How I got to the hospital I don't know. I think at some point my dad took over the phone and got all the information we needed from the helpful man at the crash site. But I'm here now, that's all that counts. Looking at what's left of Quinn Fabray. No! I can't even think that way! She'll be fine again, she simply has to. It cannot end this way, smashed by a car because she agreed to attend my wedding and tried to respond to my stupid texts sent in a stupid panic about absolutely nothing. I did this. I'm responsible that she's lying in this bleak room, with a tube in her nose pumping oxygen into her lungs, IV lines running on maximum to replace the blood she lost in the accident and during the operation. Her face is all bruised and swollen from the impact of the air bag, but I know that is hardly the worst of it. Her face will heal – if the rest does. If … I can't even think about it. Please Quinn, don't die. Don't.
It's too early to tell, the doctors say. Smashed bones, head injuries, internal bleeding. Any of those could cause more trouble down the line. For the moment, they have her breathing. That probably counts as a good sign. Her face, though. I know it's far from the worst of it, but it's so symbolic. Her beautiful, angelic face – the face of a girl who went through the ringer and came out a successful woman ready to enter Yale – is a broken ruin now. Bandages all around her head, over the nose and one eye. The other one looks black with bruising. A salve covers what is visible of her skin, to help heal all the little cuts. I broke the one thing that was truly beautiful in my life, and now all I can do is sit by and hope that the doctors will be able to make her OK again.
Please, God, make her OK again. I won't ever ask for anything else again. Not NYADA, not nationals, certainly not Finn. Oh my god, wanting him is what ruined everything in the first place. I won't even ask for Quinn's forgiveness. In fact, please make her yell at me for doing this to her, please make her hate me for it as long as I live.
The door creaks open, Mrs. Fabray is back from her coffee break. Even dragging around a whole wedding party – it makes me sick to think of that now – we arrived at the hospital before her, while they were still operating. I was so glad to see her, to know that finally someone would be told what was happening. I suppose I owe her for passing on that information. She didn't have to, after all I'm the one who put her daughter in that ICU bed. But Judy Fabray has been nothing but kind to me. Even now she's kind, putting her hand on my shoulder and telling me to go home. "There won't be much change anytime soon, the doctors say. I know you need to talk to her, but I promise to call you as soon as she wakes up." It's a kind promise, and it puts tears in my eyes again, but it's not enough. I don't know why, but I need to sit beside Quinn, I need to watch her broken face and monitor her every breath. "Please, Mrs. Fabray …" That look in her eyes! I recognize that. She looks exactly like I feel. Like we both broke along with Quinn. Of course she would have, she's her mother. Me, on the other hand … "Mrs. Fabray, I know it's not my place, but would you allow me to come by again tomorrow?" That kind look again. "Go get some sleep, Rachel, and tomorrow, you can bring me my first coffee as soon as you come up here."