A/N: Here's part two. I didn't really think I'd have it up tonight, but... oh well. Here it is. Probably should've waited to upload it but, again, oh well. Bit scattered, purposefully. Be careful, this is the part with the deadly things, and remember, hugs. Not my best, not my worst. Review please? I need attention or I start serial hugging. It can get pretty bad. Straight girls suddenly turn into lesbians from my hugs. Men suddenly feel an urge to let me have all their women. Anyways, reviews please.
The first time I kissed her, it was entirely on accident. It was. We were practicing after school, after Glee, she was on the piano and she looked so cute, I just couldn't help myself. It wasn't on the lips, it was on the cheek.
I've always wanted to do that, for some reason. Kiss her, somewhere. And touch her, everywhere. Worship her body. Me, Quinn, wanting her, Rachel, the loser, the one that annoys even Glee club. Granted, everyone in Glee still likes her, somewhat, when she isn't being overly Rachel.
But I've always thought that Rachel being Rachel is adorable and even if she was a bit of a handful, I never wanted her to change.
We used to be friends, once upon a time, when we were young; I rescued her from bullies and she reminded me that I was nice. When we got older, we drifted apart. I became popular.
But I always wanted to touch her. That stayed the same, no matter how much we changed. And when she decided that she was going to get married to Finn, my heart didn't just break, it shattered into a billion pieces. And I tried one last, desperate, time, I tried everything except talking to her, because I'm Quinn Fabray, and I'm so stupid.
Click. I take a deep breath. I'm remembering her, or trying to remember her. It's all scattered. That's what she did to me, she scattered me.
I remember when Karofsky tried to kill himself. I was shaken so badly, more than I showed to anyone. Rachel saw, because Rachel sees everything about me, except what I needed her to.
I know Mr. Schuester had the best of intentions when he told his story, but… honestly? He wanted to kill himself because of something stupid. I'd been thinking about what I'm currently doing for a long time, ever since I gave up Beth. There was a single question that was stuck in my head ever since that very second—what kind of human am I? To just give away my daughter like that, no matter how much I told myself that it was the right thing to do: I couldn't support a baby, even with Puck's help, even with the help of so many others, and I didn't want to raise a baby.
That was the thing that bothered me the most: I didn't want Beth. After hearing so much about how a mother gets so attached to a child…
Am I even human? ran through my head at one point.
The answer to that was Yes, of course you are, but I don't think I believed it. Not until I saw her again, and I knew that I loved her, that I didn't love anything but her. Except for infuriating Rachel Berry.
The first attempt to get Rachel Berry to not marry Finn (and perhaps marry Quinn instead) did not succeed. Neither did the next few attempts.
Click.
Second try, a failure. Just like the rest of everything I've ever done. From the outside, my life looks perfect; only I know it for what it is, a series of increasingly dramatic failures with a spectacular climax and a quiet ending, now. There were some good parts. I don't regret Beth, at all. She's beautiful, the only beautiful thing I've ever made.
The second time I kissed Rachel, we were both blackout drunk. Well, she was. I was entirely sober, too scared to drink. Too scared to potentially do something to reveal my gay side. When she stumbled over, innocently asking if I wanted to go to visit a bedroom with her, how was I to resist? Kissing was all the farther it got, though, because the feel of her lips on mine nearly made my heart stop.
Kurt and Blaine were the first people I told. About being gay, not about drunk-kissing Rachel at a party. They were so polite and understanding and kind, and they promised not to tell anyone when I asked that favor.
Kurt, so sweet, he wanted to talk to me about it, and my feelings, and the mysterious girl I liked who didn't like me back. It should have been obvious; it was obvious to Blaine, and Blaine knew; I could see it. But he didn't tell, because I didn't, and he's such a good friend. I'm sorry to be doing this to him, but hopefully he can understand, just like he understood before. Maybe this time he can explain it to his boyfriend.
Santana and Brittany were the second. They were ecstatic; Brittany asked if I could join them in bed, and Santana gently explained that it was time for the two of them, and Brittany just pouted. I understood, though; she wanted us to be together all the time, even in sex. The idea did intrigue me, a little, but they were too close to siblings for my taste. And I was in love with Rachel Berry.
I told Santana that, since I knew she could keep it a secret. She just nodded and said, "Get her, then."
That turned out to be terrible advice.
Click.
Sigh.
There goes my last chance. My last chance at happiness in darkness.
I can still remember the shocked look on Rachel's face as she stared up at me in the middle of a crowded hallway, suddenly silent and staring as well. Words failed me after I kissed her with all the passion in my soul, and so I tried to convey the depth of my love with my eyes and my wanting expression but she just said, "How could you?"
That hurt. I didn't know what she meant, at first, but that was okay. She elaborated for me, with a knife through my veins.
"I mean, I know you don't like the idea of me getting married in high school, but… this? Quinn, how could you even think of doing something like this? I have two fathers, and I have four very close homosexual friends, and using this… that is just cruel, Quinn Fabray! You are…" And she'd shaken her head and walked off, calling backwards, "Until you apologize, you are uninvited."
That hurt the most. She didn't believe that I loved her; she just thought I was trying to stop the marriage. I was. So she'd walk down the aisle towards me, someday.
I put the gun away and walk downstairs, waiting calmly until my mother comes home. I don't ask her to leave, but I tell her about the gun; I ask her not to say anything and she hugs me hard, and I hug her harder. I'm broken. Maybe I can be fixed, part-way. I couldn't ever be whole without Rachel, but maybe I can get to a place where I can live.
I don't ask to leave yet; I don't do that until the crash.