"Where is she?" he yelled, "where is Quinn!" his wild eyes swept the waiting area of the ER, his face was grief-stricken and his tuxedo was rumpled. His sentences started to come out incoherently, like random words strung together, "I…but we…never imagined…..what did you…. why?" a small brunette girl was tugging at his arm, "sweetie? Calm down, we'll see her when she's stable…" he turned on her with those wild eyes and everyone there to bear witness saw his face, not the face of a young handsome boy, but the face of a man, a man who had lost everything, a man so cruelly and despicably stripped of all that was good and light in his world.
His pain was mirrored in the faces of the teens accompanying him, though not as dramatically. A Latina girl stepped forward to the desk and said in a rush, "Disculpe enfermera,?me puede decir en que habitacion se encuentra en Quinn Fabray?" cupping her hand around her mouth, a blonde tugged on her arm, hissed, "She's not Spanish….." and pointed to the nurse.
The other brunette repeats the question in English and the teens head back to the room.
The pain and anguish threatening to burst out of all of them suddenly became surreal as the Latina broke down seeing the bruised and battered girl; she hugged her body and muttered in Spanish. The boy ignored her, slowly walking towards the girl in the bed, walking towards Quinn. After what seemed like an eternity he finally reached her bedside and brushed a strand of pale hair off of her face, a tender, caress that seemed not to go unnoticed by the short brunette.
In the hours passing, teens and adults alike trickled in and out, the four who came barging in remaining faithfully by her side all night. Sometimes her eyes would flutter open and shut, but sole purpose of these heart wrenching actions seemed to be to torture those present with memories and hopes and dreams, things from a life long forgotten. The short brunette was crying silently, her mouth open wide, gaping, why? Why did I text her? The girl asked herself; the blame falling on her seemed the only logical explanation. And you, she glanced at the boy, why can't you hold me and croon soft nothings and tell me it'll be okay? This thought made her cry harder and anyone attempting to console her was brushed away.
Q
My chest feels heavy. Why does my chest feel heavy? I didn't have to open my eyes; I knew they were all there, the ones I loved and the ones I hated. I knew I was going to be in so much trouble when my parents found out. I knew I had to pee. And as I grew aware of all these other things, I noticed my hand was asleep, like someone was squeezing it. Even though my entire body protested, I opened my eyes and lifted my head, "guys….?" I croaked, "Where are you?" the person holding my hand was Finn, who let out a gasp, "Quinn, oh god, we thought you were in a coma, or—or—or—or…" he trailed of.
I gave him a weak smile and he hugged me, crushing my lungs more. His bear hug filled me with every unexpressed feeling and in that moment, I love him. Then my chest convulsed, once, twice, three times. This was not good. A nurse ran in and motioned them out; paramedics ran in with heart starters and heavy machinery, then….I blacked out.
3 weeks later:
Rachel Berry sat at her desk writing a letter, silent tears flowing down her face.
Dear Quinn,
I suppose it seems foolish writing a letter to a dead girl, but I can't help myself. You are my outlet. It has been three weeks since your untimely demise, and I can still hear the sounds of that ER room:
"Noooooooo!" Finn wailed, "She can't be gone! She can't!" Everything in slow motion, blurry, unreal. Santana losing it, freaking out, yelling, kicking, biting. The sirens, the blood. Brittany looking confused with no one to explain. Tina's silent, racking sobs, Arties stoic expression, ignore at all costs. The staff running. It all still haunts my nightmares; and most of my waking hours to, what happened to us that night, the days after, dealing with the grief, it changed us in ways that can never be fixed. It left us broken, broken and bruised. We will never forget Quinn Fabray and what a wonderful person she was. Her dreams and aspirations will be carried on by those who knew and loved and believed in her. She lives through us.
Many of our decisions were, and still are, being influenced by her; I never did marry Finn, Sam bucked up his courage and is thinking about proposing to Mercedes, and Puck, you wouldn't know him, if he ran into you buck naked and covered in butter! (Not that he does that anymore).
I guess what I'm trying to say is, you were a truly wonderful person who will never be forgotten by the blessed few let into her heart, a wonderful woman who though she never got to live up to her potential, was a star all the same.