, completely disgusted at herself. Not now, though. If the rumours she heard were right... Her mind knew that, really, she shouldn't have cared. She was the ice queen, wasn't she? Especially ever since the 'thing'. She shouldn't have given a fuck what people did, what he did.
But she did give a fuck.
Quinn stared closely now, into Berry's eyes. She saw the eyes wide with fear, and internally, she smirked. This was so going to be worth it. Se tried to harness all the rage, the sadness, the absolute agony she had spent these last few months in. The red liquid went flying; the scream soon followed. The shrill shriek was accompanied by the titters of her fellows. Quinn laughed a fake number.
Suddenly, the voices behind her quieted. Quinn looked back, confused - and then gasped. No, she thought silently to herself, panicking. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was not part of the original plan.
"Get away from her," a low voice growled. It belonged to no other than Noah Puckerman. Rachel Berry's new boyfriend.
No one knew how it had happened, not even the faintest idea. The football star dating the loser diva? Preposterous. But they were, and it wasn't some sort of joke. He really, truly did seem in love with her.
And after everything she'd been through, that was what hit Quinn the most. She watched as Puck stepped closer to her. She held her ground; soon, their faces were close enough to touch. Her eyes held their air of defiance, even though her guts were wrenching in pain. She wasn't sure how longer she could hold the charade. She looked into his eyes; they mirrored her own. She could see the desperate sadness behind them. All she felt was guilt. His eyes seemed to scream 'Why?'. Se could never explain it to him.
"I said, get away from her." The voice was significantly louder now. She could smell the pungent odour of alcohol; apparently dating Rachel had done nothing for his alcoholism.
"And if I don't?" She whispered defiantly, glaring up at him. He knew there was no real anger in that glare. Puck just looked back at her. Quinn felt something invisible seem to rise in the room, as if something bad were about to happen. Puck's eyes were wet now.
No. Wrong time, wrong place. They couldn't fall to pieces here. Quinn looked away, and motioned for the Cheerios to follow her. "Sorry." She tried to mean it in more ways than one; she doubted if he would ever forgive her.
The other cheerleaders were surprised - their own queen, the coldest, bitchiest one of them all, had just backed down. They didn't choose to question her about it. They could tell from looking that Quinn wasn't in the mood.
She shouldn't have seen him. It was one of the worst possible meetings, meeting Puck. It made her remember; she didn't need the memories. Of course, she walked around always with a small part than never quit remembering. But she always managed to ignore it. Tonight was different. This morning, Quinn had prayed for an almost good day today. God didn't listen to the prayers of murderers. That was what she was, she knew; a murderer.
She was lying on her bed now, looking up at the ceiling, trying to hide from her emotions. All she could think of was Puck, and it. It that might have been. It that had hurt Puck so much. It that hurt her so much.
They could have been perfect, the three of them together. They could have been everything their own families had never been - happy. But she couldn't risk Russell. She never could.
Every morning, Quinn would look into the mirror, and tell herself it was okay. Yes, it hurt... But had it not been the right thing to do? Keeping it would have only hurt too many people. Mainly her. She hadn't done this for anyone else; she had done it for herself. And wasn't a living life more important than one that was to come? It hadn't been Puck's decision. He had no right. He was the one who has gotten her drunk on wine coolers... He didn't deserve to have a say. She was the one who carried the life; she was the one who chose what to do with it.
And so it was done. One more mouth that would never smile. Two more legs that would never run. Two more arms that would never hug. Two more eyes that would never see. One more heart that would never beat. Sometimes, she could here the baby's voice in her dreams. She had known it was a girl, always; in her dreams, she came as Beth. That was what Quinn called her. And Beth would laugh, and play, and do everything a child would do. And Puck and Quinn would be holding each other's hands, smiling, happy, as they watched the most perfect thing that had ever been theirs.
And then Beth died. The dream always ended the same; with the most horrible, heart-wrenching scream. And the blood - always the blood. Even during the day, Quinn would cover her ears and eyes as the sound and images hit her again. Every time, a new, fresh wave of pain. She never got used to it. It always hurt just as much every time.
The scream was echoing in her mind now, as she thought. Quinn couldn't hold herself together any longer. Seeing Puck had opened up another bout of agony, and now her mind was using it as a means to punish her. Murderers deserved punishment. Her whole body shook with sobs. She kept them silent; she wanted to take the beating as quietly as possible. The way she deserved it.
She was a murderer, and Puck deserved to hate her. But admitting it didn't make it hurt any less.