A/N sorry for the delay, I was planning on having this chapter up sooner but well… life got in the way, which shouldn't have happened considering the fact that I've had the next five and a half chapters for this fic written out!
-Nightshade
I don't own Glee, if I did, Faberry would be canon. No questions asked.
Schadenfreude
Chapter Two
I hurried through the busy hallways, head hanging low in a show of defeat. Or perhaps so that this time, when I got slushied, I wouldn't see it coming. I felt so unlike me. I was never this unsure. Well I suppose I always have been, but then I came to Lima, and I got pretty, and I got good at hiding my insecurities. I could feel my legs nearly bowing under the weight they carried, and exhaustion, and as I stretched a sharp stabbing pain bit me in the back of the neck, a muscle spasm. Just another negative side effect of sleeping across the back seat of one's car. It was times like these where I felt stupid for lying to Puck about having an aunt to live with. It was the 'Fabray pride', something which I had apparently inherited from my parents. I just felt incapable to accept the charity from him. Perhaps it was indeed my Fabray pride. Perhaps it was the fact that I still didn't want to raise this child with him, and didn't want to risk leading him on. Perhaps I just didn't want to end up living with a guy who had more dirty one-liners than… well, any other teenage boy. Or perhaps I was just hoping that my parents would decide to love me again, and I didn't want to consider any sort of permanent living position because it felt like I was giving up on that hope. Whatever, there was some sort of reason why I turned him down. If I could go back on it, I would, but currently Puck appeared to be using the attentions of just about every loose, slut-like Cheerio as a bandage over my 'rejection'. That didn't make for appealing accommodations at all. Just then, I managed to force the haze of intrusive thoughts away long enough to notice Santana walking up to me through the crowded hallways, parting the crowds and shooting bystanders with a scalding HBIC glare. The glare I used to wield.
"Hey Tubbers, Coach Sylvester's got a bounty out on your head." She informed unhelpfully, falling into step with me as I hung my head at her nickname. We picked on each other, we didn't mean any harm, it was our thing. But recently they seemed to sting a little more than usual, the faintest nip of jagged teeth grabbing at my heartstrings.
"Yeah, I'm well aware of that S." I muttered, continuing to weave through the bombardment of ignorant shoulders that jabbed at my face.
"What did you do anyway? The whole point of being off the squad is that you don't have to deal with her tyranny." She stated dryly, flipping her high ponytail about like a choked-off river, gentle curls which had been pinned and pulled about unnaturally. Something about the whole thing was almost disfiguring, how in school, someone could be such a different person, so different that you couldn't even connect the two personas. It was almost fascinating how such little changes made the biggest differences.
"Whatever. It doesn't matter." I shot back, once again avoiding my gaze as I darted forward like a shiny-sided fish, one insignificant point in a school of thousands. The pregnant belly of a schoolbag shoved me sideways, and I instinctively curled in to protect my own stomach. I caught myself wishing that this hadn't ever happened to me, and I mentally backpedaled. One thing I would make sure of, is that my child would never, not for one second, face the icy dagger of being unloved by a parent. I already knew how cruel that pain was, I couldn't ever inflict that on another.
"Hey Q, are you alright?" Santana let the bitchy mask concealing her face slip, giving me a glimpse of the friend whom I had needed for so long. It was hardly a flash, an infinitesimal relaxing of crimson-red lips, the gentle sloping of harshly preened eyebrows, the softness reflected in glassy brown orbs like the brilliant slash of headlights in the side mirror of a car. Yet it was such a display that it nearly brought me to my knees in relief. It was one of the only times that day, besides my earlier altercation with Rachel, where someone fixed me with a look that wasn't full of acid, or disgust, or even just an empty canvas to reflect back all my own failures.
"No, not really S. I'll talk to you later though, I've gotta go." I whispered, the words barely skimming the growing lump of tears in my throat. She gave me the smallest of nods and a fleeting butterfly-wingbeat of a touch on the forearm, before she was gone. Somehow Santana slipped back into her costume, contorted her copper-penny face into a scowl, and returned to her place on the status quo. Why couldn't I do that? I swore I could feel my heartbeat throbbing in my ears as I laid my palms flat against the cool metal of Coach Sylvester's door, careful not to make a noise or a move to enter. After all, no one entered her office, let alone a student, without an invitation in.
"Stretch Marks, come in." a resigned, grating voice sounded from within. Sue was sitting behind her desk, the size and imposing nature of which could count as a small country, polishing one of her many, many trophies. I swept my gaze over all the golden figures, frozen in the splits, or with pom-poms raised to the air, all these faceless people were frozen in the best moments of their life. Then here I was, encapsulated in the sticky amber of my mistakes, perhaps a future museum specimen which lab coat-wearers would cluster about, poke and prod at the time frozen solid, and speculate as to where my downfall originated.
"Now, are you aware as to why you are here, or will I have to pry it out of you, because I have laps that need running, and I'm not above torturing a pregnant woman." She didn't even look at me, as if laying eyes on me would make her realize that she didn't need to torture me for me to feel pain.
"I apologize, Coach Sylvester, for using the Cheerios locker room to shower." I admitted, actually mustering up enough energy to stare right at her. For such an intimidating woman, she really wasn't much to look at, just a skinny, bony skeletal figure with a hooked nose, birdsnest of blond-ish hair, and an armada of hollow achievements. My words unlocked her from her trance, and she lowered her slim reading glasses before pinning me with her gaze.
"You defiled that locker room! My Cheerios are like champion racehorses, they demand the best treatment, and impeccable housing. No one allows the plucky, fat pony who got herself knocked up to live in a stall next to champion thoroughbreds. Frankly Q, I'm disappointed in you. I used to see you as the spitting image of a younger Sue Sylvester; it was like looking in a mirror and seeing myself. Now that view is obscured with all your bloating and maternity clothes." She paused for a moment, always a stickler for the dramatic.
"But Coach Sylvester please-"
"Listen. If you are caught in that locker room once more, I'm going to have you running suicides until it induces labor. Now get out of my sight, your mere presence is giving me morning sickness." Instead of objecting, or mentioning to her that it was the afternoon, I hung my head like a scolded puppy and left. Without Santana at my side, the hallways were once again a hunting ground for outcasts, like me. By the grace of whichever deity has been taking pleasure in busting my ass recently, I managed to make it to my locker without being noticed, and then to the empty auditorium. I had a few minutes to kill before Glee club, and Mr. Schue always went on about song being a way to express feelings that were bugging us. It may sound totally lame, not that anything could make me any lamer at this point, but it worked. Something about the darkness and the shadows in the auditorium, the stage only dimly lit by a spotlight or two which always seemed to be left on, it all felt so calming. The grey dusty dusk was like that favorite pair of jeans everyone owned, the ones worn so many time that they were softer than the cheek of a rose petal, and more forgiving than an old friend. A few lone dust motes spiraled lazily about in the lone beams of light, sparkling like forgotten diamonds before returning to the pesky dirt everyone thought they were. My shoes barely skimmed the first steps up to the stage before the lyrics bubbled up to my lips, words flying out in a smooth flight like newly-freed birds, a flock of doves taking wing.
Dark, you can't come soon enough for me,
Safe, from one more day of misery.
Everything I love, get back to me now,
Everyone I love, I need you now.
The melody spilled across the auditorium of empty seats, a cruel metaphor for what was really going on. I had so much angst, tied like lead balloons to so many feelings, all dragging me down. And whenever I need to lighten that load upon my chest, whenever I need to talk, I look around and find no one, I look around and find that I'm standing alone.
Don't forget a million miles for me,
Safe and another day can pass by me.
Everything I love, get back to me now,
Everyone I love, I need you now.
I was pleading at this point, as if my mom, or my dad, or Sue, or Finn, or anyone else whom I've apparently wronged or disappointed, would suddenly materialize in the rectangle of light where the stage door lay. If only they could see me now.
So what, I lied, I lied to me too.
So what, I lied, I lied to me too.
Hold, out for the ones you know will love you,
Hide, out from the ones you know will love you, you, you.
My throat stung with the force that I was singing, but I didn't care who heard. It was almost as if the words themselves were in denial of their existence, and dug their little talons into my throat as I tried to admit them.
Right, to the edge and barely there,
Slow, to make my move I'm almost there.
Everything I say, I say to me first,
Everyone I do, I do to me first.
I was well aware that I was crying, as heavy, leaden tears pooled in my eyes before falling, traversing my cheeks and clinging to my jaw before staining the neck of the dress. The sticky, saltiness they left in their wake made my skin tingle and burn while my insides felt freezing cold. My skin suddenly began feeling too itchy and tight, too perfect to cover the mess within. Tear tracks became fault lines where Quinn Fabray began to cleave in two.
So what, I lied, I lied to me too,
So what, I lied, I lied to me too.
Hold out for the ones you know will love you,
Hide out from the ones you know will love you, you, you.
The last line of the song came out as a whisper, the lump of lies in my throat had become so large that it was almost impossible to speak. As my feelings rushed out like some tidal wave, a mass exodus of shame, it carried with it all the "I'm okay's" and the "I'm fine's" until they lodged in my heart.
Dark, you can't come soon enough for me.
"You've always struck me as someone who liked more mainstream pop." A soft voice floated up from the audience, and I noticed a pair of chocolate eyes, gleaming with emotion, standing in the very back.
"There's a lot you don't know about me Berry." I muttered darkly as I tried to hide my tears. Of course, those were about as easily hidden as bloodstained hands; I was caught, guilty, guilty of breaking down. I was kneeling on the stage, hoping that my hair would hide my face well enough, and that Rachel wouldn't bother trying too hard.
"Quinn, are you alright?" she asked. There wasn't any doubt of that, but you could tell that she said it only because she had nothing else to try. I suddenly felt a pair of soft, warm, not-at-all-manly hands on my shoulders, steadying them against sobs I didn't even know were hitting me, and I panicked. I lunged forward in an effort to run away, but Rachel, surprisingly strong for her size, held me back gently.
"Hey, you don't need to run away. I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're afraid of. Just relax, I'm here, I've got you." she soothed, kneeling behind me as she continued to rub my back and shoulders comfortingly, waiting until I finally gave up and went boneless. Angry, harsh sobs ripped from my chest, tearing my heart out over and over again in some sick, Promethean punishment as I continued to crack into pieces. Yet she anchored me, holding me up, stopping me from falling to the floor in defeat, her little body covering mine protectively. The auditorium, which had earlier been decorated with the delicate sound of my voice, was now splattered with the cruel sounds of my anguish like some grotesque crime scene. My entire frame shuddered and shook, yet Rachel's delicate touch quelled the storm, soothed the emotions which were now betraying me. She was all around me, her voice whispering soothing sounds that may have been words into my ear, her gentle hands stroking my hair and holding my shoulders, stopping me from tearing in two, even her scent, the lightest, most natural vanilla perfume along with something I couldn't quite identify, some mystery. Suddenly it was even harder to stay calm, but for different reasons. The pink flush upon my skin and the fluttering in my chest which seemed so innocent and happy until I realized what they meant, and why they were happening. I jumped out of Rachel's arms instantly, staring at her with a still-pounding heart and trying to ignore her dismayed, hurt expression.
"I'm sorry, I-I I can't Rachel-" I stuttered inarticulately, suddenly losing my grasp on the English language while I was around her too. My mouth finally clamped itself shut as I averted my gaze from her face, trying to hide the blush that was tangibly creeping up my neck.
"Quinn, it's okay. Calm down, okay?" she soothed. I closed my eyes momentarily, losing myself in the calming melody of her voice. Whether she was belting out show tunes, or even doing her irritating-yet-endearing rambling thing she does, it always sounds beautiful.
"I'm sorry-thank you." I blurted out, slowly backing away once more. The situation had all of a sudden gotten too heavy for me to face, and I could no longer look at Rachel and see anything but the girl I tormented for years, the girl I thought I despised for so long, the girl whom I had all these confusing feelings for now. I was such a failure, running again. I always run away. Maybe that's how I ended up in this position.
"Quinn wait!" she called after me from her position upon the stage, her home-away-from-home.
"That song. It was beautiful." She shyly admitted, a rosy kiss of a blush ghosting upon her cheeks. I gave her a tense smile in return, before bolting out of the auditorium. That little compliment lit the smallest spark within me, creating a light so small it was probably an illusion. But that little light, that little presence of hope in my life, was still grossly overmatched by the black sadness which surrounded it like a giant beast with a yawning, wide black hole of a mouth. With that light there, it made the darkness seem even larger, even more intimidating. Suddenly, like that dying little light, I was alone as well, alone and living within the constraints of my darkness.
A/N the song in this chapter is Dark Come Soon by my favorite band of all time, Tegan and Sara! Please review, let me know what you think!