let me break it down 'til i force the issue,
you never come around and you know we miss you.
well nobody took your pride away,
i said, "that's something people say."
back down the bully to the back of the bus,
'cause it's time for them to be scared of us.
'til you're yelling, "how we living?" cause you got the ball,
then you rock on baby, rock on, you rock on, on and on.
"I thought you were smarter than this, Quinn." Matthew's voice was older, roughened up by experiences Quinn didn't want to know about.
His hands on her body were like ice, making her shiver away, trying to escape him. There was no where, though. There was Quinn's small flat on-campus - a studio, and the only other room in that space was her bathroom.
A hand under her armpit pulled her roughly to her feet, her computer chair falling backwards with the violence of the movement. Quinn whimpered, mind racing as she tried to formulate a plan - think. Figure something out.
–––
"Think, Rachel." Quinn said, holding the card up to her chest, a small smile on her face.
Rachel huffed, staring down at the drawing on the page. Across from them Brittany and Santana were doing the same thing. "Figure it out." Quinn prompted, eyes straying to Brittany's drawing. Her drawing was surprisingly good, though it was ringed with a border of love hearts that got quite distracting.
Rachel bit her lip, humming a tune to herself - something Quinn recognised from a musical they'd seen together a couple of times together. As she recalled, Rachel had owned the VCR until she watched it to the point that it broke. She had the DVD, of course - remastered in high definition, Rachel couldn't resist something like that.
–––
Matthew's breath was hot on the back of her neck, but not as warm as the tears sliding down her cheeks. "You're so pretty when you cry." He sung in her ear, biting her neck and squeezing her hip in one hand. "Don't worry about talking. I'll find a better use for that mouth of yours." He snarls, and the hand on her hip grips tight. She can feel his nails through the thin fabric of her shirt, leaving crescent-shaped marks on her pale flesh.
It's a split second decision because Quinn is done being helpless, done simply letting this happen.
Rachel has fixed her in the same way someone glues a vase back together - it will never be perfect as it was, but somehow those flaws add to its strength. And she's not going to let him shatter her again.
Quinn elbows Matthew in his stomach and runs.
–––
The ground rises up to meet her, an endless plane of green, and all Quinn can do is squeal and raise her arms to protect her face. Within seconds of her landing - a bit rough, though the ground is spongy enough to prevent any damage - there's a heavy weight settled on her back.
Quinn rolls over under Rachel, who spreads her calves either sides of Quinn's body, grinning down at her. "Tag." Rachel says, tapping Quinn on the nose with her finger. "You're it." And she leans over to kiss Quinn - first on the nose, where she had tagged her, and then on each corner of her mouth before sitting up again.
"Now you're it." Quinn replies, gripping Rachel's hips and throwing her body weight into knocking the girl off of her. Rachel cries out, flailing her arms in an attempt to regain her balance, but Quinn is already pushing her down against the ground.
Rachel is a giggling mess as Quinn presses her mouth down on hers, snatching the laughter away along with her breath.
–––
The door is bolted shut and Matthew stands between Quinn and that freedom, but her bathroom is behind her. She darts into the tiny, tiled space. Rachel's favourite shampoo and conditioner sit on a shelf in the shower (Quinn can't live without the smell), perfectly ordinary as Quinn slams the door shut and struggles to turn the lock.
It clicks into place just as Matthew slams his body against the door. "You fucking slut." He curses through the door. College dorms are known for having thin walls, and Matthew's voice is just low enough that no one else will hear it.
Outside Matthew curses her with the most colourful language Quinn has ever heard as she struggles to find a way out. Her breathing is frantic, and she gags and coughs over rushed inhales. The window in the bathroom looks out over the campus, and Quinn could fit through it, she could, it's just a shame it's five stories up.
But it's all she's got. Her phone is on the desk outside - as she thinks this, she hears it chime. God damn it - why couldn't she be like any other teenager, phone a permanent attachment to her person?
Quinn sobs as she claws at the screen over her bathroom window, the door cracking as a sudden force impacts with it. The sound draws a startled cry from her, and her whole body shudders in fear.
Again and again her fingers dig at the metal screen, trying desperately to break through and get someone - anyone's - attention and again the door buckles inwards.
–––
"We can't break it." Rachel says in a desperate, quiet whisper, prodding her key again and again into the lock - but it won't twist, won't open.
Quinn laughs quietly. "What made you think they'd not change the locks?" Her back is against the wall of McKinley's auditorium as Rachel tries to sneak them in. During her time in Glee, Rachel had talked Mr Schue into giving her keys to the building so she could practice whenever she wanted to. The key only let her into the auditorium and the choir room, and apparently the sports shed, but Rachel had never much cared for that. It was harmless to let her keep it, really, but they generally changed the locks every year.
Just in case two members of the graduating class decided they wanted one more chance on that stage.
Eventually, Rachel gave in. "You're destined for bigger and better stages anyway." Quinn assured her, lips close to her ear.
–––
Quinn screams as loud as she can because it's no use - her fingers are starting to bleed and the lock on the door suddenly breaks.
It doesn't take Matthew long to grab her again - one hand fisted in her hair, the other shoving something into her mouth. Quinn tries to scream but the fabric is dry in her throat and she can't breathe around it. It's her body acting on instinct, telling her to strike out, to kick and scream and flail but she can't. Matthew has he pressed up against the window, the metal grating digging into her cheek, and she watches the people below.
There's a couple cuddling on a picnic blanket in the shade of a tree. A group of friends chatting with coffee. A half-dozen cheerleaders working on a pyramid. People walking to and from class.
And then there's Quinn, five stories up, choking on a gag as her hair is pulled back sharply.
"Don't fucking try it." Matthew says, his other hand sliding beneath the waistband of her yoga pants.
Quinn whimpers, still breathing heavily through her nose, trying to stop herself from gagging against what she has now identified as a shirt in her mouth. Matthew's shirt, the arms tied around the back of her head and keeping it in place.
His hands burn now, burn against her bare skin wherever they go, lifting up her shirt and stroking her stomach in a tender fashion. Quinn shakes, hands still weakly pressed against the screen on the window, tears blurring the image of people walking around below her.
People who could save her.
Matthew breathes in deep at the base of her neck, inhaling her scent with a satisfied hum as his hands roam higher, higher. They reach the underwire of her bra and slide underneath when a knock comes at the door.
Quinn's legs buckled but Matthew's body holds her up. "Not a fucking word." He says slowly in her ear.
"Q? Open up, baby mumma."
Puck.
They're parting, now. Quinn stands by Puck's car, parked in the residential lot at NYADA. Rachel's moved all her things into her room - with Puck's assistance for the heavy boxes (and being Rachel, most boxes are heavy). Quinn is there for moral and interior design support reasons - aside from the obvious romantic attachment.
They've embraced plenty of times, but Rachel pulls her in again. They kiss - it's chaste. Even though it's Puck they stand before, Rachel has a thing about public affection. She's not the sort to shove her tongue down Quinn's throat - not normally, at least. There have been times, but this is not one of them.
"Shine on, little star." Puck says, ruffling Rachel's hair when they part. The brunette turns and clings to him - Puck had been so good to them in their last year of school. He'd helped more than Quinn is willing to admit. Her stomach still churns with the thought of what he did to Matthew, but it was all for the best.
She's here and she's now, and everything that happened to bring her to that point is good - in one way or another.
"I will." Rachel steps back, beaming though her eyes are bright with tears. "Take care of her for me."
"Swear on my life." Puck says with such confidence that Quinn couldn't deny the absolute truth of his statement.
–––
Quinn laughed around the gag in her mouth, forehead tipping forward until it hit the grating over the window. Puck, her guardian angel with a mohawk. He'd always looked out for her in a weird way, but ever since Matthew he'd been like the protective older brother she'd never had. Anyone so much as look at her the wrong way in the hall and they'd find themselves facing Puck.
Right now, he was knocking on her door. "Come on. Open the door." He repeated.
Matthew leaned in close to her ear, and Quinn clamped down on a pitiful scream that had been formed. It wasn't worth it. Don't bring Puck into it too.
No matter what he said, Quinn wouldn't get Puck hurt.
And she says it to herself, over and over, so much so that she's almost convinced.
But it still hurts when she hears the knocking cease - hears him give up and leave.
"Where were we?" Matthew purrs, low in her ear, pulling hard on her nipple and drawing a terrified wail from Quinn.
Her cheek is still pressed hard against the grating, and she focuses on the people on the grass instead of Matthew's hands. She wonders what they're doing - the couple, are they discussing their future? Wedding, maybe? Rachel had mentioned she'd like an autumn wedding, loves the colours of it, and of course she's going to sing there, too.
Or are they breaking up? Or is he hurting her somehow, like Matthew did? Is she hurting him the way Matthew hurt her? Anything is possible.
You shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Never believe what it shows on the outside.
Puck doesn't believe what's shown on the outside.
At that moment, a memory strikes her: Quinn giving Puck her spare key.
–––
Finding work was hard, but Quinn got a place - a children's boutique with surprisingly good wages. Her first investment was a thin gold chain, with three charms: a star, a key, and a ring.
A star for Rachel, her star, something to remind her forever how perfect she is - how high she's going to go, how far. The key is to Quinn's heart, something she entrusts only to Rachel. And the ring - an unspoken promise for the future.
"One day." Quinn says to herself as she mails the small, felt box off to her girlfriend - so close and yet so, so far.
–––
"Put her down." Puck growls, and Quinn shakes harder - with relief, now.
"Fuck off." Matthew growls, and his arm is back around Quinn's throat. Tight. She can barely breathe around his shirt - stale, smells like him, right up against her nose and makes her want to gag.
Quinn blinks, and it's like so much time has passed. Matthew can't have been with her more than twenty minutes, but there's all these moments in her life Quinn is reliving. The best are the ones with Rachel. They're the ones she'll miss the most.
… and then her ears are ringing and her eyes are open. Everything is slanted - it takes her a moment to figure it out. The bathroom floor.
She tries to breathe in but the shirt is still in her mouth, and her shaking hands fumble up to undo it, to rip it off and throw it away.
There's yelling - there's so much yelling. Something smashes - sounds like glass. God.
Quinn staggers upright, and her vision sways a little. Glancing downwards, Quinn spots her own blood on the floor - it's not much, but it's clear where she struck her head on the tiny step around the shower. "Puck?" She asks, trying not to panic too much because it's suddenly quiet. The only sound is her breathing - too fast, too frantic, she needs to slow down but she can't.
There's not as much destruction in her room as Quinn had been expecting, but that only makes her worry more. "Puck!" She cries, breathing much too fast now, almost gasping.
He's gone. Matthew is gone.
Outside there's a crowd.
Someone pokes their head in her door, and then there's a bit more yelling. They're all gathered around the safety rail bordering the edge of the hallway. Quinn's stomach twists and she fights the urge to throw up - she keeps going on shaking legs - legs she suddenly feels so unfamiliar on. They're like stilts - so stiff and unnatural and not her own, not at all.
The gathered people part. Puck is hanging over the railing. Then he spits, blood and saliva.
Quinn sinks to the floor, back against her door frame.
She's five floors up.
–––
"You can't be afraid of heights, Rachel." Quinn says, jokingly, even as Rachel clings tight to her hand.
"I'm not scared." She says, pouting. "I just... don't like it." Her foot slips and she nearly screams - Quinn hears it begin, and she clamps her hand over Rachel's mouth. Rachel's hand is cutting off all circulation to Quinn's own, but she can't bring herself to really care about that.
"Open your eyes." Quinn coaxes once they reach the flat of the gymnasium roof.
Laid out before them the graduation celebrations are continuing. The oval is lit up with glow sticks and novelty hats and people are screaming and waving huge banners and laughing and crying and hugging and kissing. It's beautiful. Lima continues in the background, notably less bright - Lima's the sort of town where everything shuts down at eight.
Not tonight, though.
It's the end, tonight, and Quinn wants to cry, but it's also a beginning.
She takes solace in that.
Rachel opens her eyes.
–––
"Quinn." Puck demands, gently slapping her cheek. "Please talk to me. You know Rach'll kill me if I break you."
Quinn's sitting down and she can't arrange her thoughts - can't arrange herself. "Did you?" She manages to ask, crying gently. It's not the full question, but the look in Puck's eyes tells her that he knows what she's asking.
"He fell." Puck says, voice hard-edged. "If I had my way you know I'd have fucking killed him with my bare hands for even thinking of fucking touching you in the first place." He snarls as he pulls Quinn into a tight hug, letting the affectionate gesture drain the violence from him.
She sags against his body. The crowds are quickly being dispersed - Quinn can hear sirens, can feel Puck's grip tighten when they get closer and closer, but he doesn't leave her.
Not for anything.
Not even for the police. Quinn knows how Puck hates them - fucking pigs he'd said to her once, under his breath of course - but he holds her hand. They ask her intrusive questions. They're ones Quinn got out of last time, but now there's no avoiding it. She's a big girl, now, and she has to do this for herself. Not hide behind Puck or Miss Pillsbury or Mr Schue or even Rachel.
She relives what she can, as if she were simply retelling a story to a friend: distanced, impersonal. It couldn't have happened to her. Friend of a friend, naturally.
In her hand her phone is off because she can't listen to it ringing over and over, calls sent to voicemail because Quinn has a duty here.
Rachel knows. Puck told her. Or Rachel told Puck to come find her, and Puck's just relayed that information back. Quinn's not sure. She has a terrible headache and her body feels cold.
It's nearly midnight when they're finally left alone.
Puck still hasn't let her go. Quinn has curled up in his lap, head against his shoulder, his arms keeping her safe. Tina had come through earlier to clean things up a little. The blood in the bathroom is gone - it wasn't needed for evidence. Everyone in the hall testified that Puck hadn't even pushed Matthew: he'd simply run the wrong way in his hurry to escape. Quinn didn't know if it was a lie or not, but it was being considered suicide by the police.
That's the best she can hope for, really.
"Got a surprise for you." Puck says gently, kissing the patch of skin just in front of her ear. There's nothing romantic about it - it's the comfort Quinn needs because Rachel isn't there. It's not good enough - never was, even when they did date - but it's the best she has right now.
"Yeah?" Quinn asks, making no effort to hide the exhaustion in her voice.
"Yeah." Puck says, pushing her up to her feet. Quinn keeps one hand bunched in his shirt - paranoia, maybe. She never did see the body.
Quinn stands there a moment, prepared to turn and ask what it is, when the door opens. Finn holds it, and Rachel slips under his arm.
"I'll be around." Puck promises, kissing the back of Quinn's head again. As he leaves, he ruffles Rachel's hair. She doesn't even pause to allow the friendly gesture, headed directly for Quinn's arms.
Puck and Finn let themselves out. The lock clicks into place. Puck's spare key.
Around Rachel's neck, Quinn spies another key.
"I love you." Quinn says, mouth quirking - her body attempting a smile, too soon.
Rachel doesn't have the words. She just clings to Quinn's body.
Quinn isn't sure which of them needs it more, but there is one thing she's sure of: she'll never tire of hugging Rachel.
–––
It's funny, the journeys we take.
They get us from a to b, from here to there, and people are always so focused on that goal.
Quinn isn't sure what her goal is. She was never even sure what her journey was. Once - a long time ago - she had thought that beauty was all that mattered. She had wanted to be beautiful, to fit in, to be loved by all.
And then she'd wanted to be loved more than anything by one person. Just one person. Quinn had simply wanted to find a human being who loved her unconditionally, one who would never leave her.
She hadn't gotten that.
What Quinn had gotten was a child and a string of exes and enemies.
She changed herself completely (again), reinvented what she was (again), and she'd thought she'd found love (again). What she got was scars and bruises - things that would remind her every morning of who she was (terrible, hideous, bitch, slut).
But, in the end, Quinn had found Rachel.
Rachel was her destination and her journey, all in one.
Love may have been the goal for a while, but not Rachel. Not love in that form. That was something Quinn had never expected. Someone to find her absolutely enchanting as they pulled glass from her back, who told her every day, through whatever means possible, that she was the most beautiful person they'd ever laid eyes on.
Rachel had put her back together after Matthew. Piece by piece, she had reassembled the being that was Quinn Fabray. But there had always been something missing.
Something she hadn't really known about until now.
Quinn did not attend Matthew's funeral. She saw the death notice in the papers, and was satisfied by that. It was weight off her back, one she'd never known was there.
As all the other bruises and cuts had healed, so did the cut on her head - the bruises around her neck.
All that remained of Matthew now was the burn on her shoulder.
That was the last part of her body that was tainted. Rachel had done all she could to fix Quinn, but there were some things only Quinn could do for herself.
–––
Quinn breathed in and out slowly, her eyes trained on her lap.
This was it.
"Almost there."
She bit her lip as the pain started again, buzzing loud in her ear.
And then it was over.
"Take a look."
Quinn stood up, shakily, approaching the wall-mounted mirror. She turned, looking over her shoulder at where the cigarette burn used to be. Now there was a small gold star, tattooed over that mark.
And suddenly - finally - Quinn Fabray could be.
–––
author's notes: hasn't this been a journey, then? thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! i hope you guys liked this. stay tuned for updates to other fics, and - if you guys want it - a more adult one-shot in this verse. ;D