Oh god, the OOCness is seeping out of this chapter. I'm so sorry. :c *frown*

I'd been standing here for ten minutes, and I still have no idea why I showed up in the first place.
Here I was, standing on a welcome mat clutching my satchel.
Standing on the welcome mat of Rachel freaking Berry's house.
I think I could be officially classed as a masochist for agreeing to rehearse with someone like Rachel in her house.
It's not too late to turn around, Quinn.
I thought to myself.
Then sneered, it was true; I could leave.
They don't even know I'm here, and I'm sure even man-hands would have doubts about me being true to my word and showing up.
Perfect, just turn around, get in your car, and get the hell out of here.
I turned and put one foot forward when the sound of an opening door froze me in my footsteps.
"Damn it..."
"Who're you?" An unfamiliar voice asked.
I turned around and fixed my perfect Daddy's-Little-Girl smile. I hadn't had to use that one for a while.
"Hello. You're Mr. Berry, I take it?" I stretched my hand out to greet the small man, and was shocked to see a darker man stand behind him and take my hand instead, shooting a cheeky smirk at the man below him.
"He is, and so am I." He looked and grinned at me; his voice was loud and deep, even if he was talking normally.
Oh, right.
I remembered Rachel raving about her "two gay Dads" in Glee while we were waiting for Mr. Schu to print Sheet Music for a musical called La Cage aux Folles.

Even if Kurt and I were leading on being friends before summer; I still haven't come to terms with being 100% ok with gays—I mean, homosexuals.

You can't really blame me though; I mean I was brought up in a strict Christian home where homosexuality was something my dad used in stories to scare me on Halloween, it's sort of expected I'm a little nervy about it.
Still, I smiled at the two of them anyway.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Quinn. Um, maybe Rachel said something about us rehearsing today?"
"Oh, yes." The smaller white dad said, smiling stiffly.
"Oh, you're Quinn.." The black dad said, his smile disappearing.
I felt oddly unwelcomed, even after they stepped aside and I walked inside their tidy little home, lined with pictures—ordered from baby pictures to present ones—of Rachel.
I rolled my eyes at the sight.
Two Dads that were all goo-ga over their kid?

"Daddies', who's here?" It was Rachel's voice, unrecognisably; you could hear her painfully loud tone from miles away.
"Oh, Quinn!" She had a weird expression on her face, it was somewhere between stunned and uncomfortable, I just raised my eyebrows.
"RuPa-" I caught the questioning look from her dads.
"Rachel."

She looked away, then back, putting on a stupidly arrogant face.
"I didn't think you'd turn up," she walked down the stairs.
"I figured you were too intimidated by my vocal talents."
Was she using the fact her Dads were here against me?
Knowing I had to keep the rep of the "perfect" Fabray's intact, she could say whatever she liked, and 'cause with her Dad's there I couldn't fire anything back.

That little bitch.

I just laughed and said something about how her jokes are so funny, mumbled something quick about how we need to rehearse, and stormed up the steps.
I didn't know which one was her room, but I could make a wild guess from the huge and obnoxious gold star hooked onto the door.

I walked into her agonizingly pink room and stood there, not wanted to sit on her bed in case one of her paedophilic looking teddy bears tried to grope me.

She followed in quickly behind me, shutting the door.
"You made it Quinn," She sat on her bed "I'm so glad." She said thickly, obviously sarcastic.
"Whatever, it's not like you'd care, tranny. Even if I didn't show up you'd probably do what Kurt did and do some kind of duet with yourself, right?" I joked.
"Well, I did have a nice original composition in mind, seeing as Kurt already used the prime example of a "duet" with oneself in his Victor/Victoria performance, but mine was an edgy Funk and Blues number, combining—"
"Shut up." I was rubbing my temples from the minute she opened her mouth.
She gave me a pointedly annoyed look at being cut off, but she deserved it.
"Fine," she huffed.

It had been about half an hour of listening to her drone on about how she wished Mr. Schue didn't pair us up himself—and even if I agreed, I didn't miss every chance I could have to slip in a snide remark about her; well, this was turning out to be more fun than planned.
But, eventually I ran out of things to say, and because Rachel never could, she didn't.
While she thought of a way to explain to difference between Alternative Rock and Rock—since modern stuff like Paramore wasn't her best subject—I cut in.
"—So, song ideas. You have them, don't you?"
"Oh. Naturally."
"...Well, What are they?"
She smiled again. "I was researching possible songs on the internet last night," She climbed off her bed and over to her dinosaur of a computer, clicking on an already open page.
"I considered Nowadays, from the break-though musical Chicago, but then I realised the song has such little vocals in comparison to its dancing." She frowned as quickly as she'd smiled.
I looked at the screen.
"Yeah, and they look like sluts."
Rachel rolled her eyes.
"Then, I figured, seeing as December is nearing us rapidly—and the weather is already growing cooler, we could sing a song of winter, fittingly called 'Winter Song'." She beamed, and I folded my arms.
"It's a very gentle song; it reminds me of the warmth a romance can provide, even in the coldest nights that winter can endow us with." She clasped her hands, love struck.
I scoffed, this time it was me who rolled my eyes.
"That sounds cheesy. Besides, shouldn't I sing that with someone I want to have a romance with?"
She looked to me, confused.
"Not necessarily. After all, the original songstresses, Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson, weren't in love with one another. Like them, we could be singing to those we love, rather than each other."

She silenced me for a bit then.

"And who do you have to sing to, man-hands?"
She looked hurt then, and I slipped a small smirk.
"You and Finn ended again, right?"
She looked away.
"I guess he got bored of having about as much action as Andy Stitzer."
That would have been the best insult of the night; and broken my record of consecutive insults delivered to Rachel Berry in a day.

She reacted...way different to what I'd thought, though.
Normally she'd just roll her eyes or ignore them.

But this time, she stood up them and strode over to me "I've had enough of you! Do you want to rehearse or not?"
My smirk grew.
"Didn't I say last week that you'd signed me up for a week in my personal hell? You should've taken that as a no."
She grew red-faced from whatever was boiling inside her, I blinked; I didn't know how so much anger could be in such a tiny person.
"Then why don't you leave?" She said slowly.
"I would if I could. Sadly, we agreed to this.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, Yes, Andy Stitzer—"
She jabbed me sharply in the stomach with her finger.
"I'd have you know, Quinn Fabray, in our time as a couple, Finn was very acceptant of my want to be pure until I marry, he was so supportive in fact, he would gallantly ask for permission before kissing me below the jaw, and the first time he was allowed to ... t-touch me, was after I gave him precise authorization to do so!"
"...That's a bit too much information, you five-foot little troll."
"And!" She raved on.
"You, Miss Fabray, never had that much s-sexual interaction with him at all! W-With your prayer rituals!"
I clicked my tongue on the roof of my mouth.
"Please. That was all you could come up with?"
" In fact, the only real "action" you've received was from Noah Puckerman when you were drunk on wine coolers! At least I was sober when I was touched!"

That was it, I felt rage boil inside of me as quickly as it rushed to the surface; it took over.
I shoved her as hard as I could-She fell to the floor-but she grabbed my arm, and pulled me down with her.
I tried to push her away but she was damn stronger then she looked.
"Take it back!" I spat.
"It's only the truth!"
The truth? What the hell would she know about the truth in that?
All she knows, all anyone knows about what happened between me and Puck was that I was drunk; they act like there was nothing more.
"He used you! He uses everyone, Quinn!"
"Shut up!" I kicked her then, my legs were strong from all the intense work outs Ms. Sylvester put the Cheerios through; and she fell away from me.
I stood up.
"Your insanity just got taken to a whole new level, Berry!"
"Oh," She scoffed, "my insanity!"

I left the house then, shoved into my car and wrenched the keys to the side, hearing the roar of the engine.
I drove and drove to get away, but when I'd made it to an open stretch of road leading out of town, I just couldn't take it.
I pulled to the side of the road and stayed there.
My grip on the steering wheel grew tight, and I leant my forehead on it, uncontrollable sobs filling me, filling the car, filling the street.
Quinn Fabray, head cheerleader, crying her eyes out over something Rachel Berry said.
Santana would laugh, and Ms. Sylvester would kick me off the squad right away.
But, it didn't really matter if I was crying; everyone cries, right?

I hated to admit it, but it was the only thought going through my head; maybe... maybe she was right.
Maybe I was used.

-
Now, before you say anything, yes, I do love Quick.
It was... almost painful to write this.
But this is a Faberry fic, not a Quick one.
So calm yo tits, as they say on Tumblr.
All will be well *magical sparkly rainbow*
But yes, please tell me how i can improve my Quinn if you can!
I'd really appreciate it. *heart symbol*