Chapter 1: The Introduction

Which of the many gods came to the conclusion that today of all days would be 'torture Quinn Fabray day'? Because whoever he or she is must have personal vendetta against me that was rooted since the very beginning of my time on earth. Now, I'm not a superstitious person, well not too superstitious I should say, so when I walked under a ladder this morning I didn't think too much of it. Actually I never gave it a second thought. I mean the day had started out well enough. I woke up. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and I was breathing. First sign of good news already, I was alive. But from past experiences I just knew that this day like any other day was about to have its ups and downs but never in my wildest of wildest dreams did I think that it would turn into an earth shattering disaster. A little mishap here and there were the usual part of my day because if you really knew me you'd know that luck or anything remotely close to being in my favor didn't come around too easy. My days have always been filled with some kind of grief and/or misfortune. The curse of Quinn I coined it. So today, I took it that I must have offended the very gods of god between the time I woke up to this very moment right here because today, right now it just got real. I rewound my day, flashbacks of it flashing at me on index cards going a mile a minute in my head. Eventually I gave up. I couldn't think of anything that tremendously offensive that I could have done for karma to hit me this cruelly. I used my free hand to pinch myself because maybe just maybe this was a dream. But then I felt my heart beating out of its damn mind so my dream theory failed me right there and then. The situation got worse when the intense beating was causing my skin to stretch so far out of its normal range that I was afraid it would snap open, heart tumbling forward and all. And before you start with the questions or awes let me just say that my heart was not doing cartwheels and backflips because of love. Nope, far from it actually. This beating was out of pure panic. I took a deep breath to try and calm my nerves but no such luck. Then I settled with speaking to my heart directly hoping that it will take some pity on me, it was my heart after all. "Dear heart," I said, "Please calm down. If you beat any harder you will surely land onto this germ-infected ground filled spit and gum. Now stop it. You're freaking my other internal organs out affecting me externally hence I'm all kinds of freaking out and for what really?" I blame her of course. As if there was another to blame. Yes, I blame you the person who I have tried to slap-punch-kick out of my mind. You who was now in my line of vision. You who was selfishly inhaling all of the air around me leaving me panting like a kid with asthma without an inhaler. I blame you for my sudden lack of coolness. Let's face facts, all my life I've considered myself a relatively cool person. I don't flail like a fangirl over these kinds of situation so clearly this must be an exception. She's an exception. I began attacking the elevator button like it was my mission in life to press that button. I'm not prepared. I can't face her, not like this. I have to retreat, for now at least. If you really want to know who was the cause of my disheveled state of mind you'd have to pay attention because this might take a while.

Now, I'm not going to give you a word for word detailed story of my childhood or teenage years because I don't want to bore you and honestly some of the things I say might not be all too believable if you weren't there to live it with me. So to spare you from reading too much I'll give you the bullet point version of my life. Let's start with the basics. I grew up in a small town, Lima Ohio to be exact. It's one of those cities that make you break out a map or an atlas because it just doesn't sound like a real place. Growing up in Lima, I was never exposed to too much of anything, anything worthwhile that is. I grew up knowing a sense of familiarity, a routine of sorts. I grew up with a strict set of beliefs that told me what was right from wrong. Right out of the womb my parents shoved a bible in my face and expected me to be a walking example of what a perfect Christian girl should be. That was all well and good until I knew better and when I knew better the topic of family was dropped altogether.

In high school, I was the queen of determination and manipulation. And when these qualities combined it resulted to cheating, pregnancy, mono, and heartbreaks. I was damn selfish. I cared too much about the superficial aspects of life. I was a walking stereotype who then became a ratio, because hello teenage pregnancy. Sure, I was a bitch who had a heart of gold under a cold exterior but I wasn't going to let anyone know that. I had built walls around me so high that the best mountain climber couldn't scale them. After my pregnancy though the walls began to crumble ever so slowly. It was in my last two years of high school that I came to the realization that the coldness needed to heat up sooner or later. I was driving myself insane. I was missing out on life. It was kind of pathetic that glee club was my only outlet for the fun and crazy and I wanted that fun and crazy around me all of the time. I had to let myself be free and be me, who me was I wasn't too sure back then but any other version of myself would have suffice to replace queen bee Quinn. The last two years of high school was spent on outsourcing all of my energy into slowly morphing myself into a likeable Quinn, unlike the old Quinn that people feared. I mean I 'm not going to lie. It was kind of nice to have the student body parting for me like I was Moses. It certainly got me to where I needed to be a lot faster. But that got real old real fast.

Now in college was where I tested and oozed all kinds of Quinnplications. After high school, I was so screwed up in the head that I thought it be appropriate that I'd name my epic hot mess status and that was the birth of Quinnplications. Come to think of it I seriously blame Santana and maybe Puck also perhaps the Glee club and mainly a lot of alcohol for my hot messness. For instance, in my first year of college, I acquired so many personalities that my roommate suggested that I be checked for a multiple personality disorder. I ignored her because then I was still struggling with Head Cheerio Quinn, Christian Quinn, Glee Quinn and college Quinn. That was way too many Quinns for me to deal with. It was like asking a puppy to babysit a human baby. It was ridiculous. I was ridiculous. As my time in college progressed fusing these eclectic set of personalities had benefited me real well, still does actually. I'm still a kick in the pants hot mess but the good kind; in college I was just the unstable kind. This new leaf was a far stretch from my old life; it was new and all too easy. I was in love with it. It helped that I had attended and lived in one of the most liberal cities in America. Berkeley was used to their crazies. So to anyone that lived there who came across me, I was just another college kid going through the works that college came with. Life got a hell of a lot better when my roommate introduced me to what she called "a perfectly legit and legal past time". If you had told me in high school that I would end up in a UC Berkeley dorm room with a roommate that insisted that I take the stick out of my ass and just smoke some weed to relax I would have told you that you were flipping out of your damn mind. But there I was. My good ole college days gave me the chance to try out new faces that I never knew existed and perfected those I already had. Let me see if I can recall there was good student Quinn, loyal friend Quinn, pissed off Quinn, insanely quiet Quinn, drunk Quinn, and my personal favorite pot head Quinn. Oh how I loved pothead Quinn. Pot head Quinn had no filter same as drunk Quinn but pot head Quinn had awesome jokes and corny pick up lines that were in fact corny but worked without fail every time. Pothead Quinn had the munchies for Blondie's pizza and would kill anyone who dared touch or even tried to ask for a bite. Pothead Quinn was a ninja on a mission and she was fucking awesome.

I know its incredibly cliché to say that my college years were really the best time of my life but it really was. College gave me a new beginning with no end in sight. During those four years, I was able to be a multitude of people. They were all fun, exciting, and deep in character. I cherished them all. Those four years I spent dozing off in lectures halls, getting attacked by the millions of squirrels that roamed about on campus and befriending freshmen for their food points turned me into this Quinn, a drifter with no purpose but to live and let live. I know that that statement does not look well on a resume but it was me. I did not give a flying hoot nor wasted my time on the things that didn't need my attention. I stopped obsessing over the little things and just chilled. Still chilling with cupcakes, cocoas, and all.

Now back to my current predicament. So there I was at the lower level of the Westfield Centre garage mall waiting for what seemed to be forever and an eternity for the elevator doors to open. I continually abused the up button. Tapping it forcefully each time. "You know the elevator won't come any faster just because you're molesting the button," I told myself. Just as fast I replied, "Get the fuck out, I want out of here now." I was getting more anxious as I felt her presence getting closer and closer. I turned my head towards the familiar voice and there she was crossing the street skipping like a kid on Halloween. It was all too precious and as soon as my eyes connected with hers I was immediately hit with an intense case of the butterflies. Actually I was hit with a fist as this woman next to me gestured a little too hard and clocked me right on the side of my face. But whatever, I didn't even bother to stay for her apology as soon as the elevator doors opened I ran into that elevator like a boss. Once inside I hit the button for level three. The elevator started moving and I was finally safe. Out of sight, out of mind. That's how it worked right? But then I felt the butterflies in my stomach still fluttering about. And then my heart decided to join in the fun and decided that today was the day to go completely fucking crazy. I sighed; this was going to be a long day. The elevator doors opened and I was hit with a cool San Francisco breeze. I walked to my car, unloaded my bags in the trunk, and dragged my lifeless body to the driver seat. I sat there for a while marinating on what just happened. What is she doing here? What's happening to me? Is it happening all over again? Please say it ain't so.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn't expecting these unwanted butterflies that are now swarming the very pit and all corners of my stomach. But if I was to be completely honest I'm not all that surprised that they're in there chilling like a villain. I don't even know where to start or how to explain this situation. It has been years since I last saw her. The last time I saw her it turned out perfectly fine, I think, that is if fine meant extremely awful which led to a broken nose. I counted my blessings that no such freak show occurred today. I know that I need to come to terms with these butterflies sooner or later but I wasn't having it today. I just wanted to put my car in gear and go. I wasn't up for a reunion of any sorts. But then again, I suppose I should explain the cause of my sudden freak out. Well let's start with a name, Rachel Berry. Rachel Berry… where do I even begin to describe Rachel Berry. This I will admit that back in Lima when we were in high school and maybe a tad bit after college I always did have this unexplainable urge to stare at her. Whether it was during Glee rehearsals, in class or every other opportunity where the staring wouldn't be noticeable I was there doing it. When I saw her shopping at the grocery store, I stared. When I would occasionally run into her at the mall I stared. When I saw her at Breadstix I yes you guessed it I stared. I stared so much that I thought my eyes would have fallen right out of their sockets. Before you start with the eureka-s, the aha-s, and/or the obvious pointing of the finger let me just be clear and say that first and foremost, I' am no stalker by any means but staring at a certain 5'2 brunette with luscious lips and milk chocolate brown eyes was something that I could not help. Every time she was around I had no control over my body, particularly my eyes hence the staring. I'm no Finn or Sam. I knew very well why I was staring so much. It wasn't rocket science. So what if I had a little bit of a crush on the Berry? It wasn't confusing or anything like that. It was just a girl crush. And so life went on. But here I' am some years later and there she was looking like she had walked out of Vogue magazine. What was a woman to do? I tell you, deny. Deny and run.