Hey guys, so this is my first Glee fic and I'd really appreciate it if you could let me know what you all think! I haven't seen many Glee episodes yet and I'm hoping I'm staying pretty in character and making this realistic, so please review and tell me if you like it or don't like it!
It's not like Quinn Fabray planned to live with Rachel Berry.
She's not dumb, or unobservant. Quite the contrary, in actuality. She sees the concerned looks Rachel gives her at Glee, when she stumbles in with dark circles under her eyes and a ghost of a smile barely there, the concerned looks they all give her, really. But Rachel's looks burn the hardest into her back as she sits there, and she thinks if Rachel wanted them to, or if Quinn allowed them to, the brunette's looks could pierce a hole straight through Quinn's heart and unravel everything about her.
She's full of answers, ready when someone asks her. "I haven't slept well." "I've been worrying about Beth." "I have a lot of schoolwork." And none of it is a lie, but none of it's the whole truth, either. She doesn't say how she hardly ever does her schoolwork anymore, how she just stares at it and wonders when she became such a fuck up, when the HBIC finally disappeared for good and she was left with this shell of what she used to be.
She doesn't tell them how her "worry" for Beth is more like a smothering mixture of anxiety and fear, that strangles her whenever she thinks of her daughter. She wants to know Beth's safe, wants to check on her but she can't, yet. So Puck tells her how she's doing and who she looks like and Quinn thinks maybe this will all be all right, because at least Puck is here. But when she realizes she can't be there, for Beth, because she's such a coward...it's not all right anymore.
She doesn't tell them that her parents still hate her, and she doesn't sleep because she hates them hating her, and she hates herself, too. They remind her, every second they can, about who she is now. They barely talk to her anymore, and they almost never mention her to their friends. Not anymore, when everyone knows that stupid Quinn Fabray went and got pregnant and really, what a disgrace. She's lucky they let her live there, and it hurts her when she thinks that her idea of lucky is her parents letting her live in her own home.
She doesn't tell anybody in Glee this, and she never will. That would give them all the more leverage over her, and Quinn doesn't need that. She's barely hanging on to the shred of influence she has at McKinley, and she won't lose it now.
When she drags herself into Glee today, it's not any different. She looks a mess and everyone sneaks glances at her as if they're not brave enough to really look at her, or maybe they don't care to anymore. She feels Rachel's eyes on her though, a slow, unwelcome warmth unfurling in her stomach because she realizes the brunette is staring straight at her, not doing these little dodgy glances like everyone else. Her eyes catch Rachel's as she goes to take her seat, the brown eyed girl still staring unabashedly. And as Quinn passes by she inhales deeply, because Rachel's eyes are so deep and wide and big and in a moment's glance, Quinn feels like Rachel sees everything.
"Hey, Tubbers, maybe you should yank your jaw up off the floor and come take a seat," comes the harsh voice of Santana and Quinn tears her eyes from Rachel's as she goes to settle into her seat and ignore Santana's rude, inaccurate (kind of maybe true) observation.
"Santana," she replies, nodding curtly before she turns to give Brittany a smile. Even though it's a small one, it's pure, and Quinn loves that Brittany's innocence can tug it out of her. "Hey, Britt."
"Hey, Quinn!" Brittany grins back, slightly bouncing in her seat as she reaches to smack Santana on the arm. "Be nice to Quinn, San. You promised."
"You made her promise to be nice to me?" asked Quinn incredulously because like, really, since when does Santana even have the capability of being nice?
"Well, yeah!" Brittany replies, her tone lowering almost conspiratorially as she continues. "We can both see you're hurting. San just deals with trying to help people differently, that's all. She's gotta learn to be nice."
Quinn resists the urge to snort in response; in no way, shape, or form does Santana help anyone, unless it's Brittany. "Oh. I see."
"Look, Q," Santana starts, sounding hesitant about what she's going to say before powering through anyway, "I know I'm a bitch, alright?"
"Congratulations, biggest understatement of the year," Quinn interrupts bitterly, shrugging off the hand that Santana has placed on her shoulder. She's learned never to let her guard down around the Latina, no matter how fakely sweet she acts.
Santana takes a deep breath and ignores the jibe. "Look, if you ever need to...talk about your feelings or some shit, Britt and I will be here for you. We always have been and we always will be. I think...I think it would help you a lot, if you just let it out and just talked about shit."
"I'd rather prefer not to discuss the issues of my personal life with the girl who constantly used to try to get me kicked off of the cheer squad and basically ruin my life," Quinn replies, refusing to lose her bitterness. Santana rolls her eyes, but before she can open her mouth, Quinn adds, "Or with anybody, actually."
"Except for Rachel," Brittany chirps, turning her attention towards the front of the room as Mr. Schue tries (and fails) to gain everyone's attention.
"Huh?" asks Quinn dumbly, her hazel eyes narrowing.
"Just ignore B," Santana says, giving her best friend a swift jab with her elbow.
"No, I-"
"Quinn," Mr Schue calls disapprovingly, and Quinn resists the urge to roll her eyes. "Something you'd like to share with the class?"
She isn't used to be called out for talking, or not paying attention or whatever, because for a long time Mr. Schue could see the strain she was under, as could everyone, and he left her well enough alone. Apparently that period had ran its course.
"I...no," she answers quietly. She turns completely away from Brittany and Santana and folds her hands in her lap, not raising her eyes from them as she mutters, "Sorry."
"It's okay, Quinn," reassures Mr. Schue, his tone gentler now, and Quinn feels Santana's hand back on her shoulder and Rachel's looking back at her and fuck she wants to vomit, because she doesn't want their pity.
"I...uh, can you excuse me, please?" Quinn mutters politely, but already she's getting up and grabbing her purse without an answer from the man. "I just...bathroom break. Sorry." As she's walking out she glances back, and notices Rachel's still watching her before the brunette's cheeks tint and her gaze drops to the floor as Quinn leaves. She knows it probably wasn't wise to do that, in the middle of class, because she feels like crying and she knows that everybody else knows, and excusing herself like that just gave everybody an excuse to focus on her all over again. As she pushes into the bathroom she fleetingly wishes she could just go home, leave, because for as long as all these problems have been eating away at her she's never once just taken a break. But she knows that would make her parent's angry, and she'd have to see her mother's disappointment and feel her father's rage, so she decides to stay as she casts a sweeping glance around the bathroom to make sure she's alone. Nobody hardly ever used this bathroom, so Quinn had chosen it to ensure maximum solidarity. But as she braces her hands against a sink and stares into the mirror, wandering who she is and what she's become, she hears the bathroom door swing open. She straightens, promptly ready to bitch out whoever it is so they'll leave her to continue wallowing in her self pity.
"Quinn."
Quinn turns sharply away from the bathroom mirrors as her eyes land on those damn deep brown eyes that can just swallow her whole. The brunette takes a step forward, and Quinn wants to take a step back, or maybe she doesn't, but she can't anyway because she's pressed up against the sinks with nowhere to go. She stares into the other girl's eyes, entranced. She tries to force her mouth to work, and what finally spills out of it is a cross between an exhale and a groan. "What do you want, Rachel?"
Rachel takes a step forward and Quinn levels her with a look that clearly says back the fuck off. Rachel does not see the hint, or chooses not to acknowledge it. "I know that, in light of our previous encounters, it might be strange for you to wrap your head around the fact that I want to help you, Quinn," Rachel starts, clasping her hands together and staring at them as she rocks on the balls of her feet nervously.
Quinn is overtaken by the desire to tell Rachel how adorable she is. Wait, what?
She doesn't have a chance to open her mouth before Rachel's talking again.
"However, I must admit that my desire to...aid you in your troubles also has to do with the fact that your voice is clearly being influenced by your lack of sleep and unquestionable unhappiness." She gives Quinn sort of a stern look, almost like this is her fault. Quinn bristles. "We can't have you sucking if we want to win Regionals," Rachel finishes bluntly, causing Quinn to take a menacing step forward. "I mean, I know my talent is exceptional and unable to be matched, but we can't count solely on-"
"You think I chose for my life to be like this, Man Hands?" Quinn says almost lividly, and at the drop of Rachel's face she's smacking herself mentally. She had promised not to resort to these names, not anymore. She eyes the smaller girl for a moment before uttering an apology.
"Your apology is accepted Quinn, however I'm still quite confused on if you do or do not believe that nickname holds any validity, because, as we can both quite clearly see, my hands are rather unmanly."
"I-" stutters Quinn, looking everywhere but Rachel's eyes and those hands. "No, I...I never thought it was true. I just...I'm sorry. Rachel."
"Anyways," Rachel says abruptly, tapping her foot almost impatiently. "Well?"
"Well what...?" asks Quinn, eyes wide with confusion. Rachel has always be so freaking intense. It causes a warmth in her stomach that she can't exactly explain.
"Well, tell me what I can possibly do to remedy your current state of distress, of course!" Rachel insists exasperatedly.
And then Quinn is confused, again, because she didn't ask for Rachel's help and what? "I don't want your help, Rachel." Thanks, but no thanks. She doesn't say it unkindly, but it's not the nicest thing one can say when someone is offering them their help. But Quinn can't bring herself to say something nicer because inviting Rachel Berry in like that, allowing her to know the intimate, embarrassing details of her life can. Not. Happen.
"I didn't ask if you wanted my help," Rachel clarifies, stepping into Quinn's personal bubble now and grasping her wrist lightly. Quinn thinks it's so Rachel can make sure Quinn doesn't run away from her, which is a bit ironic considering the fondness the small diva seems to have for storming out when she hears something she doesn't like. Quinn can't blame her though, because she runs away from things too, just different things and in different ways. "I told you to tell me what I can do." She squeezes slightly at Quinn's wrist and then Quinn inhales sharply as if in pain and Rachel glances down because she hadn't gripped her that hard and what...
"What's this bruise from, Quinn?" Rachel asks innocently, fingering it lightly as she glances up at the tall blonde with curiosity. "Is it...did you...did someone-"
"It's nothing, Rachel," Quinn almost snaps, yanking her arm away from the smaller girl and turning to wash her hands. She has no reason to do so but the familiar method brings with it a sense of routine and normalcy, and it also gives her some space from Rachel, who's watching her in the mirror with wide, chocolate eyes. Quinn flashes back to the night last week, when her dad left physical evidence of his hatred for the first, but not last, time.
"I thought I made myself clear, Quinn," Russell Fabray growled, turning off the TV and standing to tower over his daughter. "No, you will not be going to see that young man, nor will you continue talking to him." He stepped closer and closer, jabbing a finger into her face furiously. "That boy is the reason you've transformed from our perfect little Christian daughter into the little slut you were when he knocked you up."
"Daddy..." said Quinn, her voice small. She felt like nothing in the presence of her father, like she was the biggest mistake and regret of both his and her mother's lives. "I just...he talks to me about how Beth is, and I..."
Her father gripped her wrist tightly, yanking her closer, and Quinn resisted the urge to cry out in pain, to let her father see how weak he made her. "You will not go see him, understand? And if you even try to defy me, do not expect to be let back into my house."
Quinn turned her head, her eyes landing on her mother. She was standing in the entryway that divided the kitchen and the family room, watching her daughter and her husband's conversation with an emotionless face and a flat line of a mouth. "Mom," Quinn almost pleaded, her eyes begging her mother to do something, anything.
Russell leveled Judy with a hard stare and she sighed. "Quinnie," she said quietly, her eyes dropping to the ground. "Just..."
When it was clear that her mother wasn't going to come to her rescue, Quinn's body tensed and she turned to stare at her father in the eyes. "Fine," she said dangerously, not so afraid or timid anymore because really who gave a fuck about this family, about either of these two horrible people. Russell let her wrist go and Quinn turned on her heel and walked calmly up the stairs, not breaking until her head hit her pillow and she wished she had somebody to talk to because this was not okay.
Her hands are hurting now and they're red, and she barely notices as one of Rachel's small hands close around her right forearm lightly and the other abruptly shuts the water off. "Quinn," Rachel says exasperatedly, going to the paper towel dispenser as Quinn stares at herself in the mirror, randomly, painfully reminded of how much she looks like her father. She hates that about herself.
"Sorry," she breathes after a minute, hazel eyes focusing on Rachel's as the brunette wipes Quinn's hands dry. She's hit with the brief desire to thank Rachel, for taking care of her, because if that little flashback incident had happened with her two best friends, Santana probably would have called her a freak, and Brittany would have just been confused.
"Please," pleads Rachel, and Quinn stares down at that, at her almost desperate tone. Rachel stares up at her with wide eyes; she hates seeing people unhappy, especially if there might be a chance she can fix it, and especially especially if this unhappiness could cost the glee cub Regionals. She's always been a caring person, her dad and daddy had raised her as such, and even now, looking up at Quinn Fabray, the girl that had basically single-handedly ruined her junior year at McKinley High, Rachel still cared.
"What?" Quinn asks uncomfortably, still noticing that Rachel has a grip on her arm. "Please, what?"
"Please just..." God, Quinn could just swim in those eyes. "Did...did your dad do this? Your mom? Puck? You?"
"Stop," Quinn says quietly, and she's hit with a wave of surprise because suddenly it's like she wants to tell Rachel, like she feels this short, feisty girl with a loud mouth and the most persistence Quinn has ever been met with will actually sympathize, and maybe not understand but try to. She falters, and Rachel sees this and grasps at it.
"Quinn tell me, please, I just...I want to help you."
"Why?" Quinn finally blurts, effectively dodging the intense questioning session. "Rachel, I-" She swallows, staring down at the brunette seriously. "I made your life hell last year, Rachel. And I...I promised myself I wouldn't do it again this year but that still doesn't mean it never happened. Have you...have you forgotten? Are you mental?" If the roles had been reversed, Quinn would not only have sought revenge, but also would have never forgiven Rachel for tormenting her like that.
Rachel looks offended at the question about her sanity, and that's not what Quinn meant to happen at all. Rachel removes herself from Quinn's personal space to throw away the paper towel that had remained crumpled in her hand, before returning, but not as close this time. "No, Quinn, regardless of what everybody else in this school seems to think, I am not, in fact, mental. However, I have a very forgiving nature." She shrugged. "It's in the past. That Quinn is in the past, and I can tell. You've changed since you've had Beth."
Quinn stiffens at the mention of her daughter's name and Rachel notices, remembering the whole topic of the bruise and Quinn's life and all that.
"If your family life is not...satisfactory," Rachel begins, watching as Quinn closes her eyes, "then...you should do something about it, Quinn. You don't deserve that." Rachel's always been excellent at reading people, and she's heard about the elder Fabrays from Finn, and how they treated Quinn after they found out she was pregnant. She knows Quinn got kicked out before and she knows her parents don't support her and Rachel knows and she wants to help.
"When has my family life ever been satisfactory," Quinn comments bitterly as she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms defensively. She wants to say this is a lie, but it's not; when she was Lucy she was a disappointment, and when she was head Cheerio she was in her parents good graces, but never got to think for herself.
"Does he beat you, Quinn?" Rachel asks quietly, closing her eyes as she waits for the answer she doesn't want to hear, but knows that she will. When it doesn't come after a minute Rachel's eyes blink back open, expecting to find Quinn gone. But the blonde is just staring at her hesitantly.
"You could report him," Rachel continues, and Quinn's eyes widen at that. "He can't...you have to know that he can't..."
"No," Quinn spits, and she's suddenly very, very nervous. That would make things so much more worse. "He doesn't. He doesn't, okay, Rachel? He just...he gets angry, alright? I wasn't paying attention and...he grabbed me to help me focus my attention." She feels sick to her stomach, lying to Rachel, lying for him.
"Stop lying," Rachel implores suddenly, watching as Quinn looks taken aback. She steps closer. "I'm not...the enemy here, okay? I don't know why I care. I just do and seeing you like this everyday..." She trails off, staring at the floor. "I just don't like it."
"There's nothing I can do about it," Quinn replies stiffly, past the point of denying the mess and embarrassment that is her family.
Rachel's dark eyes return to hers. "Live with me," she blurts impulsively.
Quinn can feel her eyes involuntarily widen and she knows they probably look like saucers. Just last year her and Rachel hated each other, and this year they're not even really friends, and now Rachel wants her to live with her?
"I...just last year we hated each other, Rachel," Quinn voices out loud, leaning back against a sink and looking down at her clasped hands.
"I never hated you," replies Rachel honestly. "I mean, you were terrible to be around, cost me who knows how much in dry cleaning bills with your slushie attacks, and called me names that admittedly almost kept me up at night, if I hadn't the need for my beauty rest. But I didn't hate you."
Quinn looks down at this girl with so much surprise and confusion and she instantly regrets every single damn mean thing she's said or done to Rachel Berry in all the time that she's known her. "I didn't mean any of those things," she says softly, awkwardly. "You...you don't have man hands, I don't think you look like a drag queen or anything like that and actually, I..." she ducks her head shyly. What has gotten into her? since when is she nice like this, nice to Rachel like this? "Ithinkyou'rekindofpretty."
"Really?" asks Rachel in a hushed tone. She tries to contain the beaming smile she knows just wants to sneak out.
Quinn nods a slight affirmative.
"Why haven't you moved out?" Rachel asks, taking the conversation back to Quinn's...obvious situation. "You can't be happy there, Quinn. I can tell."
"And where would I move to?" Quinn asks exasperatedly, throwing up her hands. "Riddle me that. I don't have friends, Rachel. I mean, Santana is..." She grasps her hands into fists, trying to figure out a way to describe the girl who is pretty much her best friend, no matter how often they fight. "Santana is Santana, and we would argue far too much for that to work out. And Brittany...she doesn't understand. She wouldn't be able to stop herself from accidentally telling all of the details of my personal life to everyone, and I can't...nobody really knows, Rachel, but you now. Not even Santana and she's my best friend and...I can't even tell her." She levels Rachel with an intense look. "Doesn't that tell you something? This is too big of a mess for you to try to help with."
"You're staying with me," Rachel breathes, almost as an affirmative, and Quinn almost wants to smack her because hasn't she been listening at all? And it's not even that the thought of living with Rachel is unappealing it's just...hard to believe and difficult to swallow and it makes Quinn kind of uncomfortable. After everything she's put Rachel through the girl wants to invite her into her house?
She scrambles for excuses without really realizing she's doing it. "Your dads..."
"...would be delighted to have company," Rachel finishes, her eyes wandering between Quinn's eyes searchingly.
"My parents..."
"Don't fucking matter, Quinn." And Quinn is taken aback by the use of the expletive that falls out of Rachel's mouth. "Just tell them you're spending a few nights at a friend's house. It doesn't even have to be for long I just...I want you to go back to normal." she holds a hand up as Quinn begins to open her mouth. "Please refrain from questioning me why, okay? I just do. I'd prefer you return to the bitchy head cheerleader you were junior year rather than have to see this. This isn't you, Quinn."
"I'd never return to that," Quinn mutters defiantly, biting her lip and resisting the urge to spin around and once again face herself in the mirror. She knows how she's looked lately but she wants to assess herself again, remind herself of what everyone else sees, of what Rachel sees.
Rachel steps forward and places a light, reassuring hand on her arm. "I know. That's part of the reason I'm asking this. You're a good person, Quinn, and this person, isn't you."
She wants to shrug Rachel off, spit at her how would she even know who Quinn is and to mind her own business, but she can't. She doesn't want to really, anyway. Its like the fight has left her body and she finds herself nodding almost imperceptibly.
"I guess I can...see what my parents will say," she says, trying to sound noncommittal. But from the wide smile that splits Rachel's face, that doesn't seem to work out all that well.
"I'm glad you came to see it my way rather quickly," replies Rachel brightly, bouncing on her feet. "It keeps me from having to waste precious time convincing you to do what you would eventually have done in the long run anyway. Now," she claps her hands loudly and Quinn winces, the idea just now hitting her that it might not be wise to purposely subject herself to someone like Rachel Berry every morning. "Would you like to come over to my house sometime tonight? Maybe you could meet my dads and look around and then...stay this weekend?" Rachel looks uncharacteristically hesitant.
"I...yeah. Yeah, sure," agrees Quinn, shifting slightly in nervousness. This is weird but she can't say she dislikes it.
Rachel's hesitancy dissipates immediately at Quinn's agreement, and she touches the girl's upper arm before squeezing it softly. Quinn looks down at Rachel's hand on her, staring at it before dragging her eyes back up as Rachel begins talking again. "While it would be appropriate for me to inform you that I will call you later with details, it has just came to my attention that I don't actually have your number."
"Oh..." Quinn trails off, licking her lip absentmindedly and feeling herself almost getting lost in Rachel's eyes once again. Rachel blinks in what seems like slow motion and then Quinn snaps out of it and she's stuttering, flustered. This isn't like her at all. "Yeah. Um." She smooths her hands against her light yellow sundress before she holds out a hand. Rachel looks at it for a minute before retrieving her phone from the pocket of her plaid (short) skirt, unlocking it, and handing it over. Quinn saves her number, sort of marveling in the fact that all of a sudden she's giving Rachel Berry her number and they're going to be friends. Santana will have a field day with this.
"Thanks," Rachel says almost shyly, and Quinn feels herself blush, like Rachel's sudden shyness is rubbing off on her. The sound of a piercing school bell shrieks and she jumps, furthering her embarrassment. Rachel smiles lopsidedly. "Seems we missed Glee."
Quinn can't really seem to bring herself to care; discovering that Rachel possibly maybe isn't as annoying as Quinn had previously thought her to be had came to be possibly maybe a better time than sitting in Glee would have been, with everyone's eyes on her and not exactly caring, but judging and assuming, too.
"Yeah," she breathes out in agreement, jumping when the bathroom door slams open and Santana stalks in, Brittany trailing happily behind her.
"Hey, Rachel!" the dopey blonde greets, causing Rachel to smile at her sweetly before she visibly cringes as Santana approaches her and Quinn.
"Why are you hanging out with the midget?" Santana asks Quinn with a raised eyebrow, casting a quick glance in Rachel's direction. Her eyes drift back to Quinn, whose face is flushed, and her other eyebrow quickly joins its raised partner.
Quinn can see Santana making assumptions in her hand but she can't keep herself from muttering, "Don't call her that."
Santana holds up a hand to illustrate that she's backing off and she smirks and turns to Brittany, her short, pleated cheerleading skirt flying. "Let's go, Britt," she says, jerking her head towards the door before she turns back around slowly to face Quinn. "Call us when...just let us know if you need help with anything, alright, Q?"
Quinn can detect the barest hint of sincerity and she nods slowly as the two Cheerios leave. Maybe she had been mistaken earlier; maybe Santana could help people, or at least try.
She turns back towards Rachel who is staring up at her with a shy smile and twisting her hands together, like she wants to reach out and hug Quinn or touch her in some way but is restraining herself. Quinn's brow furrows. "What?"
"Thanks for sticking up for me," Rachel almost gushes, and Quinn blinks in response. "I mean, when Santana called me the midget," the smaller girl tries to clarify, mistaking Quinn's expression for one of confusion. "That was really nice of you, Quinn."
"Yeah, well." Quinn blinks again, staring at her shoes and then her hands before looking back at Rachel. She feels a small smile involuntarily grace her lips at the brunette's excitement. "It's the least I can do. I really do feel horrible about how I treated you, Rachel, and all the mean things I said. And Santana..." her voice drops lower as if Santana is still in the room and can hear her, and Rachel leans closer to hear. Quinn is hit by a sort of floral lavender scent, and barely stops herself from inhaling deeply in appreciation. "Santana...she's sorry for being mean, too. She doesn't mean a lot of the stuff she says, she just...she doesn't exactly know how to be nice to many people." She's not sure why she's sticking up for Santana now, but if the Latina's over the shoulder glances at Rachel after she had been picked on or slushied, the glances that contained just the faintest traces of concern, were anything to go by, then Quinn knew she wasn't completely off the mark.
"Really?" Rachel asks, her eyes sort of lighting up.
Shit, there goes that smile again Quinn thinks as she feels the corners of her mouth raise. It takes a lot for her to smile, anymore, but right now Rachel's just dragging it out of her left and right like it's a cakewalk.
Rachel's phone vibrates in her hand and she glances down at it frowning, before recognition dawns on her face. "Uh, that's my dad, and...he's picking me up from school today and I have to-"
"It's fine, Rachel," assures Quinn kindly. "Thanks for helping me today. And...call me, okay? To let me know what time I can..." she swallows, the words feelings funny in her mouth. "Come over."
"I will," Rachel promises as she slips one arm around Quinn's shoulder in a kind of loose hug, to which Quinn is unsure how to respond. She settles for kind of grazing Rachel's hip with her fingertips before squeezing slightly and letting her hand drop back down. She's never been much of a touchy feely person, but if this whole living with Rachel thing ends up playing out, she'll bet money that she will be met with hundreds of more hugs and such from the small brunette. The idea didn't make her feel as uncomfortable as she thought it should.
Quinn smiles as she watches Rachel walk, bounce, out of the bathroom. She turns once again to see herself in the mirror, and it's almost like she looks better, happier already, and she knows that's impossible. Spending, what, 20 minutes in a bathroom conversing with Rachel Berry was not so life altering that actual physical changes could be taken notice of. But still, her eyes seem brighter and her cheeks are rosier and the circles under her eyes don't seem so bad anymore.
She's sort of in a dream like state as she leaves the bathroom and goes to make her way to her car, forgetting to stop by her locker and grab any homework she has, forgetting to talk to any of the acquaintances she keeps just to make herself feel like she still has friends. The only thing on her mind right now is the looming obstacle she has to pass if she even wants to really think about staying at Rachel's.
Her parents.
Her father.