She got out of town
He hasn't seen her in five years. She got out of town and never looked backed. They all did. They moved on and became the people they were supposed to become. Except for him. He stayed. He was stuck. Frozen, while the rest of the world was in motion.
He never stopped loving her. He probably never will.
Sometimes he thinks he sees her. He'll catch a glimpse of blonde hair from across the road. He'll see a flash of a yellow sweater or catch sight of a dress fluttering in the wind. Every time he thinks it's her. Every time it's not. That doesn't stop him from looking. Last he heard, she moved to New York. But who really knows anymore.
He would have heard if she was back in town. It doesn't really surprise him that he hasn't. What's really left for her in Lima anymore? Certainly not him. The first year after graduation, he left to visit Finn in New York. When he came back, his mother told him Quinn was in town. It was almost like she knew. She knew she could come back without risking having to see him again.
Occasionally, he would see Judy Fabray downtown. The first couple of times she looked good, happy, healthy. He wanted to approach her, but didn't know how.
The last time he saw her, she looked tired, worn-out.
It was only then did he finally go talk to her. She was sick. She had cancer. He didn't know what to say. He had never really known Judy, but a part of him felt connected to her. He hugged her. Surprisingly, she hugged him back.
He hears about the funeral a couple of months later. A few tears slip from his eyes. He doesn't wipe them away. He digs out the old black pants from their regionals competition. He feels guilty for going to the funeral, like he's only going to see Quinn. He goes anyways.
He looks for her the entire ceremony but doesn't see her until the end. Suddenly, it's like nothing has changed. He remembers what it feels like to be in her presence. In all honesty, he is surprised that she even showed up. It sounds horrible, but maybe it's the truth.
He watches her from afar. She is more beautiful than before, if at all possible. She takes his breath away. Her blonde hair, long again, is swept up into a ponytail. Her black dress is elegant and modest. He aches for her. Yet, he is conflicted. He has waited for this moment for five years. But, now that it's finally here, he isn't sure of anything anymore.
He doesn't approach her right away. Instead, he watches. Something about her is different. He expected that much, but he just can't place what it is. She's sad, he eventually realizes. Not just about her mother, but about something else.
Quinn stays away from her father the whole night. Not once does Puck see him approach her either. Fran is there too. He hates Fran. He doesn't care if that sounds horrible. She treats Quinn like crap. He notes the prevalent tension between the two sisters. He watches her belittle Quinn over and over again as they talk to friends and family. God, does he hate Fran.
After the burial, he gets in his car and drives to the reception. He thought seeing Quinn again would make him feel better, but it doesn't. It just makes him long for what he doesn't have. She's still broken – it's not hard to tell. There is nothing he wants more than to fix her, but he can't, because maybe he needs fixing too.
xxxxx
Everything is going smoothly. Or at least that is what she tells herself. She doesn't want to think. She just wants to live without worry. Is that too much to ask for? "Keep busy," she reminds herself. Less free time means less thinking.
She has spent her whole life either wanting to get out of Lima or wanting to stay away from it. Yet here she is, back again. She wonders if he is still here. She hopes not. He is too good for a place like this, even if he doesn't realize it. She doesn't want to see him. He reminds her too much of everything she wants to forget.
For a while he would email her or call her on the phone. She ignored them all, deleting the messages before she even had a chance to hear them. She feared that his voice would send her back. Back to Lima, back to him. It would make her reconsider every decision she made. But most of all, she feared it would make her miss him even more.
When her mom got sick, she would come to Ohio every weekend. She would stay in her old bedroom. She would take her mom to doctor's appointments. She would cry herself to sleep. But she never went out. She was afraid of running into him. She never let anyone know she was back. She was like a ghost. Maybe they could feel her presence, but they couldn't see her. Most of the time she liked it that way.
Yet, she knew it was inevitable for her to stay hidden away forever.
She places the cheese puffs on the silver platter. With her other hand, she smooths down the front of her skirt. She pretends like everything is okay. After all, that is what she does. It is what she has always done. She talks with her family members and friends. She makes the rounds with the food. She is grateful when she can return to the kitchen.
Pulling a knife out from the drawer, she begins to slice the baguette. She catches sight of a picture on the kitchen wall. It is of her mom and her before junior prom. Quinn used to think those were the difficult times. Now, she would do anything to go back, to have one more day of her youth.
She starts to shake at the memories. Then she begins to bawl. It is impossible for her to hold it in any longer. There is only so much pretending one can do. She rests her head in her hands, and leans against the counter. The tile is cool against her warm flesh.
She closes her eyes. She remembers the feel of the long, blue sequined dress. If she concentrates hard enough, she can feel her mother's hands in her hair, creating the perfect chignon. She remembers walking down the stairs and seeing Finn's face. She can hear the click of the camera as her mother snaps a picture. She longs to go back.
"I need you," she mummers under her breathe. "I don't know what I'm going to do now."
Her sobs grew louder. Her mother and her shared a complicated relationship. They made mistakes. They hurt each other. But she was still her mother. She starts to remember everything she has been through. She hates it. She wonders how will she make it through.
Quinn hates this feeling. She hates being weak and sad. She wants to get out of this house. The memories are too strong. She wants to get out of this place. But she doesn't want to go back to New York either. She doesn't know where she belongs anymore.
"Your hair is long again," a voice pipes up from behind her. Quinn freezes.
She drops the knife. The metal blade clatters on the hardwood floor. Puck flinches. She doesn't move. Things like that don't startle her anymore. His voice does.
It scares her. But probably not as much as it should. It's almost like she has been waiting to hear it ever since she set foot back in Ohio.
"What are you doing here?" she asks bitterly, refusing to look up from the cutting board.
"I came to pay my condolences."
She forcefully wipes a tear away. She looks up at him. Her breath hitches at seeing him in front of her. She hasn't seen him in years. She wants this dream to be over. Why does everything have to hurt so much?
It's the first time he's seen those hazel green eyes in ages. They are still the same beautiful eyes. But this time he can see the pain in them. The hurt, the anger, the resentment. She looks the same. So does he. A little older but that's about it. But up close, he can see how frail and tired she really is.
"I'm sorry to hear about your mom Q."
"Don't call me that."
He stares at her.
"I haven't been that girl in such a long time"
"You're still her to me," he softly replies.
She doesn't know how to feel, so she pretends like she's better. Better than him, better than being here, better than she was before she left. She's not though. If anything, she's worse.
"You don't even know me anymore. We're strangers to one another."
That stings.
"And whose fault is that?" he bitterly asks.
He watches her avert her eyes away from him. She's trying not to cry. His comment hurt her. That much he knows. He knows how much she hates being weak and vulnerable. He's managed to puncture her exterior walls. Only a little bit, but it was better than nothing. It's a tiny success; he still has a lot of tearing down to do.
She refuses to look at him again. He was right. It was her fault. But she didn't want to be reminded of him anymore.
"You know nothing," she spits out.
He stares at her. "I know," he replies. It's the truth. He doesn't know anything. He doesn't know her. He wants to, but she won't let him.
"Get out. Leave."
It's not the first time he's heard her say that, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.