A/N: So, here's the final part of this story! Warning: It contains mature and controversial contents, and I apologize in advance if any of it offends anybody.
Enjoy!
xXx
CeruleanBlues
Human
Part 4
She barely slept a wink all night. Pressed into her duvet with bated breath, sighing a bit in relief each time the hour passed that her dad wasn't home. Her eyes were dry, her cheeks stained with streaks of tears, and her hair and clothes were a rumpled mess. It was suffocating, the fear for her own skin, of not knowing when the next bomb was going to drop, and as morning broke over the horizon, she felt the lightest weight of hope enveloping her person.
The trill of a cellphone startled her out of her sun-gazing trance, and almost instinctively she recoiled. It soon caught up to her, then, as she lunged forward to retrieve the device. His name flashed on the screen.
"Sam?" she answered the call, her voice still croaky from disuse.
"Pack your bags, Quinn," he said, his tone tight and urgent, and in the background, she heard the bustle of road traffic. "We're leaving. I'll pick you up in an hour."
Haphazardly, almost on autopilot, she tossed all of her essentials into a big duffel bag, needing to stuff them as much as possible to zip everything up. Her closet was half-empty, everything that had been on the hangers taken down and packed, but then at the far corner, she noticed a small box. It didn't appear particularly interesting; squarish in shape with some amateur decoupage of fairies and feathers and wings, a thick layer of dust covering the top.
She hesitated, almost wary of approaching it. Fingers trembling, she picked it up and charily lifted the lid. There was a catch in her throat as she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
It was a locket.
Her mom's locket.
She reached in to caress the smooth edges, the intricate patterns, and the golden chain. Her vision blurred, memories swarming in pastel colors, swirling in the depths of her stomach, and the empty ache returned with the blow of a wrecking ball threatening to tear down her defensive walls. A pathetic whimper escaped her lips as she clutched the piece of jewelry close to her chest.
"I miss you so much," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "I need you. Dad needs you. I can't do this without you."
A loud bang echoed throughout the house, the slamming of the front door.
"Quinn!"
She gasped, slipping the locket around her neck before scrambling to hide the evidence of her escape plans. The heavy stomping of his boots on the hardwood floor were heading in her direction, but just before she could shove everything under the bed, he was barging in with all the fury of an oncoming storm.
"What the fuck is this?" he thundered, nose flaring as he loomed over her, glaring at offending bag in her hold. "Where the fucking hell do you fucking think you're going, you ungrateful little bitch?"
"Dad," she whimpered. "It's not what you think. I—I was just doing some spring cleaning."
He took a couple of dangerous steps forward. "Do you seriously take me for some fucking idiot? You're trying to run away, aren't you? With that scoundrel of a bastard; that Evans boy."
She grimaced. "Dad, I'm not going anywhere," she said shakily, holding her palms up. "I promise you."
"Don't fucking lie to me," he spat out, withdrawing her into the side of her bed, caging her in. Dropping to his knees, he seized a clump of her hair in his burly hand, jerking her head back. She gasped, swallowing the cry that threatened to spring from between her lips. His stale breath permeated the air between them, and she did all in her power not to balk.
"I—I'm not—"
He gave a sharp tug, a painful sting to her scalp. "Who do you think I am?" he barked. "What kind of a fucking fool do you take me for?"
"Dad, please—"
She stopped short when he caught sight of the locket. A flicker of recognition crossed his features, and for a fleeting second, his eyes softened with melancholy and nostalgia of his late wife. Quinn saw it all play on his face; the pain, the years of regret and grief, of blaming himself, of how lost he was without her mom by his side; it tore her apart.
"Where'd you get this?"
His words were barely audible, concealed with awe and disbelief.
"I—I found it in a box," she grated out.
Tenderly, almost contradicting to the man he was, her dad traced the vintage trinket. He was quivering, a maelstrom of emotions brewing from within as she stayed, paralyzed by unrelenting terror.
For a moment, she thought that he was going to say something, but then he blinked, and the sheer longing and love reflected in his stare stunned her into silence. His eyes glistened and glazed over, a yearning sort of love as he tentatively reached up. The tips of his fingers grazed the side of her face, so feather-like; it was as if he hadn't touched her at all.
"Judy?"
A bitter chill shot down her spine. She was about to correct him when he all but cradled her face in his palms.
"You left me," he murmured brokenly. "Why did you leave me? I love you. I love you so much, Judy."
"Dad—"
"But you've come home." His smile felt so foreign, a misplaced happiness. "You came back for me, and I promise you I'll be the best husband you'll ever have. I swear to you that I'll never let anything happen to you, ever, not again. Please don't leave me again. I can't live without you."
Panic coursed through her veins when she noticed the inappropriate proximity; how he was slowly leaning increasingly closer.
"Dad!" she gasped, roughly shoving him away. "Stop!"
The warmth in his eyes gave way to confusion. His brows furrowed, his arms still extended in midair. Shocked by the blatant rejection, he gaped openly at her, and dreadfully, it was clear that in his mind, he only saw the ghost of his late wife in front of him. She grappled for leverage, something—anything—to jar him out of his daze.
"Judy—"
"Dad, I'm Quinn," she uttered desperately. "I'm your daughter! I'm Quinn!"
"No, you're lying!" he insisted, advancing on her again. "Judy, why are you pushing me away? Don't you love me anymore?"
She backed up but there was nowhere to go. "Dad, I'm not her, please."
"Judy—"
"No!" she cried out, shrinking away. "I'm Quinn, dad! Your wife died years ago!"
"Don't fucking say that," he retorted indignantly. "You're right here with me!"
"I'm not your wife!"
He snapped, then. "Yes, you are!"
"Dad—"
She heard the piercing whiplash before she felt the sting across her cheek and tasted the metallic jolt of blood on her tongue. Choking on a wince, she ran her thumb over the cut on her lower lip; the damage was just beginning.
"How dare you!" he fumed. "I thought you loved me."
"I'm not her, dad—"
Next came the blow to the back of her skull that promptly sent her sprawling over the carpet. A kick to her ribs had her doubling over, groaning as his boots dug into her bones and flesh, rehashing the bruise that was already there. He took more of her hair, ignoring her pleading yelp, and dragged her unceremoniously out into the living room.
"You're my fucking wife," he snarled. "Don't you fucking forget that."
"I'm not your wife," she coughed, arms wrapped protectively around her torso. "I'm your daughter—"
He grew livid, beyond rational reasoning, and gripped both her wrists in his vice-like hold, pinning her to the floor as he straddled her waist. She struggled against him, begging for her release, but he wasn't coherent enough to care. This man was a stranger, a complete monster in all his glory, in all his wretched ugliness, and her instincts screamed for her to run and fight for her life.
"Let me go! Dad, please! I'm not her, please, let me go!"
He freed one hand and rolled her over. She scrambled to find her footing, to bolt for the door, but his unyielding knee to her tailbone rendered her immobile. The impact knocked her back to the ground, leaving her momentarily stunned until she heard the ripping sound of fabric and realized that he was impatiently tugging on her trousers.
"Dad, no!" she garbled helplessly, kicking her legs. "Please, dad! Don't!"
"Shut the fuck up," he growled, successfully peeling her pants over the curve of her rear.
The horror of the situation gave her a final burst of strength; she had come too far now to allow this drowned man of her father destroy all that she had fought for.
While he was distracted getting her tight clothes past her ankles, she heaved herself up and made a mad dash for the kitchen. Her hand instinctively closed around a knife, and as he spat out a string of profanities and charged after her, she raised it up in the air and drove it through the middle of his chest, just to the left where she knew would puncture his heart.
She watched as he collapsed, the look of shock the last thing she witnessed before he took his last shuddering breath.
'Cause I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Hands quaking, she fumbled for a bit as she dialed his number. It rang one, twice, and after the fifth time she was ready to give up when he finally answered.
"Quinn? What's wrong? I'm on my way now; are you ready?"
She choked back on a sob, trying to stabilize her breathing.
"Sam…"
"Q?"
Pressing herself closer against the cold wall, she pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest, her eyes still glued to the lifeless figure in the middle of her apartment. Bile rose in her throat as the vivid images flooded into her head.
"Sam, I—I—he—I killed him."
"What?"
"He—he's dead. I need you now."
He paused.
"I'm coming."
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human
She was still curled up in the corner when he burst in without preamble, and in the abrupt intrusion, she flinched reflexively, cowering at the vulgar memory. His footsteps were familiar, sanguine yet cautious, and a crack of comfort drifted into the darkest recesses of her turbulent mind. She felt his presence, lingering like a beacon of light, and finally, she dared to lift her head.
Her gaze took in his well-worn boots, traveling higher to the hem of his jeans, but before she could venture further, he had dropped to his knees. She stared at the broad expanse of his chest, clad in his leather jacket, and then, in the most delicate of gestures, he gingerly reached out to shift the tangled blonde hair out of her face.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Quinn," he breathed. "What did that bastard do to you?"
"I killed him, Sam," she told him, her words hollow and haunted. "I killed my own dad."
His eyes darted around for a swift second, absorbing the scene before him, and she felt him stiffen at the evidence of her crime. Sucking in a lungful of air, he muttered a few curses and rubbed a hand over his mouth.
"Shit, Quinn, what happened?" he asked.
"He—he thought I was mom, and he—he tried to—"
She saw the instant it dawned on him, and before she could finish her sentence, his arms were wrapped around her sniveling form, and immediately, she knew she was safe in his warm cocoon. The dam finally broke and a flood of tears began streaking down her cheeks.
"That son of a bitch."
"I killed him!"
"I'm sorry, Quinn." His voice cracked in regret. "I'm so, so sorry."
"He was—he was going to—"
He hushed her then, soothingly running his fingers through her tresses.
"It's okay. We'll be okay."
She latched onto him, too afraid to let him go.
"Just me and you."
Quinn stared at the blood staining her hands and her lips quivered underneath the weight of her guilt, her heart ice cold and rigid, barely thumping and she decided that she didn't want a reminder of her brutal actions. She felt dirty, as though every inch of her skin was encompassed in a layer of sin, and she wanted to be rid of it.
'Cause I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Stepping into the shower, she turned the knob to a maximum and allowed for the spray to drench her soiled top. The heater took a while to kick in and minutes later she was assaulted by a scorching rainfall. Unaffected by the searing temperature, she desperately began scouring, thoroughly washing every curve and crevice until her skin was scrubbed raw and sore, but it still wasn't merely enough. She still felt it—felt the filthy remnants of he father's violation on her person—and she turned frantic.
"I can't wash it off," she gasped. "Oh, God, why can't I wash it off?"
Her chest began constricting; she was choking on her own breaths.
"Sam!" she yelled out in near hysterics. "Sam! I can't wash it off!"
She watched as the heat scalded her palms, but all she saw was the violence, the blood, those lifeless eyes, and her legs buckled beneath her. Coiling in a fetal position, she wept for her dad.
For her mom.
For her.
For them.
And then he was there, his strong arms enveloping her shuddering frame, tucking her securely in his hold as she came apart. He whispered mellifluous nothings in her ear and lovingly stroked the sodden strands of her hair, dropping kisses to the crown of her head. She clung onto him, fingers gripping the rapidly soaking material of his T-shirt.
"We're going to be alright, Quinn, I promise," he murmured. "Everything will be okay."
She was sick and tired of hearing it.
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human
"No, it's not," she lashed out, pushing him away. Instantly, she felt the chill engulf her, sending another round of tremors wrecking through her body. "Nothing is ever going to be okay. We'll always be stuck in this fucking place, in this fucking life. Look at me, Sam, I killed my own dad with me bare hands!"
His face remained passive, a hardness in his stunning green eyes and a twitch in his jaw. "He was trying to rape you," he spat out. "That sick bastard; if you hadn't stabbed him, I probably would've done it myself."
She retreated from him, her back hitting the cold tiles, but he wasn't allowing it. Leaning forward, he cupped her cheeks between his warm palms—the gesture a stark contrast from before didn't elude her—and gazed morosely into her teary hazel eyes.
"I'd do anything for you, Quinn; anything," he told her earnestly, with so much devotion, she felt her throat close up. "Tell me what you need me to do to make it all better."
"Let's get out of here; start a new life somewhere else."
He nodded. "Somewhere far away."
"Somewhere only we know."
The ceramic piggy bank had been a birthday present when she had turned five, and through the years it had served her well—a guardian to her treasures. This time, though, it would fulfill its task one final time. Raising it high over her head, she smashed the art project hard on the floor, and prayed that her life savings were enough for the both of them.
They sat on the fire escape as punctuation to their journey ahead, a cigarette each in sedate celebration, and nothing but the urban jungle before them. The bustle of people and cars soothed her—a semblance of normalcy in her topsy-turvy world—the calm before the storm. From high above, they were but a tiny speck of nothing.
Nobody really cared.
They were just two kids.
Two insignificant individuals in a city of thousands.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
She glanced over, their eyes meeting in clear understanding, and she knew then, without a doubt, their lives had just begun.
"Just me and you."
She tried not to linger at the door, having just slid a hand-written letter and the month's rent underneath the crack, and knowing that they would never be sufficient for all that her landlord had done for her during those cold, hungry nights. The least he deserved was her expression of gratitude, but she wasn't allowed that luxury. There was much to do, and Sam was anxiously waiting for her. The thoughts alone sobered her up enough to hastily back away and take off down the corridor.
They were miles away, on the open highway, driving in the midst of the heat and dust, the low sounds of alternative Indie music playing on the stereo. The backseat was piling with their stuff—bags and boxes of their possessions—and the air conditioner had stopped working two hours ago.
She stuck her elbow out of the window, gnawing on her cuticle as wisps of her blonde hair whipped about her face in the midafternoon wind. The digital clock on the dashboard flashed the time—3:15—and with each second that ticked by, she grew intolerably antsy.
An abrupt turn broke her out of her reverie, and as he navigated off-road through the dirt, the reality of what they were about to do finally sunk in. Her lips began trembling, and she pulled her arms around her torso, trying to fight off the nausea deep in her gut.
As soon as he had killed the engine, Sam was reaching down for the large paper bag containing their charitable purchases of booze and alcohol. He dropped a bottle on her lap.
"How did we end up here?" she breathed. "When did our lives get so screwed up?"
He carded his fingers through his tousled hair. "We're just trying to survive, Quinn."
"So was he."
Minutes after they had buried her dad's dead body, he was fucking her against the side of the car. It was hard and urgent, without a stint of finesse, and the sweat made everything slippery, but she couldn't find it in her inebriated state to care.
They were sloshed, their movements sloppy, her jeans hanging off one foot and his barely past his knees, their symphony of moans and grunts an insult to everything else around them as he pounded into her over and over again. She clung onto him, her nails forming welts of crescent-shaped dents on his shoulders with each thrust. Her eyes were glued to the shovel on the ground, tossed carelessly aside when he had all but lifted her off her feet before she could break down and cry. She was aware of the door handle digging into her tailbone, and God, it was the worst kind of sex, but he was panting against the side of her neck, making those sensual noises in the back of his throat, and pressing into her just right, and it wasn't long before she soared over her peak and flew with the clouds.
"Quinn…I'm going to—"
"Oh, fuck!"
They drove on.
In the dark of the night, his headlights bounced off the surface of the road.
She was exhausted.
Occasionally, a truck would pass by and she would wonder if that was the end of their journey, but then the silence would settle once again and she would bask in the baffling peace that seemed to envelop them from nowhere. She felt lighter than before, the burden lifted off her shoulders, and it was just the both of them now.
I can do it
She wondered about their future, mulled about their lives, dreamt about Neverland.
I can do it
They might never find it; might spend an eternity and after searching for a place that never existed, but she knew that it would be okay.
His rough, calloused hand slid into hers, their fingers intertwining as he gave an assuring squeeze. She turned to him, his boyishly handsome features shadowed, though his stunning green eyes sparkled like northern stars.
"How long are you going to stay with me?"
She grinned.
I'll get through it
"Forever."
A/N: The end! This 4-parter took long enough, and please remind me never to write this again; I swear I'll probably need therapy right now. First of all, though, I hope I hadn't offended anybody with the near-rape and Quinn killing her dad. If I have, then I sincerely apologize. I've actually given this a lot of contemplation, and had asked a few opinions before publishing this, and I have close friends who said that I had to take that leap and believe in the story, so I did. Anyway, I really hope you guys have enjoyed this, despite the heavy topics and genre. It's all very tragic, and maybe I'll go watch a whole season of Spongebob Squarepants now, but it's been a great experience!
P.S: I have a couple of people PM-ing me about writing in a jumbled mess of British and American English, and formally, I've been educated using British English, which would explain a couple of word usage, but Glee is in an American context, so I just tend to mash them up in my own style of writing. :)
OhHeyAl: Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! You're so sweet! Thank you so much for the lovely comments; I'm incredibly flattered and humbled by the wonderful words! Well, I suppose 'smoothly' is a way to put it, if you disregard the fact that Quinn's dad almost raped her, so she killed him and they buried his body in the middle of nowhere. Lol! It's not the most conventional way to get out of town, is it? Anyway, I do share with you the fact that I don't watch Glee anymore either, but I still love the energy and chemistry that revolved around Fabrevans, so I keep them alive in my fanfics :) Cheers!
Dosqueen67: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it, considering how painful the subject matter is and how ugly the situation is for Quinn and Sam. Nothing is pretty in this story; it's all grimy and difficult, and I'd like to thank you again for giving the story and opportunity. LOL! I'm glad you liked the bits with the public displays of desires, those were fun to write :P So, to answer your questions: Yes, this is a 4-parter, and the situation with Karofsky will forever remain a mystery. I'd like to leave that door open; leaves more for the imagination. Also, it's a pleasure to write for the fandom. Thank you for continually supporting me in my stories! Cheers!
RJRRAA: Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I really appreciate it! Yeah, those moments with her dad were so difficult to write, and it wasn't pretty, and I hope to not have to venture into that again in the future. I agree; the environment is toxic for both Sam and Quinn, and it's about time they left!
Ashley: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you've enjoyed the suspense of the story, especially since it ventures into deeper topics and much serious issues. LOL! Well, I reckon if this story soldiered on beyond a 4-parter, I'd have to get myself a personal therapist. Unfortunately, I wasn't planning on Sam and Russell interacting, and yes, I totally agree that it would make for great scenes with him coming to Quinn's defense and all, but I didn't want a heroic dramatic moment. I would've loved to include that in, however, I wanted vulnerable moments, and moments of desperation that came with the mood of the story. Thank you for the wonderful suggestion, though! Cheers!
FabrevansFTW: Hi! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a nice, long review! I really appreciate it! I'm glad that the story had met its genre for you. It's kind of a relief, actually, and thank you so much for giving this story an opportunity even though it's unconventional and more than controversial in terms of issues that have been addressed. I was actually hesitant in writing this final part, especially with the near-rape and Quinn killing her dad, so I hope that you've enjoyed it despite the darkness. Cheers!
NileyOvergron: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm going to go start a Spongebob marathon after this because it's just that stressful to write, but I'm glad that you have liked it so far! I hope this ending suits you well, considering the seriousness of the issue, and as ugly as their journey have been, I suppose they have found their happiness in each other, don't you think?
SamEvans17: Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I really appreciate your wonderful comments, and I'm glad you've enjoyed it despite the nature of the genre and the dark issues that have been addressed. Hope this last part of the story meets your approval! Cheers!
Song used: "Human" by Christina Perri
