A/N: This is by far the most depressing thing I've ever written. I hope you all enjoy it because I started this while drunk and finished it while sober. This will probably be the last fanfic I spam you all with for a little while. I'm trying to not bombard the world, ya know? The second chapter will be posted tomorrow (this was supposed to be a one-shot but it quickly became too long). Please, please, please let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters. They are not my creation and I do not profit off of them.

You're So Mean When You Talk (About Yourself)

(Part One of Two)

It's the easy parts in life that are the hardest for Quinn to deal with.

Society says that the rough patches of life are the ones that you have to prepare yourself for, but they never say anything about the easy patches. She's spent the majority of her life waiting for the next bad thing to happen to her, that she can't make it through the good times without expecting the other shoe to drop.

And that's assuming that Quinn would even be able to recognize what the easy patches were. She's spent so much time focused on the negative that she thinks she could find negative prints in any area of life, even the best ones. It's that realization alone that leads her to taking what she thinks she deserves (especially throughout high school), it's what leads her to Mr. Schue's wedding, a plan set up and a target in mind.

She honestly doesn't even know why she settled on Santana. Puck would have been easier. Hell, anyone else would have been easier, but she settles on Santana anyway. It's not about revenge, she realizes later when Santana is spooning her from behind. It's not about being with a girl or questioning her sexuality or even feeling spiteful.

In the end it's about pure loneliness. In the end it's about needing to feel wanted, craved, desired, and for once, not alone. In the end it was about Quinn obtaining something easy and something equal, and if anyone was ever her equal, it was Santana Lopez.

Santana was cruel, bitter, vindictive, conniving, and ruthless. She was everything Quinn was, and what's more, everything Quinn wasn't. She was her equal in the ways that Quinn needed her to be and better in the ways that Quinn just wasn't.

Santana was messy with her life in a way that Quinn could never be. Santana lived off of her emotions, she planned around them, she was reckless and she based decisions off of them. Quinn was the opposite. She's a planner and a plotter, almost every moment of her life (down to the day) was strategized to Quinn's benefit.

So Quinn isn't messy in the way that Santana was.

Quinn was messy in a way the Santana never could be. She was messy with people. She lived off of her ability to not attach to any other individual. She thrived on the fact that she didn't rely on anyone other than herself. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and that was that. She had no allegiance, she had no real friends, and she was fine with that.

If Quinn had to pinpoint an exact reason as to why she chose to sleep with Santana, that would be it. It would be the fact that everything with Santana had always come easy and felt natural (even when they were fighting), whereas every other moment of Quinn's life had felt strategically mapped out.

If Quinn had to pinpoint the exact reason as to why she chose to continue sleeping with Santana (months later), well, Quinn wouldn't be able to do that.

At first she thinks that she continues this...thing with Santana because she's depressed. After all, after four years in Lima she had had a baby, given up said baby, got a tattoo, become a skank, got into a car accident, quit and rejoined cheerios, and somehow still ended up alone. For four years her life was the talk of the town and now all of a sudden she was barely a blip on anyone's radar. It was aggravating that the students of Yale didn't think she was worth anything. It was even more irritating that the only way she could reverse that feeling was to seek comfort in her old frenemies arms. Still, Quinn continued on.

Santana, for all of her faults and misgivings and benefits, doesn't ever say anything about the situation they repeatedly find themselves in. She doesn't protest when Quinn starts showing up on weekends, a grin on her face and a hole in her heart. It's Santana's lack of protest that clears Quinn's mind and clues her in to the real reason she continued on with this...weekly get together.

Santana was a lot of things but she wasn't the type of girl to ask questions. She was simple in the sense that she often let life come to her. She didn't protest when Quinn decided to rebel against everything she had ever been taught, and she didn't ask questions. Santana didn't encourage their altercations or put them down. In fact, Santana was mostly just there and Quinn thinks that it's awfully nice to just have someone there for her whenever she needs it.

It almost feels like friendship.

Quinn brushes off the thought, even though it feels like a warning, because she isn't ready to go back to being that lonely girl at Yale again. Maybe their escapades were truly only about sex, maybe it was irrational of her to believe otherwise. Either way, Quinn had been Lucy Caboosey for far too long to stop herself from indulging, even when it's just in an illusion.

She has her fears, of course, she's always had them. They're underneath the surface and always present, even when she thinks she can hide them. They're there even when she doesn't want them and it's nice to indulge in something else for a change. It was nice to not be afraid of the future, to just live in the present, even if she was doing that with Santana.

She's always been this girl and Santana has always been that, so she doesn't ever really expect otherwise. She knows all of the cards in both of their hands and she's honestly glad that Santana can't surprise her because Santana won't. Santana doesn't ask questions, she doesn't push, she just lets shit between them be.

It's comforting, to know that after all these years, she still has a second in command instead of a friend.

It's nearing four months after their initial...sexcapade when Santana decides to change the game.

Quinn had left before her last class on Friday, her desire to see Santana stronger than her desire to learn and maybe that was the second warning, but Quinn doesn't care. She worries about seeming needy the whole train ride there because Santana had just left New Haven on Monday and it had literally only been four days. She's worried about being needy and Santana having company that Quinn doesn't really want to see. She's worried about all of that, until Santana opens her apartment door and just smiles at Quinn like she was making Santana's day.

It's curious, Quinn knows, that Santana's reaction alone makes her day.

Something is changing, something deep and eternal is changing and Quinn doesn't know if she should brace herself for it or stop it now. She continues on because she's already here and she already feels better, less lonely, less like Q and more like Quinn.

"Couldn't stay away from me that long, huh?" Santana asks with her signature smirk, her hand on her hip and her body stepping to the side to let Quinn in.

Santana's wearing another obscenely short dress (seriously, that thing should be considered a shirt) and Quinn pushes down the urge to pull it down. That wouldn't be something she could brush off, that isn't something that friends do.

"Don't flatter yourself." Quinn answers, making sure that her body brushes against Santana's as she passes by. Santana's breath hitches and Quinn automatically starts tallying up the points, just like she always does. "I just had an itch to see you."

First point: Quinn.

Santana shut the door behind Quinn and turned around. Her eyebrow is raised in amusement and Quinn knows that Santana already has a comeback. "We both know how excellent I am at scratching itches."

Second point: Santana.

Quinn rolled her eyes. Santana was always exceptionally good at turning every one of their conversations into some weird sexual innuendo. She doesn't protest Santana's comment though, because it's more of a fact and they both know it.

She hears a cough come from her side and turns to see Rachel, her face morphed into a look of contempt. "I swear to Barbra that if I catch you guys doing it on the table again-"

"You'll what, Rachel?" Santana asks sweetly, almost sickeningly so. "Join in?"

Third point: Santana.

Rachel looks horrified as she sputters. "Wh-yo-no. You are vile, Santana Lopez."

Santana shrugs carelessly in a way that Quinn finds incredibly attractive. "It's a part of my charm."

It goes to show how much has changed in four months because she doesn't even care that Rachel and Kurt know about their...bonding experiences. In fact, she cares so little that she's counting down the minutes until Rachel leaves. She's counting down the minutes until she can take Santana against the wall. Because that's where her priorities are these days.

Rachel shrugs and grabs her purse, making sure to shoot a friendly smile Quinn's way. "I have to go meet Daniel."

"Daniel?" Quinn questions.

Santana waves her hand dismissively. "Her new thing of the week."

Rachel narrows her eyes at Santana but it's clear that she's doing it in an affectionate way. How the times have truly changed. "Try not to have sex on my throw blanket. My daddy made it for me."

"We don't just have sex, Rach, jeez. We do other things, too." Santana replied, seemingly miffed that Rachel would assume that that's all they do. Even though Quinn was under the same impression.

Rachel paused, her hand on the door. She shot Santana a look of disbelief. "Sure." And with that, Rachel opened the door and exited the apartment.

"We do more than have sex." Santana grumbled to no one in particular. Quinn didn't agree or disagree because she wasn't entirely certain what the big deal was. Yes, they had a lot of sex, and yes, that was part of the reason why Quinn was so entranced with Santana these days.

There were other things, too, of course. But right now her hormones were hollering at her and her eyes were raking over Santana's dress, and she honestly had no desire to do anything but fuck Santana.

Quinn dropped her bag on the floor and walked over towards Santana, effectively trapping her in between Quinn and the table. Santana wrapped her arms around Quinn's neck on instinct and it should be scary, that this level of intimacy feels natural, but it doesn't. Quinn leans in, her lips inches from Santana's. "We do?"

Santana's gaze is hooded and Quinn knows that it's about to be on. "We do other things."

"Like what?" Quinn asks, her nose nuzzling Santana's cheek. God, she always feels incredibly animalistic with Santana and it's strange, but only because she enjoys it.

"We're friends, too." Santana says, offhandedly, and she trembles as Quinn's hand slides past her ribs and the hem of her dress, before she slips her hand underneath Santana's dress to caress her thigh.

Quinn nodded, pretending to be serious. "Totally. The best of friends, actually."

"Don't patronize me."

Quinn laughs, her lips hovering over Santana's again. "I'm not. But if you'd rather we did something friend-like right now, then I can stop."

Santana's grip tightened around Quinn's shoulders. "Don't you fucking dare, Fabray." Her voice is cut off when Quinn slips two fingers inside of her, without warning. "I promised Rachel we wouldn't have sex against the table again."

All the points: Quinn.

Quinn shrugged, not really caring. Her desire to possess and secure incredibly strong. "We've never been very good at keeping promises."

It's a lot more honest than Quinn wanted to be right now, because as Santana closes her eyes and wraps her legs around Quinn's back, Quinn can only think that it's incredibly true. They've never been good at keeping promises. Including the ones they made to each other.

Including the ones that Quinn has made to herself.

Santana's holding Quinn in a way that makes her feel incredibly secure, in a way Quinn just doesn't understand, when she changes the game.

Santana's hand is caressing Quinn's stomach affectionately, and Quinn would be insecure about her belly if this was any other time, she would be if Santana allowed her. "You don't have to leave your bag on the floor anymore. I cleared out a drawer for you."

Quinn freezes (which is silly, really, because the only thing she was moving towards was sleep). Her throat is dry and Santana doesn't seem to notice the change in Quinn's demeanor.

"What?"

Santana hums in content. "I cleared out my bottom drawer for you. It's not much space considering I literally own a third of a living room. But, it's a place for you to leave your clothes. Just in case you ever stay longer."

It's not much, especially in the grand scheme of things, but it's still a lot more than Santana has ever given her. Hell, it's a lot more than Quinn has ever willingly been given, and it makes her panic. She's tallying the points and the days now and everything is heavily pointing towards relationship, and God, how had she not seen this coming?

She has a drawer and if she isn't careful, she'll start to believe that she has a home, too.

Quinn sits up abruptly, shaking Santana's body off of her. "Um, I should probably go."

Santana follows suit, quickly. It's her turn to be confused. Santana makes one move and Quinn automatically makes three in return. "What?"

"It's just...we...you gave me a drawer, Santana."

Santana pulled the sheet up to cover her bare chest, suddenly uncomfortable with being so open. "Yeah, I did. Because I actually like having you around and I thought you felt the same."

Quinn is sliding out of Santana's twin sized bed, her hand reaching for her sundress on pure instinct. "I do, I do." Quinn emphasizes, because she wants to be honest. She doesn't know why but she wants to be honest. "I just..."

"You just?"

Quinn slips her sundress on, completely forgoing her bra, and throws her hands up in exasperation. "Why?"

"Why, what?" Santana ask, ls, her face starting to twitch in irritation.

"Why are you doing this? Why now? What...what do you want from me?" Quinn rambles, not really certain where she was going with this. "We're not in a relationship. This isn't...that."

"Calm your tits, Fabray." Santana snaps as she slides out of her bed. Santana ignores her dress on the floor and just continues to stand there, naked. It's fitting that in moments like these, Quinn is the cautious one. She's the one who needs to be covered while Santana is fine with being bare. "I'm not asking you to move in with me and start wearing a shit ton of flannel. I'm just saying..."

"What? What are you saying?"

Santana narrows her eyes, her mind already on offense. "I'm just saying that I like you, okay? For fucks sake, I enjoy your damn presence and I...I like the idea of this just being an us thing."

Quinn shudders, not really sure how to take Santana's statement. A part of her is excited beyond belief because someone finally wants her, and not just some idea of her. A part of her is skeptical, because she plotted her way into this new development and now she was terrified that Santana was suddenly doing the same.

Nobody wanted Quinn just to want her. There had to be a reason.

"Is this a joke?" Quinn asks, not really certain.

Santana deflates and Quinn can just feel that things are changing. The air around them is different. It's not electric anymore, it's...needy. "God, Quinn. Can you stop being a fucking souless sucker for a minute and just acknowledge that we're good together?"

Quinn pondered Santana's question before settling on something akin to agreement. "We are."

"So why can't we just try it?" Santana asked, her body moving towards Quinn cautiously, as if she was a frightened creature.

Perhaps she was.

"I'm not gay." Quinn says, even though it's pointless because the past four months clealry state otherwise.

Santana rolls her eyes and keeps moving forward. Slowly, always slowly when it comes to Quinn. "Sure."

Quinn licks her lips. "I don't have a good track record."

Santana shrugs, her breasts moving with her shoulders. "I know, it's the thing I like most about you."

"We're not friends."

"We probably won't ever be." Santana says, her head nodding in silent agreement.

Quinn hesitates, her mind trying to come up with excuses only to fall flat. "I'll hurt you."

Santana grabs Quinn's hips and sighs. "I'm a big girl."

Quinn's shoulders shake and she suddenly realizes that she's crying, that she's been crying. Santana's fingers are quick to swype them away, just like she's been quick to clean up all of Quinn's messes. "You'll hurt me."

Santana shrugs dismissively. "Probably."

"You'll leave me."

Santana stops and for a second and Quinn thinks that Santana's eyes water. It's heartbreaking, what Santana's been reduced to. What she's reducing Quinn to. "I don't want to." It's not a promise because it's better, at least for now. Santana knows the power of promises, she knows because she made them to Brittany, right before she broke them. "Just stay tonight. We'll get drunk, make fun of Rachel, and steal Kurt's boyfriend pillow. It'll be just like normal."

Quinn nods even though she knows it won't, even though she knows that it isn't. It's like she's Alice and she's tumbling down the rabbit hole-except, she's honestly too far gone to care.

It's hours later when Rachel and Kurt finally get home.

Quinn and Santana are sitting in the living room on opposite sides of the small table, each holding a bottle of tequila and wearing nothing but PJ bottoms and a bra. There's cards dealt out in front of them and Quinn has her face scrunched together, because she's really trying to focus.

"Should I be concerned by how easily they can procure alcohol?" Rachel asked, her purse dropping onto their kitchen table with a plop.

Kurt shrugs, his body already heading towards the two tipsy cheerios. "I think you should be more concerned by the fact that every time we come home, they're at least partially naked."

"This is bikini wear, sir." Santana says, her hand (the one that's holding the Tequila) gesturing towards him sloppily. She then points to her top (which, technically, is bikini wear) and grins.

Kurt rolls his eyes affectionately and all Quinn can think is that everyone else has taken to rolling their eyes a lot more than they used to. It seems that along with picking up Santana in the past six months, they've also picked up her habits. He slides off his shoes and plops down next to Quinn, welcoming the bottle that she hands him. "You bitches are crazy."

Rachel laughs, her body following Kurt's earlier footsteps. She slides her boots off and places them next to Kurt's before kneeling down next to Santana. "He loves it."

"We both do." Kurt corrects.

Rachel nods and grabs the bottle from Santana, ignoring her protest. "Yes, we both do. And we both love you, as well."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't go that far."

Quinn smacked his shoulder and laughed when Kurt yelped. He quickly took a swig of Tequila and watched as Rachel did the same, not concerned with anything other than the fact that it was Friday and that they were going to have fun. Rachel smiled affectionately and it warmed Quinn's heart because somehow this little place of weirdness (this little home that Kurt, Rachel, and Santana had built) made her feel at ease. It made her feel like she belonged, and she didn't understand why now (of all the times in her life) she has to grow a freaking conscience.

Rachel cleared her throat, effectively grabbing everyone's attention. "So, what's the game of choice?"

Santana grinned playfully. "Strip poker."

Kurt shook his head and took another swig of Tequila and Rachel just looked on in outrage. "I'm starting to think you have an ulterior motive to get everyone naked."

Santana glanced over towards Quinn, her eyes shy and her smirk devious. "Not everyone."

It's nearing midnight when Quinn decides that she's had too much to drink.

She seems to be in a pattern whenever it comes to Santana because all she ever does around that girl is indulge herself. Immediately Quinn feels the urge to break it and change it and be someone new, but then she looks over at Santana (who's wearing nothing but a bra and booty shorts while Kurt is standing next to her in a tshirt and boxers) and watches as her sometimes friend/more times enemy/most times lover tries to do the Single Ladies dance with Kurt. It's almost too good to watch because Santana is open and free and all of the things she's never been with Quinn, all of the things that Quinn has never been capable of being.

It's a beautiful sight but it's also heartbreaking, because Quinn is starting to think she doesn't know who she is anymore. She started this whole thing with one plan in mind and now she was gearing towards something that was totally opposite, and she was enjoying it.

She turns her attention to Rachel. It's always been easier to be honest with the girl who's never expected anything from Quinn. It also really helps that she's incredibly drunk. "Hey Rach?"

Rachel 'hmm's' in response.

Quinn turns her body so that she's facing Rachel directly and lays her hands on the coffee table. "Do you ever get scared?"

Rachel frowns. "Of what?"

Quinn takes a deep breath because she knows that she's too intoxicated to stop, and once she gets on a roll...well, she just keeps going. "Of growing up and growing old but still staying the same?"

"Sure."

Quinn frowns. She doesn't feel like Rachel really heard the question. "Do you ever get scared of dying? Of living and breathing and trying on this earth, only to not matter? Only so you can be forgotten?"

Rachel tenses and Quinn just knows that Rachel heard her this time. Rachel looks at her and it's one of those rare moments where Quinn feels like she's actually seeing her. She smiles sadly, and maybe it's a sign of how similar they've always been, maybe it's just whatever. All Quinn knows is that Rachel is just as honest with Quinn, as Quinn was honest to her, if not more so. Rachel smiles sadly and reaches for Quinn's hand, covering it with her own.

"All the time."

Quinn wakes up the next morning to Kurt spooning her from behind and her head pounding.

It's probably a stupid thought, but she thinks that she might be getting too old for this because the hangovers are starting to take their toll. Sure, it's a slightly ridiculous notion since she's almost nineteen. It's just, when you have alcoholics for parents, this shit starts early. She was drowning her sorrows in more than just cheerios way before fake ids came along.

Anyway, she's hopping over Kurt when she hears Santana's, Kurt's, and Rachel's ridiculous answering machine greeting. It's ridiculous because nobody even owns a landline anymore, and even more ridiculous because the greeting is basically just the three of them bickering.

It all just seems so easy and simple and Quinn just doesn't know how to take it. She doesn't know what to do with friends or Santana, so when the voicemail starts to play and Quinn hears the message the caller leaves, she lets her heart sink (only to feel relieved a moment later).

She's standing there, hovering over the machine like it just told her that she's a wizard, and she has absolutely no idea what to do with herself. It's the first time in her life (aside from being pregnant) where Quinn doesn't even have a plan.

She rubs her hand over her face in exasperation. She had known, god how she had known what she was getting herself into, and she had still went along with it anyway. It was her biggest fault (and believe her, she had many), the utter desire to not be alone.

She stands there long enough for Santana to take notice. Santana sits up and stumbles over to Quinn, this ridiculously cheesy smile on her face, and Quinn can only think that Santana is still drunk. She isn't that open and affectionate with Quinn, nobody ever is without an ulterior motive.

"Baby, what are you doing?" Santana asks, and it's all the confirmation Quinn needs. Santana is still drunk, she has to be, because she hasn't ever used pet names with Quinn before.

It hurts, God how it hurts to know that Santana's words were never really meant for her. It hurts even more for Quinn to finally acknowledge that this is as far as they could go. She hits the play button on Santana's answering machine and watches as Santana's face changes along with the words.

Santana: "Hey."

Kurt: "Hello."

Rachel "Cheers!"

Santana: "You've reached the Lopez, Berry, and Hummel residence. No, it's not a cereal company. Yes, we're not home. So leave a message after the beep, you hear?"

Rachel: "Santana, must you always sound so unprofessional?"

Kurt: "I don't like it. Why is my name always last?"

Santana: "This is the seventh one we've done. I'm not doing this shit anymore."

Rachel: "You are useless to me."

Kurt: "Seriously, can't we just say the names alphabetically? Why am I always last?"

Santana: "You know what? Screw you g-*beeeeeeep*

"Hey, San, it's me." A voice filters through and Quinn watches as Santana's face takes on a look of panic at hearing Brittany's voice. "Me is Brittany, in case you got confused or somebody else sounds like me. I know that you wanted to come down next month for a few days and hang out, but I was thinking you could come down next week? It's short notice but Lord Tubbington is back in rehab and he suggested that I let you use his spot in bed while he's gone so that I don't feel as lonely. I do, ya know, feel lonely. I miss you and your sweet lady kisses. I'm really happy you're talking to me again and not just because you think I need help. Anyway, call me back on the phone. Not, like, with your mind, because I still haven't figured out how to answer your mental calls yet. Love you, San!"

Santana looks horrified as the message comes to an end and Quinn feels cheated. She doesn't know why, but she feels cheated and bested and ashamed. Santana tries to reach for Quinn, only for her to swat Santana's hand away.

"Quinn, listen, it isn't what it sounds like."

Quinn crosses her arms over her chest, every part of her already defensive. "Really? Because it sounds like you're going back to fucking Lima to be with your ex-girlfriend. It sounds like you were planning to visit Brittany without ever telling me."

Santana shakes her head, ignoring the grumbling that's coming from the living room. "It isn't like that."

Quinn doesn't like it, not one bit, because Santana isn't challenging her right now, she isn't fighting Quinn and it's making this conversation all the more harder. "Then what's it like?"

"You know what?" Santana asks, her body going rigid. "You don't get to fucking do this, okay? You don't get to treat me like a fucking lay for four months and then turn around and act like my fucking girlfriend. I'm not putting up with that shit, Fabray."

"I'm not your girlfriend." Quinn answers. It's the only thing that Quinn really heard and the first thing she has to protest.

Santana snorts. "No shit, you've made that abundantly clear."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Santana licked her lips, her eyes softening. "It means that I'm nobody's lap dog, okay? You either want me or you don't Fabray, but I can't just wait around for you to grow a pair. It's killing me."

Quinn's nostrils flared at Santana's statement. She made sure to shoot Santana her hardest glare because she was just that angry. "It's killing you? What about what it's doing to me?" Quinn asked, her index finger poking herself in the chest for emphasis. "You think it's been easy for me to pretend like this was some casual fling? You think I enjoy pretending like I'm not waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to realize I'm not Brittany? You think I like being Quinn Fabray? Because let me tell you something." Quinn stepped forward and jabbed her finger into Santana's shoulder. "I hate it. I despise being me. I hate being alone and feeling unwanted. I hate how when I walk through the hallways at Yale, the only thing people want to say about me is that I'm pretty. I hate that you found friends and a life when all I found was sadness. I hate that this is my life, that you left me behind in your quest of emotional development. I hate that you're changing and I'm not because we've always been the same Santana, and I won't be able to handle the day when we're not."

Santana looks horrified, like she had no idea that Quinn was capable of saying such things, and it's wrong. Everything is just all wrong. "Quinn." Santana starts, her voice cracking. "You have to know th-"

"Know what?" Quinn asked, effectively cutting Santana off. "Know that I'm not Brittany? Know that I'm just a filler? Know that I'm just keeping the seat warm for her return?"

Santana shakes her head, her disagreement swift and evident. "No. You have to know that I...I."

"You what?"

Santana steeled her shoulders, her hands finding purchase on her waist. "That I think I could...that I want...God, I want you, okay? I want you to be my friend who's a girl who I see all the time. I want us to be exclusive. I want you to stop going on friend dates with that dude Jake, because he obviously wants into your pants and the only one who should be going there is me, and I don't want to have to kick his ass. I mean, I will, because he sounds like a pansy, but i'd prefer not to. I want us to be sappy together and have sex all over Rachel's furniture, even though she tells us not to. I want all of that because I get you, Quinn Fabray, and you get me, and the sex is freaking fantastic. And yeah, maybe we'll be a sappy as shit couple. Although, really, I doubt it, because we're both so freaking awesome. Anyway, maybe we'll turn out like that, but at least we'll be together. And we'll have tons and tons of sex."

Quinn looks at Santana and sees the eager expression that's written all over her face and it just hits her. It hits Quinn that she's broken and that all of this time she's been depending on Santana to hold her together. But Santana isn't broken. Cracked, maybe, but never broken.

It hits Quinn that she's depressed, majorly. She's depressed and disconnected from the world. Maybe that's the way that she likes it, maybe that's the way she was always meant to be. Maybe this was her cross to bear. It feels like this whole experience was all one big hoax that the universe has been pulling on her this whole time.

Either way, Santana didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve the shell of a girl who existed once. She deserved someone who existed always and wholeheartedly with very little regrets.

Quinn steadies herself and bites her lip. She tells herself that this is best (just like she's always done), except this time it's different. Yes, it's what she thinks is best, but this time it's for someone else other than Quinn.

It's a sign that she's changing and a reminder that she hasn't changed enough.

"I think it's time for me to go." Quinn says, because for once, she actually thinks it's true.