A/N: So, this is something a little angsty that I've been sitting on for awhile. Not sure if I was right to post it, but nevertheless, here it is. I hope it doesn't cause any confusion and if you feel so moved, leave me your comments.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters. Sadly, all I own are mistakes..

Present…

Everything about this entire situation is surreal, like it cannot feasibly happen in your universe. This cannot be happening. It's a dream, a nightmare, a fantasy all at once, but you know that when you wake up from this fog, it's still going to be real. Your brain is scrambling to make sense of your surroundings. You find yourself searching frantically for visual cues, physical touch, familiar sounds and smells—something, anything to help restore order in the chaos. Nothing is familiar in her room—the door you entered, the carpet you walked across, the comforter on which you found yourself sitting, the light scent of lavender and white lily. It's as if you fell down the rabbit hole. And your last thought as you plummeted was, "What happened in the last hour?"

Thirty minutes ago…

As you walked away from her, she grabbed your wrist with the desperation of a drowning woman; but then again, she was drowning. Your words, ripped from your chest and exposed in all their vulnerable glory, were suffocating her with the weight of an ocean.

You knew this when you turned, eyes landing on her trembling hand, scouring up along her arm, across her collar bone, over the expanse of her neck, past her full lips gasping for deep breaths and finally when you locked eyes with her. The million questions you found swirling in them pleaded with you to save her. Save her from the answers she already knew—yes, you loved her and yes, you wanted her. Save her from the answers she didn't know—how long and why. Save her from the answers she was unsure she wanted to know—what does this mean and what happens now.

Your expression changed from one of exhaustion and wanting to that of compassion and empathy. You knew this would change things; you knew you would tell her someday. Albeit, you didn't expect today would be the day, but you knew nonetheless. She, on the other hand, didn't have any clue that this was coming and a confession like this can shatter everything a person knows.

So, in a last attempt to soothe the poor girl, you turned and knelt before her, your abdomen applying gentle pressure to her trembling knees. You reached up and with a single brush of your thumb on her still damp cheek, sent a shiver down the girl's spine. Her panicked eyes fluttered closed, desperate to find comfort as she tried to even out her breathing. And as you gave in just once and ran your thumb from the soft skin of her cheek to her lips—the current star in your recent fantasies, she did what you imagined was impossible. She brought them together, touching both to the pad of your thumb. You halted all movement, fearing the action was imagined, but as you shook off the haze of that moment, you realized that her tongue was gently brushing over the skin she had just kissed.

Instant heat welled up from deep in your core as the room immediately spun then stopped as quickly as it began. You closed your eyes to gain some composure. Your mind raced to file away the moment, fearing that when you opened your eyes again, it would all be gone like a mirage in the desert.
The girl who had once occupied nothing more than a damn high school fantasy just set your body ablaze with a light laving of her tongue, and when your now unrecognizably hazel eyes reappeared from under their lids, pupils blown and wanting, she knew it, too.

Your eyes narrowed in on her lips, tempting and lush. She recognized that stare and a knowing smirk indicated her understanding. With uncertainty, you dragged your sight back up to the chocolate pools and witnessed them become rich and dark, almost hungry.

There was a sudden shift in the air surrounding you both, and you tried not to release the shudder you felt in your middle. She had control now. You owned it for the last two years, and now, now you no longer held the upper-hand in this epic struggle.

She fucking slaughtered you then and there with four words that would leave you defenseless and ten minutes from now you would second-guess.

"Come home with me."

Twenty minutes ago…

The air in her car was thick and heavy but its heaviness applied a pressure that offered some peace, small amount that it was, as anticipation set in for you. The longer the silence, however, the less peaceful it was becoming. Thoughts of consequences, anxiety, and fear strung unintelligible ideas together as your mind frantically sought its sanity.

You chanced a glance to your left. Beside you, the girl looked calm, a light smile playing on her lips. Her back was straight, shoulders slightly relaxed and her hands naturally draped the steering wheel. You couldn't help but think that forty-five minutes ago, her world should have been shaken, if not crumbled, with a tremendous force at your words. And yet, there she was, her body practically screaming self-confidence and that fact unnerved you even more.

Forty-five minutes ago…

"He was never the reason, you know."

She stopped at this and turned to face you. That was it. That was the action that would turn what started as a friendly conversation an hour ago into a heavy-hearted truth tell all.

One hour ago...

At the end of the last club meeting before summer, she stopped you as the rest of your friends left the room, her hand tentatively on your shoulder as she halted your forward motion.

"I was wondering if I might have a brief moment of your time to discuss... well, us."

She wanted to talk to you. About "us." You contemplated this and you felt your heartbeat take off at dangerous speed with no idea where this would lead you in fourteen minutes.

Forty-six minutes ago…

For the last fourteen minutes, you had been listening to her express her concerns with your pseudo-friendship and how in your senior year, she hoped that a tentative relationship could be formed. She didn't want the tug of war over her current boyfriend, your ex, to come between you and her during what should be 'our best year yet.' So she presented options regarding directions this partnership could take. As she spoke, you only noticed how smoothly her tongue moved. It brushed lips and tapped teeth and kept still when necessary. You wondered what it would feel like to have it move with such decisiveness on your neck and lips, your hips and…

"So what do you think?" she asked you.

In true daydreaming consequence, you had no idea what she was talking about. You stumbled over your response and prayed you could pull off this one last lie to her.

"Um, what do I think? I-… I think it sounds great, " you replied with the smile you reserve for polite conversation, one that slightly tugs your lips at the corners and puts just enough twinkle in your eye for people to believe what you're saying.

"Excellent," she said smiling, making her way to the door, "we are agreed that my current boyfriend will not come between us next year and that we would both like to put the past to rest and explore this newfound friendship."

What happened next was entirely reflex. It was an inevitable action that would certainly elicit a reaction according to the laws of physics. Your mouth opened and before you could exercise some self-restraint, five little words poured out, and you knew that nothing would be the same. But in that moment, you could only wonder if your tongue would move with the same confidence as hers in the next two minutes.

Forty-four minutes ago…

Curiosity and doubt got the best of her and she asked the question you knew would logically come next.

"What did you say?"

You restated it more evenly this time. "He wasn't the reason for all of this."

Her expression told you she didn't understand. She chanced a few steps forward that you guessed allowed her to hear better, still doubting what was said.

"What has all of this been about then?" she asked. "Why couldn't we ever be friends? Why were you so mean? I-I've tried on more than my fair share of occasions to reach out to you and make amends and you're telling me now that the one reason I suspected for us being enemies was never the reason at all? I will not accept that until you explain yourself. Tell me. After all you've put me through, I deserve an answer! What's the reason?"

You could tell she was angry now. The expanse of her neck flushed an angry red, her chest heaved as she tried to calm her breathing, and the spark of curiosity that was found earlier in her eyes was reaching a blazing inferno, but, by god, she was fucking beautiful. A siren of fury and passion. At this, hesitation set in, a contemplation of whether this was both the time and place for you to explain yourself, but you shook it off and decided it was time to leap. You couldn't stand lying anymore. You're heart was too heavy and it made your whole self tired. So, armed with nothing short of a surge of resolution, you told her.

"The reason is you."

She let out an exasperated growl and started a true-to-self rampant monologue.

"Are you serious right now? Who in hell do you think you are? How silly of me… of course I would be the reason!" She said that last bit with a venom and bite of which you never thought her capable. You couldn't help but think that this was not the way you saw this happening. She wasn't supposed to be hurt any more than what you had already caused. She continued, her voice cracking midway through it, "Why do yo-ou hate me so much?" And when those words finished falling from her lips, heavy like tears from her heart, your heart, in turn, shattered. You had to make this right. You couldn't leave her there, angry, wounded, and unanswered, but before you managed to heal her with your undying love proclamation, she began again, softer this time.

"Is it because I'm not pretty enough, or because I'm the adopted daughter of two gay men? Is it because I'm obnoxious, or because I don't dress right, or because I talk too much and want too much of people? Or maybe it's because I'm just not good enough…" Her eyes faced downward now at the completely uninteresting linoleum, her hands clenching and unclenching at the pleats of her skirt. "Is that it?" She finally met your gaze once more. Tears were steadily streaming down over the contours of her face. "Please… " her feeble request causing your knees to buckle slightly, "…tell me the truth."

She was expecting a response and you only looked at her blankly, trying to process what she was asking. Your mind was formulating with rapid speed how you could quite possibly tell her that she was so much fucking better than 'good enough' for anyone and she was beautiful and that those reasons made her the woman you were so fucking in love with. When she noticed your lack of response, she turned away from you and spoke with a bitterness that only comes with true pain.

"Fuck you. I'm leaving."

But before she took a step, your mouth worked quickly in summoning your realization from two weeks ago, spewing the only words that you knew would stop her.

"You're my somebody. Please, just…I … you're my somebody."

She stopped and turned, tilting her head with a still very angry brow.

"Two weeks ago, I just wanted somebody to love me."

Two weeks ago...

"I just want somebody to love me."

And then, it hit you in the head. It hit you so hard you swore your heart hurt. You wouldn't dare say it out loud in that moment, but you suddenly knew who "somebody" was. It was the girl that met you night after night in your dreams, the fantasies and the nightmares. It was the girl that made you jealous with every smile given to another person, especially to the boy that was supposed to be yours. It was the girl you convinced yourself you hated, but would cave into at any gesture of kindness she showed. It was the girl who was constantly offering you a hand of friendship that you incessantly slapped away. It was the girl who dominated your thoughts, influenced your actions—good and bad, and took center stage in every scheme your brain laid before you.

Proof! Your brain screamed at you to validate this enlightenment. You obliged. If it wanted proof, you would provide it.

Exhibit A: The gender-based names you used to torment her—Manhands, Treasure Trail, RuPaul, all male-oriented

Exhibit B: The slushy attacks—a rather displaced action to subconsciously feed the beast inside you that imagined her in a wet shirt.

Exhibit C: Captain of the Celibacy Club—a clever way to avoid sexual contact with males.

Exhibit D: Choice of men—all of the guys you dated were the perfect male specimens that you should have wanted… popular, good-looking, strong, and talented.

Exhibit E: Drawings of her—grotesquely drawn graphic drawings of a sexual nature in the girls' bathroom and inconsistent use of hearts on mocking pictures in your notebook.

Exhibit F: Passionate fits of anger that lead you to cry in her presence—the piano outburst where you inadvertently told her she was too good for this place and the slap at junior prom where she told you you were more than a pretty face.

Exhibit G: Staring at her while thinking to yourself—the time when you said she wasn't that bad to distract your boyfriend while you pretended to play house with your baby daddy and the time you caught the same boyfriend discussing original songs in which you offered to write a song with her.

Exhibit H: Focusing all anger at her—all of the times you should have been angry with your boyfriend instead of her. You weren't dating her; he was the moron.

Exhibit I: Your favorite of all of them—the ability for you to constantly stand next to, behind, and directly in front of her or make eye contact with her in most of the club's performances… when they went caroling, when you found out you were pregnant, at regional's sophomore year, and let's not forget the handhold at the end of the Dog Days.

Your mind had no response. Prosecution rests. Defense rests. No need for closing arguments. Verdict: Smitten as charged. Case closed with no grounds for appeal.

Right there on that bed, you realized that your hate and obsession all made sense. You loved her and you would tell her so… forty minutes ago.

Forty minutes ago…

"In that hotel room in New York, I realized something…that this thing between us, this constant fighting? Well, it's never been about him and his actions and his feelings and his love. He was just convenient and obvious and necessary."

"I don't understand what you're saying to me."

At that, she unconsciously lowered herself to the piano bench. Her mouth opened, seemingly ready to ask something, but nothing came out. She closed it and looked to you for an explanation. You know she deserved one, but the thought of its delivery made your head ache. You gently massaged your forehead, furrowed your brow in hopes that you could coax your brain into focusing, and let out a shaky breath. In a moment of clarity you decided the truth was best.

"Okay, let me start at the beginning. The reason we could never be friends is because I mistakenly identified the passion I felt for you as anger and jealousy over him, but hate, surprisingly, exists along a very delicate boundary. You know what they say, 'There's a thin line…' It's just, the symptoms were all there—hands shaking, heart beating aggressively, eyes eager to size up the opposition, palms and brows sweating, a desire to know every weakness and strength you possess, an uncontrollable urge to stop you from talking one way or another, and the feeling of falling with no safety net beneath you deep in the pit of your stomach. I, very inaccurately, interpreted it as hate."

She stayed silent, waiting for you to continue. Part of you prayed that she would be this silent twenty-five minutes from now.

Fifteen minutes ago…

As she pulled her car into the garage, and before she put the gear in park, she turned to you. Your breath hitched at the acceptance you saw in her face. She was acknowledging that this was happening and could continue to happen but that you needed to be sure you wanted this. Every option to turn back was given to you in that moment—her foot was on the brake, the car's gears would reach reverse before park, the garage door was still open, and seatbelts were still fastened securely. She was giving you an out.

You dropped your gaze, considered options for a fraction of a second, and then looked up once more to make your decision clear. You dipped your chin in a subtle nod and a feeble smile graced your lips. Taking in the sight that would soon be under you, begging you, and falling apart in your arms, you watched as her light, barely-there smile reached its full and genuine magnitude.

In the following moments, your outs were taken away one by one—first, the gears as she shifted into park; second, the garage door as it carefully closed along its tracks; and third, the seatbelts were shed seeing as the car was no longer running. As you exited the vehicle and followed her footsteps into her home, you couldn't help but wonder if you were the same confident person that you were 35 minutes ago.

Thirty-five minutes ago…

"This 'hate' that I supposedly felt was actually the sheep's clothing to the wolf it hid—love, obsession, want. Those turned out to be the real threat for me. Hate, anger, jealousy—those things are easy and simple to manipulate in order to hide something. I used those to atone for the mistakes I was making and settled for the idea that they were the only emotions I should allow myself to feel, especially toward you."

You paused briefly to allow her some time to process. You knew she would need more elucidation on that last part, so you gave her the time she needed to realize it. After what seemed like an eternity, the glazed look melted from her face and disbelief and confusion set in across the radiant skin. She wasn't connecting the dots. Now it was your responsibility to do it for her.

"I threw on my sheep's clothing to protect myself and to protect you from the person I was. I, however, underestimated the determination of my wolf when it came to you. I broke down at National's. I was there in the hotel room and I lost control over my words. 'I just want somebody to love me' tumbled from my lips and the only thought that came to mind was one word—a name. Do you want to know what it was?"

She nodded cautiously.

"Rachel."

She blinked at me with a lack of emotion on her face. I had no idea what she was thinking and in my insecurity, I continued.

"You see, Rachel, the reason for all this has been you. Deep down I always knew that I focused way too much on your actions and reactions. You were constantly on my radar and more often in my dreams. I didn't know what all of that meant until New York, and now, there's no way I can deny that you're my somebody. I wanted somebody to love me, but in reality I wanted you to be that somebody. I'm in love with you, Rachel. I have been for a lot longer than I realized. I'm sorry for everything I've put you through in my ignorance, but I know now I would go to my grave spending every last day trying to make it up to you. I know none of this will probably make a difference, but I want you to know that he's not good enough for you and at least I'm smart enough to recognize that I'm not either. Don't let him sell you short or let you feel second-best. Remember that there is a somebody that loves all that is you and… wants you with every fiber in her being."

She looked at you with intensity, trying to gauge the sincerity in your words. You knew your eyes spoke the truth as she made the transition from doubt to understanding. She knew in that moment that you loved her and that you wanted her. An awkward silence settled as she grasped unsuccessfully for clarity in how to move forward. Her expression told you she still needed you. But like a coward, you turned from her like you always did, abruptly as to not disturb her more.

"I-I should go."

You walked away hoping she would stop you and hoping that she'd still be near you thirty or so minutes from now.

One minute from now…

This moment seemed like déjà vu from one of the many dreams in which the beauty now leaning into you filled the starring role. Her movements were deliberate and just as graceful as you imagined and you fought with your brain to stop this. You needed to know what this meant because anything less than forever would break you. Her last words were six minutes before, and they did nothing to calm your raging fears.

Five minutes ago…

"Um, my room's upstairs. We should… maybe…" She turned on her heel and began her ascent chancing a small glance over her shoulder to be sure I was following. I followed obediently and agonized over what would be happening ten minutes from now.

Five minutes from now…

Her lips finally met yours and the smooth flesh that melded evenly and firmly against your mouth momentarily soothed the panic that lapped at your belly. Your body was quickly giving in to the intense heat rising from your center and a gentle quiver began throbbing at your core. But as her tongue slid against your flushed lips and her fingers threaded in your messy locks, your heart gave in to the painful insecurity and your brain pulled your body away. Words that burdened you heart and pained your head to say ghosted through your teeth.

"Rachel, please tell me what you know I need to hear."

It was sincere and raw and desperate and you hated it and loved it all at once. She captured your eyes, gathering in hers every ounce of truth and desire she possessed. Seeing your obvious turmoil , she rewarded you for your vulnerability, and in the words she spoke next, you found a stable footing. The ground reappeared under your feet and for the first time in the last hour and five minutes, she managed to put your weary heart to rest, calm the chaos of the world around you, and ignite the delicious want that was familiar from your fantasies.

"Quinn, while I believe we have many things that we will need to talk about, right now, in this moment, you have me. Right now, I'm your reason. I want to be your somebody and I feel like I might die if you don't prove that you're mine."