I wrote this around two years ago and never put it up here. I'm no psychologist, so don't take anything too seriously. I was a very different person two years ago, but I can tell you that the withdrawal of feelings is a very real thing.
Other than that, I will only say that a firm knowledge of The Never Ending Story (the movie) is almost necessary to understand parts of this.
You're eight years old when you watch the only movie that's ever mattered to you. In your mind, all you see is a dragon that looks like a dog, a beautiful boy dressed really fun, another boy who looks kind of nerdy, and finally the Empress. She's perfect even though you know she's dying in the movie.
The boy in tan clothes—your father told you they were called hides—travels far across a land that seemingly never ends. He's with his horse—a beautiful shade of white. You've always loved white horses because they were made for saving people. You know that if someone were to save you from a castle, they'd better be on a white horse.
Scratch that—no one would save you because you wouldn't need saving. You'd be the savior instead. Yeah. A beautiful princess would be waiting for you to come to her rescue. You'd stroll by on a white mare and become her knight in shining armor—only you wouldn't actually be in armor because you're not a boy, after all. No, instead you'd wear a dress and it would just be cut so that you could ride and wear it at the same time.
That horse, Artax, is more than just a horse. He has feelings, emotions; he had hope but he's lost it. And Atreyu watches as his best friend gets sucked into the Swamp of Sadness. Your young mind finds the name suiting and meaningful; it's a swamp and it's sad. If you let your sadness overcome you, you die. If you lose hope, you lose your life.
You know what's happening, yet you watch anyway—Artax is disappearing in the thick, murky water and you feel tears fall down your cheeks just as Atreyu realizes the same. He shouts, over and over again, for Artax to not give up. Artax can't leave him; what's he to do without his best friend?
It's over, though, and Artax has long since given up his life. You feel alone, devastated. You know Atreyu must feel the same. You remember the flailing horse swinging his head as his reins were pulled. He wanted to try, he wanted to have hope.
You know, though, that without hope you have nothing. And so the Nothing won.
Atreyu goes on, continuing his journey.
You're at the point where he's between the two evil statues that want to burn him, wither him away to nothing. He has to know who he is; you have to know who you are, too.
But you're only eight! How are you supposed to know if Atreyu doesn't? He steps back, suddenly doubtful of himself. The eyes are opening and he's not going to make it. You know it, you can feel it.
"Run, Atreyu, run!" you find yourself vocalizing, determination swiping your features. He can make it and he will.
And he does, but only barely.
You don't exactly understand the next few bits and pieces but suddenly there's that evil wolf again and he's…
He's attacking Atreyu! You cry out, scared for the beautiful boy whose only mission is to save Fantasia from the Nothing. The wolf moves and you whimper; Atreyu is gone.
But, wait, no! It's Atreyu! He's alive and he's moving and he's awake. You jump from your position on the floor as you hoot and holler. Your parents watch you from their seat on the couch and they share amused smiles with each other. You don't notice nor do you care because Atreyu is alive and he's going to save Fantasia.
You only wish Artax was alive to see it happen.
He's back on the dog/dragon and he's heading to the Empress. Only, he can't find her. Everything is destroyed; the Nothing has won. You fall to the floor hard on your butt. No, it can't be. Not after how far you've come! Well, not you, but Atreyu.
Suddenly, Atreyu grabs his necklace and his destination lies before him. He finds the Empress only to see that she is indeed close to her end. She needs a name and you shout, "Just say a name!" but he doesn't and everything continues to fail.
The nerdy-looking boy angers you and you want to throw things around, you want to shout at him about how stupid he is for a nerd. Suddenly, he's on his feet shouting into the storm.
The screen is black before a tiny light comes to. It is all that is left of the once mighty Fantasia. You feel broken, but the Empress says something that shocks you; he can rebuild Fantasia from that light. All he has to do is make a wish—as many as he wants.
The boy flies over the bullies with the dog dragon and Fantasia is slowly being rebuilt. You cry over the sight of Atreyu and Artax riding together once again.
You don't even have the energy to be happy for too long; the movie has taken its toll on you and your father is putting you to bed. The last thing you see before sleep overtakes you is Artax and his hopeless eyes frantically searching for something, anything, to care about. You wish you could have told him that Atreyu was a reason to live and so a reason to live was right in front of him. You figure maybe horses can't see what's right in front of them.
For your ninth birthday, your father's co-worker gets you a white horse. It's plastic, of course, and it's only a little bigger than your hand when you stretch it out as far as it can go. Your dad must have mentioned the movie to his friend because it's perfect.
You absolutely love it and immediately name it Artax. You're not much of a talker in the first place, so it's no surprise when you separate yourself from your own party and disappear to go play with your new favorite toy. Only, Artax isn't really a toy to you; he's very much real.
You find yourself in the backyard and Artax is running through the tall grass. Right now he's on a desperate chase to find Atreyu, for his rider and best friend has gone missing. He still hasn't found Atreyu by the time you feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up and it's the man who gave you Artax.
"I take it you like your gift?" the man asks, smiling. You nod so fast that you think your head might fall off and you're afraid that, if that happens, Artax will never find Atreyu without you.
"I have another one inside for you." He is still smiling and your eyes widen. Has he found Atreyu? You waste no time in running ahead of him inside.
It rained yesterday. You can tell just from looking outside; things are dreary and grey instead of bright and yellow. You grab Artax—though you've taken to calling him Art—and rush outside in pants and a t-shirt; you know you'd get in trouble for wearing a dress outside when you plan on getting muddy. Plus, you don't even like them very much anyway—they only get in your way.
You run to your backyard again and continue Art's quest that he still hasn't finished but, this time, you do so even more fervently. You feverishly follow Art as he gallops with an intensity unbeknownst to the rest of the world. It's been a few days since your birthday and you've been waiting for a moment like this. There's a spot in the backyard that always ends up getting really muddy after a rainstorm and you're electrified by your idea; this needs to happen. You cannot process anything other than the fact that you need to do this.
After a while of running Art around in the grass, he reaches the Swamp of Sadness. His gallop slows and he has a hard time making it through the mud.
He misses Atreyu and he's been hopelessly searching for him for so long. He stops moving through the mud and you can feel his misery—it's your misery, too. He is sinking, and sinking fast, as his grief overcomes him. You feel the burn prick at your eyes and you refuse to wipe the tears away. It starts to rain, lightly at first. The level of mud heightens and Art is slowly disappearing. You hear a voice begging you to find hope, to do something, but you feel nothing but pain and Art's nose is only just poking out. He doesn't have much time. You don't have much time.
The rain picks up, you blink some drops out of your eyes and, when you look down, all you see before you is a puddle of mud. Artax is gone, as is your hope.
Your mother has rushed outside and she's looking for you. You are unaware of this until strong arms wrap under your own and you are lifted up.
"What are you still doing out here?" her voice yells as she half-drags, half-carries you inside. She has no idea that you've been crying, that you hurt, because the rain has washed it all away. Just as it has washed away Artax's life.
It's been over a week since your mother raced you inside during the storm. You miss Artax, but he's dead and buried. Every night at dinner your parents question you about the disappearance of your favorite pal, but you only ever respond with silence. That led them to questions about your silence, which ended up being answered by more silence.
As the days go by, you find your appetite fading until it is non-existent. You claimed you were sick yesterday so that your parents wouldn't make you eat. You can't get away with not eating dinner again tonight, however, so you just stare at you food and push it around your plate instead.
"Enough!" Your father finally loses his patience with you. "What on Earth is wrong with you, honey?" He's on his knees next to you and you just look at him with empty eyes. You don't know what's wrong because you don't feel like anything is wrong because you don't feel anything at all.
You drop your gaze and excuse yourself. He lets you leave.
As you stare at the wall in your room you hear the muffled voices of your parents.
The next day starts your first session of therapy.
You're fifteen and somehow you've managed to become captain of your school's cheerleading team. Your coach said your possible psychopathy is what drew her to you, and that you reminded her of a younger version of herself. The Cheerios have been on a consecutive winning streak and you know it's going to continue as long as you're captain.
You've never really broken out of your shell, though, so you're still quiet. Everyone calls you the Ice Queen but you know it's only because they think you're evil. They're convinced that your lack of vocalization is due to the materializing plots you are concocting in your head. Really, you just don't like talking all that much. You've been talking to your therapist for years and it hasn't done much for you.
It has helped, a bit. You used to feel nothing at all, with an occasional bout of anguish. Now, you oftentimes feel angry as well. It's been a little less than five years since the sessions started and you wonder if they'll actually start to help anytime soon. You're not one of those nut cases who doesn't want help— you want it more than anything else. Sometimes, though, you just feel as if it's too late for help.
The worst part about your situation is that you have absolutely no idea what you're angry about—you just are sometimes. It helps during practice when your crazy ass coach, Sue, has you running an insane amount of laps or suicides. It fuels you during times like that.
You admitted that much to Randy—your therapist—yesterday and he stared at you for a bit. Eventually he asked if it felt maybe like your anger motivated you. You never answered.
You don't know if the anger that runs thick through your veins is from a strong sense of determination or if you're just unreasonably angry at the world. You've never admitted it to Randy but, if anything, you're angry with yourself. You're angry with yourself because there is absolutely no reason for you to be angry. Your parents have stood by you no matter what you said or did. They've offered support for any of your ideas. They offer their love every single day and you just can't accept it.
You're broken for no apparent reason and you can't fix it. You can't fix you. No one can.
Walking through the halls releases some of your anger; the terrified looks people give you make you feel justified. Oddly enough, a tiny part of you only becomes angrier for their reactions; what do they really have to fear from you? You'd never hit anyone that didn't deserve it. You've never actually slushied anyone, either. You just don't know what to feel.
Today is different, though. Something is off. You look around with what you know is a sneer because, if never feeling taught you one thing, it's how to fake emotions.
There.
You spot the itch and it is in the form of a girl much shorter than you. She's grabbing books out of her locker and humming to some song. She's not humming very loud but your ears are somehow drawn to the sound and it feels as if she is right next to you. Those around her catch your gaze and they cower away, unwilling to be caught in the crossfire of the battle that is surely about to go down. Well, in their eyes, it's more of a massacre because they know that the smaller girl has no chance of coming out unscathed.
You silently scoff because, really, what do they think you're going to do? Even you have no idea why you're walking over to her.
You're only about a foot away from her when she closes her locker and turns around. She gasps in what you presume is shock—you haven't felt that particular feeling in a long time—and takes a step back. Clearly, she's forgotten that there are lockers behind her because her back hits the cool metal instantly.
"Um, h-hello?" she says/asks warily. Now you're certain that what she felt was shock because you can feel the same feeling running through your body. You're shocked not because of her voice or because of how timid she appears.
No, you're shocked because of the smile that just formed on your face. It's not one of your calculated ones, the ones that are more menacing than anything else. It's definitely not one of your fake ones, the ones you use on your parents to convince them that you're just fine and dandy.
You feel something you've never felt before, nor did you expect to because it's something. You're not sure what it is but you decide to go with it for a moment. Most of you wants to shove it away and pretend like it never happened. The tiniest piece of you is curious, though, and curiosity killed the cat for a reason.
"Hello. What's your name?"
She blinks really fast and you're terrified as a thought passes through your mind.
She's kind of cute.
You're not sure where in the hottest hell of hells that came from, but it happened. Suddenly, you're no longer curious. You're petrified. You can't feel a single part of your body.
She bites her bottom lip; she's wary of you but not unwilling to have a conversation. You wonder how you've never seen her before. Surely she's in at least one of your classes, right?
"Rachel. Rachel Berry," she answers and then her eyes dart to the left and right as if preparing for an ambush. You tilt your head. Is she one of the perpetual slushy victims? Looking over her, so as to find a reason why she would be persecuted, you see nothing obvious. Her skirt is a bit short if anything but, really, that would be less of a reason to slushy her and more of a reason for guys to chase after her. Her legs are slightly ridiculous and something stirs inside you at the sight.
You've definitely never seen this girl before—there is no way you would forget.
"Nice meeting you, Rachel." You turn on your heel and find your way to class. You had to get out of there. Something had happened and you felt… well, you felt.
You debate on whether or not to mention anything for all of ten seconds before you realize that Randy will absolutely be getting news today; an earful, actually. Your first instinct is to pack what just happened away, to pretend that you made it all up in your head.
You can't bring yourself to do that, however, because, as much as it absolutely threatens to rip you and everything you've worked for apart, you feel like that microscopic sparkle in the Empress's hand. You want to be rebuilt from whatever destroyed you in the first place.
The biggest bitch in the entire school is Santana fucking Lopez. She also happens to be your best friend. She's right below you on the totem pole and you two practically own the school. She thinks she's being sneaky about it but you know she's been hooking up with Brittany, your other best friend and the one right behind Santana on the totem pole, for some time now. You don't know why she hasn't told you yet but you're not really all that concerned; it's not your business anyway. There's just a tickle in the back of your mind that wonders if she doesn't trust you enough.
You shake your head—something is wrong with you today and you're not sure what it is. It all started with seeing that girl, Rachel.
You head to your first class and you feel something wash over you when you take your seat next to Santana. You blink. You have no idea what that feeling was but it felt like there was a weight on your chest and now it's gone. Relief. You felt relieved.
You accept that today is only going to get weirder with a sigh.
"Hey, S." You keep your gaze looking ahead.
"Yeah?" You hear the response as the girl leans forward and rests her head on her folded arms.
You don't know how to word this so you take a few seconds. It's a good thing that Santana knows all about your condition. At least, that's what everyone calls it. Except Santana, she just calls you a sociopath, and you've never been more thankful for it. She's ironically the only one who doesn't treat you like a fragile thing that will, one day, break out and kill people.
"Do you know who Rachel Berry is?"
The darker girl snorts quietly and you whip your head in her direction, no longer trying to keep up the guise to hide the fact that you're talking in class. It's not like the teacher will call you out or anything—not unless she wants a word with Sue.
No one wants a word with Sue if they have the option.
"What?" You're utterly shocked—you note that's the second time today—at the snappiness of your tone. You're starting to feel panicky again. Your heart is racing and you feel light-headed. You don't know what's wrong but it feels like your body is in rebellion. On the plus side, you have the upper hand in not recognizing the feeling, so it doesn't overwhelm you. Instead, you have the right mindset to catch your breathing and even it out before it becomes noticeable.
Santana didn't notice your little episode, fortunately, but she did sit up upon hearing the bitchiness you've exuded.
"She's that girl who sings decently. How do you not know about her?"
She sings? Her humming did draw you in, though, so you're not exactly all that surprised. You immediately want to hear a song from her.
"Is she… a loser?" You hate that word, not that you'd ever admit it aloud. You especially hate it when it is associated with that girl. Even Santana doesn't know how much you hate the hierarchies of high school. You're glad that you're on top, but mostly because you're not sure what would happen if you were on bottom.
You think maybe people would have an actual reason to fear you if you were.
Santana just shakes her head in wonderment, and probably at your ignorance.
"She gets treated like one. Really, people just hate that she has a one-way ticket out of this shit hole."
You're glad that Santana doesn't act around you. Not much, anyway. She's still a bitch, but at least you know she's not truly cruel.
"Have you ever talked to her?"
At this, Santana narrows her eyes. "She's a hobbit. I don't think I'd be able to hear her from all the way down there."
You know she's testing something in you so you prevent yourself from bristling—it's close enough to anger that you can recognize it fairly well.
"S," you say seriously and her demeanor changes completely. She looks around to make sure no one is listening in on your conversation. Everyone is pretty much sleeping at this point—it's the first period after all—so you're in the clear. "I felt something when I saw her." You really wanted to keep it to yourself but you think this might be your one shot at fixing yourself and you don't want to waste it.
"What'd you feel? Disgust? Repulsion? Lust?" you can tell she threw the last one in as a joke but you think about it.
"The first two were synonyms," you point out. "And I'm not sure. I think I want to be her friend, though."
You throw Santana completely off with that, you can tell. Her eyes are wide open and her lips are parted. She swallows, becoming herself again.
"Are you sure that's a smart move?" she asks and you recognize the protective looks in her eyes. It's not about Rachel at this point, it's more than that. She's worried about you.
"I felt something. I want..." You trail off, not wanting to admit the truth. Yet, there are no other words for what you want. None that you can think of right now. Your eyes feel warm when you look at her. "I want to feel again."
She nods but you can see her formulating something in that devious mind of hers. You turn back to the teacher and wonder why she's talking about George Washington. Your first class is math.
You're headed to lunch when you see a blur run past you and into the bathroom. You normally would just ignore it but you recognize the hair and the skirt. And the legs. Your eyes widen as you realize that Rachel must have been slushied.
For the first time since you discovered your anger, you embrace it fully. True, you've used it during practice but what you feel now is nothing like that. Your body temperature is literally rising with the fury you feel.
Rachel's all of four feet tall—okay, you know that's an exaggeration—so you don't understand the need for anyone to slushy her. What ever happened to picking on somebody your own size?
Whipping around, you see Karofsky high-fiving Azimio. They're probably the worst offenders that you know of, though you usually just ignore them. They know not to mess with you so you've never actually talked to them.
You're about to break that.
You've caught David off guard when you grab his collar. He's still not prepared when you slam him up against the lockers—really, you're glad Sylvester has you lift every girl during try-outs. He most definitely wasn't expecting on dealing with a broken nose, and neither was Azimio. They can't touch you, as angry as they must be. You think Azimio might make a move—Karofsky just looks pathetic as he falls to the ground crying about his nose—but he just takes a step back and glares at you. You meet his gaze with a steely one of your own and you think that, maybe, Ice Queen is a suitable name for you after all. Azimio just holds his nose with one hand and lifts Dave up with the other. A garbled, "Let's get out of here," is spoken as the two lugs take their leave.
You look down at your hand. It's bloody and you want their filth off of you as fast as possible. The crowd around you splits as fast as possible; people are literally jumping on each other to get out of your path. You open the door to the bathroom and stop where you stand. Rachel is bent over the sink, blue dye washing from her hair. Her shirt is in the other sink and she stands in only white tank top. At least she has a bra on, you think. You know she'll need another shirt, though, unless she's already packed one. Then you take another look at the sink and realize that the shirt being rinsed is not the shirt she was wearing earlier today.
They got her twice in only a few periods? You suddenly wished you had packed a little more power into your punches. Rachel still hasn't noticed your presence so you leave discreetly and head to your locker. You have an extra hoodie in there so you grab it with the hand that isn't covered in blood.
When you return to the bathroom, Rachel is drying her hair with a towel. Your anger has fled and all you can think about is Atreyu standing on the tree getting blown off by that dumb turtle over and over and over again.
How many times has Rachel been pushed down? How many times has she fought her way back up?
"I have a sweatshirt if you need it," you say quietly, not wanting to startle her. She, for the second time, didn't hear you come in. She jumps anyway, towel dropping, eyes snapping towards you. Her face is void of any expression for a moment and you panic again. Then her eyes dart to your hand and she gasps.
"You're bleeding!" She moves as if to run toward you but then stops before she takes the first step. She looks uncertain. You look down at your right hand; huh, you forgot all about the fight in the last few minutes.
It's like Rachel finally senses that you're not here to hurt her and she makes her way towards you. "It's not my blood," you blurt and instantly regret it when she stops again. You have to clear it up for her before you terrify the poor girl.
"Karofsky and Azimio," you clarify, shrugging as if it's no big deal. Her eyes widen and you're stuck. You can't move. It's as if her eyes were black holes, only dark brown instead of black, and you just fell into them. You have no idea what's happening. You want out. But, oh, how you want in.
She's touching you, now. Her fingers—so warm—are grazing your wrist as she directs your hand to the warm water that, just moments ago, was rinsing flavored ice out of her hair. You're in a daze, a dream, when she rubs soap over your knuckles. All you can feel is her touch and you decide not to think. You watch until she's done, not realizing her eyes are on you.
"You punched David? And Azimio?" she asks, breaking your control over the silence. You can't even snatch your hand away, though you know she's still holding it. You nod.
"They slushied you." You nudge the sweater towards her again. She seems to be in as much of a daze as you are, and you're glad for it.
You're glad for it. You're glad. You feel like you've imagined being glad once or twice but you literally…
You feel genuinely glad. You can't say you're happy, because you're not. But something is going on inside of you and you look at Rachel and you just know. You're glad.
You can honestly say you that you might have put Randy in a coma. He's speechless. He hasn't said anything for at least forty two seconds.
"Why do you think you felt glad?" he finally asks and you mentally shake your head. It would've been kind of impressive to put someone into a coma with only words.
"If I knew that, I probably wouldn't be here." You're not being an asshole; Randy is more like a weird cousin at this point. You feel less like you're in therapy and more like you're in mandated talking time. He's a cool guy, though you might have hated his presence in your life at first.
The rest of your session is spent focusing on Rachel. By the end, you've been told to be wary of how much contact you maintain, but that you should, in fact, maintain it.
You've thought about it before, but Randy has never reminded you more of Cairon than he did today. It was as if, while he had hoped to make you better, he didn't fully believe what was in front of him. When you showed up to his office, at ten years old, he couldn't have been expecting such a mess. He thought of kids as resilient and, yet, you were not healed by his words. Maybe Rachel was your last hope—your only hope—and he knew you needed to embark on some kind of journey.
He even gave you a trinket. It was only a piece of metal, shaped like a quarter, only smooth to the touch. It was not marred and it was slick and almost white. You couldn't help but be fascinated by it and you knew what you were going to do with it immediately. It was as if Randy knew, as there was a tiny hole right near the edge.
When you got home, you took a thin, silver chain and looped it in the hole. You placed it behind the golden cross necklace you received for your twelfth birthday and linked the clasp. You look in the mirror, something that you usually only do in the morning so that Coach doesn't make you run laps if your ponytail isn't perfect. The necklaces touch and you're hit with a sudden sense of foreboding; you just know that something is happening and that it's out of your control.
You've never felt much like Atreyu before, but you think that you can relate now. His quest was also to overcome something he didn't quite understand. You only hope that you're not too late.
It's the next day that you see Rachel at her locker again and you head on over. This time, she's quietly singing instead of humming.
You lean on the locker next to hers and watch as she looks up from the books she's double checking. Her gaze connects with yours and you smile again. This is the second time in four years that you've genuinely smiled. Santana has said things that forced your muscles in the same movement but, even then, it wasn't like this. Those smiles were bitter; you knew you were supposed to be smiling so you would try.
This is real, though.
"Hey." You say it casually but it means a lot more than the definition of the word itself.
"H-hello." She still seems reserved about talking to you in public. Your smile falters because maybe she doesn't take your presence as kindly as you take hers. Maybe she doesn't like you and you're weirding her out.
This has never happened to you before and it's strange. You know sadness and what you're feeling now is similar to that feeling. It's as if you expected something valuable but ended up with something worthless
You're pretty sure you're disappointed.
You tilt your head slightly to the left, almost resting it against the lockers but not quite.
"How is your hand fairing?" she asks and, even if she doesn't want to talk to you, at least she's not rude.
"Better than their noses." You know Rachel knows who you're talking about. In fact, it's perfect timing because Dumb and Dumber have just turned into your hallway. You can see the bruising all over Karofsky's nose and around it. The tape over Azimio's gives you a strong sense of accomplishment. As they pass by they notice you at Rachel's locker. One glare from you and they hasten their step, quickly turning down another hallway. They're lucky neither of them had a slushy in hand.
As of yesterday, you've made it clear that Rachel is off limits. Anyone who comes within five feet of her and carries a slushy is punishable by whatever you deem necessary. Puck, the school player but also someone you consider a friend (though he has tried getting you to sleep with him), is keeping the football team in check. You made sure of it. You had Santana terrify all of the Cheerios into submission, too. The rest of the Neanderthals of the school are expected to follow suit and, if they fail, you know they'll regret it.
Randy told you that you that he was under the impression that you were being protective, but you weren't so certain. You were just angry and, when you're angry, you get your way. He also told you to maybe tone it down on the violence because he didn't want you to get into trouble. You made no promises.
You notice that, through all your thinking, you missed the fact that silence has fallen between you and Rachel. She's looking at you expectantly, as if she's asked you a question. That's when it hit you that she had asked you a question and your face feels warm. It's a really strange feeling seeing as you're not mad, nor have you partaken in any physical activity in over an hour.
It's as if your mind is on replay and you suddenly hear Rachel asking about your sweater as if she's asking you again.
"I'd tell you to keep it, just in case, but you shouldn't have to worry about slushies anymore," you think out loud as you take the proffered sweater. It reads 'WMH Cheerios" and you gave it to her yesterday knowing that no one would dare slushy anyone in such décor. Sue would have them banished to Ecuador or something.
"What do you mean?" she asks, her eyebrows coming together. Your eyes latch on to the movement and you can only stare. You have this urge to smooth the furrow away but that would involve touching her and you're not sure that's something you should be doing. Your body heats up at the thought and something that has never—not once—popped into your head fills your mind. You can feel your eyes widening.
You have to clear your throat and you have to do it now. So you do.
"No one is allowed to slushy you anymore." You act nonchalant about the statement, as if it's something obvious like 'the sky is blue.'
"Oh. Why not?" She looks up at you through eyelashes that seem darker and longer than you're used to. Something weird happens in your chest and you think something's wrong with your heart.
"I, uh, told them to stop." You stuttered. You went to speak and you stuttered. "I have to go." You push off the lockers, stomach in a knot. Sometimes, feeling sucks and you're not certain you want to anymore.
"Wait, Quinn!" she turns around and speaks your name. Your name. It's the first time she's said it; you weren't even sure she knew it. You freeze and turn back to her.
"Yeah?" you ask because you have no idea what else to do.
"Thanks. I think." You wonder why she added the second part. Why doesn't she trust you? Then again, she doesn't really know you.
You wonder how to change that. Santana did say she sings.
It's then that you know what you have to do. You allow yourself to smile back at her, actually showing teeth this time, and head off to your class.
You forgot that people watch your every move. You hear a "Daaaamn, girl. Ice Queen just smiled at you."
You're momentarily… disappointed… again but it doesn't last long because of what follows.
"Hush, Mercedes. She seems… nice." You're positive it was Rachel.
Luckily for you, Glee Club doesn't interfere with Cheerios practice and so you're free to join. Even better, you've convinced Santana and Brittany to join—okay, so you told Brittany that Rachel was a leprechaun that would sing to her and she begged Santana.
"San, everyone knows that a leprechaun singing to you is, like, the best good luck charm in the world. Imagine how lucky you'll get."
You'll take your win, regardless of the mental images that will never be erased from your mind.
You informed Mr. Shuester that you'd be visiting the club today and he had practically peed his pants. You walked away before the level of comfort went way into the negatives.
It's finally time so you find the room and walk in, Santana and Brittany tailing you.
"No way," you hear a low voice.
"I'll be damned." You recognize that voice.
"Oh, may Streisand save us all." That voice was rather high pitched.
"This club just got hotter." That was, without a doubt, Puck. You manage not to glare at the boy seeing as you're a tad preoccupied. Your eyes search for a small brunette and they find her, only she seems to have a strange expression on her face. Her back is straight and her legs are crossed. Rachel hasn't said anything but the arm on her shoulders says it all.
Next to her sits Finn Hudson, the quarterback.
You can't believe you didn't know about this and all you see before you is Artax drowning. Wild eyes, dashing hopes. You've come to realize that you tend to relate to the real world through that particular movie, but you don't understand it this time.
You don't know who Artax is, so you assume it's you. That would explain the tight feeling in your chest. Why does it hurt? You force yourself to look away, to find another face to stare at. Even a wall would be better.
You find Santana's gaze and her eyes tell you that she knows. She knows and she's there for you because she never thought you were actually a sociopath. She's always been convinced that, one day, you'd stop being such an Ice Queen and you'd melt.
You're not sure if she's right, but you think she might be on to something. You used to feel solid, but not in a healthy way. You felt impenetrable. You felt heavy and unnecessary.
Now, however, you feel less sharp around the edges. Not dulled, but molded. Maybe you are melting.
You weren't forced to sing because you told Mr. Shue you just wanted to watch to see if it sparked an interest. Santana bitched that she'd already planned a song and she wasn't going to waste it. She sang and Brittany danced along with her for her audition since she didn't really like to sing anyway.
The members of the club looked thoroughly shocked at her performance.
"Close your mouths, you all look as dumb as Finnept on a good day." She rolled her eyes. She then caught Brittany's pinky in her own and walked over to the empty seats next to you.
Glancing over at Hudson to see his response, you straighten up seeing that he looks indignant. Rachel is patting his arm and whispering something to him. He calms down and you chuckle inwardly. It's not a virtuous laugh; it's full of…something towards the boy. You come to the conclusion that the feeling is resentment.
You wish it wasn't so, but you can now understand what it is about Rachel that's messing around with your feelings.
You like her.
You have no idea why or how or when but you know it's true. It should bother you that you like a girl. If you were normal, but you're not.
As it is, you're far more concerned with the fact that you like someone—that you can like someone.
Plus, Santana and Brittany, while not so discreet about what they do outside of school, are meant to be together and you know it. You know that it can't be wrong if what those two were—are—doing is wrong.
You look down at the cross on your neck and realize that you owe it to your parents to talk to them. They've tried so hard to be what you need and they've run themselves ragged. You know they never really fought much until your problem came about. You know you're the cause of their problems. Despite all of that, they stuck it out. Whether it was for you or not, they still slept in the same bed, still kissed each other goodbye in the morning, and they still ate dinner together every night.
You haven't talked to them about what's been going on, but you resolve to do so tonight. It's weird because you actually want to tell them about your day.
Rachel sneaks a glance at you. You see her out of your peripheral vision. You pretend not to notice and you see that she looks backs and doesn't look away this time. She's watching you, studying you. You wonder what she sees.
You imagine a terrible version of yourself inside her mind. Your skin is a light blue, frozen from the iciness of your heart. Your eyes are a dark red, almost black, and you look like a demon.
You've never done anything bad to her, though, so you can't imagine that she actually has that image in her head.
You decide to think rationally.
You've never talked to her before the other day. Hell, you've never even acknowledged her existence until then. You own the school with your silence and you're captain of the Cheerios. While she has no direct reason to fear you, everything you stand for is enough to terrify her. You asked around and found out she was treated terribly by your fellow students. How you missed the fact that she was placed on the lowest caliber of the status quo, you've no idea.
You fully intend to change that.
What makes you…agitated beyond belief is the fact that you also hadn't known she was dating Finn Hudson. You have to prevent your own fury from showing when you become conscious of the reality that Finn Hudson has popularity because of his place on the football team and yet he has done nothing to prevent his own girlfriend from being slushied.
Yeah, you wish you had a bow and arrow because you'd aim right for his stupid, bologna-filled—
Woah. You need to have a serious talk with Randy.
You think you might be jealous.
"I'm trying to make a new friend."
This might be the first time in a little over a year that you've spoken up during dinner without being hounded into doing so. Your parents look at you with something akin to awe and you know that new feelings are developing without Rachel. It's just that, when you're near her, you always feel something new.
You think you might be feeling that pull towards your parents; that bond between mother and child, father and daughter. Their smiles warm you inside.
"That's wonderful news, Quinn. Is it a boy or a girl?" your mother asks and you know she isn't asking 'just because.'
"A girl. Her name is Rachel." You think you might be nervous and the tingling in your hands is driving you crazy. "I told Randy about her."
"What do you mean when you saying you're trying to be her friend?" Your dad looks confused. "Is there something stopping that from happening?"
You smile at him sadly (you know, because you actually feel sad). "I found out today that she's been bullied for most of high school. I put a stop to it but, being on the Cheerios, I think she's categorized me as one of them." You put no emphasis on the final word but you're pretty sure they'll know what you mean.
"Oh, I'm sorry dear. You shouldn't give up on it, though." You know she means it but you also know she'll say anything to keep you talking. You're not sure if that should bother you or not, but it doesn't. She deserves more than what you've given her as a child and you're starting to understand that, while it's too late to fix the past, you can maybe start making up for it now.
Bastian's father told him to get out of the clouds, and that's where you've been for years. You've been watching your life pass you by as you did everything you were supposed to but nothing you enjoyed; but it wasn't as if you didn't have a choice. You had so many options, you just couldn't enjoy any of them. You were unable to connect anything to that emotion.
"I think you're right, I'm just…" you don't know how they'll react to this, "worried, is all." You spin your fork around on your plate.
They do react because you've never once told them how you feel since you started seeing Randy. The only thing you ever say is, "I'm fine."
They look at each other and you think your mother might cry. Even your father's eyes look a little misty.
"Quinn," he begins, but you raise a hand in the air.
"I need to tell you something and I'm not sure how you'll react." You drop your fork and lower your head, your gaze falling to your hands that are connected on your lap. "I think that I might have feelings for Rachel."
You can't bring yourself to look up, to meet their eyes. You feel the silence like a heavy weight on your chest. You thought maybe they'd shout but you didn't bet on it. Silence was definitely your first guess and you feel terrible for being right for once. You've disappointed them by being a broken child and now you just shot away any hope of ever earning their love. You'd always hoped, though you have never spoken a word of it to anyone, that you'd be able to love them back one day.
Now it won't matter because they won't love you anyway.
You're about to stand up and excuse yourself when your father suddenly starts to laugh. It's not a boisterous laugh, like the one you heard Rachel release after Glee Club. As much as you loved that sound, it tore you that it was over something Finn said.
No, your father's laugh is wet, and pitiful, and then there's something else there. You look at him and he's looking at you and you know there are tears in your eyes. You stand up to leave because he's finally lost it. He's realized what a shitty hand he's been dealt in life and he's cracked under the pressure.
He stands up right after you and you're sure he's just going to run around the house and shout about his misgivings. Instead, he surprises you. He wraps his arms around you and cries. His hand is moving up and down, rubbing your back.
You're absolutely clueless as to what is going on in his brain right now, but you figure you kind of deserve it. After all, you've been a stone to them for years.
"Oh, Quinn." He regains control of his emotions. "I'm so happy for you."
You feel empty, as if no information is dispatching through to you properly.
He pulls back. "We figured you'd be making that speech since the day you first told us that you want to be the one to save the princess."
The only thing that breaks through to you is the fact that no one seems angry or upset with you. You look at your mother. She's covering her mouth with her hand and crying silently. Upon catching your eye, she takes her turn.
"After you started seeing Randy we thought…" she can't even finish as a sob takes over her. You manage to fill in the blanks.
No one ever thought you'd feel anything for yourself, let alone that you'd develop feelings for someone else. It hurts, knowing that your fears were their fears too. It's like you're at the Southern Oracle and you're waiting to be judged. Before, you had failed every single time you tried to pass through it and you were blown to smithereens. Now, though, now you appreciate the idea that you can walk with your chin up through those Oracles and they won't bat an eye when you walk through them. You'll survive that test because you're sure now.
The meal is forgotten as you're led to the living room. You find yourself resting with your head in your mother's lap, her fingers combing through your hair. Your mother is resting back against your father and you're all together on one couch.
"Tell us more about Rachel, Quinnie," your mother pleads and you have no problem following through with her request.
"Hey." You find yourself in the same position as yesterday. There's a difference this time; this time, you're confident.
"Hello, Quinn." You're glad that she seems to have accepted your presence in her life.
"So I asked around and, from what I gathered, you're pretty smart." Rachel is actually in the top five of your class, a fact that intrigued you. Not only is she talented, but intelligent, too.
You wonder what on Earth she's doing with Finn.
You cause her to blush and you know right away that you want to do it again. You want to see her react that way because of something you've said.
"I have a lot of spare time so I usually end up studying," she says and her eyes shoot open. You're curious as to why she looks like she said something wrong.
"Well." You nod in acknowledgment as you kick off the lockers and start walking towards her class, "I was wondering if you could help me in math."
She opens and closes her mouth not once, but twice. She quickly catches up to you before tripping over her words.
"Well, uh, to be completely honest with you, math isn't really my forte and I usually end up going over the same problems multiple times. I doubt I'd be of much help seeing as there are others that are much more capable of handling equations than I am." Her skin once again exudes a pink undertone.
"That's alright." You give her your best attempt at a playful smile. "I was really only asking so that I could spend time with you anyway."
You say that just as you reach her destination. You walk off leaving her flustered and speechless and you don't look back.
Glee Club is different today; you actually sing, for one. Secondly, Rachel is in between Mercedes and Kurt. You were informed that Kurt is the resident gay and you're amused by his flamboyancy.
You know you're not the greatest singer in the world but you can hold your own. You sing a song that keeps your voice low and you know you've at least made an impression. There's something to be said about singing; it's different than talking. You realize you much prefer it to talking. Especially since you've talked more in the last few days than you have in the past few months combined.
Finn looks miffed at something and sits beside Puck the entire meeting. When it's time to leave, you sense someone standing in front of you. You look up from your bag to see Rachel shifting her weight, bouncing on either foot.
"How can I help you?" you ask, an inevitable smile making its way past your barriers. As if you have any with the girl. It should send you running for the hills, this feeling she gives you, but it doesn't.
"I was wondering if there was a specific day you were hoping to spend studying math." Your smile only shines brighter at the tone in which she says the last part.
"Any day works for me, as long as it's after practice," you reply.
"Huh," she thinks to herself aloud as if she hadn't expected that response. As if you had a life and hung out with all the 'cool kids.' "What about… today?" she asks.
"Today?" you repeat, and you hope you don't sound too eager. She bites her lip and you have no idea why she looks so uncertain.
"Well, yes, but I didn't mean that it had to be today. I merely—"
"Today sounds just fine, Rachel." She relaxes and you wonder if she bailed on Finn and if that was why he looked put out.
"Oh, okay. Umm." She looks down to her feet. "Where exactly did you want to meet up?"
You watch her with what you guess is an adoring expression because that's exactly what you think you're doing. You adore her.
"Would your parents mind if we went to your house?" you ask. It's not that your own house is unavailable; your parents would likely be delighted to have Rachel over. It's that you want to get to know her more and, to do that, you want to see how she lives.
She beams. "My fathers would love to see me have a friend over that isn't Finn." She turns red again and you're starting to think that she regrets what she says to you. It's almost as if she feels embarrassed.
You stand up and laugh. "My parents would love to see me have any friend over." It had the effect that you wanted to as her shoulders fall into a casual stance. You swing your arm lightly towards the door and bow ever so slightly. "Ladies first." She giggles and you'll be damned if it doesn't send tingles down to your stomach.
"You're a lady, too," she points out but she starts walking anyway.
It's then that you realize that she said fathers. As in two. "Rachel?" you ask and she turns her head to the side to look at you. "Are your dads gay?" Her smile falls a little bit and her shoulders tense up again.
"Yes, they are. And they're very much happy and in love." She looks so defensive and it's then that you realize that it isn't her talent that makes her a victim; it's the fact that she has two dads and she lives in Lima, Ohio.
"That's really cool." The corner of your lip tilts up as you know that at least she won't judge you when she finds out about you.
Brown swirls stare at you and analyze your smile. She's clearly trying to unearth a lie in your words, a fabrication in your smile. You don't have to worry that she'll find any; you're being honest. "Cool?" She gives you an incredulous look.
"What?" you ask as if she's the one acting funny; though, in all reality, she is.
"That's just not the… typical reaction I get." Her eyebrows are furrowed again and her lips are pinched in thought.
"I'm not really known for being typical," you admit.
"I think I'm beginning to value that about you."
It was an unexpected, but not unpleasant, decision on Rachel's part to wait for your practice to end so that you could leave for her house together. You told her that it was unnecessary but she claimed that she tended to wait for Finn most days so it was no big deal. Either way, you were pleased to know that you'd have someone next to you for the walk home.
One you were showered and ready to go, you met her on the bleachers. Her head was down and she was reading a textbook you couldn't identify. You take a moment to capture the scene and enjoy the feeling it's giving you. The weather is warm, the sun is still out and casting a bright orange hue over the place, and Rachel is sitting all alone as she studies.
"Ready to go?"
She looks at you, looking slightly bashful that she never seems to sense when you're near her. That's when she coughs and waves her arm at you when you ask if she's alright. It seems as if she swallowed the wrong way because she gets over it in only a few moments.
"Your hair is down," she manages to choke out.
There are so many nice things about hanging out with Rachel, but there is one thing that's bothersome; you always feel new emotions. It's irksome not because you feel them but because you don't recognize them. You wish, more than ever, that you were just normal. What ever happened in your life to do this to you?
You shudder for no apparent reason.
Running your hand through your hair, you finally comprehend the new feeling. You're self-conscious. You've never really cared about your appearance before. You've only ever been careful about being clean, pristine.
Yet here you are worrying about what Rachel thinks about the way you look.
"Yeah, I normally don't wear it up. Only during school." No one's ever said anything to you about keeping it up. You slowly feel paranoia creep up on you.
"It looks nice. You should wear it down more often." You can't revel in her blush because you're pretty certain you're sporting one yourself.
What's happening to you?
You fall back into your pattern and now you imagine how Atreyu felt when Falkor found him. You envision the boy waking up to the luck dragon and figuring out that he was safe. You remember seeing Rachel for the first time and, though you didn't understand it then, you'd found what made you safe.
Things in your head are rushing by way too fast but you can't help it. It's as if, because you haven't felt much in the last four and a half years, your body is making up for it now. You feel too much. You know what you want, you know what you need, but you subsequently know that you can't have it.
You want Rachel and you've known her for all of three days. You're only going to make a fool of yourself in the end but you can't help yourself.
"Maybe I will, just for you." You're pretty sure you're flirting with her, for real. You've manipulated boys before —specifically Puck—with similar tactics, but there was never any meaning to back up your words. Now, with Rachel, you mean every bit.
There is something lurking in those brown eyes you've come to admire. Too bad you can't decide what it is.
Rachel takes a deep breath that she releases slowly and grabs her things. As she passes by you, you don't miss the hitch in her step and, while you're sure she never meant for you to hear it, she mumbles, "Of course you smell good," under her breath.
That feeling swelling in your chest and threatening to overwhelm you?
Happiness.