Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters.

A/N: A short little story from Quinn's POV, don't worry, it's actuall happy. Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy.

Please leave a review :)

For those of you who are reading my multichapter, That Which I Have Loved, check my profile page to hear the Marching shows, the links are there for you :)

Different

TheSilentPen

When you were born, you were no different than anyone else. You were just a 'beautiful baby girl with golden eyes, sent straight as a gift from God.'

At least, that's what your Dad used to say every time you used to sit on his lap, creasing his starchy dress shirt and pulling on his expensive Armani ties while he sat at home, writing his latest tribute to Christ for the Church Bulletin.

You and your sister play Barbies when you're little. The two of you love dressing them up and down, placing them in the expensive house your Mom bought for you two last Christmas.

You're a normal little girl with absolutely nothing wrong. The little girl who goes to bible school with her perfect golden curls and learns to recite the Our Father straight from the heart whenever your parents wish for you to recite your prayers.

It's only after a few years in school, when you reach the first grade, that you begin to realize that there's something very different about you.

All the other girls have got crushes on boys in the class. Santana on the annoying little kid that was a little too obsessed with Tonka Trucks, Noah Puckerman. Brittney on annoying Finn Hudson who can't tell his right from his left. Mercedes on Kurt Hummel, the kid who's always dressed a little too well for his own age.

But do you settle for boy?

No, you don't think any of them are cute enough to split a cookie with or to sit at lunch with.

But you chalk it up to the fact that you're Quinn Fabray, and Daddy always says that only someone really special can ever take your heart, because you're God's little angel.

But when the new girl from California is suddenly introduced in class halfway through the school year, you suddenly realize that she's awfully special.

Her name's Rachel Berry, and she's awfully pretty and small. Her hair is long and wavy, cascading down delicate shoulders, skin tan from the California sun, and a face with fragile, doll-like features. She always wears skirts and a funny sweater with different animals on it, along with shiny brown clogs or Mary Janes.

But you like Rachel's eyes the most.

They're a soft and warm brown, kinda like the hot chocolate that Mommy gives you on those days during the winter. And Rachel's eyes make you feel just as warm in the stomach as the drink too, and all fluttery like there's some butterflies wanting to escape from inside you.

So when Rachel smiles brightly at you, and holds out her hand, introducing herself in that light, musical lilt of a voice, you can feel your cheeks heat up and that warm feeling spread from your stomach to the rest of your body.

The other boys and girls make fun of Rachel because she uses big words and because she has two Daddies. But you think it's pretty cool, regardless. At least her Daddies love her, and you think that if they love each other like your Mommy and Daddy love each other, then it's okay.

But when you ask your Daddy about how come Rachel has two Daddies, he gets mad and says that the Berrys are an abomination in God's eyes. He tells you that you have to stay away from Rachel, because she's just as unholy as they are, and that she'll corrupt you and you'll go straight to Hell, where the Devil will lock you away forever.

You're scared, so you do what your Daddy says, and you ignore Rachel.

Or you try to.

But Rachel Berry is impossible to ignore.

On the day that your class decides to hold a Christmas play, Rachel tries out for Mary and sings 'Magnificat' in a voice that sounds sent by God himself.

And you think to yourself that surely someone who can sing so well can't be evil. God wouldn't have given the ability to sing to someone who was evil, would he? God always rewarded the good people, because he loves them.

But you tried out for Mary too, and the whole class boos when Rachel stands there next to you.

'Quinn should be Mary, she's the bestest!'

'Yeah! She's got the nicest voice!'

And you frown inside, before looking to Rachel, and she smiles at you faintly.

And all you can feel is that instinctual fear that your Daddy instilled in you.

And you say to her:

'What are you looking at, shorty? Get your gay eyes off me!'

Those words leave your mouth before you can control them, and Rachel's eyes flash in hurt as she hears them.

The rest of the class, however, laughs and jeers, chanting your insults over and over.

You get the Mary part instead of Rachel.

Over the next few years, you make it a point to scorn Rachel, and even start a tradition of throwing apple juice or any sort of beverage upside her head ('to spare all of us the sight of your ugly clothing, you kiss up' as you would often say to her).

But despite all this, Rachel remains steadfast in her resolve, keeping those beautiful eyes glaring straight into your hazels, perfect red lips narrowed into a single line of disgust.

You, Santana, and Brittney become the main source of her torment, ringing together as soon as you all join Junior Cheer Squad outside school.

Pretty soon, by the time you're in fifth grade, you've become the top of the food chain. All the boys want you, all the girls want to be you, and best of all:

Rachel Berry is still at the bottom of the food chain.

When you come back to school (this time Middle School) you're surprised that you don't see Rachel Berry wandering the halls of Lima Middle School the first day. You wonder where she is, Rachel Berry with the beautiful eyes, the beautiful voice, the annoying clothing, and the fierce determination.

It's only when her 'fellow Jew' Puck comes to school, that he explains that Rachel lives closer to Carmel Junior High, and is currently attending there with Mercedes, Kurt, and Tina (all of whom are losers that you could care less about).

So you start the climb to the top all over again. You become a Cheerleader on your FIRST official team and you find some new victims to dump slop over (a loser, stalkerish kid named Jacob Ben Israel makes the perfect target) to boost your record.

By the seventh grade, you've established a pretty solid reputation. Even the Eighth Graders, rulers of the school, seem to respect you as one of them.

You've got everyone wrapped around your little finger, including the teachers (who give your parents glowing reports about your absolutely angelic behavior and amazing grades) who let you get away with anything and everything you want.

But no boy has still caught your eye, and people are starting to become a bit suspicious about you. You're the prettiest, most perfect girl in school who could have any guy.

Yet you aren't taking advantage of that power.

To be honest, you still haven't found any special guy. Men just don't intrigue you, yet you still hold fast to the idea that you are indeed straight, just waiting for the right guy to surface to spark your interest.

But you have to keep them from talking, so at the start of eighth grade, you pick Finn Hudson as your boyfriend.

Finn's dopey and sweet, sort of like a clueless little puppy dog. He's attentive, kind, and never pressures you for any sort of physical attention (though you know that he would love nothing more than to be able to touch your chest).

He should be the PERFECT guy, the dream guy you've been waiting for.

But you don't feel anything beyond a sort of fondness for him.

Every time he kisses you, your mind drifts off elsewhere…

To pretty brown eyes and wavy brunette hair.

Rachel Berry is still very much in your mind, preserved as her twelve, hardly altered self.

But you try to shake off the thoughts of her as you head off to William McKinley High, a Freshman Cheerio with a loving boyfriend and two very dedicated (albeit sometimes violent—on Santana's part—stupid—on Brittany's part) friends at her side.

What you hadn't counted on, was during your first period Advanced Algebra class, for a very grown up Rachel Berry to walk through the door.

She's out of breath, obviously from running down the corridor in an attempt to get to class on time.

Her face has thinned out since you'd last seen her, forming over beautiful cheekbones and making her features appear carefully formed, as though by the thumb of an artist. Her hair is long and wavy, falling to her shoulders in gentle, cascading brown waves and highlighting perfectly tanned skin.

She's dressed in a button down Oxford shirt and black and white argyle sweater vest, first few buttons open to show a modest bit of cleavage, while a dangerously short black skirt flaunts muscular legs that end in shoes clad in black converse. Dangling about her neck is a golden Star of David.

And then there are those eyes. Those damn liquid brown eyes that make warm inside now make you shiver in want and need.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Johansen," a silky, mezzo soprano reaches your ears, sending another series of trembles down your already shaking form, "I'm afraid that this school holds a very pertinent new tradition of jocks slushy facialing me on every corner. I do hope you'll excuse my tardiness."

"It's alright…?"

"Rachel Berry."

And from that moment on, you know you're absolutely positively screwed.

So you start to join in on the Rachel Berry hate fest. You make sure that Dave Karofsky has a slushy to throw straight in her face, you make certain that on every corner of every inch of the school, people make sure to hiss 'RuPaul', 'Man Hands' or any other sort of lovely nickname you've dubbed her.

You even barrage her assortment of nightly MySpace videos with a plethora of derogatory comments with the rest of your cheer squad.

But nothing ever seems to get Rachel Berry down.

When Finn joins the stupid Glee club with Rachel and all those other losers, and you see Rachel with him, mooning over him…

Singing with him, and grinding against him at the assembly, uncontrollable rage fills your body.

And at first, you chalk it up to the fact that Rachel Man Hands Berry is hitting on your boyfriend.

But when you see Jacob Ben Israel attempt to grope her ass, and you get angry and order the boy a slushy shower, you know that something is very much wrong with you.

You can't be gay. It's against everything you've been taught.

It's against everything your father believes. You'll go to Hell if you're gay.

You'll go to Hell because of Rachel Berry.

So what do you do to prove it to yourself?

You get yourself drunk off your ass and sleep with Noah Puckerman, the school Man Whore.

And you think that it'll be pleasurable. You think that sleeping with him will prove that you're straight. Will prove that you're not just some commonplace sinner destined to be sent to the depths of Hell.

But sex with him is anything but pleasurable.

In fact, it's a nightmare.

It hurts far too much to be good for you. You're not even attracted to the shirtless, muscular boy moving crudely over you, and you're certain that he smells too bad to even be considered remotely arousing.

But it happens, and then you realize two things:

1.) That you're gay as hell.

2.) That you're in love with damn Rachel Berry.

But just when you seek to rectify the problem, break up with Finn and try to put things on decent grounds with Rachel so that maybe, just maybe you might have a chance with her.

You go and get pregnant.

After that, things become one huge blur.

Rachel and Finn get together… break up, you lose your position as HBIC, you lose your home and gain one with Finn, then Puck, then Mercedes… Glee becomes your only place of release… Puck wants you to keep the baby… Rachel dates Jesse…

And then you have your baby girl.

The beautiful baby girl that you had wrenched away from you because you were too young to be a mother.

And after you give her away, hold her for the last time, you weep alone in your hospital room, alone and scared of the future.

And that's when Rachel comes in, dressed in those stupid argyle sweaters and knee high socks….

And she holds you in her arms and lets you cry into her shoulder, despite the fact that you've been awful to her. Despite the fact that you've given her no reason why she should help you.

She just knows that you need someone there with you, so she offers her comfort and solace.

And you take it most willingly, pouring it out into her lavender smelling shoulder.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you strike a tentative friendship.

You walk to class together, eat lunch together, and even talk about things you never thought you'd talk about with Rachel Berry.

But there she is sitting across from you, listening instead of talking in those long, involved paragraphs of hers. There she is, proving herself selfless instead of the stereotypical diva that everyone seems to think she is.

One day, the two of you are sitting on the couch in her living room, Rachel sitting comfortably between your legs, and resting her head right beneath your chin, eyes glued to the screen as Barbra starts her climatic belting of Don't Rain on my Parade.

And you're running gentle fingers through silky brown locks, resting gently against the girl and smiling contentedly at the warmth you feel deep within your chest. You count yourself lucky that you can see this half of Rachel. This free, relaxed spirit instead of the uptight singer that the Glee club never sees.

You're broken from your chain of thought when Rachel softly inquires whether or not you're okay.

And you smile down at her concerned face, smoothing out the jagged layers of her recently acquired bangs while nodding in gentle assurance.

Normally, Rachel would simply nod and turn her gaze back to her idol on screen, but this time something's different.

Rachel keeps looking at you, eyes falling to every crease of your face, trying to find some sort of deception to indicate that your statement was false. Brown, swirling eyes very much focused on you and only you.

You find yourself licking your lips, hazel eyes dropping down to Rachel's soft mouth, flickering between her studious gaze and the formerly mentioned area. You want to kiss her, but you're not sure whether or not she'll freak out and be as melodramatic as usual.

So when Rachel leans forward and captures your lips before you can end your train of thought, you are very shocked to find that Rachel's lips are indeed as soft and as perfect as you dreamed they would be.

You thread your fingers through her hair, pulling her petite form closer to your greedy body as you devour her lips with growing passion. You've waited so long for this, that you're not even bothering with the chaste crap that you've read in so many romance books since you were a little girl.

And Rachel doesn't seem to mind, as she's replying as enthusiastically to the kiss as you are delivering it. Her hands are rubbing gently up and down your sides, grasping the thin fabric of your blouse between very feminine fingers (not at all manish, you think to yourself as she groans low in her throat).

You don't know how long you've been kissing her, running your fingers over ever exposed layer of flesh, or how long your tongues have been intertwined in an intimate lock. All you know is that Rachel Berry tastes like mint and coffee, a taste so addicting to you that it drives you mad with desire.

It's only after the two of you run out of air (and you reign control of your mad desire not to molest her on the couch while her Fathers are upstairs) that you part, staring into each other's eyes with something of a smile on both your lips.

Rachel's hand strokes its way across your cheek as she smiles brightly at you.

"I love you, Quinn."

And you are speechless as she utters those words to you. It takes several minutes before you smile, kissing her again (and separating before it becomes too addicting), and resting your forehead against hers.

Maybe God didn't hate you… Maybe he loved you, and that's why he made you so different from everyone else.

So that you could find this angel that sits before you, with so much love and dedication in her heart. So that you could become a better person instead of a brainwashed little Catholic girl like the dozens of others out there.

Maybe God made you just for Rachel Berry.

So as you embrace Rachel, you think of every event in your life, and you reflect on how you would've done everything all over again if it meant ending up at this point. If it meant that Rachel would be yours.

And you smile before whispering gently into Rachel's ears words that you've hardly ever meant as much as you do now.

'I love you, Rachel Berry. I love you so much.'