Quinn was never preggo. Still a lovey dovey virgin. She is lonely and depressed and dealing with avoidance. So not dealing. Not so bitchy/attack-y in her single status as she "spontaneously" broke up with Finn. Not too motivated to trod on the peasants, in other words. Just... angsty Quinn.
Been there, done that, but here we go anyway with some Faberry. We'll see how this goes.
Not my characters. Yet here they are.
Enjoy.
Quinn was often struck with the notion 'life is pointless'. Struck in a dull, redundant fashion in the dark of her room.
She was struck with it now, pencil in hand, tapping slowly against her perfectly straightened desk. Perfect. Like the blue of the sky out her window, and Judy down in the kitchen, fixing dinner. Dressed in her pretty yellow dress, drink in hand. It never was very far away. Not in a beautiful, cold house filled with beautiful, cold people.
No wonder she drank like a fish.
Quinn shut her eyes. When she opened them the unpleasantness remained. It clung like a second skin she could not shed. This feeling inside the very pit of her: what could she do to throw it out?
She placed her forehead on the cool desk and breathed quietly. She could not shake the restlessness. It seeped into her skin, into everything. What was the point, living like this? Living at all?
When her mother called her down to dinner the realization washed over her.
Quinn wanted to die.
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"Emotion guys! We need to sing with real, soul wrenching emotion!"
Mr. Shue stood at the front of the room, a wide, enthusiastic smile on his face. He held an uncapped marker in hand. Emotion was written on the white board behind him.
Mercedes raised her hand, though she didn't wait to be called on before speaking. "Mr. Shue, I thought you said emotion was what we do best. Has that changed?"
"Of course not Mercedes! I really admire how you guys get into your singing! I do. You have passion! But we need to pick songs that really speak to us." He underlined Emotion with flourish. "So this week I want you to sing about the emotion that most often dominates you. Pick a song that demonstrates who you are emotionally, what really guides you through the day. We'll begin singing on Wednesday."
"Mr. Shue, I already have the perfect song in mind! Funny girl has taught me-"
And so the familiar routine began.
Quinn sat in her chair, cross-legged. The only anticipation she had was to leave, though even that was darkened by reality. What did she have to look forward to? Practice? Friends? Home? As if. Monotony stretched black and thin before her, utterly terrifying.
It seemed like she wasn't the only one neglecting the assignment.
"You'll bring the wine coolers, Puckerman? Cause I ain't goings ta go if there ain't no booze."
Santana, Quinn thought. Charming as always.
"As long as you bring your fine self sweet cheeks," Puck reassured, "I'll take care of the rest."
His wink was outrageous. Santana's answering smirk was entirely too satisfied. Finn was staring at Rachel, a constipated look on his face. Kurt was chatting with Mercedes, Brittney and Santana's pinkies were linked, Artie and Tina were kissing and everyone was all smiles and relaxation.
Were there black holes for them too? Quinn closed her eyes. Is it the world or is it me?
And I think to myself... what a wonderful world.
She had completely zoned out. Missed Rachel walking to the front of the room. But, somehow, Quinn could never miss her singing.
Those deep brown eyes were absolutely shining.
...The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself... what a wonderful world.
Quinn realized, with a start, that she was smiling. It fell off then, rather abruptly, but she couldn't help but wonder...
When was the last time she had smiled?
And I think to myself... what a wonderful world.
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The next day came in slow agony for Quinn. Her body ached. Her eyes were equally irritated. She wanted to sleep and never wake up.
She stared at the faces of nameless students as they passed by in the halls. Did they know what it was like to feel completely alone, surrounded on all sides? All these people, she thought, floating. One hard knock and they could be disconnected forever.
Lost in thought she ran straight into Santana.
"Jesus Q, watch where the hell you're going." The Latina brushed the nonexistent dirt off her shoulders before her eyes narrowed. "Hey, what's up with you? Its hot as balls and you're wearing a goddamn parka." She paused, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Are you... you know, OK? Or whatever."
For someone who didn't do emotions that was about as much of a heart to heart one could expect.
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Its a cardigan, S." She said. "And I'm fine. I'll see you later."
She ignored the other girl's opening mouth and slipped back into the stream of flesh colored blurs. One fish in a river in a swell of rivers.
Pointless.
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Glee club was brief. Ideas were discussed but Q was lost in her mind clouds, drifting. She didn't say a word the entire practice. Only two people seemed to notice: a certain suspicious Latina and a girl with big, earthy eyes.
Reflecting at home later that day Quinn wasn't sure how she had ended up this way. If she had been born with this heavy heart or if circumstance had pressed down on her, hard and unrelenting. Was it Lima, Ohio? The unlucky combination of the place and herself?
Maybe if she were a normal upper-middle class, white teenage girl, it wouldn't matter. Maybe if she could be content with dating the high school quarterback, and graduating to become a real estate manager, and marrying a nice Christian man, she would be ok, just peachy keen. But Q had accepted she wasn't normal. That was the problem. On the outside she was. Maybe a bit prettier than most, so pretty it made her want to punch something. In appearance she was deceptively normal.
But Quinn was also totally and completely gay.
Her parents didn't know. She thought her father might sometimes, the way he would look at her with such disdain in his eyes. But it was a general disgust he held for her and not some secret awareness. Still, it sometimes sent a thrill of fear through her, crippling in nature.
No one at school knew, either. Her image as head cheerio, leader of the celibacy club and straight A student was so wholesome she was sure she would be one of the last people anyone would peg as a closeted lesbian. She was an it girl at the top of the food chain that was McKinnley high school.
She was dead inside.
Quinn stared at her bruised arms in her full length mirror- deep blacks and purples tinged in blue. They were a little beautiful, even if getting them had been the furthest thing from it.
When she was five she had once tried to catch a butterfly by slapping her hands together. When she had pulled her hands apart the butterfly had fluttered to the ground, dead. Her fingers had been covered in a fine purple powder from the butterfly's wings that shimmered in the sun.
Quinn's bruises didn't shimmer but they reminded her of the dead butterfly nevertheless, her own capacity for cruelty. And of her father's.
"How was school?"
Quinn had long ago accepted that there were parts to be played. She had her role, as did her mother. As did he. Did it make him happy? She sometimes wondered. The terror he induced. Was her fear amusing to him? She knew her disrespect wasn't.
She remembered smiling once when he accidently spilled wine all over his crotch. A simple, fleeting twitch of her lips. An automatic response more than any actual amusement.
Russell hadn't been amused.
In a flash he was over her, blow after blow raining down on her back as she cowered; as he screamed, over and over, face redder than she had ever seen it "That shit isn't funny!" He had left himself hoarse and Quinn unable to move for days.
He was right. It hadn't been funny after all.
"Fine," she answered, carefully resting her fork against her plate. She looked at him because he would be angry if she didn't. 'Look me in the fucking eye Quinnie! Don't be a cowardly little shit.' "I got an A on my Spanish test. And in English and Math." She rattled off the facts quietly, without a hint of pride.
They were expectations, not accomplishments.
Judy smiled. A weak thing. She'd been a ghost too long for anything with real substance. "That's nice Qui-"
"-Did you go to practice?" Rusell's eyes bored into her, relentless.
Judy startled at the interruption, her eyes turning down to her plate. Her hand tightened around her wine glass. Pale.
Quinn kept her eyes on her father. She knew what he was really asking.
Did anyone see?
"No."
She had told Sue her uniform was in the wash. Sue had banned her from practice, and to the bottom of the pyramid at the next. She would have some extra suicides to run, maybe some laps.
Maybe indeed.
Quinn wasn't looking forward to it, but it was better than the alternative.
"Good." Without another word Russell knocked back the rest of his glass, then reached for the bottle.
The Fabray's ate the rest of their dinner in silence.
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She was going to die. Quinn was convinced. Her lungs burned, her legs burned, oh dear god did they burn. She was sure she had a piece of flaming coal for a heart the way it seemed to wrench so awfully in her chest, cleaving it in two. Why would anyone do this to themselves? Why did she?
Fuck cheer leading, she thought. Fuck Sue, fuck my fucking father-
"Ten more laps, Q!"
She collapsed on the ninth; got up, staggered the tenth, and promptly threw up at the finish. Her throat burned, too.
Sue pursued her lips and, uncharacteristically, left without a word.
Quinn was grateful.
Thighs quivering, vision blurry, chest heaving, she glanced up to see Santana standing by the bleachers. It was impossible to read her expression from so far away, unnaturally still as she was. They simply looked at each other.
Then, with a flick of her skirt, Santana turned and walked off the field.
Quinn dropped her head and let herself fall forward into the grass, pressing her cheek to the ground.
She fucking hated cheer leading.
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"Quinn." The short brunette popped up behind Quinn's shoulder as the cheerleader rifled through her locker. As always, the singer seemed to radiate a certain wide-eyed earnestness. "It has come to my attention that as of late you are completely exhausted. Studies on sleep deprivation have shown that a lack of sleep leads to a lack of productivity and a general unhappy, lackluster disposition." She licked her lips nervously. "May I inquire as to what may be ailing you?"
Quinn shut her locker. "I'm fine Berry. Never better." She smiled, razor thin and insincere.
Undeterred, the brunette continued. "While I am well aware that we are not what would typically be described as 'friends', as a fellow teammate I am concerned for your well being. You are a valuable member of glee, Quinn- it is important you take the proper precautions to ensure you are able to participate in the upcoming competition and contribute during regular meetings. And-" Rachel faltered slightly, flicking her gaze down briefly before meeting Quinn's again "-on a personal level I'm... worried."
The blond froze. Felt something like a fist in her throat, as if her heart had jumped from her chest and got caught on it's way back down. But the moment passed. Like ice, her gaze turned sharp.
"Don't be."
She walked away before the singer could respond.
Still, when she swallowed... her throat had a pulse.
So it begins. Thoughts?