HER HEAVEN WASN'T IN NEW HAVEN
"The hallways were almost always filled with people, but the girl couldn't have felt any more alone even if they were completely empty."
You don't know how you got to this place. This was supposed to be everything for you, Yale was supposed to solve all of your problems. You were supposed to come here and feel… different. But you didn't. You felt lost, and maybe that's what you hated most of all. You hated that back home, you were everything. Sure, you got pregnant at 16, went through a phase where you acted manic depressed for a while and you were in a stupid car crash for texting and driving, but at least you were something. In New Haven, the most anybody ever has to say about you is that you're pretty.
And when the professor wanted you, you thought that that might've been enough. Because he noticed you. The nights you spent with him never carried out into the morning and were usually followed by a whole truckload of self-loathing, but it was okay. Until he started to get handsy. He would get angry at you for saying no, and he told you that he'd fail you if you didn't sleep with him. He always seemed to want to remind you of your imperfections. He saw your beautiful face above your clothes and expected no less beneath them. He never mentioned them, not aloud… but you say the way his eyes traced your torso, hooking on the scars that lined around your ribs. On the barely-there stretch marks that were a constant reminder of a life you left behind.
When he slapped you, the first time, you ignored it. You promised yourself that it was your fault because you said you'd prepare dinner and then you didn't. You made excuses for him, because you had been the pregnant girl, and the popular girl and the crippled girl, but you didn't want to be the girl who didn't leave her abusive boyfriend. So you promised yourself that if he ever hit you again, you would report him to the police.
You never had to. He didn't hit you, but that didn't mean that he didn't hurt you. He would yell at you, he would begin to make you feel bad about yourself to the point where you began to wonder if you were actually worth anything at all. You think your absolute low was when you sat on the toilet with your fingers down the pill bottle, with the Professor's words floating around in your head. It was in that moment that it hit you how deep in this shit you actually were.
You dropped the pill bottle as the tiny blue pills scattered over the bathroom floor. Your shoulders shook as you realized that you had been abused and you'd done nothing about it because he hadn't hit you. In your quest for acceptance you had let yourself turn into the one thing that you promised yourself you would never be- Judy.
Your mother was submissive to such a point that she didn't even blink twice when your father kicked you out simply because she was so scared about what Russell would do that she put her daughter and granddaughter's needs in danger. You put your own needs after his, and for what? For a few minutes of feeling useful before he made you believe you were worthless?
You couldn't believe you let yourself get to this point.
You're supposed to be Quinn Fabray.
HBIC, head cheerleader, prettiest girl in school, Yale student. You're not supposed to let this happen. You're supposed to… you have to be perfect. You're supposed to be perfect, damn it! You can't… you can't become Lucy… not again. Lucy would have let this happen and you thought you had left her behind, but she'll always be a part of you. She'll always be the part of you that you so desperately want to forget.
You didn't know what you were doing in those next few moments, you still don't. What you do know is that you spent the next few hours crying and spilling your guts over to your second in command.
"Hello?" Santana answered, and it was clear by her very tone that you had woken her up from a very deep sleep. "Seriously, Quinn I know it's you and if you seriously just woke me up for nothing I swear I will take that damn subway all the way to New Haven so I can go all Lima Heights on your ass."
The familiarity of Santana's hostility was almost comforting, and it dulled the aching in your chest just a little.
"Quinn?" Santana said, her voice a little softer now, as she heard your labored breathing as you tried not to cry. It wasn't sweet, at least not Brittany sweet, but you knew that it was the best that you were ever going to get. You had your shit and Santana had her shit and even though you were good friends and were always there for each other, it usually didn't mix. But you were lonely and sad and actually contemplating killing yourself because of some man who made you believe that you weren't worth anything, that you weren't anything except a good warm body to lie on, and you needed your best friend.
"Santana?" You said, surprising yourself by how broken your voice sounded. Your voice wasn't supposed to sound like that. You're a Fabray, you shouldn't show weakness, and much less to Santana Lopez who was maybe the strongest person you had ever met. You cried much harder now, because you realized that you sounded like Lucy.
You heard the ruffling of sheets and moving around, and in that moment you were sure that you couldn't have chosen a better best friend.
"What's up, Q?" She asked, and it warmed your heart because it didn't sound like she was asking just because she was supposed to, it sounded like she was asking because she cared. You didn't know what to say. You didn't know how to explain something that not even you understood yourself. You didn't know how to explain the fact that you were just in an emotionally abusive relationship for months and didn't even notice until you were sitting on the crapper with your fingers down a damn pill bottle. You didn't want to explain the fact that you'd let this go on for months without once telling anyone about what went on behind closed doors.
You started sobbing.
"Quinn- what's wrong?" Santana asked. 'Oh everything is wrong. All of this is so wrong. There is so much wrong-ness here that I don't even know what to do with it,' you thought, but you didn't say anything. You just cried harder.
"It's okay" Santana whispered into the phone. But it isn't okay. All of this is so wrong, so terribly horribly wrong that you just felt utterly pathetic.
"It'll be okay, Quinn." She murmured softly into the phone. 'Liar.' You thought. You couldn't find the words to talk. You wanted to, you just… you didn't know how to start.
"Quinn, just tell me what's going on." She said. You didn't know what gave you your next burst of energy but it doesn't matter.
"Santana, I- I think- I tried to kill myself."
"Quinn, you what?" Santana said, and you could hear the sense of panic and dread in her voice.
"I just- I can't… I can't live like this anymore!" You said, your sudden outburst bringing on a new wave of fresh tears.
"Quinn, are you alone?" She asked, and it was obvious that she was trying to keep her voice calm.
"Yes."
"Quinn, I need you to stay on line with me for a little bit, okay? Can you do that?" She asked and the softness in her voice was startling. It was sweet. It wasn't just sweet but it was Brittany sweet.
"Okay." You said, the tone of your own voice startling you. You sounded miserable. You heard shuffling on the other end and waited, staying on line with her.
'Rachel… Rachel…" you heard from the other end and you wondered why Santana was waking Rachel up for this. You really hoped that she wasn't about to tell her what was going on with you.
'What, Santana?' You heard Rachel's drowsy voice and some muffling sounds.
'I'm going to be gone for a few days.' Santana said.
'What? Where are you going? And now?' Rachel asked, even though she was just woken up, her dive antics were already in full swing.
'I'm going to New Haven. And yes, now.' Your heart thumped in your chest. Santana couldn't come… she… she couldn't see you like this. At the same time though, you wanted her to be here, you needed someone here for you. Someone who could understand.
'Wait, with Quinn? Why are you going there?'
'Look, Berry. I don't really need to explain myself to you, but Quinn needs me. I'm leaving. I'll see you in a few days.' Santana said, and after a few more sounds, she began talking again.
"Quinn? Are you still there?" And again, it amazed you how much softer her voice got compared to how she was talking with Rachel.
"Yes. Are you coming?"
"Yes. There's a bus to New Haven in about half an hour. I'll see you soon… but Q, I really need you to tell me what's going on." Santana said, worry lacing her voice. You cried harder when you thought about how utterly pathetic all of this was. How absolutely Lucy you sounded. How did you let this happen? When did you become this person?
This sounds like high school Quinn, letting other people's wants influence you to the point where you didn't even know who the real you was underneath all of those masks. And for a moment, you're sure that you'd rather be Lucy than that Quinn, because that Quinn is everything you'd feared- that Quinn is Judy.
You cried for a few minutes, you don't know exactly how much- but you were internally very glad that Santana didn't hang up. She occasionally murmured a few words of comfort- but she never interrupted. That's why you called her instead of Rachel or Mercedes, they wouldn't just be listening. They would be asking questions. You sobbed shamelessly into the phone until you heard Santana say,
"Quinn- the bus is here. I'm getting on it now. Do you want to talk about it?"
"I- I think so. I want to… I just- I don't know where to even start."
"Why don't you start at the beginning? Is that okay?" She said, and it surprised you how incredibly un- Santana like that sounded. Sure, you knew that Santana wasn't a bad person. Santana actually has one of the most golden hearts of anyone that you've ever met. But, she isn't one to let people know that. She deserved to know.
"I – um- you remember how I- I told you I was dating that professor?" You asked, and even though it was probably a stupid question, she didn't mention anything- which was very un-Santana in itself.
"Yes," she said, pausing for a second before coming to a realization. "Quinn- he didn't."
That only made you cry even more because even she knew what was going on- she didn't obviously- but she at least had an idea. In that moment, you were glad that you didn't have any roommates because being caught so emotionally naked would have basically pulverized the image that you had made for yourself. You had to be unbreakable.
That's what you were taught, growing up. In your house, appearances were everything. It didn't matter if you were happy as long as the rest of the world thought you were happy. It didn't matter if you believed in God as long as you were in the front row at the church every Sunday at nine o'clock sharp.
"Quinn? Are you there?" Santana asked, breaking you out of your internal monologue.
"Yeah."
"Quinn, does the Professor hit you?" she asked, and the way she said it made you heart do a double take.
"No. No, he doesn't." You said, and you could hear an exhale of relief on the other end.
"He doesn't… but I think- I think I'd take that any day over this." You said, and in that moment, you knew those words were true. You could take physical pain, you had taken that so many times before. But this… this constant feeling of dread that feels like someone is slinging a knife into your gut. Nobody should ever have to go through this constant abuse- you realize that now. You don't really know how you didn't realize it sooner. You probably should have. Maybe this relationship reminded you so much of your childhood that you didn't even realize that this was wrong.
Because for a long time, you had thought your house was a normal place. It wasn't until you were eight or nine and started hanging out with Brittany and having sleepovers at her house that you realized how dysfunctional your family actually was. Because you realized that at her house, her daddy never made her bring him beers until he was drunk and had fallen asleep on the couch. In her family, her dad never took out the belt simply because she forgot to put her dolls in the correct order. Her mom always told her that it was okay to cry sometimes instead of telling her that crying is a sign of weakness.
"Quinn, what are you talking about?" Santana said, confusion evident in her voice.
"Santana, do you think I'm worthless?" You asked her, and you spat the word with so much venom that it surprised you how much power your voice held.
"What? Quinn are you joking? Please tell me you did not just ask me that." Santana said, and the Santana you'd always known peeked from behind her words.
"I'm just… I'm nothing here. I'm just another face to all the other students here. I'm so- so miserable. I feel like there's nothing for me anymore. I used to have everything. I was everything. It might not have been what I wanted to be, but at least it was something. I hate it that when I walk down the halls here, the most people ever have to say about me is that I'm pretty. I hate it that the most that I'll ever amount to is a good warm body to lie on." You said, your throat was beginning to feel dry and parched because of all the crying.
"Quinn don't say-" Santana began, but you interrupted her, because she had gotten you going, and once Quinn Fabray starts a breakdown, she makes damn sure she finishes it.
"No. Did you know that I've never made any friends here? Sure, I have people who study with me before a big test and people who like to boast to me about how they aced their finals. But other than that, I hardly even talk to the other people here. I just felt so lost… and then the professor noticed me. And I thought- I thought, maybe it wasn't so bad here after all! Was I an idiot for thinking that? Was I just so stupid to believe that for once I might have actually belonged? Was I an idiot to think that he might've actually wanted me for more than a couple of good fucks?
"I knew he didn't want me… not the way I wanted him to… but god I just want to feel loved in return. And really what do I have? Who's going to love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? The professor left me- and I know I shouldn't care- and I don't. I never loved him. And all he wanted from me was a couple of good fucks and slaps and verbal jabs. But god, how can someone you hate so much make you feel so small?
"Every time he made a jab at me about my stretch marks or my scars- or about how I'd never amount to anything in my life… he just made me feel so small. I just took it! I took it until it got to the point where I was scared to say no to him ever, because I was so scared of what he would do if I said no. I wanted to be wanted so bad that I turned into the two people I most hate- Lucy and Judy."
You were out of breath. There's something about emptying your soul to your best friend that makes you feel liberated. You couldn't hear much on the other end, and you wondered if Santana had finally gotten so tired of your shit that she just stopped listening. The thought made you want to laugh, until you heard labored breathing on the other side of the line.
"Santana?" you said, concerned that something had happened to your best friend, after all, New York City transit wasn't exactly the safest travel option.
"Quinn," Santana said, and it surprised you how stern her voice was.
"Never ever say that you aren't worth anything, Q. Do you- Do you not understand what you mean to me? Look, I don't know what that idiot professor has been putting into your head, and I don't know what he's done to you. But he isn't right. I'm proud of you for leaving him." She said.
That set you off, because you didn't leave him. He had no idea any of this was going on. You were too weak to leave him. You sobbed a little into the phone- and Santana knew.
"Oh, honey. Quinn you- you need to leave him. You can't stay with him. You need to report him."
"No. No, I can't do that… student/professor relationships are strictly against school rules. If I did that- I- I would get kicked out of Yale." And you would. Your mom would find out, and your dad would probably find out about it at the country club. You'd be a disappointment.
"Look, Q, I don't know what you want to do. If I were you I'd report that sadistic bastard because it doesn't seem like you're enjoying Yale that much anyways, but I'm not the one to make that decision for you. I mean, who knows right? But just know that I'll be there to support you in whatever decision you make. In fact, I'm here. 455, right? Open the door, Q."
You open the door as soon as you hear that Santana is there, and you're surprised to find her in no makeup and sweats. You always thought she looked prettier that way anyways. Before you know it, Santana has enveloped you in a hug and you're crying softly into her shoulder. She guides you onto the bed and holds you, and you don't know how something so simple can make you feel so free.
You don't know how long you sit there with her. It must be a while, because you feel her arms getting shaky, but still, she doesn't let go and you love her even more for that.
"You really scared me, Quinn. Please- Please promise me that you'll never try anything like that again. That phone call- I'm really glad you called me, Quinn." Santana murmured into your hair.
"I'm really glad I called you too, Tana." You whispered into her neck.
She released you from her hold and you trailed your fingers across her side, stopping them to rest on her hip. You're a little angry because you're sad and lonely and more than a little fucked up, and Santana totally gets that. And you love that about her. You don't know what happened next, or who initiated what, but the next thing you know you're bent over Santana, your body casting a shadow over her face. Your faces are close. Like, much, much closer than they should be. That surprises you, sure. But what surprises you most is that you don't mind it. You're actually kind of enjoying this, and you feel a light pulsing somewhere between your legs. How embarrassing, you think.
When your mouth touches hers, you turn into a mess of limbs and you can hardly even think straight. Soon, it turns into a very heated make out session, and the pulsing between your legs increases tenfold.
"Quinn- stop." Santana says, pulling away.
"Look, Q. We- we shouldn't do this. I know we did this at Schue's wedding or whatever… but you're really fucked up right now and I don't want to be the one to take advantage of that. I don't want you to do something that you're just going to regret in the morning."
"Santana… shut up. I- I want to do this. I want to try this with you. I promise you that I won't regret this in the morning. You mean more to me than anyone right now. You- you make me feel like I'm flying. Just by being around me. So just… shut up and fuck me."
"Okay" Santana said, beginning to suck softly on your neck. The room shifted again as Santana swayed above you, teetering precariously above you as her lips continued to press hot kisses on your neck. Her hands slid up over your abs until she's cupping your breast. She tweaked one of your nipples roughly until you couldn't help but cry out, because Santana has a way of making you feel completely and utterly blissful. It never felt like this with the professor. He was rough and fast, and it felt more like someone was invading your body than it felt enjoyable. But Santana… Santana is gentle enough and fast enough and she feels just right. She fits you like you'd never felt anything fit you before. She takes one of your nipples in her mouth, licking and sucking until you cried out, your hands gliding over the blanket beneath you.
You had a very hard time focusing but you're able to find Santana's hips with your hands, and you gripped them tightly. Santana had a head start but you didn't waste any time, running your hands up her outer thighs. You hooked your fingers on her sweats and slowly pull them down her legs, absorbing Santana's beauty beneath them. Santana stares down at you, her eyes soft and caring. You nod, because you're completely sure about what you're about to do. You were scared for a bit that after the professor you wouldn't really ever be able to enjoy this, but Santana is nothing like him. She's perfect.
She stared down at you, almost defiant as her nails raked down your stomach. Santana gracefully pulled your panties completely off, and you started to feel a little self-conscious as you realized how absolutely bare you were. You knew that Santana could see your scars and your stretch marks, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of all your imperfections. Santana sensed your anxiety, and kissed you softly. Her lips tasted like vanilla and honey.
"You're beautiful." She says, placing a light trail of kisses down your torso.
Santana pushed inside you, running her finger against your folds and brushing against your clit until you're no longer lost again. You're drifting somewhere in between bliss and 'don't fucking stop' Santana leans down again, kissing you and once again reminding you how beautiful you are.
You're wet, almost embarrassingly so. Santana barely moves against you and your hips buck. When Santana started tracing circles around your clit, you couldn't stop the loud moan that escaped you. Your arms slid around Santana's back, pulling her against your body as you raised your hips. You needed more. Santana smiles softly and slid two fingers into you gently.
"Fuck." You cried, jerking off the bed. You dug your nails into Santana's back because fuck it, you were completely and utterly in love with that woman in that moment. She pumped her fingers in and out of you quickly, her face flushed as she hovered above you. She began to curl her fingers and you dragged your nails up her bare back as hard as you can, moaning when Santana hissed and pressed against you even harder. Your hands reached the back of Santana's neck as you grip as her dark hair, pulling her down and crushing your lips back together. You were panting and moaning and holding her against you, nipping at your lower lip as Santana's fingers take a harder pace.
Santana slowed down just enough to push a third finger inside you and brush her thumb against your clit when you came, crying out loudly as you try to hold her head to your chest. She could feel your heartbeat, you know it, because you could feel hers too. You rested your forehead against Santana's and you two breathed together heavily.
You were still panting as you kissed her neck and found her center, pushing two fingers into her. She was still on top of you, resting between your legs as she lied half on you and half off you. The angle was awkward and your wrist began to burn quickly from the force you used to push into Santana combined with the odd way it was bent, but she's as wet as you are and started moaning immediately. You found the sensitive spot beneath Santana's ear, sucking it roughly.
"Don't stop." Santana husked, her voice low.
So you didn't stop. She was warm, and you could feel your own wetness on your thighs. You flicked her clit with your thumb as you curled your fingers and Santana came with a groan. She tightened around your fingers and it was only as your own body pulsed that you realized Santana's fingers were still inside you.
You pulled your fingers out of her as the weight of what you just did settled inside you. This is my best friend, you thought, as you sent yourself into a panic. You felt Santana pull out of you and you rolled over to your side, facing way from her. What had you done? You just- you slept with your best friend, for the first time while completely sober. Sure, you were a little drunk on emotion and more than a little fucked up- but you actually enjoyed it. And not in the 'Santana's just a really good fucker' way, but in a 'Santana is really beautiful and I could lay with her forever' kind of way.
You remember her flushed face above you and hate the way that it sends a pulse through your body. Because you have been every disappointment you could possibly be to your family. And now- a lesbian? You tried to tell yourself that it was all fun and games, but you've always known in the back of your mind that maybe this could be true about you, too. Because, let's face it, your relationships with boys were never really the best, and even though you didn't exactly hate it, you didn't enjoy it. You just went with boys because they wanted you, and that Quinn was always just one to give people what they wanted. Because what you wanted most of all in high school was to feel like you were worth something, because after years of being a social outcast… of being Lucy Caboosey, you were finally it. All the boys wanted you and all the girls wanted to be you.
You never really felt an emotional attachment to any of the boys you dated, but then again, you never felt much of an attachment to anything because by the time you started high school, you had taught yourself to be guarded and cold.
"Quinn?" You heard Santana say. You didn't answer. What were you supposed to say? 'Hey Santana, I know I said I wasn't all that into that, but turns out I am and also I might be completely and utterly in love with you?'
"No Quinn- you said you wouldn't- don't push me away again."
"Can you leave?" You asked her, and immediately regretted it afterward. You didn't want her to go, you just wanted to turn back the clock and go back to the way things were. But at the same time, you just wanted to hug her until your arms gave out and still never let her go.
"No. No, Quinn. Don't do this. You're not allowed t-to do this! You promised, y-you promised me that you wouldn't do this!" At this point you realize that there are tears streaming down her cheeks, and you hate yourself so much because you know that you're the one that put them there. This is just so typical of you, you told yourself. Because no matter where you go, you're always hurting people. You're like a wave of mass destruction and it's to the point where you don't even know why anyone would want you around.
"Just go!" You said, and when you saw the way her face fell, you realized how harsh that must have sounded. You started crying softly on the bed.
"Why do you- why do you even want to be here, Santana? I'm a mess. Is that why nobody loves me- because I'm too fucked up? I'm like- I'm like a ticking time bomb and you- you're putting yourself in danger just by being around me. I hurt everything I touch and I- I just don't think I deserve you." You said, throwing yourself on the bed and sobbing violently. Because you don't deserve her, Santana is a beautiful wonderful person and you- just look at you. You're so damn fucked up you don't even know where you end and where you begin.
You felt strong arms lift you from your position on the bed and wrap themselves around you. You didn't open your eyes- because if you did, all of this would become all too real. You would be able to see Santana's bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face. You'd be able to see the little blue pills scattered all over the bathroom floor. What you did do was bury your head in Santana's neck, which she didn't protest even a little. You don't know exactly how long you lay there, but before you knew it you were drifting in that in-between state of consciousness and sleep.
"I love you." You murmured against her neck. You didn't know if she was still awake or not, but you just needed to get it out of your system. You figured she was sleeping because you didn't hear a response, so you felt content, because even if she didn't her it, too did, and that was enough.
"I love you, too." You heard just before you fell asleep and you knew what you were going to do.
Because your heaven was never in New Haven. It was always in her arms.