Author's Note: Thank you for reading. It jumps around a bit on purpose. Debated making this heavy since the previous 2 were very light in my mind. Of course I had to throw something heavy in. (The fic has humor too.) I think its realistic to mention sexual abuse and honestly I was surprised they never brought up rape on Glee. Domestic violence, yes, but I thought it was strange they did every topic under the sun (even a school shooting, though I maintain the best school shooting episode came from One Tree Hill and the deleted scene that Sophia Bush did-youtube it) but not sexual abuse. I don't go into detail about it, but I can't do fluff again like the last 2 pieces. On a lighter note if anyone can guess the line that comes from an interview points to them. Maybe I'll write them a one shot if they get it right. There's a light Bechloe fic similar to this called How They Become Official if anyone is interested, it has more humor. This is the end to this little series. My twitter is at PlaceForAnEcho.
"You just couldn't give up the urge to sing covers could you?" Santana asked redundantly as they sat in a freaking tea lounge. Leave it to Quinn to bring her to a mellow place that Gweneth Paltrow probably owned instead of a cafe. Freaking Fabray she thought as she drank flavorful tea that she wouldn't admit to the former head cheerio was better than the latte she had yesterday. Quinn took the mocking and rhetorical question as she usually did-annoyingly poised.
The blonde sat contently, lightly tapping her index and middle fingers against her cup, clearly in her own thoughts. "Some of them have great lyrics, but annoying voices. Or they could be better if they weren't as whinny but more emotional." She started. The brunette could tell they were going to be sitting there a while. Quinn had her project voice-tentative, thinking out loud, but passionate. She would never admit it but Rachel and Quinn were good for each other.
"Mary Lambart's song sum of our parts is practically perfect," she continued and paused to gauge Santana's reaction who offered a small nod. "I would throw in some piano and sing the spoken word part, but"
"God, this is why Berry throws Pitch Perfect references around whenever she gets the damn chance," the snarky woman cut her off.
"She's...a little obsessed," Quinn said while looking at the table.
"You're not helping when you go around acting like Beca Mitchell."
"Surprising you know the character's name. You practically never have time for movies." Quinn stated.
"Britt likes Brittany Snow. Something about her dancing or whatever," Santana brushed off, literally moving a hand in front of her like she was shooing a bug away.
"Trouble in paradise? Jealous?" Quinn questioned and held a sincere worry in her voice.
"No, even I like Brittany Snow. Might be the name. Or the eyes. Britt appreciates other dancers or that she's graceful. She's commented on your dancing before. Its amazing we never had a threesome." She said conversationally like they were discussing the next five day forecast.
Quinn offered a shoulder shrug. "I'm sure people fantasized about it," she said easily or in what Santana called her waspy-tone.
It was the brunette's turn to shrug. "I did, but you're about to get married so that ship has sailed."
Thankfully after years of knowing Santana the comments weren't as crass as they could have been and since she practically pushed people's buttons for a living the writer only looked back with a blank, almost bored expression that signaled for her to move along.
"New topic. Why are you wearing flannel?"
The blonde looked down at her red shirt and frowned. When she didn't reply Santana pressed, "are you trying to look like a trucker or a hipster?"
"My sister gave it to me. Its banana republic." She replied without defense, only stating the facts.
"You wasp," she said with a smirk and took a subtle whiff of her tea. Really-she was not about to admit the tea place was really good.
The blonde knew that was the tell Santana was actually complimenting her. In the most round about way because god forbid she simply say-hey Q, you look good. With a barely noticeable huff and squaring her shoulders she picked up where she left off. "So I want to record two songs using your studio. Me and a piano covering sum of our parts and because the song is so whinny I want to slap the guy..ugh..but the lyrics are good...In the Wilderness by Cecilia and the Satellite. I want to really strip it down, take out a few lines and repeat the line-of all the things that I have held the best by far is you."
"And what Miss..soon to be Mrs. Hopeless Romantic plan to do with them?" Santana asked with another raised eyebrow.
"You can play them in the car as she's heading to the ceremony? We have to take different cars. She's wants to be traditional. You know-because we're such a traditional couple," Quinn said with sarcasm.
"Well Q I gotta admit-its sweet. Its a nice gesture and I may throw up in my car and I will send you the detailing bill, but I'll do it," the brunette tried to be a hard ass. So another side project was added to the former cheerleaders list to make a lasting impression on Rachel. It didn't matter that they had dated for years and were about to get married, she didn't want to lose the desire to keep expressing to Rachel she cared and loved her.
Years ago it started with a conversation. A seemingly simple, half drunk, quiet ramblings that Quinn could somehow present as charming. It was then Rachel knew they would date and commit to being more than ambiguous friends.
"Ever notice the sound of the word love is soft?" She paused and looked into really nice brown, brown eyes she thought, letting her mind wander as she looked at Rachel. "The word hate," she said and tilted her glass..as though the word and its meaning were too big to hold onto.."sounds blunt because of the a and t. Its terse...but love sounds gentle...like its delicate. Which..it is." She watched as Rachel frowned, looking intense as she considered what was said. Quinn didn't know she was telling herself you can't kiss Quinn when she's been drinking. When we both have our faculties 100% that's when. But she didn't stop herself from leaning into the blonde, closing the distance and giving her a kiss on the cheek. She had done so before about a dozen times since they'd been in college and in the state of limbo they seemed stuck in but sometimes the brunette couldn't hold herself back to do something that seemed so natural. In fact she thought it wrong to repress her emotions. She was a self-proclaimed diva after all she reasoned.
"You're sweet," she replied in the same near whispered tone Quinn used while rambling.
"Tell no one." She said with narrowed eyes for an attempt at intimidation.
Rachel started laughing so hard her ribs hurt. Finally she took a pillow and tried to muffle the laughter to not hurt the blonde's feelings.
"Rachel!" Quinn huffed which prompted the singer to pause, lower the pillow and eyes widen. She laughed harder.
"I promise. I won't tell anyone," she offered as she wrapped an arm around the blonde's midsection and curled into her. In the back of her mind she could hear Kurt saying, "oh yes Rachel, that's exactly what friends do. All. The. Time."
Eyebrows raised slightly. Sometimes Quinn could surprise her. Without knowing it Quinn centered her.
Years later she was still amazed and sometimes in shock that she still felt centered. She hoped she did the same for Quinn, but didn't really question it until she came home early from a production party. Rarely did she go alone and she had texted Quinn, asking if she would join but the blonde replied she was in a writing mood. Rachel smiled at her phone, glad her overthinking girlfriend was focused and replied, ok, I'll miss you and be home asap. It came as a surprise Quinn was drinking alone, a bottle of wine empty and another half full when she returned to their apartment.
"Quinn..babe.." Rachel started. It was rare Quinn indulged this much. In fact she couldn't remember the last time she had seen the woman drunk.
"I'm..." she took a deep breath and smiled "in a really good place right now." Gently she set her glass on the table and turned to face her laptop, narrowing her eyes at it like she didn't trust it or it was the enemy.
"Did you and your computer get into an argument?" Rachel asked, trying to joke.
Quinn offered a small, humorless smile and shrugged. "Working on a new script."
"Oh. What's the premise?" Rachel asked, interested, not only because Quinn seemed in a unique mood but because she rarely shared her work.
"I had a friend in college drive home after she left a bar and she wrapped her car around a tree. She's lucky to be alive. Turned out she wasn't drunk, not even tipsy, but someone slipped something into her drink." Quinn stated with a distant look in her eye as though she was working out how to explain it. "The opening sequence to Skyfall is amazing...an artist's dream..."
"You don't like Bond movies," Rachel replied gently, cutting her off because the conversation steered someplace she never expected it to go.
"Course not, blatant objectification of women, but I saw it because Adele did the theme and I really loved the opening credits. So I'd want the credits to be that creative but show someone putting rohypnol into a martini glass but a girl sees it., stops another girl from being hurt and so forth. Basically its a revenge flick. But it won't be like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo or Gone Girl fucked up." Quinn said critically and Rachel knew Quinn was more inebriated than she was letting on because she rarely swore. To casually do so meant she was past tipsy. "And we can't be friends with anyone who is reading Gone Girl," she added.
"You are such a lit snob." The brunette smiled, though her thoughts were going a mile a minute. Quinn's comments were all over the place.
"I wouldn't trust anyone who is reading that book." She supplied and looked back at her laptop. The singer slowly nodded.
"Its not your usual style or genre. Why write it?" Rachel questioned with genuine curiosity.
"Writers write what they know right?" The blonde said with a shrug and faux-nonchalant tone.
I have no idea what to make of that sentence and its implications Rachel thought and remained silent.
"Lucy..." Rachel started but didn't know what to say. It was once in a blue moon she would call Quinn Lucy. The two other times was when Yale seemed to be really difficult and isolating. It was one of the times the lit student would text her really in the morning "just checking in" but Quinn would seem hesitant and reserved even though she initiated the conversation. It was almost six am and Rachel replied she was available at any time if she really wanted to talk and I'll get on the next train if you need me to Lucy. What was strange was Rachel didn't realize she did it, but every time she felt Quinn pulling away she'd say her first name. The last time she said it was when she heard the shower and thought she'd join Quinn for nice, early morning sex or at least make-out but found Quinn crying in the shower. She didn't push for an explanation but she wrapped her in an embrace that went beyond a simple hug and told her "I love you Lucy and if you want to talk to me I hope you know you can." For Rachel it was very hard not to push Quinn but she had also learned over the years that sometimes pulling emotions and words out of Quinn meant she held onto her armor more.
"For years...I was angry." Quinn started and stated factually as she looked at her desk. "I don't want to be angry, I try really hard not to be angry." She said tiredly and looked up when she felt Rachel take her hand. "Sexual abuse isn't the same as rape, but the have characteristics that overlap." She stated clinically. Rachel reminded herself Quinn had a minor in psych only because she fell more in love with literature than a "pseudo-science" she once called it. The brunette gave her hand a small squeeze, a "I'm listening" gesture to not break the writer from expressing whatever she felt like sharing.
"For years I was angry. I thought of many ways how to torture and kill him. For a couple of years I was depressed, had insomnia to avoid remembering my dreams. The nightmares stopped when I was in my early twenties." She continued matter of factly. Rachel tried not to frown as she thought that wasn't so long ago. We're pushing thirty but...this explains those really early texts in college.
"I used to dream about saving kids," she paused and took another deep breath. It seemed in telling Quinn was being crushed and lifted in the same minute. "Which was obviously my subconscious wanting to save myself. Which...leads to a connected issue...if I'm ever going to be a parent I don't want to be overbearing and I'll have to push against that. I already have...anxiety that I won't be able to protect my child...and I have...a lot of anxiety that...that I'll fail." She paused. Rachel could see it physically hurt Quinn to state her flaws, even if she stated them in the most detached way she could. "Apparently there are studies, a lot of mothers who have been sexually abused talk about feeling that constant pressure and fear of not doing enough, being enough because they feel they have to do it all because they don't trust other people." Another pause, another sharp intake. "And...I wanted my kids to know I love them everyday even if I forget to tell them, I want to call them darlings, I want...to tell them you may have insecurities, but you are enough."
Rachel wanted to spring forward, wrap her arms around Quinn and tell her sorry, but held back, feeling that wouldn't help. "I think I'll be really..." she mentally searched, frown forming with intense hazel eyes. "Neurotic. And that's a burden." She looked up at Rachel to see her girlfriend looking troubled, sympathetic and concerned.
Shit. Damn it. A burden just like this conversation. "I don't talk about these things because they're freaking depressing." She said bluntly and moved to stand but felt Rachel squeeze her hand harder and pull her back down to the seat.
"Quinn." That was all she needed to say. It wasn't a demand, it wasn't a plea, it was a "you're you and you're enough" tone that made the writer sit in silence for a few moments, debating her next choice of words. To dismiss what she said and ask Rachel how her night went, to let her know the knew restaurant two blocks away was sub-par or to take a stroll down memories lane.
"For a couple of months I really liked xanax. But I stopped because I enjoyed it and didn't want to become like my parents in any form." She clenched her jaw. "Really Rachel, I don't talk about this because its fucking depressing," she said with bitterness. "And I got tired of being fucking depressed. Thank god I had an epiphany to do something different or just stop." Rachel watched Quinn clench her jaw more. "My mother once said get over it. And I blocked a lot out. A therapist said blocking was my defense mechanism so a lot is blurry on purpose," she said flatly. "But certain smells trigger certain memories of course. Specific materials, certain food. It was actually really not hard to give up eating meat because he ate a lot of it." She paused and cracked her neck, like her body had to adjust to offering this much of herself, her past. Honestly may set you free but its a painful thing and can be a brutal process she had once written. "He ate apples to the core, was obsessed with hockey, and I try not to think about it." Quinn said bluntly as she cracked her knuckles. "I am ALL for the day when an apple is JUST an apple to me," she ended, providing a lot of perspective with those few words.
Rachel sat very still, thinking in some ways Quinn was like a deer. Graceful, but strong and could easily be spooked to leave. Bolt, escape, vanish into their modern, not so lavish decorated bedroom for space. She had been known to just get up and leave abruptly at parties. Now that she thought about it she always cut up her apples and ate them with peanut butter, looked aloof as she cut them meticulously on the cutting board, always politely refused to attend a sports bar or bypassed hockey when she channel surfed, and would look far away when an old cloth smell wafted from somewhere. Now that she thought of it she looked almost...haunted as she cut apples.
"Now is a good time as any to let you be aware I have no idea what my parenting style will be. Part of me wants to take our future kids to a vet and get them micro-chipped," she tried to joke, but the attempt to lighten the atmosphere fell flat as they discussed their hypothetical children.
"Parent's aren't always good for their kids," Rachel said after a pregnant pause. "But you will be. You won't disappoint them." She said firmly, knowingly, with the belief Quinn would be her loving self without any self-restrictions. She believed Quinn would surprise herself.
Weeks ago Quinn had stated she hated the word disappoint when they discussed if they were going back to Lima for the holidays or staying in the city. When Quinn was ranting how the fake chicken salad for lunch yesterday took her over an hour to make she had let slip her father might be in town and she didn't want to play the disappointing daughter. The brunette had frowned and said, "why do you say that? You're smart, accomplished, independent..." she tried to keep going but Quinn cut her off.
"Oh I've lost track of the times he's said I'm a disappointment," she shrugged. Rachel stopped trying to memorize her lines and looked fully at the other woman.
"Quinn, don't do the stoic thing."
"I'm not." She denied. edging on a cold tone, regressing to her former, cheerleading self.
Babe, you're better than this. The singer thought. "...I think you're dwelling," Rachel tried gently.
"I dwell. I even subscribed to dwell. Its an interior magazine." She tried to joke but stated factually.
"Quinn, you are a smart ass and wonderful and sometimes I would like to abandon my pacifist ways and slap someone, specifically your father who, in my opinion is a small minded man who doesn't know you. I can't tell you to dismiss what he's said because that's a lot easier said than done. I can tell you he doesn't know you." Rachel said with conviction and support. Rachel was also aware Quinn's relationship with her mother always seemed surface. Perhaps because Judy didn't come to Quinn's defense, perhaps for reasons that were beyond her understanding, but she hoped Quinn would maybe explain... one day. She knew there wasn't much love expressed there. Often when she watched their interactions Quinn seemed on the defensive with her mother or held back. In many ways it was odd to see how a cold woman helped create a woman who made Rachel feel loved and appreciated for years. "I love you though," she added with a small smile, knowing it wasn't a competition and she didn't serve as a substitution for the difficult relationship Quinn had with her parents. They had stared at one another for a solid twenty seconds, allowing what Rachel said to really sink in. With the realization she didn't have to validate herself to anyone came the moment she felt like an adult. In a few steps she crossed the room, hugged Rachel and whispered thank you.
The next morning she was surprised to wake to Quinn in an easy going mood. She half expected the blonde to be distant but was amused when Quinn groaned "its not even nine, my coffee hasn't kicked in yet."
"I've already been," Rachel replied proudly.
"You're horrible at sleeping in." Quinn said as she pulled Rachel closer since she had gotten back into bed.
"Well I'm going to have to stop going. There's a regular who is a little too invasive and friendly." She stated and turned to Quinn who looked more awake and on alert.
"I'll protect you. Look at my muscle..."she said and gave a small flex. "These are my guns..." she smiled goofy. "They aren't very large. But I'll find you a better coffee place," she finished and was glad to see Rachel burst out laughing.
"God I love you."
"I love you and I like you," Quinn replied quickly and with an even goofier smile.
"Awwe babe, stop stealing lined from Parks and Rec. You beautiful, tropical fish." She said as she got out of bed again, half way removing her casual street clothes to put on a relaxed tank top. "What do you want for breakfast?"
Rachel narrowed her eyes and refocused on Quinn who was sitting rigid in her chair. When did she finish that glass of wine? She considered and slightly berated herself for getting lost in thought.
"I'm...suddenly..really tired," Quinn said through half lidded eyes. "I blame the wine."
"Yes, the wine drank itself." Rachel said as she stood and pulled Quinn closer to her. She was glad the blonde knew she was joking rather than be defensive. High school Quinn would have snipped back. Adult Quinn was a mix of confident, self-deprecating, didn't take herself too seriously and someone worth loving. Rachel believed that to be her firm opinion that she viewed as a fact. Someone worth loving. She thought as she watched Quinn lazily brush her teeth. The affects of the alcohol really settling in now that she stood up.
"You...you're..." she spit out the toothpaste and looked in the mirror at Rachel rather than turn around in the dim lit bathroom. Any head movement made her feel slightly dizzy and any bright light was simply a nuisance. "staring." She finished.
"You're still the same person I knew and loved yesterday. In this hour and tomorrow." She said firmly as she leaned against the doorframe and gave Quinn her undivided attention. "I will write this down if you need me to." Added gently and then stated firmly, "I will tell it to you for as long as you need to hear it." She finished and waited for Quinn's wine addled brain to process the promise.
It took Quinn a few seconds to realize it was the perfect response to her telling her past. What she wanted to hear. Not I'm sorry or pity, not a million questions that others had replied with, not to be analyzed, but that she was still the same. Still loved and cared for. She wanted to say thank you but it didn't seem enough. Instead she quoted softly from one of her favorite poems, "holy the supernatural, extra intelligent kindness of the soul."
"Quinn..lets go to bed.." Rachel said after a pause because it was typical Quinn to have a certain voice when referencing other people when she felt her own words inadequate. It was a charming trait she considered as she tilted her head and watched the blonde put her toothbrush away.
"I'm in awe of you," Quinn whispered as she stepped closer to the brunette who turned off the light and led them down the hallway.
"You should be," she whispered back, "I'm Rachel Berry." She joked but turned serious. "I love you." Slowly she got Quinn into bed and turned to walk back out.
"Rachel..." she said softly...her voice cracked. Never in a million years would Quinn say what she was thinking...you're coming back right? It was far too needy and saying any of it would have been too raw.
"I'm getting you some water and brushing my teeth," Rachel replied and didn't bother turning the light on in the hall. As she got the ice water she thought of the absurd things she loved about Quinn. How she would binge watch a show with her and be jealous of the writing. They had watched Pushing Daisies and Rachel fondly remembered Quinn groaning at a scene. Rachel paused it wondering what was wrong, wanting to know if Quinn hated the scene, found it tacky, too dramatic, or something when Ned said been looking and Chuck replied been hiding. "God I wish I wrote that!" Rachel loved Quinn's passion. She loved that Quinn would rant about some obscure things like wandering the city, getting annoyed at tourists and expressing "mid-westerners are weird. Too weird Rachel. They say how's going. What? That doesn't make sense!"
She thought of these things as she brushed her teeth and finally made it back to their bedroom.
"How do you see in the dark?" Quinn said quietly, almost giving Rachel a heart attack. She was glad she had a firm hold on the glass.
"I ate a lot of carrots as a kid," she replied proudly as she set the glass on Quinn's side table.
"You're cute. You're proud of that aren't you?" Quinn asked, already knowing the answer, but wanted an easy conversation before bed. A mental unwind was needed.
"Very," the brunette replied as she got into bed and was surprised Quinn drank all the water and didn't immediately turn around to hold her. It was their usual sleeping position. Rachel months ago had diplomatically stated she wouldn't mind if she got to be the big spoon. But of course the reply was, "you're too small to be the big spoon, these are just the facts beautiful" and the conversation was dropped. Tentatively Rachel placed her hand on Quinn's hip and slowly wrapped her arm around her waist. She knew this was more than just physically being close. In a published article Quinn had written before they started dating the lit student had said-to be comforted is linked to letting go, allowing someone to alter you. To think its an easy task is foolish. Consoling involves an agreement that pain will not be used against you, stored, used as currency or exploited. It means letting someone see your mess. It means trust. And with it, the belief and hope that the person doesn't view you as weak, but simply-complicatedly-human.
"I love you." She said contently as she relaxed into the embrace, welcomed the hold and fell into sleep.
"Quinn...babe..." Rachel was shaking her slowly. The room seemed very bright. And hot. The entire room felt too warm.
"Ah.." she spoke and tried to clear her throat.
"You were crying last night," Rachel said as she looked into dark hazel eyes. Quinn groaned. "Ugh the morning," she said as she pushed her palms into her eyes. "Fucking memories," she mumbled barely recognizable words. "Fucking dreams." She turned on her side and considered going back to sleep but hated the thought of dreaming again.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" Rachel offered herself as a sound board.
"Why not? Maybe emotionally vomiting will help." She said bitterly. "I don't think I'll ever be a morning person like you," she said softly as she turned back to Rachel with an apologetic tone. She swallowed and looked into considerate, concerned eyes. "You don't mind listening to subconscious garbage that was rather long?"
"Nope. I wouldn't offer if I minded," Rachel said in her typical kindness and enunciation. The write found it very easy to see why people loved to hear her sing. Every word was said clearly. Quinn happened to enjoy her talking as much as singing.
"Okay...mmm...it was like..an alien invasion...set in the future. It sounds really stupid and I don't have any control of what I dream," Quinn supplied, trying to rationalize. "People were being put into jails...cells. It was very clear...heavy tones that there was tension that people were going to die...like the holocaust...on a massive scale..and the ones who were considered attractive or in shape were going to be taken away to be used into something like the hunger games for pure entertainment...or be raped. And I remember going down and elevator and I was with two friends..I don't remember their faces...just this feeling they were people I cared for and I knew I had to leave when the door opened...so I ran, flat out bolted." Quinn paused and she felt the taller woman's back grown more tense. "I felt guilty in the dream. I didn't stay and fight with them...I abandoned them," she said with anger. "And it turned out the government was doing it all, not aliens. And I remember," she said frowning, as though it was replaying in the back of her mind, "I stood in a tunnel panting because I knew it was humans orchestrating it." She felt herself breathe normally when Rachel kept rubbing her back. The brunette thought Quinn looked drained and wrecked, but still somehow strong in her desperation to never appear weak. A Fabray trait that was possibly in her DNA.
"That is...very intense." Rachel said soothingly as she continued her massage. "Honestly I don't know what to make of it, but...I can tell you I don't think you would leave your friends. After all you one of the presents you got me for Hanukkah before college was pepper spray...which I'm beginning to realize was telling, but you scored a lot of points with my fathers who even then insisted I perhaps focus on my career a little less and date you."
"They're great. Can we trade fathers?" Quinn joked.
"Aww babe," Rachel smirled. "No," she deadpanned. "You can have mine but no trading. That's a bum deal."
"Thank you," she said back in seriousness and pulled Rachel closer.
"Do you need coffee to get all your synapses going or can I have a serious conversation with you now?" The singer questioned.
"I mean...I'd like a protein shake. The last one I tried had a lot of sugar. Really it was horrible. Someone should be slapped for making it. It was a riveting day...that Thursday." Quinn joked and got a smile from the brunette.
"I'll pick up your favorite kind tomorrow. But really..."She watched as Quinn leaned up and held up her head and she leaned into Rachel's space.
"I'm all ears," she said without any joking tone. Rachel had to smirk. Ever the literalist. Its a thing!
"I love you." She gave a slight nod. "Ok?" Quinn mirrored her small nod but with a frown.
"Okay..." the blond said, unsure where this was going to go.
"I love you and your obsession with scarves."
"I'm not..."
"It'll be eighty-five degree out and you'll wear a scarf Quinn." Rachel said firmly, half-amused the was bring interrupted.
"Its a thin one..." the writer said quietly.
"I love that you don't even realize you're humming. Its almost always something from Moulin Rouge and ninety percent of the time its lonely boy."
"That's random..."
"I love that you eavesdrop and come home to tell me weird expressions and if we ever move to the midwest you can fake an accent and fit right in."
"We will never move to the midwest." Quinn stated firmly but smiled.
"I love that you have the most eclectic ipod of anyone I know." She watched as Quinn smile widened.
"I love that you feel and express it in ways that are so wonderfully different from others." The blonde moved forward and nuzzled her nose against Rachel's neck for a second.
"I love that you quote literature and even if it can occasionally be your downfall, I love that you overthink because your mind is beautiful and its you."
With each tell Quinn felt her belief in love form stronger bonds. Remold themselves and mature. As a self-proclaimed cynic it was second nature to question love and all its complications, but Rachel was solid. Quinn could believe in her. Because Rachel was real and had taught her many things that she would have to write about to try to do the woman justice. Things that made her feel like she wasn't damaged goods, that she was more than the sum of her parts, that healing was possible, that the risk of love was worth it, that beliefs weren't bad things to carry around or manipulated into to separate people or make a group feel more superior than another. Quinn reasoned that morning that beliefs had a gentle power to them if they weren't used with force. With care Quinn moved closer to Rachel and pulled her into her in the same second. Words, as much as she loved them and relied on them had their shortcomings and limitations.
If anyone asked Quinn she would easily say Rachel was her better half. It more or less went without saying...which was why maybe people never asked. Quinn was incredibly grateful and in shock Rachel saw her and kept looking at her after the layers that revealed themselves. Rachel made her believe in a sometimes unforgiving, unapologetic world that life is full of unexpected twists, embrace as much as you can, don't be so hard on yourself, and when you find love-don't hold back.
End Author's Note: Title options were certainty, team, or assurance. Thanks Trooper for coming up with the title. In keeping with the simple, 1 word, plural theme-beliefs seemed the best. "I have no idea what to make of that sentence" is from Me Earl and the Dying Girl. "Don't do the stoic thing" and "parents aren't always good for their kids" are from Sharp Objects. I think they're great lines but from the same author as Gone Girl (its legitimately darker and far more disturbing than GG). It does take over an hour to make fake chicken salad. The dwell conversation is one I've had. Unlike Quinn I've never been drunk but I do say when tipsy I'm really comfortable and in a really good place right now to the great amusement of my taller, slightly younger sister. Holy the supernatural quote is from Ginsberg. Thank you very much for reading and tolerating these long authors notes.