Quinn gazed at the shiny, brown, dance floor. Or rather, a particular person on it. A light pink haze swayed beside a larger boy, in the only suit he seemed to own, and wear for every special occasion. Her heart pounded unevenly as she brought her curly straw to her lips, and sucked slowly. She thought College would be an opportunity to learn about herself. To finally understand who she was, and what she wanted in life. But it was coming back to Lima she actually realized the truth. Her "boyfriend" and her had hit a rough spot, and Quinn broke it off. She felt nothing for the man. In fact, she'd never really felt anything for any man, ever. As weird as it may seem now, Puck was almost like a brother figure to her. Except for the whole drunk sex thing and the fact that she was fathering her child who was living in Chicago with some other woman. Nevertheless, he was the closest thing to a brother she had. She didn't have any respectful male figures in her life or family, and it was something she had always craved. Her relationship with her Mother still wasn't great, and her Father was living with some hussy called Francine, or Francesca or something. And she had no idea where her sister was.

She'd never been close to anyone. It's why she craved a boyfriend. She needed someone to need her. Which is why being away from home, and then returning it, finally made her understand. All these guys meant nothing to her. She felt they were more of a requirement. A hot girl would date a hot girl and walk proudly, owning the school. That's what Quinn thought love was. It wasn't something to be felt, it was something to be seen.
Except with Rachel. But that didn't matter now. She was busy dancing with a giant in a tux.

Opposite her, on the small table, sat a similar image. That same look of desperation and pain sunken deep in her eyes. Except, Santana was necking vodka shot, instead of sipping a small diet coke. Santana's eyes focused on a pair of blondes. They smiled, laughed, kissed and hugged, each gesture ripping the girl apart, and all she could do was watch. Quinn placed her glass down, and finally tore her eyes away to look at Santana.
"Do you want to go somewhere else?" She said, her voice pleading and her eyes brimmed with tears. Before she let Santana see, Quinn darted her hand up and pushed them away harshly. "I don't feel well.."

It wasn't until she spoke again, that Santana looked away.
"Huh? Oh.. Okay. You alright, Q?" Santana stood up and walked to her friend, arms crossed tightly across her stomach.

"Yes. I think I just need.. sleep. Sleep is the cure of practically everything, in my opinion." She mumbled, standing up and looking at her best friend. "Do you want to come to my room for a bit? I feel like we need to catch up what with everything between you and B-." Eyes shot harshly at her, and Quinn cut herself off and looked down. "What with College and stuff." Santana shrugged and followed the blond, her eyes gazing one last time at the happy couple before snapping her neck back around.

"There better be a fucking mini-fridge." Santana growled, her teeth grit as she caught up with Quinn's strides.
They made their way to the hotel elevator in silence, wallowing in their own self pity, and loathing. It wasn't until they entered Quinn's room on the 15th floor, that someone finally broke the silence.
"She's not happy, you know.." Santana grumbled, her eyes scanning the room before they hit her target, and she stomped towards it. Quinn bit her lip at the phrase. The girl dragged herself over to the bed, before she shuffled onto it and stared at the girl.

"You mean... Britt?"

"Who the fuck else?" Santana spat, rifling noisily through the mini-fridge, the sound of clinking filling the small room. and Quinn just shrugged. "Sam's got a tiny cock."

"Well that's not entirely-" The girl stopped filing through the fridge and looked at Quinn, before scowling. "No right, he does, sorry.." She mumbled, looking away and sighing. "You miss her, huh?"

"No shit, Fabray. Of course I do. Do you know why I miss her? Because that girl has been my life for 17 years. My whole life has revolved around this one person, and I mess up, and suddenly she's screwing the mighty impressionist, Obiwankernobi downstairs. How do you live without someone? I mean, yeah, we talk and stuff, but it's not the same, ya know?" She said, shooting up, carrying two odd shaped bottles before sitting next to Quinn on the edge of the bed. "I love her so much, Quinn." Santana whimpered, eyes looking down. Quinn's arm fell around Santana's waist, and she pulled her into her side.

"I know... I know." Quinn whispered into the dark hair that fell beside her. "It's rubbish right now... but it's going to get better okay? I know it doesn't seem like it but it will. She'll come around, I promise you, and if she doesn't? Well that's her loss. Just whatever you do, don't hurt Sam. He's done nothing wrong." She mumbled gently, her fingertips tracing small circles on the other girl's hip.

"Why are you always right, Quinn? I just want him dead."

"No you don't. Sam's a good guy, and you know it. And his dick isn't that small. Come on, you slept with Finn. That's small."

"Urgh, tell me about it. I'd probably get more pleasure if I shoved a Crayola up there. Poor Rachel."

Rachel. That name was just like salt in a wound.

"Yeah, poor Rachel."