I wrote a oneshot a while ago about Puck and Quinn (fate wrapped in paper or plastic). When I finished, I still couldn't get it out of my head. I wanted to see Quinn's side of the story more, so here it is. It's a bit of a companion piece, but you don't need to read the other one to understand (though it might make a bit more sense). Enjoy!

This thing's a monster (30 pages for a "oneshot"), so it'll be up in 3 parts, with probably a day or two in between.

Snapshots in Reality

Past

It's a warm, breezy day in July, three years ago. Her sundress is billowing around her knees, summer sun shining through the wine glass in her hand. She finds herself laughing, entertaining the friend of her father's who just told an only halfway decent joke. As the new golden Fabray, fresh from the University of Notre Dame with a bachelors degree in English and planning to enter the graduate program this fall, her parents are using every opportunity to show her off despite their disagreements. They don't think she needs to stay in school – she can get a perfectly nice job where she is now. She begs to differ. She actually likes school. She wants to learn more.

The place is undeniably sunny and bright, but as her mother waltzes over and says, "Honey, there's someone I want you to meet," she swears the sky gets a little darker; the breeze picks up a bit, freezing the smile on her face.

Present day, Quinn lifts the ice pack off of the bruise on her face and wonders how she could've let herself go. But she falls into the mirror again, and it is no mystery.

The feeling returns to her face and she shakes his hand, palm enveloped in his grasp. He's quite handsome, and there's a strange glint in his eye. Her mother is grinning ear to ear.

"Michael Eaton," he says, flashing a million dollar smile, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Quinn. I've heard a lot about you."

She blushes as her mother fusses over the two of them, smiling so hard her lipstick is cracking, "You remember the Eatons, don't you honey? Your father works with them. They came to church with us one Easter. Michael just graduated from Harvard."

"Two years ago," he chuckles, "I'm continuing school to become a lawyer. What about you, Quinn?"

"Oh, Quinnie just graduated from Notre Dame with an English degree. She wants to be a teacher."

She cuts a sideways glance at her mother, "Actually, I'm also continuing with the graduate program this fall. I'd like to get into editing, maybe even be a professor."

"That's a wonderful goal," he says as he reaches over and refills her wine glass, "I'm sure you'll do well."

He's charming. That's the exact word her mother uses as they're driving home. Just charming. You'd be a lovely pair. I do wish you'd just try to meet someone, darling.

She stares out the window at the passing trees, remembering the way is hand felt on the small of her back as they danced. It wasn't bad. It was nice, but nice was all it was. He's too clean cut. Too… ceramic, as if he's a completely different person underneath the heat and shiny glaze, hollowed out and hiding secrets.

Maybe she's just trying too hard to defy her parents. Maybe she's paranoid. Maybe she should just try to play along and be good, for once.

He calls and she picks up the phone. It's the first missed opportunity. It won't be the last.

…

Michael makes life comfortable; that is certain. For their first date he takes her to the most expensive restaurant in town, buys her a bouquet of roses and kisses her on a balcony, Romeo and Juliet style. He always buys her new outfits he wants her to wear or silver jewelry encrusted with diamonds. Saying he's rich would be an understatement.

She can't say she doesn't like it. How could she not? He takes her anywhere she wants to go. They spend the weekend at his parent's house on the lake, sunbathing on their private beach and going out on the water in their yhat. The cook has breakfast ready at seven, lunch at noon. She wears the new dress he bought her, a light shade of purple. She doesn't like purple much, but he says he does. It would be rude to tell him no.

It's then that she starts realizing the little things. Everything has to be lined up perfectly (the books on the shelves, the silverware, the money in his wallet). He projects this perfection on everyone around him, including her. If her hair is out of place, he asks her to brush it again. If her make up smears, he tells her to fix it. If he doesn't like her outfit, she has to change.

This isn't normal. She accepts it. It wouldn't be ethical to break up with him because of something like OCD.

Except it's not just a mental disorder. It's more than that.

They're having their first fight. She has class in half an hour. He doesn't want her to leave. They're arguing heatedly. His eyes keep getting smaller and smaller and the vein in his forehead is getting bigger. She's yelling about how she's paying for this class, he's wasting her money, and if he thinks that he can just stop her from-

SLAP

The blow across her face shocks her. She recoils, hand cupping her cheek, eyes boring into him. He looks just as angry, and then his face softens.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Quinn. I didn't mean to-"

Oh. Like that's all it is, a simple mistake. Oh.

She leaves without saying anything. When she comes back after class, there are flowers and dinner waiting for her on the table.

"It won't happen again. I promise."

But don't walk away from me while I'm talking to you ever again.

In retrospect, she doesn't know why she believed him. But she does. It's always easier to see the signs when you're standing on the other side of the battle.

She takes him back, not knowing how many times she will count these moments, again and again.

…

The second time he hurts her, it's a Sunday. They're getting ready to meet her parents at church. He's picking her up from her apartment and she's not ready yet. He honks the horn, yells down the hall, and finally storms into her room and grabs her wrist, squeezing until her face breaks and she cries out.

She changes her shirt to hide the red marks. In church, they ask for forgiveness for their sins. She wonders what he prays for as she strokes the black and blues underneath her sleeve.

…

She doesn't exactly remember when he started calling her names. That's probably a bad sign.

At first, they were side remarks, nonchalantly placed. You're so stupid, I can't believe you burned the toast. Sometimes, they're meant to be cute, like he's actually helping. You're a silly woman, I don't know what you'd do without me.

Eventually, they become blatant. Learn how to do it right next time, idiot. I don't know why I stay with someone as needy as you.

If she makes a mistake, she's stupid. If she talks to her male friends, she's a slut or she's cheating on him. If she asks a question, she's an idiot. If she wants him to help her, she's weak and needy. Nothing is ever enough for him and yet everything is too much. Once she finally thinks she's learned the rules, they've changed again.

He hits her when he gets upset, usually after she's done something stupid to make her an idiot or a slut or weak.

What would she do if he wasn't there to point out all her flaws? Just how would she survive?

In her head, it's meant to be sardonic, yet it's terrifying how a tiny voice in her brain actually believes it.

Yet her mother smiles wildly whenever she sees them together and he places his arm around her shoulder and she leans into him, and everything almost feels alright. His parents like her, her parents like him. They are the perfect couple who kiss underneath the stars. So there is some "discipline" here and there (that's what she calls it when she wants to fool herself). So what? Who's to say that's abnormal? No one talks about it. Who's to say it doesn't happen all the time?

She can't remember when she started changing her values for other people just to please them. Has she always been a people pleaser? Is it in her blood? Perfection is. She can't let this fall apart. This has to work, or the world will see the cracks and know something is terribly wrong inside the house she wishes was made of glass…

…

He says he loves her. His eyes narrow when she doesn't say anything.

"Well, don't you love me?"

Her autopilot sputters to life, "Yes," she says, planting a kiss on his lips, "Yes. I love you."

Quinn prides herself in being fairly intelligent, but she doesn't know much about love. Even so, she doesn't think telling someone you love them is supposed to make you want to cry.

But maybe that means he needs her as much as she needs him, and that makes everything okay, even the parts that the fairytales don't see.

…

She packs up her things and moves in with him after four months of relationship and three months of bruises. It'll save money. His apartment is nicer than hers. This is what couples do.

Her room is purple, his favorite color on her. It's smaller than his, with a smaller bed and a bathroom down the hall. He has the master suite, with the queen sized bed and the private bathroom with the claw foot tub.

She sees his pieces falling into place. Instead of complaining, she sets her suitcase down and says she loves it.

Later that night she sits in the bathroom with an icepack against her arm, and feels she will grow very accustomed to this spot. Sometimes, her intuition frightens her.

…

She assumes, because he is a nice Christian boy, he won't force her into anything she isn't ready for or doesn't want. Namely sex. Been there, done that. Quinn doesn't want to deal with pregnancy again any time soon.

But assuming makes an ass out of you and me (too bad no one ever taught her that spelling trick). She is wrong.

She doesn't mind going too far. It's the way he goes about it that gets her. They'll be kissing and he tries to unbutton her pants but she says no, and he keeps trying anyway. Not only is it rude and bordering on rape, it's disrespectful and makes her downright angry. She complains, he nothing short of whines, and the limit gets pushed farther and farther until she doesn't know what to do anymore.

"No" isn't enough. She doesn't know how to make "no" enough, not if he won't listen. Especially since if she said no enough, he'd probably just hit her anyway. She doesn't want him to hit her (moreover, she doesn't want to feel like he has a reason to hit her; that issue is already confusing enough).

Of course, when he finds out she's already had a baby, everything goes downhill.

Honestly, she's surprised it never slipped out while her mother was bragging about her, though getting pregnant at sixteen isn't exactly an achievement. Still, she thought he would've found out sooner. It seems like everyone knows; even though it's been a few years (five years to be exact, but who's counting?), the feeling never goes away.

"What does it matter? You're not a virgin. You've had a baby!"

"Exactly. I don't want to get pregnant again."

"Well do you love me?"

"I… of course I do."

"Then don't be such a fucking tease!"

Maybe he has a point. Is she being a tease? Does saying no even though she's done it before make her awful? Are the people who try drugs and then never do them again bad because they didn't "follow through?"

Well no, but that's different. That isn't… this.

Maybe he's right. It's not like she knows what she's talking about in any other situation, anyway. She's stupid. Stupid, worthless, and now a tease.

Eventually he gets her out of her skirt and she doesn't complain. She doesn't say anything, not even when it's over and she feels dirtier than she did her first time. She doesn't mention the fact that she hated it, or that the thought of him touching her like that again makes her skin crawl.

No. She makes him breakfast and she tells him she loves him without a second thought. He kisses her before he leaves. Once the door closes she stands in the shower for two hours, watching as the boiling water splashes across the black marks on her wrists.

He's rough, and he only gets rougher.

Michael likes to play "games," making her feel like some kind of cheap hooker. He's always been demanding and sex is no different. His favorite game is to tie her up, arms up above her head with her wrists tied to the headboard. She doesn't like it. He doesn't care.

She never imagined her life being like this. But what else is there to do? This is what she's supposed to do - keep him happy. If he isn't happy, he's…

He's never happy. Quinn's still trying to figure that part out.

…

He asks her marry him.

He asks her to marry him, at a party.

He asks her to marry him, at a party, in front of everyone. In front of his family and her family and what is she supposed to say?

How can she say no? How can she say yes? She can't leave him. This is what they want. They want her to settle down with a nice man and be happy. Maybe a few numbers are missing from the equation, but she'll make it work.

Michael slips the ring on her finger. It feels heavier than any weight she's ever carried.

Her parents are elated. Her mother cries and hugs her while her father welcomes Michael to the family. They and the in-laws plan a celebration dinner for the next night.

She has to cancel last minute. Michael goes without her, saying she came down with a sudden bug and didn't feel well enough to come out.

While they eat, she's sitting at home nursing a swollen black eye. Until it heals, she takes all of the mirrors off the walls.

…

The first time she visits the hospital is because of a fractured arm. He drives her, tapping his fingers to the beat of the radio. In the emergency room, she explains how she tripped and fell while tending to the garden. He laughs at how clumsy she is, asking if it hurts and helping her buckling her seatbelt with the new sling in the way.

She doesn't have a garden.

The second time, it's for a broken nose. She drives herself and wears sunglasses everywhere until the bruises around her eyes heal. The nurses ask if she's accident prone. She tells them she ran into a door (he punched her in the face).

The third time, Quinn walks in with a cut on her hand that won't heal. She gets nine stitches, a shot of antibiotics, and a pamphlet about domestic violence that the nurse forces into her hand. She fakes annoyance at the accusation. Really, she can't believe it's true. This isn't abuse. It's… she isn't quite sure, but it's not that. It can't be. She tells them she just cut her hand while cooking dinner (he pushed her while she was cooking dinner and she landed on the knife). The nurse frowns and spews information about toll free hotlines.

She stops going to the hospital after that. Her medical information may be limited, but she'll take care of herself. Emergency room bills are too expensive anyway.

…

The day she gives up isn't memorable. It's just another day. That's the pathetic part of it, because it isn't one single moment. It's just… there. Gone.

Surrender isn't even painful. She's too tired to care.

He can hit her because she deserves it.

He can call her names because she deserves it.

He can take her to bed without her permission because she deserves it.

She finally forgets her old life and accepts her punishment. Maybe if she stops struggling, it won't hurt so badly.

It still hurts plenty. She just forgets to care.