Same day, part II. Light on the dialogue/interaction, but the next chapter will have plenty of both. Quinn is still sinking, flailing about.
Depression is an ugly thing.
In regards to the previous chapter: Quinn didn't hurt herself. She wrapped her arm in a brace due to the abuse she sustained from her father. So, no self-mutilation. Sorry for the confusion.
Anyway.
Thank you for your reviews. I hope you enjoy this next segment, even if it is light on action.
Why do we have to feel? Quinn wondered.
She sat in the back of the room at the new directions meeting, arms crossed- gently so as to not aggravate her injury. Her eyes stared unseeingly ahead of her, lost. Physical pain she could deal with. Quinn had been dealing with it for years now, in Cheerios practice and at home. Just one more cross to bear, she thought, not without a hint of irony. But it would be so much easier to bear without emotional attachment.
Russell, after all, would have no need to lash out at her, if he were not so angry.
Judy would not have to hold such guilt in her eyes as she turned from her daughter, crumpled against the floor after a particularly hard blow, washing the memory away- and many others -with countless martinis.
Quinn would not have to experience an overwhelming sense of shame as she slipped yet another article of modest clothing over her bruised flesh... And slipped excuse after excuse past her numb lips.
Her eyes would not follow the tiny form of Rachel Berry in the halls so wistfully, maybes whirling in her skull, a painful longing in her heart.
And maybe, just maybe, Quinn would not feel so completely and totally alone as she quietly walked through her day, a mere shadow of a being; no footsteps beside her, her body absent of any kind human touch.
Slowly, her gaze drifted to Santana at the front corner of the room, seated about as far away from Quinn as she could get.
It would not have to hurt, she thought, when someone cared.
The blonde closed her eyes, remembering the Latina's expression in the bathroom. A naked pleading Quinn hadn't seen since they were kids.
"You're lying."
She had wanted to offer Santana something then. Something true. Not, surprisingly, about her father's punishments: not about the abused wrist, limp and swollen at her side. The words that had sprung to the forefront of her mind were, I'm gay.
Because Quinn wanted someone to know.
Because she was tired of being alone, without even God on her side.
Because she was sick of hiding her feelings, as if they were somehow perverted, a dark abnormality of fearful proportions.
But she couldn't do it.
Quinn knew she wasn't living an ideal life. She wore a daily reminder beneath her cardigans and long, flowing skirts. She was made aware of it in the silence that followed her wherever she went. Choking. The respect in her peers' eyes, but the lack of familiarity; that apprehensive intimidation- as if they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. No, it was not ideal.
Quinn didn't want to imagine how much worse it could get.
In the bathroom, in the silence stretched thin and airless, Santana's gaze had finally hardened. She had snarled, a dark "whatever" under her breath, and left Quinn alone, pressed against the bathroom stall, eyes burning with unshed tears.
I miss you, Quinn had thought as the door swung shut. I'm sorry.
I'm gay.
Slowly, carefully, she had pulled herself together. Blinked her stinging eyes, splashed water from the sink against her pale cheeks. She had stared at herself in the mirror till the calm returned, piece by broken piece. By the time the bell rang she was composed once more.
When she had passed Rachel in the hall on the way to her next class, head held high, her steps hadn't faltered. My cross to bear, she had thought, resolved. Mine alone.
But... Looking at the angry Latina now, remembering the hurt in those dark eyes, certainly didn't make things any easier.
So, Quinn thought. Why do we have to feel? Her arms reflexively tightened against her chest.
Because really, she didn't want to care.
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"You're off the squad."
It was quiet. The air conditioning unit hummed, but that was all. The whirring breath of the machine and Sue, flipping through some papers on her desk. She jotted something down on a pad, the pen scratching the surface faintly.
Quinn knew she ought to say something. Offer some words of protest in her defense. She was cheer captain, after all- one of the best girls on the squad. She had prided herself on that fact at one point. But as she stood before the coach's desk, all she felt was tired. Standing seemed to take all of her will power- she had nothing else.
And she felt like she had even less of that every day.
So she waited.
The older woman finally gave the blonde her full attention. She put down her pen, took off her glasses, and pinched the bridge of her nose.
She leaned forward on her desk.
"You're the captain, Q," she said. "I've let your absences slide in the past. But they've been growing more frequent. Two in the past two weeks, Q! What kind of example is that to the other girls?" Without warning she stood. "If you had a legitimate explanation- slaughtering helpless kittens, for instance -I would be inclined to give you another chance. I'm a reasonable woman." She paused, scrutinizing the girl before her. "But you don't. At least, not one you're willing to give."
Quinn remained silent. Because really, what could she say? For once Sue Sylvester was being reasonable. Quinn had dodged queries, taken the extra laps, and thrown out half-hearted excuses for every missed practice. But it was clear now that her coach didn't buy any of them.
Quinn couldn't say she was surprised.
"Until you can tell me the truth Q I can't have you on the squad. You're no good to the girls as you are now." She gestured at the blonde, indicating her outfit and continued silence, the weary gaze. "Frankly, I don't think you're being very good to yourself, either." She shook her head, disappointment evident. "I said you reminded me of a young Sue Sylvester once- it was because of your drive. You don't have it now."
She sat back in her chair. "Get the hell out of my office."
Like stone Quinn's face remained frozen. It seemed to extend to her throat for she still could not force herself to speak. Instead she turned to leave. She had reached the doorway when Sue spoke up once more.
"And Q? Make sure you have that uniform on my desk by tomorrow morning."
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Quinn didn't attend the celibacy club meeting that afternoon, opting instead to drive straight home. What was the point? Her fellow members were all having sex anyway. Quinn doubted any of them were going to go to hell for it.
Late at night she stared into her closet at the uniform she used to call her own. She thought of Sue, Santana, Brittany.
Rachel.
Closing her eyes Quinn found she didn't have the energy to pray. She didn't know what she believed in any more.
If she believed in anything at all.
The ups and downs. And the downs.
I appreciate any thoughts you have to offer.