Special thanks to everyone who has left a review for this story since the previous chapter was posted:
rizzlescalzonafic, gllover22, CR00, WiccaWoman17587, RVFlorida, rainbowbright108, w1cked, AngellaCrickett, Harley Quinn Davidson, Shananigan, and 4 Guests (including gogolax, and krampus)
Your support is greatly appreciated, along with the support of everybody who has followed this story and/or added it to their favorites.
Chapter 3: Shroud
Quinn is walking down the halls one day when a Slushee hits her in the face.
It was almost certainly an accident, judging by the look on the football player's face. She is a background object now. The time has passed where the crowd parted for her. Now she is the crowd. The faceless entity that no one thinks about. It's no wonder the boy didn't notice her; probably didn't even see her due to his particular height, similar to Finn.
There's a horrified gasp when the Slushee hits her; not from her – she doesn't make a sound – but from the crowd around her at the sight of Quinn Fabray with corn syrup dripping down her body.
It is an unspoken decree, kept even from her, but the fact is that it has been decided for her to be the most hidden, the most unnoticeable is in the ranks of the unnoticed. She cannot say why, not for certain. Perhaps there is just too much sympathy for her for them to do otherwise. Perhaps it is because she had always enforced their separation from the war she had led: always kept them out of the line of fire because of that auburn-haired girl she was so scared of becoming again, who just desperately wanted to be another invisible one. Whatever the reason, they have shielded her, in a way: shrouded her, which is all she really wants.
Now that shroud has been ripped aside, and the crowd glares at the jock who only made a simple mistake, and who looks as though he wants to crawl into a hole and die. The crowd has turned on him, because he has violated the terms of their unspoken agreement. They stayed out of the way, but now he has put one of them in the way.
They begin to insult him, clustering around and fencing in the scene of the crime. They surround him so that he may not escape the sight of his shame, and so for them to deliver the disgusted words to his face. Amongst themselves, they discuss the value of a man who would Slushee Quinn Fabray after everything she has gone through, the loud whispers drowning out the jock's stammered apologies.
Quinn stands in the full light of scrutiny now, what with the shroud gone. More and more people keep arriving, keep gasping at the sight of her. She imagines it must feel good for them to finally let out the air they had sucked in since they first saw her return to McKinley High. But the noises just keep on attracting more attention, spreading the news out further of what has happened to Quinn.
Inevitably, Puck arrives. He breaks through the walls of the crowd, takes one look at Quinn, and grabs the football player by his collar and throws him into the lockers. The boy is still trying to apologize, but Puck is not listening. It is only a moment before Puck is wailing on him, an endless barrage of fists to his head and body. Puck himself says nothing, which makes the harsh sound of the boy's body colliding against the metal over and over even more pronounced.
Quinn hears Santana's approach before she sees her: loud demands that someone tell her what is happening as she stomps down the halls. The crowd parts easily for her when she does arrive, wishing to show her the breach of protocol in all its horror. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees.
Puck tosses the beaten and bloodied form of the boy at Santana's feet, and not a second passes before Santana is screaming at the cowering, half-conscious body. Whereas Puck was silent, Santana echoes throughout the entire school. She is saying things to the boy that make the people around her recoil and look sick. She is telling him how she will ruin his life beyond all hope of repair, how she will make him wish that he was never born, and how she will do it without lifting a single finger. She will do it and she will relish every moment.
So many are there now, all with their eyes turned on to the scene: of Puck standing with bloodied knuckles, Santana screaming down at the red and blue form that bears a passing resemblance to a human being, and Quinn stained with purple.
The faculty arrive, and there is a moment of horror for them as well before they drag Puck and Santana away from the boy; the two of them go with little fuss, both finished with what they had set out to do. The faculty talk of calling an ambulance for the boy.
Puck is given a suspension right then and there, but he is not expelled. The faculty too have so much sympathy for Quinn, and they too find what has happened appalling. Puck accepts his punishment with only a nod. They tell the students to go to their classes, and then they go on their way to make sure the boy will be alright.
The crowd's din has returned to whispers. The status quo has been restored, and they are once again invisible. Now the attention is back on the people who wanted it so much in the first place. But the shroud has been lifted from around Quinn, and now there is work to be done to make sure none of the rest are exposed as well. So they stick back, and they say nothing as the teachers go their own ways.
It is just the students again. Quinn is still standing there. She has not moved besides to look at the boy as he is taken away. Puck has already been escorted off the premises, while Santana is still standing there. She is looking at Quinn. Watching her.
Quinn doesn't spare of any them a glance. She does not want to see the sympathy back on their faces. She only ducks her head and makes her way to her next class.
The crowd parts for her when she moves, and it is an almost regretful action on their part: like they wish they could take her back in, but they know that then is not the time. It is too soon, and the shroud would not cover her how she is.
She arrives in her classroom to the customary stop of discussion, but this time the sound does not stop. More gasps and stifled cries greet her, like she is on display. Isn't such an appearance as hers commonplace by now? It is not like the sight of her specifically covered in Slushee is new, either. But this time it is oh-so horrifying to them all.
There is a steady drip from her clothing, a steady trail of purple left behind as she walks over to her desk. Some people have risen from their desks – for what? To help her? Can't they see that she does not desire it? It should be obvious to them that she only wishes for the lesson to continue: she quietly sits down in her chair, pulls out her supplies, and does not spare a moment's attention to her own condition, not even as the gash on the left side of her face burns from the liquid that seeps through its stitches.
She just wants everything to move on.
They learn to quiet down eventually, just as the teacher remembers to teach. When the class is over, they all give her a wide berth as they leave. She gathers up her supplies and follows, her clothes crinkling with each movement, the Slushee now frozen into them. She knows that she should wash them out, but she instead only walks down the halls to her next class. More people gape, like they've never seen someone covered in Slushee before. She envies the school where they wouldn't have.
Her progress is stopped by the sudden appearance of Santana standing in front of her. She is wearing her Cheerios uniform, as she always is, and she is wearing her Cheerios glare with it. The glare itself does not affect Quinn, but the strangeness of the fact that Santana would choose now to use it on Quinn causes her to stop. It makes the people around them stop as well, examining this apparent confrontation. Santana Lopez, in her implacable Cheerios uniform, versus Quinn Fabray, covered in Slushee.
Santana holds Quinn's gaze, even as she turns away and makes slow, deliberate steps. She says something, a demand for something, and then there are more gasps, and Santana is standing in front of Quinn with a jumbo-sized Slushee in her hand. She is staring at Quinn, directly into her one focused eye, like she is looking for something there. There is complete silence as Santana slowly raises her other hand up and unscrews the lid of the cup, then slowly lifts it above Quinn's head.
There is muted horror all around them as Santana slowly, slowly pours the contents of the cup directly on top of Quinn's head. Quinn is staring at Santana, and Santana is staring right back with something like triumph rising up in her eyes.
Santana pours the entire cup out, then shakes it a few times for good measure, to get every last drop. Then she drops the cup on Quinn's head, where it falls off and bounces loudly against the ground.
Santana speaks, and this time Quinn listens. "You got that, everyone?" she asks loudly. "No one else touches her. She's mine." And she smirks. She smirks as the student body reacts with disgust and horror, watching her torment the one person in the school they determined to be absolutely off-limits. She smirks as she stares into Quinn's one good eye.
But then Quinn lowers her head, and Santana's smirk drops. Her confidence, her joy, it all vanishes, and fear replaces it. Fear and horror as she watches Quinn turn around and start to walk away.
Santana's face twists into grim determination, and then she is grabbing any Slushee she can find. She rips them out of the hands of the people around her, and then they are thrown on Quinn. It's a mish-mash of color, every shade sent hurtling at Quinn. There are stifled outcries, people pouring their own cups out on the ground before Santana can get to them.
And still, Quinn doesn't break stride. She doesn't look up. She just continues walking, slowly but surely advancing to her next class.
There are voices, and they tell Santana to stop. Brittany's voice, telling her to stop. But she doesn't. One person is so fed up they throw their own Slushee into Santana's face, and it doesn't even phase her. She just moves on to the next one, now covered in blue, the determination in her eyes giving away to tears that come pouring down her face, tracking lines in the Slushee that covers her.
There is no method to Santana's movements now. She is grabbing everything she can get her hands on, throwing it at Quinn, who stumbles occasionally but does not look up. Her body is an indecipherable mess of color now, every part of her soaked to the skin. The gash across her cheek is stinging, disturbed and probably bleeding, but she pays it no mind.
Santana screams and shoves Quinn to the ground. All the liquid that covers her makes her slide up into the lockers, crashing against them. She slumps down, makes no effort to move as Santana grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her. She is screaming, but her voice is so choked by tears that Quinn can't understand it.
She doesn't care to understand.
Arms pull Santana off of her; long, pale arms which reach around Santana's stomach and yank her away. It is Brittany, and she is restraining a struggling, sobbing Santana. Brittany is crying as well, but she is begging Santana to stop.
The people around them stare in absolute horror. Some are crying themselves. What do they have to cry for?
Quinn slowly rises to her feet, using the lockers as support. Santana stops her struggles and watches her. They all do.
Quinn realizes she is late for her class, and so she walks away.
Santana's sobs renew behind her, even louder than before.
The reaction is even worse this time when she enters the classroom. There are outright cries of alarm, more people jumping out of their chairs, all staring at her. She must look like a monster to them: every possible shade of Slushee pouring off her body and filling every crevice in her clothes, her cheek and temple bleeding profusely, the latter pouring its blood down into her disabled eye. She wishes her appearance would be enough to frighten them away, but instead they close in around her, like she is something fascinating. They reach their hands out and then draw them back just as quickly, maybe wanting to comfort or just confirm for themselves that what they are seeing is real. They're all talking, all saying things, but she doesn't listen to them. She just wants to get to her seat, but they block her way. Talking to her, talking around her; a mess of voices.
One voice, which she would never forget. "Quinn..."
Quinn's eyes snap to her. She is standing there, tears pouring off her face and one hand covering her mouth, holding back sobs.
The others have stopped. They draw back, opening the way for her to get to Quinn, when Quinn wants nothing less. They do not understand, but they think they do, and that's what makes it so much worse. They step aside, and they allow her to move closer in her slow, stuttering steps. She reaches out a hand to Quinn—
Quinn's entire body recoils. It flings back, desperate to get away, and the slush which covers her shoes causes her to stumble and fall. She crashes backward against the wall and slides down it, and her arms and legs curl up. She pushes herself up against the wall, and she wraps her arms around her legs, and her breaths come in short and hollow bursts, and she tries to stop the memories. Quinn tries to hold the shroud in place while she is ripping it away.
She is looking at Quinn like she did on that day, like everything has gone wrong because it has and everything is wrong, but she won't stop looking at Quinn like she wants to say something and apologize for something that nothing can ever make up for. The others watch them both: watch Quinn huddled up on the floor, and watch her crumbling in front of them. They're both breaking apart, and they are doing it in front of an audience this time.
She gathers her thoughts first and smashes through the crowd, breaks out of the torture chamber and flees to the halls. Mere seconds pass before screams erupt, and Quinn knows that she has found Santana. It is a brief moment, a fleeting thought, but she worries for Santana's life.
Then Quinn realizes that she is no longer there, and that her presence is no longer bearing down on Quinn. Then Quinn is numb again.
Everything is still wrong, and it always will be, but she is no longer there to remind Quinn of that fact.