I never really thought much into high school romance. It was a point of social climbing for me, for getting up in any way I could. If I was said to be on top, shouldn't my significant other be just as high on the social ladder? I didn't think anything of high school sweethearts, especially since my parents were just that and they weren't exactly the best role models, whether it came to romance or common human decency. At that time anyway. Sure, I fell from grace easily and swiftly, got a little more desperate than I'd like to admit, even got a few months of sweet memories in total, but still, most romantic escapades in my high school years were always to pull me up in some way. But there ways always someone. Someone who got so under my skin that I could barely oppress the urge to scream most days. Or cry. Or smile so big that my lips would fall off my face. And those things? Those aren't things that were within the realm of possibilities. Not for me. I was controlled, I was the ice queen of the school, by choice, by my own, wonderful choice. I mean, look what happened to me the one time I wasn't? I had almost landed a spot on Teen Mom, Lima edition. But this- this someone, they made me feel things. They made me feel everything. They did it in a way that knocked me off my feet, knocked my on my butt so that I had to scramble to my feet. And I hated her for it. I hated her with every fiber of my being for making me feel so much, for making me feel things so quickly, so easily. Who was she too break down whatever walls I'd brought up with one idiotic smile, or terrible musical reference. Who did she think she was? They say shorter people are just closer to hell and I will forever believe that is true because I will never forget the way she made me feel like I was on fire every single day.
Now, why am I telling you this?
My name is Quinn Fabray. I have happily been away from the 4 years of hell for approximately a year. A year of getting used too stepping outside my door without an eye on me. A year of hearing music from my roommates' stereo instead of my parents screaming. An entire year of sneaking into my friends' beds whenever I liked, of going out late at night to the library and spending the entire night burying my mind in worlds that seemed so much closer now. A year of blasting my music, of no high ponies, of sweat pants to breakfast, to make up being completely and utterly optional. It has been the best year of my life, one that made everything in the past seem like it never mattered.
It was a regular night, of order in chinese with my roommate at her book club, the entire dorm to myself, perfect in every way. It was interrupted by loud knocks, ones that sounded like someone had propelled themselves into the door. I was used to frat boys stumbling through the halls, and ignored it at first, until I heard the Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory-esque three knocks punctuated with a high pitched sound like sounded suspiciously like my name. Suspiciously in the fact that anyone who actually knew my name was doing exactly what I was doing at that moment. We were a family of shut in's and we liked it that way, when we did join up it was planned through small bubbles on our phones and trips to the store to stock up on food that would clog our arteries until we were in our 80's.
I stumbled to my feet, ready for some religious spiel and not even bothering to look through the peep hole.
Now remember when I said the past never mattered? I forgot about one thing that always would. And it showed up to my door covered in snow, quivering like a leaf, sputtering words out of purple lips and clutching a metro pass.