1
"Fuck you."
The words are salty and bitter on her tongue like brine. She can feel the way that forlornly calculated brown eyes pierce her as she turns her back, walking away.
"Don't…don't leave, Quinn." But the blonde can hear it in the way that Rachel begs with such a quiet desperation that it's almost pathetic. She can feel the disappointment rattling around the air particles that hang between the few feet that draw the two of them apart. The unopened bottle of Merlot still hangs heavy within Quinn's right hand, the ribbons around the bottle tickle her fingers.
"You fucked her?" The acidity of the words causes the smaller brunette to recoil, back pressed against a brick wall. Watery eyes and disheveled hair frame her face as the mascara beneath her eyes pools and dribbles down her cheeks like battle scars. Said girl takes this moment to appear behind Rachel's door, lipstick smeared and shoes hastily adorned on the wrong feet.
"I should go." The as of yet indistinguishable brunette whispers around pouted lips, and eyes that scream: this isn't my problem. Quinn juts out an arm, holding the door. She looks at the girl, really looks – light brown eyes, pale skin, wispy frame and bow lips.
"No stay…I was just leaving." Quinn concedes. Rachel sulks even deeper within her slight frame as Quinn releases the handle, stepping back with angry downcast eyes and a quivering bottom lip. It takes Rachel a moment to formulate any words, but when she does they sting like wasps nests and rose thistles – they burn like disappointment and cowardice.
"I just don't understand why you're so upset, Quinn. I'm single now…it shouldn't matter who I fuck. Who gave you the right to be so angry?" And with a hollow chuckle and watery eyes Quinn looks up from the landing of the stairwell, lips parted revealing her teeth in a beautifully pained grin.
"And that's exactly the problem." Quinn chuckles once more before biting her lip, sucking in on the insides of her cheeks. She bites down on the flesh, pursing her lips because she's sure she's drawn blood. And then she's dropping the bottle of wine at her feet. They all three watch as it rolls across the Welcome Mat and settles directly in front of Rachel's bare toes.
"Enjoy the wine." Quinn mutters. Rachel watches with parted lips and distinctly affronted eyes as Quinn turns without a goodbye, pea coat billowing around her as she descends the staircase – her heeled feet click and clack against the floor.
"You showed up here Quinn. Unannounced, you can't ju—" But the words fall from broken lips and never reach retreating ears. And when Rachel looks down at the dropped bottle of wine, she sees a card, tangled up among all of that ribbon. She reaches for it cautiously, pulling the folds apart. And when she reads the words written in blue ink, she doesn't blink, not once:
"Your first official casting Rachel Berry! I am so proud of you!
And here we are…to many more roles to come, and years and years of endless success and happiness. And most of all to our renewed friendship
Love, Quinn."
"Wow, what a supreme bitch." Indistinguishable brunette mutters around a scowl. And then Rachel is shoving the woman – all warm hands and skin – she pushes her out of the door, not bothering to wait. She grabs scarves and a purse and an unfamiliar coat off the rack, tossing it all out of the door and onto the Welcome Mat like dirty laundry – like trash.
"What the hell, Rachel!?"
"Go." And with weary hands and tired eyes, Rachel Berry shuts the front door to her simple apartment. She stands, back pressed against the cool of the door for an undistinguishable amount of time. It isn't until Kurt stumbles into the foyer, hair mussed and toothbrush in hand does Rachel open her eyes.
"Rachel? You look ghoulish, what happened to you?" He shrieks around a mouthful of toothpaste.
"Quinn happened."
2
"You can't honestly be mad at the dwarf for moving on." Santana manages around a shot of tequila. Her tongue stumbles around some of the syllables as she sucks on the remnants of a wedge of lime. Quinn shakes her head, bottom lip red from repeatedly biting it. They're at a house party in New Haven – Sig Ep, Quinn knows one of the fraternity guys from a Biology study group on campus.
In the grand scheme of things, their friends must all have a habit of arriving to places unannounced because that is exactly what has transpired here. Santana Lopez, dark eyes and mix matched luggage, barreling down her dorm room wall with blazing eyes and demands of hospitality. Apparently she had arrived at Rachel's first, straight off of the plane and out of JFK – only to discover that Berry was in no state for pleasantries. And so as Quinn has surmised… Santana managed to weasel the Metro North Pass out of Rachel's small pliable fingers – with gratitude. However she arrived only to find Quinn…engrossed within a book, eyes hollow, and cheeks thin, phone turned off and Facebook suddenly disabled.
Quinn thinks that her sulking hasn't been quite nearly as bad as Santana had immediately suggested. But it has been with an endless supply of liquor throughout the course of the long weekend that Quinn has regrettably divulged Santana of her multitude of indiscretions, all of them about Rachel Berry. And tonight, they sit, dressed up and make-up perfect, drunk on the floor of said Biology study group boy's room, a bottle of swiped Jose Cuervo between them. The party around them rages on, muffled by the walls beyond the door.
"But…she was with a girl Santana. I walked in on her fucking a girl…a girl with a vagina." Quinn mutters, her drunken eyes are beginning to tear up so Santana pushes the bottle of Tequila across the rug, watching as Quinn takes a hearty swig.
"I should be surprised by Berry and her love for muffins, but…weirdly I'm not."
"You don't understand. She…I'm a girl. If she's liked girls all this time…I've been right here. From day one, I've always been right here. How is that fair?" Quinn really is crying now. Her eyes look straight ahead at Santana's, full of something that the brunette has no desire to appease.
"I understand Quinn. Probably fucking better than you do." The words are bitter and Quinn leans back, her head coming down to bury within her hands as she wipes at those pathetic eyes. Quinn nods, collecting herself – she suddenly scoots closer on the rug until their knees are touching.
"I –Brittany and Sam. I saw on Facebook a few weeks ago– before I disabled it. I'm sorry." The words are a whisper, and when Quinn looks up Santana is grimacing, scrunching her eyes around a fifth shot of Tequila.
"Drink up, Q."
3
"You should have seen her face Kurt…" Rachel whispers. She's spent a week staring at that damn bottle of Merlot, and she's finally cracked it; the two of them sipping its contents out of plastic cups.
"I'm sure that's not necessary. Especially if it looked anything like I'm imagining it did." Rachel nods, eyes watery as she takes another sip. There is a box of Kleenex between them on the bed and Rachel plays with some of the sheets as she sighs – it's a broken, contrite thing and Kurt frowns.
"She just…she looked so wounded Kurt. And I keep playing it all over and over again in my mind – and I did nothing wrong. But why do I feel so guilty?"
"Perhaps it was for the same reasons why you postponed your wedding for the girl arriving late because she had to change into her bridesmaids dress." Rachel physically shudders, her mouth wide around the rim of her cup as the realization hits her with such force that she feels as though she's lost all of the oxygen from within her trained lungs.
"Kurt..." The boy drains the remaining dregs of his cup with a sour look on his face and knowing eyes. He rises from the bed with a sigh, before running a wayward hand through Rachel's dark hair. His eyes are curious and firm, and Rachel has the sudden notion that she will like nothing that this boy has to say.
"Rachel, have you really been that blind?"
4
By the sixth shot, Quinn can barely stand. She's draped over a warm body and she feels the room spin without her, the vertigo causing her to shut her eyes. She smiles down into the warm neck beneath her lips and hiccups. The body beneath her shakes with laughter.
"You're so fucking lit, Q." Santana slurs around a chuckle. Their bodies press together as Quinn laughs into the sweaty skin of Santana's shoulder. It smells like body perfume and lime – it's intoxicating and Quinn needs to taste it. She takes a broad lick and hums at the tanginess. The body beneath her stills, and that neck suddenly goes rigid.
"Q?" Santana shudders. Quinn smiles again, she laughs before sitting up. She stares down into that familiar face and realizes just how dark those familiar eyes have suddenly become.
"You taste like lime and sweet stuff." Quinn mumbles, and before Santana can stop her the blonde is lowering her head again and licking broad strokes up the column of Santana's exposed neck. Every couple of strokes, she integrates a small nibble with straight teeth. And then Santana is wiggling beneath her and holding on to Quinn's hips with shockingly sturdy hands for a girl so inebriated. A hand squeezes tightly at Quinn's right hip, sending her lower body down to grind against the pelvis beneath her own, and like lighting Quinn feels it deep within her bones. Her eyes go wide and her lips stop moving, and then Santana does it again – pulling their bodies down in a slow wind, meeting their bodies at the pelvis over and over again. Their legs tangle as Quinn lets out a pant. She can feel the back of her dress riding up her thighs – warm hands scrunch at the glittery fabric. And when Quinn looks down at the body below her, all she sees is red lips and darkened eyes – flushed cheeks and fuck me eyes.
Their kiss is not sweet. It's dark and violent and feral. It is so Quinn and Santana and nothing else. Their tongues are sharp and soft all at the same time, and when Santana shoves her thigh up and between Quinn's legs, the blonde can't stop the way she moans out loud – or the way that her hand shifts, knocking over their bottle of tequila. It spills around them coating the rug, and neither girl has the mind to care.
"Shit, Quinn." Santana mumbles, and just as Quinn takes another downward grind, the sound of a lock on the door stills her movements. Her eyes are dark and hazy when she turns, watching in drunken disillusionment as biology study group boy stumbles in with a girl clinging to his back. He stops short when he sees Quinn and Santana, eyes wide, a sloppy grin on his face. Quinn is the first to move, she sits up fast, vertigo coming back as she tries to look for her heels. Santana is slower, but manages a smug grin. They leave the room with a mumbled apology, and suddenly they're thrust into the party in full swing. UV lights and loud bass ripple making Quinn's eyes squint through the darkness. There's a hand wrapped around her own as they wind themselves through the sweaty crowd. And when they finally reach the front porch, it's Santana who drunkenly removes a cigarette from the hidden clasp within her bra. She lights up quickly, stumbling over her feet before leaning against a wall. Quinn takes one look at the beautiful disasters that the two of them have become, drunk and stumbling – lonely and afraid – and then she leans over the railing. Bile spilling out of her chest like fire.
It burns all the way down.