Author's Note: Writing angst is not necessarily fun...but I did it, as I told others I would. Please read and review!
Prompt: "I'm going to need you to give that back now."
Mine
They were on the front lawn. Her standing, him sitting in his chair. Neither could look the other in the eye. Shifting, Quinn felt the wet grass beneath her bare feet, an ant crawling over her toe, the sun beating down upon her head and knew what she had to say.
"I'm going to need you to give that back now."
Twisting the small bit of sewn together fabric in his hands, Artie shook his head. "No. I c-can't, Quinn. Please, don't take this from me."
"It's mine," she reminded him firmly, bending forward at the waist, as if to take it from him.
Sadly, he turned his eyes to the handkerchief with QF stitched in the right hand corner. Lifting it to his nose, he breathed, inhaling the scent that was her. Jasmine, apples and something else that he had never been able to describe. "You gave it to me on our first date, remember?"
"Do you?" she snipped back, shoving strands of blonde hair away from her face. "Do you remember any of it, Artie? And if you do, does it mean anything?"
"Of course it does!" he exploded, drawing gasps from the staring neighbors. "I love you. I love you, Quinn! And everything that happened was a misunderstanding. That's all. Just, please, listen -"
"No," she hissed, stubbornness and pride preventing her from hearing what he wanted to say. "You listen. You kissed another woman. And not just any woman! Her! I want you to leave. Okay? Leave. How many times do I have to tell you? I never want to see you again." The lump that had been forming in her throat suddenly dissolved as the tears sprang forth. "Maybe this is what I deserve. I cheated on Finn all those years ago and this is like karma or whatever."
Rolling forward, he attempted to take her hand but she slapped it away, the sting of what that meant metaphorically hurting much more than the physical blow. "You don't deserve it. You deserve…better. You deserve the best and, honestly, I don't think that exists, not for you. I…want you to forgive me, Quinn, I want you to take me back but, at the same time, I know leaving is best. You'll find the perfect guy for you, one who won't break your heart." Gulping, he pushed himself away, not realizing that he had started to cry too. "But I want you to know that she kissed me. I pulled away right after. We had just been talking. I was upset because of the fight you and I had gotten into and had been drinking a little and she's my friend. But Santana kissed me, Quinn, and I did not kiss back. I'm sorry you thought that, I'm sorry you didn't believe me." He could feel himself growing angry and almost didn't care. "And this!" he went on, waving the handkerchief. "Is mine! I'm keeping it. If I can't be with you, then I want something…something…" The sentence was lodged in his throat, not able to escape. It was choking him.
Whole body shaking, Quinn started to retreat to the house, retrieving the handkerchief from him the last thing on her mind. She had seen Artie's face crumble, a visible symbol of their relationship. Going backwards up the ramp, she allowed her eyes to flash in his direction, the hazel meeting the blue. "Goodbye, Artie," she whispered, fleeing inside and slamming the door behind her.
He knew she was watching her through the window, watching as he maneuvered his way into the car, watching as he backed up, watching as he drove away. A part of him thought she'd stop him.
That part of him was wrong.
Because she didn't.