A.N. Thank you so much to the best beta in the world: nagginggargoyle. You deserve all the awards this earth can offer!
Hey guys, I know my chapters are quite long, but if you have the time to see how much nagginggargoyle had made this chapter better, you wouldn't regret it a bit. Have a nice day everyone and enjoy!
And thank you so much for being continually supportive of this story and my new one.
Chapter 1
Quinn Fabray's hand shakes a little as she turns the doorknob to get out of her room. She's messed up again – she knows that for a fact – and she isn't exactly thrilled to face her father's wrath this early in the morning. Or any time of the day, for that matter, but especially not this morning when she still has the rest of the day to face and worry about.
She swallows the bile that rises in her throat and braces herself. The journey down the stairs seems more like a journey to hell than to her parents and her knees feel weak at the mere thought of going down and what's going to happen when she gets there. But she knows that she's just fuelling her father's anger by keeping him waiting and so despite the violent thumping of her heart she decides to just deal with it.
Russell spies her from his seat on the dining table the moment she reaches the last few steps of the staircases, his relaxed expression immediately turning into a stony one. The fact that she messed up again is confirmed when her father somberly wipes his face with a napkin, stands up and slowly makes his way to her. It's like a shadow is creeping towards her instead of a man, filling the walls with darkness and making her feel exceedingly, extraordinarily small.
The look on his face is so stoic and yet so menacingly feral that she would have taken an instinctual step backwards if she hadn't known that doing so would only result in much worse punishment.
Judy – the matriarch – sits still on her usual spot at the table, her back towards her family. Only the defeated slump in her usually perfect posture betrays her awareness of the events that are about to transpire in her home once again.
"I-I'm sorry, S-Sir," Quinn whispers shakily even before Russell can verbally confirm her transgressions and she casts her eyes downwards, absolute shame seeping through every pore of her being. She's always making a mistake and she can't really blame her father for punishing her. She knows not meeting Father's eyes will only result in further repercussions, but right now she's too frightened and ashamed to even do that.
Russell does her the favor of forcing her to meet his eyes by pulling on her hair and twisting her head so her terrified hazel orbs are on his merciless green ones, making her blooming headache intensify. He tugs again – this time even harder – and Quinn purses her lips to stop herself from whimpering. She knows from experience that making noise just makes her father angrier, his punishments harsher, the pain more unforgiving.
"What time are you supposed to get up," he hisses, some of his spit landing on her face. She doesn't shy away from her father's ire even if she desperately wants to – it's another thing that's forbidden in the Fabray household in such situations.
Through her dread she is temporarily distracted by the wafting smell of bacon, and it would have been funny if it wasn't extremely terrifying. This is another one of her father's favorite torture tactics – depriving her of food for several meals, then making sure that the food her parents eat can be smelled all throughout the house, an inescapable reminder of the pleasures screw-ups like her don't deserve to have.
She feels the hunger pang in her stomach as she swallows her own saliva. She hasn't been allowed food since yesterday noon and that plus her blooming fever is making her slightly dizzy.
Another tug on her hair pulls her attention back to her present predicament.
"F-five o'clock, S-Sir," she answers. She lost the privilege to call him daddy years and years ago. Rightfully so. He'd never used his right to play that role, himself.
"And what time did that typical stupid self of yours wake up?"
"Five-ten, S-Sir."
She didn't mean to wake up ten minutes later than her call time. It's just that she's been fighting a bad cold since yesterday afternoon (which was hard since she isn't allowed medication) and she woke up this morning with a pounding headache and cold chills (made worse by not being allowed a blanket either), that made going out of bed almost impossible.
"And that means?"
She knows the drill – it's been that way ever since – and she just hopes that her father wouldn't punish her as intensely this time. It's wishing in vain, she understands, but hoping for that is all she allows herself to do. She isn't about to deprive herself of that, too.
"It means I m-messed up again, Sir, like I a-always do, and I d-deserve every punishment you s-see fit to deliver."
Russell smirks victoriously at that, seemingly pleased with her reply, but Quinn is unprepared for the merciless shove that sends her careening towards the hard wall. Her already aching head hits it first, her shoulder second, and the impact is strong enough to both make Judy jump in her seat and stun Quinn for a moment before she crumples into a heap on the floor.
Quinn starts breathing heavily while trying her hardest not to cry as she cradles her head. Russell wouldn't like that. The thumping of her head matches that of her heart as the coldness of the floor causes her teeth to chatter. When she feels Russell's feet close to her face, she instinctually curls into herself more.
"Stand up," he orders sternly, nudging her forehead with the toe of his shoe.
During any other time, Quinn would have forced herself to obey lest she upset Russell more, but the blow to her head is still making her vision swim and her fever is starting to do funny things to her body. She feels so weak – now more than ever – and she knows that she doesn't have the strength to stand up, so she just suppresses a sob as she moves both of her arms in front of her face to shield her head from further damage now that she knows she has made Russell angrier.
Her action causes him to throw two blinding kicks to her open stomach and she can't help her cry of pain as the sheer strength of the blows sends her against the wall again. She rolls onto her back and cradles her battered abdomen as she lets the sob she's been suppressing break free. The now red-faced Russell pulls her roughly by the hair, forcing her to stand up. The sudden stretching of her body causes her torso to flare up but Quinn knows better than to make any noise so she just bites her lip hard enough to draw a little blood.
"You worthless piece of shit!" Russell rages, pulling Quinn's hair with every word. "How dare you disobey me?" With that another merciless punch is sent to her stomach and as much as her body wants to double over, it can't, considering how tightly Russell's hand is fisted in her hair.
He slams her against the wall again and Quinn cries out despite herself. "No money and lunch again today," Russell declares. "You deserve to starve for the rest of the day, you disrespectful wench. Do you understand me?"
Quinn manages a shaky nod despite her tear-filled vision. She isn't sure if she can stand the day without food again, especially now that she's sick, but she knows that she deserves her punishment. "Y-yes, S-sir."
"Now go back to your room, fix your unsightly self up as much as it can be fixed and try not to be worthless for once by not arousing suspicion at school."
This gets Judy's attention and she pleads with him weakly, her voice making a shaky appearance for the first time since the assault began. "But Russell, Quinn's sick. Why don't you just l-let her s-stay-"
"YOU DO NOT GET TO HAVE A SAY HERE!" Russell bellows and Judy immediately deflates as Quinn flinches. "I will decide what this idiotic creature you call a daughter does. She doesn't deserve any reprieve for not waking up on time and then trying to defy me." He throws Quinn like a rag in the direction of the stairs and she manages to land on all fours. "Now get out of my sight! You disgust me!"
Shaking, Quinn scrambles to stand up, putting all of her focus on placing one foot in front of the other. The stairs are blurry from the fever and the pain and the absence of her glasses (she makes sure to leave them in her room before every encounter with Russell) and her emerging tears, but she wants to get away from her father more than anything else, so she struggles to climb up, clutching her stomach all the while. Her knees buckle twice on the way up but she keeps going.
She crumbles to her bed once she reaches her room and it's only then that she really starts to sob. She curls into herself and presses her childhood stuffed lamb to her chest with her left hand as her right one tries to alleviate the severe pain in her stomach.
The tears won't stop falling. Nor does she try to stop them. Why does this have to be her life? Why does Father have to hate her? Why does she have to be so much of a screw-up that even her own mother can't care for her? She hates herself, just as the rest of the world does, and wishes she could just disappear. Maybe she'd do the world a huge favor by doing that, just like her father and people at school keep on saying.
School. She glances at her bedside clock. 5:25 am. School starts at seven. She'll give herself five minutes of rest (her father doesn't have to know), five minutes to get herself used to the pain before she prepares for school.
Now if only things at school were different from home…
/
"Sloppy babies!" Coach Sue Sylvester of the Cheerios, William McKinley High School's prestigious cheerleading team, yells through her infamous red-and-white megaphone to the array of fit-looking yet slightly terrified cheerleaders on the open field. "You think this is hard? Try being forced to watch Vampire Diaries then be banned from drooling, that's hard!"
Cheerios is one of the few saving graces of William McKinley High School, a generally considered "loser school" in Ohio, in terms of its school standings. Contrary to the downright humiliating records of its football, basketball and rugby teams, the Cheerios have been raking awards in since Sue Sylvester was appointed coach a few years back. Needless to say, being part of the team brings one's popularity to new heights.
However, joining also entails submitting to what seems to be the cruelest military training ever enforced since the Gulf War. Sue Sylvester is nothing short of an autocrat, a person who believes that winning can only be achieved by pushing your people way beyond their limits. This fact is one of the reasons why members of McKinley's cheerleading team are both feared and respected, and not just pitied.
"Oh Lord," she continues, an unfathomable distress in her voice. "I keep forgetting what the word joyful means each time I am forced to watch this grotesque form of wretched and maladroit bodily movement you all call choreography," she adds. "So three more suicide drills before this morning practice ends and I expect you to at least perform half-decently tomorrow!"
Quinn has been watching the drills silently from a secluded area of the bleachers (the more invisible, the better), wearing her usual getup of long-sleeved superhero shirt and skinny jeans, complete with her large glasses and the sketch pad in her lap. She loves watching the cheerleaders dance every morning, but hates watching them suffer through Coach Sylvester's personally-made suicide drills, and so she takes her eyes off the cheerleaders for a while to finish her sketch of an elephant.
She admittedly likes cheerleading and dancing as a whole and she has even allowed herself to imagine joining the Cheerios, but the mere thought of dancing in front of other people turns her into a shaking mound. She's not brave enough to do that, and she doesn't have the beauty, body or talent for it even if she were.
After five minutes, the suicides end. Coach Sylvester says something mean about the squad being pathetically inadequate and gives a slightly backhanded compliment to Rachel Berry before leaving the squad to finish practice by themselves.
Quinn feels herself smile a little. She's happy for Rachel (even if the girl is really mean to her at times). Rachel Berry may be the head cheerleader, and she's as bossy and cold as the title suggests, but she's also very pretty. And talented. And smart. She's one of the few people who are sure to make something great of themselves and leave Lima to be in the biggest and most exciting places in the world. Like the ones Quinn read about in the books. Rachel is everything that Quinn isn't, and for that, Quinn thinks highly of her.
She takes another sip from the water bottle she filled earlier from the school's water fountain. She's on her second bottle, and it's only 6:25 in the morning. She's very hungry by now and honestly what she really wants to do is eat, but she knows that that can't be done so she makes up for her hunger by chugging huge amounts of liquid.
It's not enough, she knows, but it's what she deserves.
The tall blonde cheerleader named Brittany Pierce playfully catches an unsuspecting Rachel at the waist before twirling her around, making her laugh out loud in that precious way of hers, and Quinn watches forlornly. She couldn't recall herself ever laughing that loud, and not for the first time in her life, she desperately wishes she had friends to laugh with, too.
But wishing for anything only leads to broken hearts, and Quinn has found that out the hard way.
You see, when her father had first told her that they'll be sending her to a regular high school this year (because paying for personal tutors is too much of an expense for a worthless kid like her), she was secretly excited. She has been a prisoner in her own home for the longest time and the thought of getting out and meeting new people gave this newfound (no matter how foreign) hope in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, she'd thought, someone out there would love her the way her parents can't. Maybe someone out there would be able to look past her ugliness and weirdness and imperfections and just give her love no matter how much she doesn't deserve it.
She doesn't actually know what love and friendship really are, much less how they would feel, because she's never had them, but she's read about them in books Ms. Holly Holiday, her favorite tutor, used to sneak in for her (because her father didn't allow that, either). She's read about the feelings of warmth and peace and contentment and safety, especially safety, that love brings with it. And the more she read about it, the more her battered heart had yearned for it. She'd read about friendships and impromptu hugs and sleepovers and chocolate drinks and kisses on the cheeks and she secretly hoped that somebody – just anybody – out there would be kind enough to share them with her, even if it turns out that she's actually bad at them.
She longed to have real friends – friends like Frodo's Sam and Harry's Ron and Hermione.
She thought going to school could give her those simple things that her heart yearns for, and she couldn't be more wrong.
It turns out that her father was right all along. She's a freak, and no one in their right mind would ever love her. She's ugly, and she dresses that way too. She's just another stupid dork with stupid glasses. She's too quiet, and socially awkward, and even if she learned how to genuinely smile, no one would ever smile back at her because she'd never deserve it. Even if she were lucky enough to manage to have a friend, it wouldn't last long because she'd just screw it up just like everything else that she does.
On her first week of school, all she got was burning judgment, cold glares, shoulder bumps, harsh words and slushy attacks. It burned her at first – but she's forced to endure it the way she's been doing her whole life.
She had to accept the fact that friendship and love are only for normal, non-screwed up people. People who aren't like her.
Her eyes burn at the thought of another thing she can't have no matter how hard she tries and she distracts herself by focusing on her drawing again. She has to grasp her head when her vision blurs for a second, whimpering quietly. She cough, her breath scorching hot, and the action sends reverberating pain throughout her skull, making her eyes water. Her fever isn't getting any better, she realizes, especially since she's not taking any medication to alleviate the sickness. But this isn't the first time she's gone through something like this, and she knows that walking might help her a little.
It's still 30 minutes before the classes start so she wipes her eyes and decides to just go feed the White Rabbit.
/
Quinn passes by a couple – both seniors – passionately making out on one of the school's benches as she makes her way towards White Rabbit's cage, and she blushes deeply at the sight before looking down, nervously tugging on her Super Girl backpack and walking a little faster towards the school park.
White Rabbit is McKinleys's pet bunny and one of Quinn's few favorite things at school. Everyone who passes by her cage at the school park could feed her with the grass that the janitor leaves on a compartment under her enclosure. Technically, the rabbit isn't really called White Rabbit; there's no name on the cage whatsoever. But Quinn wanted to personally name her – the rabbit's a girl, she'd painstakingly shyly asked the janitor – that because Alice in Wonderland is her favorite book and White Rabbit is one of her favorite characters.
(And also, the school rabbit is white.)
Quinn offers a shy wave and a sad smile to her only friend once she's close enough. Not a lot of students are fond of White Rabbit and they'd rather just pass her by instead of saying hello to her or something. She remembers seeing Brittany Pierce feed it on one occasion, but aside from her, nobody else seems to give the rabbit the attention she deserves. Quinn wonders if it's because White Rabbit is missing three toes, and she's just as much of a freak in their eyes as Quinn is.
But Quinn thinks that White Rabbit is special, and if only her parents allowed her to have pets (which she so desperately wants), and if the school agreed to it, she would bring her home. White Rabbit is extraordinary because all animals are and because the fact that she's missing three toes could mean that she has survived something significant.
Quinn bends down to retrieve some grass from the compartment and gasps in pain; she'd forgotten about the recently-accumulated bruises on her stomach. She stands up, slightly hunched, closing her eyes and breathing in and out for a few seconds to allow the pain to pass. Once the pain subsides a little, she bends down again, a lot slower this time, and successfully gathers a handful of grass for White Rabbit.
She puts the grass on the rabbit's feeding pot and watches with a fond smile as White Rabbit munches on the food contentedly. Quinn can feel her own hunger pains crushing her insides, but she ignores them for the moment and takes comfort in the fact that at least White Rabbit wouldn't be feeling that way today. Unconsciously, she lightly places one hand on her abdomen.
"Like that, Little One, huh?" she asks, still smiling while stroking the animal's furry forehead. As if the rabbit understands, she stops munching for a moment to glance up at Quinn. The blonde giggles and says, "Don't mind me, White Rabbit. Just continue eating please."
The rabbit resumes eating and Quinn's smile grows pensive as she looks down at her Pikachu bracelet and plays with it.
"I wish I could bring you home so that you won't have to be alone here most of the time," she says. "Because I know how bad that feels, knowing that you have no one there to rely on when you desperately need help. Not one person there for you. Not even for just one time." She feels her tears threatening to burst out but she tries her best to stop them. She doesn't know why she's sharing these thoughts with a rabbit, but it feels refreshing at the same time. Besides, whom else is she supposed to share these thoughts with?
"Out of the way, Odd Show!"
Quinn cries out a little as the force of the shove propels her to the ground, making her fall hard on her butt. Pain instantly vibrates thorugh her stomach area once she meets the ground, and her whole world seems to twirl around her. She grabs her head to stop everything from spinning around so fast and looks up to see Melissa Tobin of the cheerleading team with three of her friends looking down at her with victory and disgust on their faces.
Quinn tries to stand up but the dizziness gets to her almost immediately and she falls back down on the ground, closing her eyes to combat the spinning. This makes her tormentors laugh. Any other time she would have tried to stand up again and again to save some of her dignity, but given the fact that she's both injured and sick at the moment, this has to be an exception.
"So you're talking to animals now, too, Freakbray? I see you've finally figured out the real species you belong to," Melissa snarls.
All four of them share sets of mocking laughter and Quinn lets her eyes fall back on the ground as her ears turn pink, rightfully embarrassed.
"Anyway we just passed by to give you a piece of our minds. That, and we're also bored. Next time learn to control your freak urges to avoid further embarrassment, okay? As if you're not enough of an embarrassment in the first place."
They all pass by her sitting form one by one, making sure that their handbags collide with her head. Quinn blinks back her tears. She'd never let them see her cry just for this.
"By the way, enjoy you conversation, Elf Ear."
"And we hope you get to meet the rest of your clan."
Their departing laughter is making her chest hurt but Quinn picks herself up from the ground, wincing at the pounding in her head and the ache in her stomach. She then checks if White Rabbit is OK. She seems fine, obliviously nibbling on her grass and although all Quinn wants is to break down and cry, she pats the rabbit's head and gives her a shaky smile.
"We'll be OK, White Rabbit…"
She doesn't notice Rachel Berry watching her with an intrigued frown from one of the benches.
/
The first time Quinn stepped into the school library was five months ago, when they, the new students, were given a school-wide tour of WMHS by the Senior Officers at the start of the school year. Quinn is in third year, and she has shared the tour with a few transferees and first year students. She remembers how her heart jumped out of her chest and how her mouth went wide as she took in everything that was inside – surely, there couldn't be that many books!
There are probably hundreds, if not thousands of them in there, and Quinn had to bite her lip hard and grind her feet into the floor to stop herself from running around and hugging everything. It was like heaven for her. Like a dream come true. She thought all the books in the world were just those that Ms. Holiday let her read and a few others, but it turns out there are so many more!
She'd asked the Senior Officer if they were allowed to read everything in there and gasped disbelievingly when he answered yes. Everyone looked at her like she'd grown another head or something, and she heard some of them even call her a weirdo under their breaths (which marked the beginning of the whole Weirdo!Quinn saga), yet at that time she didn't even care. Because there are hundreds to thousands of books in here, and she's allowed to read all of them!
Her father never brought her books, except those that were made for learning. But her elder sister has – had – some, fairytales and fiction, and she'd read them to Quinn every night before she... And Quinn had read them in secret after she learned how to read herself. She'd always get easily lost in them, for they speak of different worlds, and Quinn longed to explore them all. Her father rarely lets her out of the house because she brings him shame, and books were all that Quinn relied on to know what the world outside looks like and how it feels.
And then Ms. Holly Holiday came, and she, unlike her father, had believed that young Quinn should be reading. She has been Quinn's tutor for two years and she'd sneakily give her books to read every time they'd been together. And Quinn would read the books religiously – even if she had to read them with a flashlight under the covers at midnight lest Russell catch her – and she loved those books, loved everything in them, and longed to experience the things they described. Visit every place. Meet every animal. Do everything. If only she weren't too much of an embarrassment to be allowed.
And her secret book escapades went on, until Ms. Holiday had to leave. Her husband, Carl, was reassigned to a different state, and she went away with one last hug and a tearful goodbye. It was one of Quinn's most heartbreaking moments. Apart from her sister, Ms. Holiday was the only person who has made her feel all warm inside, made her believe that she isn't that much of a waste of space. She thinks of Ms. Holidays and remembers smiles, hugs, books and kisses. She smelled like cinnamon, and Quinn comforts herself with the fact that she will forever have that in her memory at least. A lot of tutors came and went after her, but sadly none of them were kind like Ms. Holiday.
Quinn coughs painfully, and is dragged away from her thoughts of Ms. Holiday, back to the present. And presently, she is in the library again, reading what seems to be the fiftieth book she has read since the beginning of the school year, during lunch time because she isn't allowed lunch again, and through flailing vision because she is sick and starving. She takes her water bottle from the bag (sixth or seventh bottle since this morning) and downs everything in a few big gulps. Her stomach is still twisting, but she can't think of that right now.
Ever since her momentous discovery of the place, Quinn has spent the majority of her time in the library, especially during lunchtimes when Russell refused to hand her food or money. Which isn't that bad for her, Quinn thinks, because the few times Russell does allow her lunch are the times Quinn spends eating inside a bathroom stall, because nobody wants to actually share a table with her anyway. Also she gets things thrown at her whenever she eats in the cafeteria or in any other part of the school.
On the next table, two friends are gushing over the book they're both reading, which is Nicholas Spark's The Last Song, and although they're not making enough noise to get thrown out of the library, they are loud enough for Quinn hear snippets of their conversation. And oh, if they only knew how much Quinn wants to join them and share her thoughts on the book with them, too (because she's read it and loved it absolutely). But they don't, and Quinn is pretty sure they wouldn't like that either, and so she has to keep her thoughts to herself again. The two girls catch Quinn staring at them, and they both shoot her enough daggers to kill a beast, so Quinn hastily brings her eyes back to the book, ears bright pink.
She spends the next few minutes concentrating on her book, or at least trying to.
Her stomach is coiling again, and it's bothering her because she is getting into the more exciting parts of the current fantasy novel she's reading and she can't concentrate. Also, her vision keeps getting in and out of focus no matter how many times she adjusts and readjusts her reading glasses and blinks her eyes hard, so with utmost reluctance, she closes Warm Bodies and rests her throbbing head atop the book.
She closes her eyes slowly.
Only five minutes and she'll resume reading again.
She is jolted awake by the sound of the school bell.
At first she panics; she thought it was Russell waking her up again in the middle of the night for another round of his punishment, and she has to take several fast and deep breaths before she realizes that she's in the school library and she may or may not have fallen asleep. Well, she's sure she's fallen asleep, and judging by the fact that the two students from the next table over are both gone, she may have been snoozing for quite a while.
She looks down at her watch and her eyes widen in fear.
Oh no no no… she thinks frantically.
Because it's about time for the first of her afternoon classes, and she less than two minutes to get to her classroom. She's never been late, and even more than the tarnish it will put on her perfect record, she's worried about what Russell would do should he see her attendance card and learn about her being late to one of her classes. He'd beat her to pieces, that's for sure, and that thought alone makes Quinn's hands tremble as she swiftly picks her things up and scrambles out of the library.
The adrenaline pumping through her is what propels her feet to move forward and she focuses on that instead of the aching muscles in her abdomen. Only when her vision darkens for a few seconds while she's power-walking through hallway is she reminded that she's sick too, and pretty badly at that. And while she can ignore her protesting bruises, she couldn't disregard the nauseating dizziness her illness brings, so despite her anxiety and inhibitions, she allows herself a few moments of reprieve and leans on some of the lockers with her eyes closed, breathing shallowly. She realizes that her breaths are even hotter now, and so are the areas around her eyes, but she knows she can't dwell on that right now.
She weakly counts to ten and when she opens her eyes, everything seems clearer. She reigns everything in – her fever and hunger and hurt – and concentrates on getting to her classroom. Once she'll be able to sit down she can just disappear to the back of the class, close her eyes and feel a little better again, she tells herself over and over. She's very sick, almost deliriously so, but she knows no one will be able to help her but herself. She has to make frequent stops to lean on lockers along the way, but she tries to power on as much as she can.
She is doing quite well, considering her predicament, until she isn't anymore.
One of her more intense dizzy spells takes her by surprise, and she isn't quick enough to find a locker to lean on. She feels she's too weak to have supported herself either way, and she doesn't make an effort to break her fall as she feels herself tumbling forward, her entire body going limp. Her befuddled brain doesn't even register that she has fainted directly in front of someone else and that she's managed to send them crashing to the floor with her, along with everything they're carrying. Only when she feels herself being pushed harshly away from another body, making her back collide with something hard, does she dazedly start wondering what's going on.
"YOU STUPID FREAK! LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!"
No. Somebody is shouting. Dread consumes her whole being – being yelled at normally does that – and she forces herself to open her heavy eyes through the daze and maybe try to protect her already beaten body as much as she can. She pushes herself into a sitting position and cautiously glances up at a seething Santana Lopez, Rachel's South American right hand, who is glaring at her like she could murder her any moment, and holding what seems to be a broken wooden object of some sort in both hands.
Behind the Latina, an equally fuming Rachel Berry and apologetic looking Brittany Pierce are looking down at her, mismatched expressions on their faces. Students have noticed the commotion, and a small crowd has gathered around them.
Santana advances menacingly, and Quinn automatically cowers, hiding her head behind her forearms, and braces herself for the pain.
Because after the yelling comes the pain – always the pain.
A loud thud reverberates throughout the hallway and Quinn whimpers. The pain doesn't come, but the sound of Santana's iron foot ruthlessly impacting the locker beside her makes Quinn's heart thump so loud it feels like it's clawing out of her chest. Her tears fall without warning, and she closes her eyes hard and desperately tries to rid herself of thoughts of Russell because at this moment all she can think of is his face and his voice and his eyes and –
Another loud rattle pierces her heart and she curls further into herself.
"Do you have any idea what you did, huh, Loser?"
She doesn't. But she knows she did something wrong again; the worthless mess-up that is herself has ruined something again.
"I'm s-sorry. P-please don't…"
"Keep your s-sorry to yourself because it can't help us pass our science class, Loser! I can't believe we spent the whole goddamn night trying to make a damn well decent project only to have some stupid, insignificant, dirty piece of nothing ruin it for us!"
Quinn shakily lets her eyes fall on the broken wooden thing in the Latina's hands.
"I-I'm really sorry. I-I can f-fi-"
"SHUT UP!" Santana kicks the locker again. "Did I give you permission to speak?"
Quinn sniffs and shakes her head, still shivering on the floor. How could she forget that she's not allowed to speak until she is told to do so? Her chest is physically hurting now, and she claws at it hard, trying to control her breathing. She can't afford to have an asthma attack right now on top of all of this.
"Why am I even surprised?" Santana continues, mocking her. "I mean, you're so stupid the only possible thing you could be good at is ruining things. And goddamn it, you're so fucking good at it."
Quinn's heart clenches further. Of course she knows that. Her father's made sure she does. But having it confirmed by someone else hurts so much more.
"San, stop, please, you're scaring her," Brittany interjects, sounding scared and close to tears herself as she looks at Quinn.
Santana just smirks. "Well, serves her right. She should be scared. After what she did." She scoffs.
Rachel steps forward and places a hand on Santana's shoulder. "Come on, Santana. Brittany's right. We'll just figure that project out. Let that freak be, she's not worth our time."
Santana groans. "Just a little more time, Rachel. You know I wants my revenge and I wants it now."
"No," Rachel says, a little more sternly. "Classes are starting. We can't risk being late to Science too. Mrs. Woodwick already has her eye on us. You know how much she hates Coach Sylvester, and one wrong move from our side and we fail. We're trying to keep a low-pro here." She then moves her steely gaze towards Quinn who meets her eyes with red-rimmed ones. "There'll be time for revenge on that…creature. Leave that one up to me."
Her voice is dangerously low, not near as loud as Santana's, but there's an edge to it that scares Quinn even more.
Santana acquiesces, but not before bending next to Quinn's shaking, gasping form against the locker. "You listen to me, Freakbray, and you listen to me well. If the three of us loses our Cheerios position because of you, I promise that I'll beat you up so bad you'll start wishing you were. Never. Born. Do you understand me?"
Quinn bites her lip and nods, still crying. The thing is, she has long ago begun wishing she was never born at all.
Santana kicks the locker one last time before turning around, her shoulders still tense. Quinn looks up to see Rachel Berry looking at her with a hostile expression on her face before following the Santana's course. Once the two leave, the rest of the crowd starts to disperse.
Quinn doesn't care that she's late to class anymore. She sobs brokenly and buries her head in her knees, her father's voice ringing in her ears.
Stupid.
Worthless.
Ugly.
Waste of Space.
Burden.
Doesn't deserve to live.
She doesn't cover her ears against the words this time like she usually does. They're true. They're all true anyway.
"Hey, are you OK?" a soft voice asks from somewhere above her, and she lifts her red, tear-stained face off her knees to stare back up at Brittany's sweet face. The Cheerio is looking down at her with the softest, most worried expression she has ever seen in quite a long time. It mirrors Fran's look after Quinn would fall from the swings or trip down the stairs. Memories of Fran, who deserved to live so much more than her, bring more tears to her eyes.
Crouching down, Brittany touches her shoulder and she instinctually flinches despite knowing that Brittany is different from the others. Embarrassed at yet another showcase of her 'freak tendencies', Quinn lets her eyes fall back on her knees. Brittany looks utterly heartbroken as she continues to regard the smaller blonde with hesitant eyes.
"I'm sorry about that. They were both really harsh and you did not deserve that."
"Don't be sorry. I do," she whispers dejectedly; it's true.
"No, you don't. That's why I really am sorry. I mean, San and Rachel are my friends, and they're not actually so bad when you get to know them, but what they did was wrong. Please don't think that it's your fault. You did not mess up. They did. OK? Don't worry. I'll try to talk to them so that they won't punish you any more than they already have."
Quinn meets Brittany's eyes again and her heart clenches at the amount of honesty and gentleness that she sees there. It's been so long since she's been regarded with that look and before she knows what's happening, more tears are falling freely down her face.
Brittany panics. "I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?"
"No, you didn't. It's just – just, thank you."
The taller blonde smiles sadly and gently wipes some of Quinn's tears, looking a little pleased that Quinn only flinches slightly this time. Quinn lets Brittany's finger touch her cheeks, and she watches as the other blonde goes wide-eyed before she moves her hand to cup Quinn's burning forehead.
"Hey, you're really hot. Like hot, hot. That means you're sick or running a fever. I do that when I'm that hot."
It's Quinn's turn to panic. Brittany may be considered a little low on brains by some, but she's caring, and she might push her to see the nurse and that wouldn't read well on Russell's book. "I-I'm fine. Santana just scared me, is all."
Brittany frowns, forehead crunching in thought.
"Britts! What are you still doing with Lizard-Face over there? We're late."
Quinn's guard rises back up as Santana comes into view once again. She fixes Quinn with a pointed look and Quinn feels herself fold a little more.
Brittany sighs as she stands up, still looking at Quinn worriedly.
"Leave that freak alone," Santana tells her. "I don't want you catching fluke germs."
"Stop it, San, will you?" Brittany seems irritated, which is quite a rare feat.
"What? I'm just saying the truth."
Brittany casts Santana a disappointed look before shaking her head and storming past her. Santana tries to catch hold of her forearm but Brittany yanks it away. Santana follows Brittany with a look that's akin to hurt, then turns to Quinn with nothing but malice.
"What did you say to her?"
"I didn't say anything," Quinn says honestly.
"Of course you did," Santana accuses. "Brittany looks up to me! She wouldn't be treating me that way unless you planted something in her head!"
"I really-"
"Santana!"
Both of them turn their heads to Rachel's stern voice from the end of the hallway.
"Stop hanging around. I hope you're planning to actually come to class before it ends."
Santana huffs and closes her eyes, as if begging God for patience. Finally, she opens her eyes and levels Quinn with a glare. "We're not done yet," she threatens under her breath, before flailing her arms in an "OK fine, you win" way and walking away.
Quinn follows the duo sadly, until her vision starts swimming again. She rubs her face a few times to combat the dizziness and tells herself to stand up.
She can do this. She has to. Just a few more hours.
/
Quinn is feeling a little better that afternoon. She's still feverish, but her dizziness has subsided slightly, and she's starting to get used to the pain of her bruises. Also, the worst of her hunger pangs is over, and although she had to bend over many of times during her third period that afternoon because it felt like she was being stabbed repeatedly in the gut, she's also starting to get used to it by now.
She has been extra alert in-between classes as well, knowing that Santana and Rachel's revenge plans aren't something to be taken lightly. To her surprise, not a single attack has been sent her way that afternoon, and for that she is grateful. It's almost 6 o'clock by now (she's spent the past few minutes in the library) and most students and teachers are gone, so the chances for the plans to be carried out today are slim to nil.
The possibility that the plans may have been set to be executed on the next day can't be completely ruled out, but Quinn thinks she can take that. If she can rest later, then maybe she wouldn't be too sick to take slushy attacks tomorrow should any be planned. She can just pack more sets of clothing so she'll be ready to change multiple times if the need arises.
Another part of her, the more desperate (and realistic, because she's positive her fever won't be gone tomorrow) one, hopes that Brittany had been true to her word and has been able to convince the other legs of the Unholy Trinity to discontinue the vengeance plots.
And although hoping is wrong, Quinn allows herself that.
However, one glance at her locker when she went to retrieve her homework that afternoon lets her know that something is utterly, terribly wrong.
Because her padlock has obviously been rigged, and instead of the deadbolt, a bookmark with the words "Prepare to die, Freak" has been inserted through the pad hole. With shaking hands, she untangles the ribbon, praying desperately that her things were left alone.
That Frannie's journal was left alone.
Her heart thumps painfully at the thought of it being damaged, and when she opens her locker to see that all of her things – her books and drawings and school supplies – are soaked through with slushy, her breath hitches.
"No, no, no," she mutters, frantically digging through her soiled articles to look for her most treasured possession. Tears are already forming in the corners of her eyes. She has been subjected to tortures before, but this is the first time that her schoolmates thought of doing something like this.
She spies Frannie's journal underneath some of her books and she carefully pulls it out. She'll deal with the rest of her things later; she has to make sure to salvage Frannie's gift to her first. She opens the notebook and feels a little relieved to find that the journal's leather cover prevented most of the slushy from ruining the pages inside. The edges are torn and tender from the moisture, though, and she decides to run it under the comfort room's hand dryer.
She closes her locker and walks in the direction of the girl's bathroom with her head bent, not only to avoid unwanted attention, but to hide her building tears.
When she rounds the corner, however, her heart stops.
In front of her stand four Rugby jocks, all holding slushies and wearing malicious smiles on their faces. They step closer to her, all at the same time, and Quinn tightens her hold on the journal as she swivels around as fast as her sick physique allows in a desperate attempt to escape them.
The moment she turns around, however, four more jocks, this time from the Hockey Team, block her way.
She feels tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She's trapped. She can't escape this, she knows that now, and she forces back a whimper. She should have expected this. After all, Santana and Rachel's wrath isn't something that can be escaped.
Accepting her fate, she hugs Fran's notebook – or whatever's left of it – to her chest and bends her body a little to cover it completely. She has no time to put it inside her waterproof backpack. But she'll do whatever it takes to keep it safe, even if it's the last thing she does. It's one of Fran's few remaining memories. Closing her eyes tight, she braces herself as she waits for the freezing liquid to inevitably hit her body.
And it does. God, it does. The jocks don't even bother to hold back. Liters of the cold, sticky, multicolored liquid is thrown at her thin form, seeping through her t-shirt and into every crevice of her skin, sending horrific pricks of pain all throughout her body. She gasps and trembles violently, but keeps her firm hold on Frannie's journal, making sure that most of the slushy drips through her body and to the floor instead of on it.
All of her hopes of feeling better during the night are dashed – just like that.
And even though it doesn't seem possible, she feels even worse a few seconds later – when the surrounding wind reaches every part of her skin that's covered by slushy – and she hugs the journal tighter, this time not only to protect it but to keep herself standing as well. Her chest feels impossibly tight from the cold, and she starts panting, fast and shallowly. Her teeth rattle, knees almost giving out from the intensity of her shaking. The contrast between the burning cold fluid and her (now again) burning hot skin is far from pleasant and Quinn whimpers and occasionally cries out with each painful breath that she emits. Her headache is starting to reach new heights, and she blinks her eyes intently because they're starting to droop once more.
The jocks are laughing at her, mocking her weakness, her pain, and Quinn would be willing to give everything just for the world to swallow her whole and for her not to be seen again.
Finally, her knees give out and she falls into a kneeling mess on the floor, her glasses slipping from her ears and clanging to the tiles. She makes no effort to retrieve them, since at this moment all of her focus is directed at holding Fran's journal to her chest with her left hand, and supporting her weight with her right. She looks down at the journal, and releases a sob at the realization that it is only minimally damaged.
"Maybe this will teach you to watch where you're going next time, Freak Show," Azimio Adams, the biggest of the football jocks starts. Rachel and Santana sent the orders; of that she is certain now. "You have four eyes; use them wisely."
Quinn doesn't say anything. It's not wise to talk back. Her father taught her that. She just drops her head as she continues to shiver violently, knuckles turning white from her efforts to keep upright.
"And keep your ruining talents to yourself, because the normal people of the world don't need 'em," Rick the Stick of the Hockey Team adds.
"We're just getting started. This is far from over, Fabray, so feel free to consider yourself dead," David Karofsky finishes.
And with that, they all disperse, leaving a trembling, sobbing Quinn alone in the middle of the hallway.
/
It takes all of Quinn's strength to reach the nearest girl's bathroom. She had to lean against the lockers along the way because her vision's swimming from her enraged fever, and her slushy covered glasses weren't exactly helping.
The cold is seeping through her bones, and she dazedly rummages in her bag for her two spare tops, having a hard time with even opening her zipper because she's trembling that hard. Once she retrieves her shirts, she goes inside a stall, and hurriedly peels off her soaked top.
She wipes her slushy-covered body with one of the shirts as best as she can. If the head-numbing cold does something positive, it's that it has numbed her bruised torso. She isn't able to wipe off everything because her movements are limited, and the stickiness of the slushy isn't easily wiped away, but at least she's partly dry as she gets into her second shirt.
She comes out of the stall to take care of her hair. She blinks hard against the heat that seems to be oozing out of her eyes. She coughs, and the pain that it sends to her head is so intense that she would've toppled over had she not caught herself against the edge of the sink. She takes a deep breath once the worst of the coughing fit is over, and tries to reign in everything as she wipes her face and hair with paper towels, trembling all the while.
After cleaning her face and hair decently, she takes Frannie's journal so that she could run it under the hand dryer.
She's halfway through when she realizes that she's wheezing.
A heavy weight starts to settle on her chest, and she rubs small circles over it, hoping against hope that it won't develop into a full-fledged asthma attack. Things are already at their worst; she can't handle having that added to the top of her list.
She can't inhale properly on her next breaths and she starts to panic. She kneels down next to her bag to rummage for her emergency inhaler. Her hands are trembling, and she fails to open the zipper of the right side pocket of her backpack on her first two shaky attempts. Finally retrieving her blue inhaler, she crawls to the nearest wall so she could lean into it as she administers her drug.
Panting, she opens her mouth, inserts her inhaler into it, exhales painfully and pushes its top button.
Only to find it empty.