"You can't hate me for helping send you on your way!" Quinn's voice cracks as she tears up, desperately trying to tell Rachel that she's too good for this, too good for Lima, Ohio and Finn Hudson and growing up to be an accountant. She wanted to tell her that she wasn't ordinary, that she wasn't a Lima Loser like she was. That she wasn't a teen mommy with no choices left. She wanted to tell her to get out. The words flowed out of her unbidden and into the space between them. Rachel's face crinkled. Quinn shut her mouth.
She hadn't meant to sound so cruel, so harsh with Rachel who just doesn't get it because she wants everything to be like a musical. And then she's gone and Quinn is all alone with just the piano and a blank page. She slams her fingers down on the keys and screams at the ceiling in frustration because no one is around to tell her that she'll hurt the piano or that she needs to pull herself together..
"This is stupid. This is really, really stupid." She mutters to herself, wiping her tears furiously with the back of her hand. She not supposed to cry over Rachel. She hates Rachel. A lot. That's how it's always been. That's how it is. Nothing has changed. Why would it? It's not like she likes her or anything.s
"Are you gonna tell Man Hands you have a lady boner for her, or what?" Quinn jumps at the deep jazzy rumble of Santana Lopez's voice coming from behind her and whirls around, glare at the ready.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She sighs, rolling her eyes at Santana's raised eyebrows.
"Q, babe," Christ she hates it when she does that shit where she call her pet names when she's about to say something mean. "I know your stretch marks gross everyone out but you really could do better than that midget. Just keep your shirt on. I'm sure you'll find someone desperate enough to bone you eventually." Santana has her hips at and angle and her arms crossed with her signature sneer firmly in place. A defensive stance.
"San, babe, keep your weird lezzie fantasies to yourself, okay? Don't you have B to help you with those? I mean, you're just experimenting, so it's not gay." It's a low dig, especially since not to long ago she was part of those "experiments". Before all of this. Before she ruined her own life. Suddenly she is struck with a clear picture of San's room with the three of them laying together in bed and just giggling. Brittany's floor with Quinn taking "artistic" pictures of them with their shirts off. Her room in the dark and light snores coming from either side of her.
She's going to tear up again. Quinn bites this inside of her lip as hard as she can as San just glares at her, apparently at a loss for words. She can't help remembering when she was perfect and popular and they were all friends. She wonders briefly is Santana is remembering too. But San is tearing up too as Quinn looks at her shoes and opens her mouth before slamming it shut again.
"I told her." Santana says, but her voice cracks half way through "told" and she chokes up without finishing. Quinn knows what she means. Brittany rejected her. The whole school knew.s
"I'm scared." She says. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where did that come from? What was she scared of? She knows what she meant but she pushes the thought away because she's not a fucking dyke. San nods.
"Me too." They both extend their pinkies at the same time, linking them in a wordless promise to never tell anyone about this. They're too strong, too bitchy, too popular to cry and reminisce. Tomorrow they will hate each other again. But for now they embrace. Santana smells like strawberries and Sexy moisturizer and her hair is soft. Quinn misses this friendship.
She doesn't expect Santana to kiss her. She doesn't expect to kiss her back. But when she remembers who she is and what she's supposed to be, she pushes San away viciously, the heels of her palms digging in to her shoulders as she drives herself backwards.
"What are you doing?" She hisses, glancing around the auditorium even though she knows it's empty. Santana looks hurt for a second before her sneer falls back into place. Defensive Santana takes over.
"Oh, we don't do that now, huh? Now that you're a baby mama you gotta keep your legs shut?" Quinn reals back, falling against the piano. The comment physically hurts. Beth's birthday is in two days. She is a mother. She is 16 and she has a baby. She has a baby she loves and misses that she can't bear to visit because it hurts to much.
"At least I'm not a dyke!" She screams, lashing out blindly. She knows that Santana is the definition of gay panic. She never said she liked girls. Even with Brittany, she refuses to take labels. She didn't mind fucking girls, as long as they didn't call her a lesbian. Santana just laughs.
"Diddle my nibble, Rachel!" She fake moans. Even though it doesn't make any sense it still hurts.
"Shut up." She says weakly. The tan girl in front of her flicks her hair over her shoulder and spins on her heel.
"See you tomorrow, Quinny bear!" She shouts, doing her best Rachel impression. When Quinn sits down at the piano again, she doesn't bother trying to write. She just lets the keys get wet.