She twirls and panics in stages, but mostly at the same time. She sits, delirious and cold and thin and knows that, without out doubt, her heart is breaking.
They sit together, hands clasped, wedged on the same seat, praying desperately to God even though right now, they both hate him and are struggling to believe in him at all.
(Although, she thinks sometimes, with a hint of regret that if he were real he would be a terrible man, a wonderful husband, but a terrible, terrible man)
They walk home every night after visiting Quinn in hospital and dance in the rain, they're both warm and free and so, so sad. They sing too. Songs nobody knows on the road and looking beautiful in the dull, orange streetlight.
They sing together, and skip and imagine in the cold air that a drum somewhere, anywhere is playing them a beat and that that drum is Quinn's heart.
She often thinks about how unfair it is, as they lay in bed together, over the covers and naked. She thinks with Quinn it's horrific. Like sometimes she can't breathe with the sheer heaviness of it all, but she's certain that if it were Brittney she wouldn't be alive.
(She likes to think she could bargain with death, ask it a favour. She reckons she's definitely owed it)
Sometimes she wraps her arms around herself. Most of the time she's not cold and most of the time she's not lonely, she has everybody. Quinn has nobody and that makes her feel awful, because Quinn could have everybody, she just chooses not to.
Quinn could have Rachel.
She remembers one night, out of coincidence when they all ended up at Quinn's. Quinn had been with Mercedes, who was seeing Rachel and she and Brittney had went round to Quinn's to find Mercedes leaving with a smile.
They walked in, cautious, only to find Quinn opening a bottle and Rachel watching. She thinks of how much they had laughed and how much they had apologised and how much they had laughed.
She thinks it might have been one of the best nights of her life.
But sitting in the hospital with the same three girls she thinks tonight might be one of the worst.
Quinn's getting worse, and nobody knows why. Brittney and Rachel sit at either side of the bed, each clutching a pale hand while she paces three steps at a time.
Brittney tells her to stop, to slow down, that she's making her tummy feel funny. But Rachel just stares at Quinn, unfalteringly. And for once she has the sudden urge –even though she feels slightly ashamed of it because everyone deserves their own privacy- to ask what they are. Are they together? She knows they're in love but she doesn't know if either of them know and time is precious, there's not much left, she needs them to know.
She stops pacing and Brittney sighs in relief and gestures for her to sit, so she does, and tries not to cry. But Rachel does, she feels the air in the room thicken with deep, harsh sobs which she's certain are making the hospital (if not the world) shake. She hears Brittney get up from beside her. She says, Oh Rach, and slowly begins to rub circles on her back.
She just watches, she watches Brittney hold it together, she watched Rachel's angry eyes and she watches, with mild terror and fascination how fast her hands her shaking. But most of all she watches Quinn's face and tries not to concentrate on how beautiful she is, because she is, she truly, absolutely is.
They sit in mostly silence; every so often Quinn wakes up and whispers something. They all freeze whenever she does so, so worried that maybe these words could be her last.
Judy would be here, but she's sick to. Nothing too serious, a virus she remembers, something Quinn absolutely couldn't catch. So it's just her, Brittney and Rachel and she wonders what she would think about all this looking back if she was older. What she would tell her children.
I had a beautiful friend and she died.
And she had a beautiful friend, who could sing, and maybe she would point to the television or the radio and say, that's her, isn't she wonderful?
Her child might nod and say yes, she is. And she might tell her child that one day, years ago, when I was still in high school, then she would point to Rachel again and say, her heart was broken.
But its fine, however muddled or confused Quinn is, she wakes up and slowly starts to get better, and her mum learns to love her again. And Quinn learns to love everybody, even Rachel.
Especially Rachel.
And as she dances home in the dull, damp streetlight with Brittney, her fingers and toes and stomach feel sick with happiness, because Quinn is okay, and in love. And everybody still loves her and she finally loves them.
She takes Brittney's hand and tells her that if anything were to ever happen to her she couldn't bear to live and Brittney simply nods and tells her that if anything were to happen to her, she wouldn't be able to live.
That night, its dark and wet and they lay side by side, naked, over the covers and tell each other over and over that they love each other and they'll look after each other, because, Brittney tells her when she's hovering on the cusp of sleep, it's terrible out there, look what happened to Quinn, we all need people to take care of us.
As the pitter patter of rain sends them to sleep, she prays that Quinn is okay, and that Rachel is okay too, and that they'll look after each other like she needs them too.
The title is from Aztecs camera's, all I need is everything
Thanks for reading, please review if you have the time ;)