Faberry Week: Day One: Scars
I'm a little rusty, so honest opinions would be really helpful. Thanks.
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Hypervigilance
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Her scars are not those that pepper the skin; hers are the deep ones, the hidden ones, the ones that can't be seen until the neighbours are fighting, their screams heard through the wall, with the smashing of dishes here and the slamming of doors there, and Quinn freezes.
Like a deer in headlights, she's as still as could be, and then the wreck; it presents in her wide eyes, blown pupils, racing heartbeat, quick breaths, and clenched fists.
Quinn had said she was damaged, once, back when the two of you were dancing around the idea of being together. She felt that you didn't know what you were getting yourself into, with her, with her baggage. You had joked that everyone had baggage, was damaged, scarred. Quinn had smiled back – it was really a grimace – and you'd left it at that.
Only, days later, with your hands under her shirt, running across her skin, begging her to kiss you harder, to be closer, you fell the smoothness of something on her back, across her ribs, down to her hip. It caused a momentary pause, and the kiss was over, Quinn's mood, too.
A truck, during her days at high school, had certainly left its mark, with the white and pink streaks of a past Quinn obviously wanted to forget forever etched into her skin.
You weren't pushy – well, you weren't pushy when it came to Quinn and her past – so you nodded and then kissed her softly, caressing her cheek, and trying to work out every possibly way to make her forget you had paused, forget you had let curiosity interrupt what was a spectacular kiss.
The damage Quinn had previously mentioned was visible on her skin – was quite literally scarred – and you thought you had worked out what she had meant that day, but now, it was clear you were wrong.
Suddenly, all these little jigsaw pieces of Quinn's personality and reactions were coming together, finally allowing you to see the bigger picture, the one she had mentioned in passing but never enough for you to see it all.
So many moments, so many arguments cut short by her shutting down, giving up, asking 'are you done?' and now you understood why. Now you could see what had led to that reaction, that conditioning.
The argument next door had stopped, the crashing sound had ceased, and if you weren't mistaken, there was a police cruiser lighting up the street like a Christmas tree.
Quinn let out a breath, her fists unclenching but her hands still shaking, and she went back to what she was doing. Finally, finally, you could see the damage she was talking about, the scars left behind from a past you definitely knew nothing about; but these scars, unlike the ones littered across her body, the ones you had kissed individually; this was one scar you didn't dare kiss.
It hadn't been mentioned for a reason, so who were you to open up Pandora's box? There was no way you could know what was to come, what she might tell you, what that might do to her, to the Quinn who was always so strong and brave, so no. In this instance, you were going to do a very un-Rachel-Berry-like thing; you were going to keep your mouth shut and pretend you hadn't seen her fall back into her past.
You were going to act like nothing had happened. You were not going to bring it up, not push, not press for details. All you needed to do was be aware, be aware of her reactions, her needs, her – in the same way you were aware of the scars on her knee and how they ached when it was cold, or the scars on her back that were extra sensitive – you just needed to be aware.
So, if that meant that you needed to close the door a little quieter when you barged into her place, and stopped stomping around when you weren't getting your way, then so be it. Quinn might not have said as much, but you could see her triggers; yelling, loud bangs, crashing, and smashing. You definitely were not going to be a trigger; you were going to be aware, so that you didn't worsen the scar that had the ability to cripple Quinn where she stood.
"You okay?" Quinn asked, calling out through the apartment. She came from the kitchen, frowning at you, and you raised your eyebrows in question. "You haven't said anything in at least five minutes and I'm concerned," she joked, causing you to roll your eyes in return.
"I'm great, actually! I was just wondering if it was inappropriate to watch Bad Boys given our neighbours recent run in with the cops." Another frown, and then it was Quinn's turn to roll her eyes.
"You hate that movie; it's not a musical."
"I do watch other movies than musicals!" you argued back. "I really want to watch it, so come on, watch it with me!" Your whining seemed to be enough, as she went to find the movie for you, without any complaints.
And just like that, it was as though you had imagined it all earlier, and maybe that was how it needed to be for a while.
After all, scars were permanent. Some did heal better than others, and some could be lessened in their intensity, but they never left.
Neither did you, though, at least when it came to Quinn, and one day, she'd see that, she'd understand that, and she might open up and show you the scars that don't touch her skin.
Until then, you were going to enjoy what you had, what the two of you were, because that was another thing about scars, they were a wound that had healed, they were survival, and there was no point dwelling on the past, when the future looked pretty damn good.
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