Author's note: I wrote this the day after "The Sue Sylvester Bowl Shuffle" aired but didn't post it. But since it's been over a month since I've put anything out there, I figured I should post this.
This is a Quinn-centric reflection one-shot inspired by "The Sue Sylvester Bowl Shuffle." I just found the Fuinn in this episode to be so incredibly out of left field, and I couldn't fully accept it the way it was presented. So here's my take on it.
Sometimes when Quinn looks at Finn, all she can feel is guilt. He isn't the smartest guy around, but he had been stable and safe when everything else in her life had been the exact opposite. She had taken advantage of his kind heart and dim wit, all because she was too scared of everything—most of all herself and all the things she was hiding, things that she is still keeping a secret to this day. He had loved her, and in turn had loved the baby he thought was his, and her lies had broken him in a way that no person should ever be broken.
He had loved her, but she hadn't loved him no matter how much she wished she could have.
And that makes her feel even guiltier than all the lies she had told him. She couldn't love him the way he loved her—couldn't want him the way he wanted her.
She had loved Finn, yes, but she hadn't been in love with him. She was never even all that attracted to him, although, she knows he's cute. But she didn't feel that strong, sexual attraction that Finn constantly seemed to be fighting against when they would make out. It was really easy to stop herself though. Honestly, other than the power trip she got from it all, she would have rather not been making out with him at all because his kisses would get sloppy and his hands grabby, and it made her incredibly uncomfortable.
Affection was fine. She enjoyed hugging and holding hands and cuddling with him, because he was safe, he was stable, and he was good to her. But he wasn't enough—couldn't be enough for reasons Quinn is still too afraid to say out loud.
She longs for things she can never have, things she shouldn't even want, things that she has been told her entire life are wrong. Things that had come so easily to Finn all because he was born a boy, but he didn't have the first clue how to appreciate those things.
For awhile, she resented him for it. And her resentment made her feel even guiltier, because how screwed up was that? She had hurt him so much already, but she resented him for finding happiness with the girl who Quinn has never been able to ignore. The girl who makes her stomach do funny things whenever she looks at her, makes her feel things she shouldn't feel for another girl—things she should have felt for Finn. The girl who had gotten what Quinn should have wanted but couldn't no matter how much she had wished otherwise. Instead, she found herself wishing she was on the receiving end of a serenade meant for him, and knowing that it will never happen makes her ache nearly as much as when she gave up her daughter.
Seeing them together made her miserable, so when she found out that Finn had thrown it all away, she couldn't help but feel somewhat happy about it, but that made her guilt grow even more.
She wishes there was some way to stop the guilt and desire and the guilt she felt from that desire. Sam has been a nice distraction from it, but she knows full well there is only so long it will last. She imagines that her relationship with him is a lot like her relationship with Finn would have been if she had never let Puck take advantage of her. And it's nice and safe and stable, but it's still missing something—the same thing that was always missing with Finn. That thing she feels whenever her eyes land on the girl who only has eyes for Finn.
Quinn knows the reason Finn can't forgive the girl is her partly her fault—she destroyed something in Finn that has never fully healed.
She wishes there was some way she could make it all up to him, even if he doesn't understand just how deep her guilt runs or why. She doesn't know what he would do if he knew of the feelings she is harboring for the girl he is still in love with—the girl who she also loves despite every prayer to God to make it stop.
No matter how many insults she hurls or crude drawings she creates, she can't make it stop. Being her friend has only briefly crossed Quinn's mind, but she thinks it's better to keep her emotional distance. If it hurts so much now, it would only be worse to be so close to what she can never have and what she shouldn't even want in the first place.
Maybe Finn is right. Maybe she is weak. She's never been strong enough to go after what she's really wanted—only what is easy. Despite the fact that Sue Sylvester might very well end up getting her killed before graduation, being a Cheerio is easier than not being one. She knows how this school works better than anyone. It's why she chose Finn in the first place, why she's now with Sam, and why she'll never give voice to the feelings that bubble beneath the surface every time she hears Rachel Berry sing.
The thought of not hearing that golden voice every day makes her decision to quit Cheerios surprisingly easy.
When the Titans win their championship game, she notices Finn's gaze lingering on her a bit longer than usual. She's briefly taken back to the night the Titans won their first game over a year ago—right after telling Finn the lie that had ended up hurting so many people.
Again, she is flooded with guilt, but mixed in with that for the first time since this whole mess began, there is hope. Up until now, he has only had eyes for Rachel, but tonight, it's obvious something has changed in him. Maybe, somehow, she can make things right between them again.
She decides to reach out to him since it seems like he's finally receptive to her. As they stand together in an empty hallway, she wishes for the millionth time that she could have loved him the way he had once loved her. She's heard that you never really get over your first love, and it's obvious that while Finn still loves Rachel, there will always be something there for her.
She thinks she knows the feeling. Even though no one knows how she truly feels, she can't imagine ever feeling nothing for Rachel. She doesn't know what she would do if Rachel ever looked at her the way she looks at Finn, but she knows it doesn't do any good to think about it because it will never happen.
She is overwhelmed with emotion, and before she can even think about what she's doing, she's pressing a kiss to Finn's lips. It's meant to provide an apology, both for things she should have said to him long ago and for things she can never give voice to.
But as she pulls away from him, she realizes the kiss didn't accomplish what she'd hoped it would. It doesn't absolve her of her guilt, because it's clear that Finn completely misunderstood her intentions. He's looking at her like he did last year before everything went wrong. What he doesn't realize is that things were never really right between them. How could they be when he was never what she really wanted, and only what she should have wanted?
No, what she really wants is the girl who is madly in love with the boy she just kissed. The boy who now thinks she still wants him. As she walks away, she tells herself she is sparing Finn from more heartache by not correcting him, but deep down, she knows she is a coward.
She has never been brave enough to tell the truth, and her cowardice has once again led her to make yet another misstep in a long line of mistakes.