I did not expect that much enthusiasm when I posted this last night! Thanks to those who reviewed, and I won't be opposed to more :)
The 'meeting' that Quinn means to go to is scheduled at three o'clock in some secluded café where the owner is barely managing to scrape up enough cash for the sky-high price of rent. Quinn likes secluded cafés for the reason that they are secluded. No such thing as Wi-Fi, yes, but that is a minor discomfort compared to the silence of a public place brings.
A bell announces her presence, and the man behind the counter looks up with a small scowl that looks permanent. Quinn asks for a tall cup of the only coffee they offer and possibly a biscuit but that is it. She is struggling enough already. She can't afford these luxuries.
She settles herself in a corner, only to be seen if you are truly looking. She believes that the best things in life are the ones that you don't have to look for, which is why she hides. A self-depreciating philosophy, but she finds it as the absolute truth.
She has other truths too, but she doesn't like announcing it like the six o'clock breaking news.
The counter man places the coffee and biscuit before Quinn and she smiles her thanks before paying. Quinn takes out her notebook, the one she manhandled as she watched 'Rachel' sing, and sets it on the table. Here, in public, she edits. She allows outside influences, the noise of the universe, lead her to the easy, free-falling path of prose and words that solidifies existences with the permanent tattoo of a pen on paper.
She speeds past the first two pages, reliving the moment of 'Rachel's' voice filling the walls of the theatre. Quinn feels herself shiver, until a hand drapes itself around her shoulders.
"Sam!" The bleach blond grins and takes the seat beside Quinn with his own coffee in hand. "How are you, my illegitimate half-brother?"
The illegitimate half-brother rolls his eyes and kisses Quinn on the forehead. The two of them share Russell Fabray's genes, which Quinn admits, does them well on the appearances department, and possibly the musical department. Their shared father may not be the best man, but he sure does have great genes.
"We're getting there," Sam responds, and by 'we', he means his band, the Hot Chelle Rae. "We landed another gig for next week! How about you, my illicit half-sister? How are you faring?"
Quinn shrugs. If there is anything that she hates, it is talking about her career, which might as well be non-existent. "It is what it is, Samuel."
"Code for 'I don't want to talk', got it." Sam smirks and drinks the rest of his drink. "You are watching my band though, right?"
"Other than the incredibly pop-y tunes and almost unnecessary back-up vocals, yes I will watch." Quinn replies. "But only if you get me free tickets."
"Free loader." Sam mumbles, kicking Quinn from below the table.
"Fake blond."
"Irrelevant!" He accuses with a pout. "How are you dealing without Kim?"
Quinn freezes mid-sip and her eyes narrow to leer at her half-brother. "What are you talking about?"
Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Look Quinn, I'm pretty but I'm not dumb. I can tell from your phone voice that you guys broke up. And have you seen yourself lately? You look like a llama chewed you up and spat you back out."
Quinn grips her mug tightly. Another thing she hates to talk about: past relationships. "I don't want to talk about it."
"But you have to!" Sam whines, playing off the magnetism that comes from his thick lips, making them protrude like a hooked salmon, pink and fleshy. "I tell you about my relationship problems, why won't you tell me yours?"
"I don't even ask about your problems!" Quinn banters, frustration increasing by mile a minute. She was never a patient person, Sam knows this. "Sam, I'm not ready to talk about it, okay? I can write about it, but I can't talk about it. I-it's too raw… I can still hear her breakup speech in my head."
"Can I read what you wrote then?" Sam quips with a broad grin. "That way you don't have to talk!"
Quinn gawks at her half-brother. "Sam! That's private!"
Sam rolls his eyes. "This is why you will never get published. Everything is too private for you! Watch, you'll end up not publishing a thing by the time you're fifty because everything is too private, too revealing-!"
Quinn shoots up from her seat, and without even bothering to look back, she departs.
The temperature drop is steady as Quinn walks to her current place of employment, which is a used bookstore sandwiched in between a record store and a tattoo parlour. The smell of drying ink is in the air when Quinn walks in and notices Mike dancing along to the record that is playing, as he arranges the Young Adult section alphabetically.
"Hey Mike," Quinn greets him with a smile. She dumps her purse behind the counter and wears the apron that emblazons her name with golden thread.
"Oh, what's up lady?" Mike beams, flailing his arms about. "I know you love your job, but I think being thirty six hours too early for your shift is a bit excessive. And Pierre doesn't pay us extra."
"I know." Quinn shrugs, taking out a book from the shelf and she sits down to read. "I just need to get away from Sam."
"He's here?" Mike chuckles as he dusts along the selves while he moonwalks. "How's his internet fame coming along?"
"From my ten minute conversation with him, I say it's just making his lips extra fat." Quinn mutters.
"Wow, someone's a bitter lady." Mike chuckles. "Tell me what's wrong?"
As Quinn vomits out her frustrations to Mike through speech, she can't help but feel the melodic pang that echoes against the restrictions of her chest. Memories from three weeks ago lasts for three years for Quinn, and something as deliriously painful as this might last her the lifetime. She remembers Kim, her first ex-girlfriend, the one that hollowed out the space in her heart that used to be filled with something, what that was, Quinn does not remember.
"You know what will cheer you up?" Mike asks as soon as Quinn finishes emptying out her head.
"A locked apartment, scented candles, my typewriter, and some alcohol?"
"You're close with the alcohol part, but not so much for the other three." The Asian man grins, slinging his arm around Quinn's frail shoulder. "You and I will make a trip to our favourite bar slash entertainment establishment, get drunk and watch some singer who wants to be discovered by a sad hoot of a producer. What do you say?"
"I say, prepare for some alcohol poisoning." Quinn grins, feeling content—hollow, but content—for the first time since that day three weeks ago.
Mike shoos Quinn away so she could get ready for the night ahead of them. She rolls her eyes as the glass door slams shut but instead of heading back to her apartment, she enters the record store. There are a handful of people browsing through the record bin, so she makes her way to the songbooks instead.
She notices the Adele songbook, so she reaches for it. A hand darts out towards the same direction, and as soon as Quinn's fingers graze against the cover, it is yanked out from her grasp. Quinn turns around to see who just hand-blocked her.
"You know, one would start to think that you're stalking me."
It is 'Rachel'.
"Ack." Quinn mutters. "Is this fate or what?"
"I'd like to think so." 'Rachel' beams up at her as she rocks on the balls of her feet. "So, you were going to look at this?" She flips through the songbook and stops at a certain song. "How about we take it for a spin?"
"You're mad," Quinn sing-songs.
"Yes, but all the best people are." 'Rachel' says, tugging Quinn's arm and leading her towards the small piano in the corner of the store. She sits down, pulling Quinn down with her.
"So, I don't really know how to play the piano. Can I assume that you are capable?" 'Rachel' asks with an innocent smile. Quinn rolls her eyes but poises her hands on top of the ivory keys of the upright. From the corner of her eyes, she notices the way 'Rachel' lights up as she positions herself.
I've made up my mind
Don't need to think it over
If I'm wrong, I am right
Don't need to look no further
This ain't lust
I know this is love
'Rachel' isn't using her powerful voice from when Quinn first heard her. Rather, the way the song spills from her lips is comparable to the warmth of a hug, the cool breeze during the hottest summer day. In contrast to the light melody coming from the piano, 'Rachel's' soft crooning is divine.
Should I give up
Or should I just keep on chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?
Or would it be a waste
Even if I knew my place
Should I leave it there?
Should I give up
Or should I just keep on chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?
Quinn is watching 'Rachel' now, her fingers moving on their own accord. 'Rachel' looks right back at her and smiles. Quinn berates herself about the rapid fluttering in her stomach, leading her to question if she ate living hawks for breakfast.
Should I give up
Or should I just keep on chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?
The last tone rings out and Quinn is blushing. 'Rachel' is slightly breathless, her chest rising and falling, mesmerizing Quinn with every move the brunette's muscle makes. The blonde makes the drastic mistake of looking into the subterranean pools of brown before falling in.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Quinn bolts up from her seat and does what she does best.
She runs.
Ack! Quinn! No!