Warning: domestic violence featured.
I've had this written for well over a year, just didn't have the guts to publish it. Hopefully you enjoy.
I do not own Glee, nor am i affiliated with the show in any way.
Finn stumbled across the fake leather sofa, trying to observe his surroundings soundly. He tried, and with luck, settled into the rusty chair, which was way past its sell-by date. It was old, had lost its shine, and had huge patches of artificial leather missing. He sighed at the sight.
After yet another argument, Quinn had had enough. She'd packed a small bag of belongings and told him she was leaving for good. The bewildered man was far from caring, having downed countless shots of vodka and a bottle of rum. That idiot was constantly nagging in his ear to the extent where her words had become that of a dog's bark. He poured himself another shot, and swung it back violently. He closed his eyes and smiled as the strong drink soothed his throat. The fire within him had been put out ever so slightly, and at that point his anger turned to regret. Was it his fault? Surely it wasn't. He tried to recall the events that took place prior to her leaving. He couldn't. Only bits seemed clear to him; she moaned, they argued, he hit her. He hit her. Finn raised his eyebrow. Had he laid a finger on the woman had been with for almost seven years? The thought seemed impossible. But he knew that with the amount of alcohol he had consumed, he was capable of anything. The annoying rat must've said or done something she knew he wouldn't stand though, he thought, trying to justify his actions. She is after all, a scumbag of a woman.
It had been approximately an hour since Quinn had walked out, and Finn already missed something she had the ability to do: cook. At that point in time the influence of alcohol had cooled on him, and he was sure he'd be able to get a dish together pronto. As his stomach rumbled ferociously, he thought of something he could quickly make. There was a delicious salmon fillet Quinn had made the day before in the fridge, some potatoes to go with it maybe? The idea sounded good to him. With a hand on each arm of the chair, he managed to get up. He headed to the kitchen, happy that he had been able to think for himself without that bitch being around. He opened the door, and as quick as it flew open, his face fell.
Food was scattered everywhere. Grains of rice swam all over the floor, vegetables had been ruined and were all over the counter, and the meat he'd bought earlier during the day was on top of the microwave, looking raw and revolting. He hurried to the fridge, hoping the fillet had been saved. Nothing. Nothing but a tube of tomato paste. Finn exploded with anger. The slightly put out flame had been relit, and he was beyond furious. What game was that fool playing? All the groceries he had bought were ruined, and he had barely enough money to last him for the rest of the week. He stormed out of the food infested area and ran to get his cell phone, placed right in the middle of a small, stained wooden table in their room. He grabbed it, punched in Quinn's number and waited for a response, only to reach her voicemail. He threw his cell on their bed, still exploding with rage. A mix of emotions was spinning through his head; he felt anger, desperation, sadness, and a new wind of regret. Regret that he'd ever let that whore into his life. Regret that he'd allowed himself to stay in a hell hole for such a long time. Regret that after everything they'd been through, it had gotten to that point. He buried his head in their cream coloured duvet, strangling it fiercely. Even with the room relatively cool, he felt hot and bothered. His face was a pigmented shade of red as his heart beat at a rapid pace of coldness.
BANG! The door suddenly slammed closed, and Finn froze with fear. Quinn had definitely locked the door, he'd even checked, so surely… Quinn. That immature piece of crap was back?! Still burning with anger, Finn raced downstairs to find his girlfriend standing before him with the small suitcase by her side. She opened her mouth; she said she was sorry, she explained that it was never her intention to walk out like that. But he'd hit her, hurt her, and she couldn't take it anymore. She'd returned though, she loved him and she wanted to make it work. The words she spoke rung in Finn's ear. She was barking again. He couldn't stand it. He wanted her to shut up. She wouldn't. In a moment of madness, he raised his clenched fists. SMACK! Within seconds it connected with its target. Quinn went flying, clashing with the wall and hitting the floor with a thump. In shock, she raised her head, looked into his wild brown eyes, and whispered,
"I'm pregnant"…