Chapter One

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Quinn rolled over on the bed, gasping and trying to catch her breath.

When she looked back, Quinn always thought losing her virginity would be a special and momentous occasion: she would feel love rushing through her veins and would be treated gently and it would be like those shitty clichéd romantic movies, just perfect, and she would be thinking about how perfect the guy next to her was.

Instead, it was a sweaty and quick occasion: all she felt rushing through her veins was frustration (with both Santana and Puck, whom she had learned the name of after marching up to him) and she was treated roughly and it felt like a porn movie gone wrong instead of a clichéd romance, and all that was going through her mind was:

"What the fuck did I just do?"

Puck thought this as he wiped some sweat off his forehead, trying to catch his breath and he layed on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened.

The sex was quick and awkward—and he was ashamed to admit it was probably him who was off his game. He didn't know what was wrong with him! He was usually a pro at this, knowing exactly when to enter a girl, knowing their "soft spot", knowing what to say to them to drive them crazy, and especially knowing how they liked it.

But this chick—she was so fucking difficult to figure out! When he was about to enter her she pushed him off and hisses a feisty "not yet!". He kissed every spot imaginable (or any part imaginable to him, anyway) but none of them managed to give him more than a small moan or whimper. Everything he said got him a "stop talking, would you?". And so, this made the whole thing clumsy and stupid and ultimately fast: making his list of top ten worst one night stands. No contest.

Quinn closed her eyes, finally catching her breath, and refused to let herself feel anything. She had just lost her virginity to a practical stranger (who most obviously thought himself way better than he actually was) and it was possibly the worst possible place to do it, too: a small, two bedroom apartment that sure, it looked alright; the living room and the kitchen were neat, small but comfortable and well lighted. But then you walked through the hall and into Puck's room and it was a fucking mess—his full size bed unmade and the smell! The smell of unwashed underwear all around the room and rotten pizza and other food she couldn't recognize , already far too rotten to even be distinguished. It was a horrible, horrible room and honestly? It was the worst night of her life.

She felt angry tears well up in her eyes and she opened them, refusing to let them fall. She stood up quickly and started dressing herself again. Puck looked over at her, confused.

"Are you leaving?" he asked her, sitting up.

Quinn nodded furiously. "This was nice," she lied. She finished dressing herself and looked over at Puck, her eyes void of emotion now. "Thanks for everything, I guess." She walked out of the room, and walked out of the house, wanting to forget this night as soon as she could.

Puck blinked, then groaned. Well, that had been a disaster. Thankfully, he tried to convince himself lamely, he never had to see her again. That was too much of a risk, he told himself, because it would just bring down his mojo. Anyway, all he had to do was find another girl (possibly no other could compare to this one, that was for sure, but what the hell?) and get into her pants and make up for this time.

He put his boxers on and walked lazily to the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer bottle, opening it and glancing at the door.

He knew Finn was about to walk through that door any second now, him being the guy who actually worked and usually paid the rent fully until Puck could come up with the other half. Although he annoyed the hell out of him sometimes, he was glad to have a friend like Finn: it seemed like he was really the longest relationship he'd ever had.

In a non gay way, of course.

Drinking his beer, he walked over to the couch and turned on the TV, trying his hardest to forget what happened just about an hour and a half before. Turning the volume up all the way to block out his thoughts, Puck put his feet up on the coffee table (Finn would clean it up later. His friend is weird like that.) and gulped his beer down. A re-run of Two and a Half Men was on, and he stared at it, the noise obviously hurting his ears but not a word was getting through to him.

He continued gulping down his beers and staring at the TV, grateful it was actually preventing him from thinking, not worrying about anything. He didn't even jump when Finn struggled with the door and opened it noisily, grumbling to himself.

Finn Hudson stared at his best friend, blinking. He looked over at the clock. "Holy shit." He shook his head and closed the door behind him, locking it afterward. He took off his coat and threw it on the loveseat adjacent to the couch. "It's Friday night, it's only 11 o' clock, and Noah Puckerman is still home. Hell has frozen over."

Puck turned to look over at Finn, glaring at him. "Funny, Hudson," he spat, looking back at the TV. Finn crossed over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer, then looking back at Puck.

"Turn it down. We're not in a movie theater." Finn said, gulping down his beer and taking off his button down shirt, walking into the hall and to his room.

Puck snorted. "Nope. This is my emotional outlet."

"Two and a Half Men?" Finn called to him. "That doesn't sound too outlet-y."

"And that doesn't sound like a word, but you don't hear me bitching about it." Puck took another gulp of his beer, grumbling when it finished.

Finn came back out with a casual gray T-Shirt, sighing. "Someone got rejected tonight." He walked over to Puck and took away the remote, lowering the volume, then threw it back on the kitchen counter.

Puck scoffed. "The hell makes you think that?"

Finn sat down next to his friend on the couch, handing him another beer, putting his feet ip on the coffee table as well. Puck grumbled something like a "thank you" and opened the beer, taking a huge drink.

"Your face and attitude says it all, man," Finn explained. "Now tell me what happened."

And, like always, Puck did.

Meanwhile, Quinn's teeth were chattering and her foot was tapping impatiently as she waited for her oh-so-fucking late best friend to pick her up. She wrapped her coat around her tighter, and certain parts of her body were throbbing more than others…bottom line, she was pretty ticked off, and so not in a mood for waiting out in the cold.

Finally, Santana's fucked up car pulled up in front of the apartment building. Quinn walked quickly over to the car and sat in the passenger seat, slamming the door shut and saying nothing to Santana.

Santana raised an eyebrow. "He didn't even have the decency to take you home afterwards? What a prick."

Quinn growled at the Latina. "Drive, Lopez," she spat, and Santana put up her hands defensively before starting the car and driving out of the building. They both sat in silence for a while until Santana finally broke it.

"So no comment? Was it good? Was it bad? Did it rock your world or completely fuck it up? Pain or pleasure? Deets, babe."

Quinn sighed. "It sucked." She said simply. "And I'm never having sex again with someone I don't know."

Santana laughed. "Yeah, princess, I used to say that too." She stopped at a red light and looked over at Quinn. "But once you've done it, kind of hard to stop." She paused. "You had to feel a little pleasure."

Quinn scoffed. "I didn't even come." She stated. Santana gaped.

"Man. I thought he looked like a good one." She shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Guess you can't judge a book by its binding, after all."

"By its cover," Quinn corrected lazily. Santana looked at the blonde.

"Sweetheart, I look at the rear, not the front."

Quinn laughed bitterly. She waited for Santana to keep pursuing her about her dreadful experience, and let out a slow breath when Santana turned on the radio. Quinn rested her forehead on the cool window, squeezing her eyes shut.

She felt numb.

This is how she knew she wasn't in some sort of fucked up nightmare. Unfortunately.

Santana pulled up in front of her house and killed the engine, "You gonna be okay, Fabray?" she asked, looking over at her.

Quinn jimmied the door open and muttered, "I'll be fine." She gets out and looks at her, "Thanks for the ride."

She shut the door, cringing a little when she realized she had actually slammed it shut. She sighed and walked slowly to the door, trying to ignore the subtle pain between her legs as she moved across the lawn. She opened the door quietly. She inched her way to the stairs ready to drag herself up to her bathroom, desperate for a scalding shower to wash away the thin layer of dry sweat, and with luck, the memories of the horrendous evening she'd just experienced.
She was halfway up the stairs when her mother walked into the foyer and called up to her.

"Quinnie, sweetie. Will you please come down here, your father and I need to talk to you."

She squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth at the sound of her mother's voice. Her parents never asked to talk with her, unless they were about to drop a bomb. She could clearly recall every 'talk' she'd had with her parents.
The first one was in forth grade, when they told her, her new puppy had gotten hit by a car. She later found out, he piddled on the carpet, so they gave it away to a family down the street.

Then there was the time in ninth grade, when they sat her down and told her that her grandmother had passed away in her sleep. She later found out they waited two days to tell her, because they were caught up in planning a party for her fathers 'very important clients'.

She exhaled slowly and descended back down the staircase. She walked into the formal dining room, her parents seated at the table with wine, her father turning to look at her, noticing how beat up she looked.

"Rough night at work?" He questioned. This pissed Quinn off, because it was just so typical of him to ask her questions he already knew the answers to.

"Can we just get this over with so I can get to bed?" Quinn snapped at him, as she seated herself at the opposite end of the table.

Her mother shot her a warning look, and she quickly bit her tongue.

Her father cleared his throat and spoke bluntly, "We sold the house."

Her mother's face lit up as she turned to look at Quinn for a reaction.

At first, Quinn thought she was hearing things. She waited for a minute before speaking, waiting for some kind of an explanation. Her parents blinked a few times.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

As if her head wasn't spinning enough, now they decide to lay this on her. Granted, they didn't know the night she'd just had… but even if she hadn't just lost her virginity to a complete stranger, in his disgusting apartment, she wouldn't want to be hearing this.

"Wh-what do you mean you sold the house?" Quinn asked, dumbfounded.

"Well, your mother and I have been discussing this for awhile now. We've been planning a year long trip through Europe to start our retirement." He stood and walked over to Judy, putting his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently.

Quinn scoffed, "Retirement? You- you're barely fifty!" she stood up in a rage, "Well what the hell am I supposed to do?"

Judy Fabray stood as well, rushing to put her arm around her youngest daughter, speaking softly. "Sweetie, you just turned twenty-five, you don't want to live with us anymore… We think it's time you looked into finding a place of your own."

"Looking isn't the problem! How am I supposed to afford a decent apartment on minimum wage and crappy tips!" She pushed her mother's arm off of her. "You could have at least told me you were selling the house." She rolls her eyes and takes a step back, her eyes beginning to water, "Does my opinion even matter to you? Don't you care what I think?"

Her parents just looked at her, blinking a few times, not sure how to respond to her outburst. Quinn scoffed and shook her head at them. This was so fucked up.

She stormed up to her bathroom and quickly stripped her clothes off. She turned the water up as hot as it'd go, and hissed as she stepped under the sweltering stream of water. She squeezed her eyes shut as the water turned her skin a shade of bright red.

She began to scrub.

She scrubbed every inch of her skin roughly, hoping the harder she scrubbed, the more the memories would fade. If that was the case, why did it feel like she was just rubbing them in, a permanent reminder that this night happened.

As she scrubbed, she cried. She didn't just let a few tears fall either, she sobbed. She silently prayed the sound of the running water would drown out her desperate wails.

Quinn hated crying almost more than anything. It was a sign of weakness and failure. Both things she couldn't stand in her life.

The pain was too much, so she shut off the water, stopping the tears as well. She took a deep breath as she stood, letting the crisp air ease the burning. She reached for her towel and thought of something her grandmother told her when she was little.

"It could always be worse."

This time, she wasn't so sure.


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-Claudia & Mikayla