Q
I sit in a far corner chair facing the hospital bed and I watch the nurse aid to the sleeping Rachel. She injects medication into her IV while intently watching the zigzags of Rachel's heartbeat on the monitor screen. The nurse informs me that Rachel's sudden blood lost caused her blood pressure to decline rapidly, and since she has moderate anemia it was likely the cause of her blackout. She tells me that to properly monitor Rachel's recovery the doctors advised for her to have an overnight stay at the hospital.
Rachel had undergone surgery to remove the bullet that landed in her shoulder, which was just a mere four inches away from her heart. The bullet wound is shallow, so the operation went by fairly quickly. Mostly likely, Rachel would have a full recovery in about 3 weeks with nothing more than maybe a circular scar to remember the brutal night by.
I'm not so lucky. That same bullet, a 4.2 mm, went through my scapula and cracked the edge of my clavicle. Technically, I should be in devastating pain, but the same nurse has bandaged me and injected me with some numbing medication, thus I'm content for the time being. I had already picked up my prescription for Valium and so I'm wary for the next few weeks of intense therapy and the pain that comes with it. Now my right arm hangs loosely in a sling, momentarily useless to me. It's comforting to know that I've trained my left arm to just be as dominate and strong as my right, but I'm aware of the potential mistakes if I rely on it too much. Tops, my recovery can last up to three to five months. My boss wouldn't be too happy with that. Most likely I'd be doing to desk work so that my shoulder can completely heal. That isn't something I look forward too, since my true nature belongs on the field.
The nurse rechecks the monitor one last time and scribbles something on the clipboard before setting it down on the side table adjacent to Rachel's bed. She asks me if there is there is anything else she could do when she is finished with Rachel. I tell her my negative and politely thank her as she exits the room, leaving me once more alone with Rachel.
The door is still ajar after the nurse's leave which carries in the televised breaking news to my ears. The reporter informs that a total of 14 personals are either injured or dead from tonight's shoot out. I close my eyes as the frenzied anchor mentions Rachel's name, yet I'm lucky to learn that there isn't a photo of her current state over the media. Evidently, news travels quickly. The report continues on with interviews with uninjured pedestrians who witnessed the screen and with teary family members of the deceased. My ears perk as the reporter warns viewers that the suspect is still on the loose and is highly dangerous.
I sigh deeply and finger the edge of my sling while I drop my head, my wavy locks covering my face. My face falls and I finally let my emotions take over. This wasn't supposed to happen. God, I even promised her that I'd protect her. And look at what happened. If it wasn't my quick reflexes Rachel would have died tonight. I let that thought sink in.
I stand to close the door and slowly pull a chair to sit next to Rachel, my sad eyes not focusing on her face yet. I'm afraid to look at her this close up when she's fragile due to my actions and I'm afraid to see what I've been denying myself all this time.
Why did I ever agree to meet up with Rachel? For two weeks I had pushed this thought out of my mind, but I think I knew the reason along. Looking back to my high school days, I was an open book. My secrets, struggles, humiliations were all public to everyone. All of McKinley High thought I was a lost cause and I searched for ways to repair myself through false relationships, by seeking the title of head cheerleader again, and by sabotaging ways to gain custody of Beth. My efforts failed me completely and I felt as if all hope was lost. But there was one person that saw a different light in me and she stood by side every step of the way while I slowly unravel who Quinn Fabray really was. That person was Rachel. She probably doesn't even realize how much she means to me and I plan to keep it that way.
Rachel's left hand rests upon the blanket and with my fingertips I gently stroke the tips of her knuckles. I thought I had concealed my past and my attached feelings away, leaving that side of me hidden forever, but that day in Starbucks, I knew that high school Quinn still is very much alive within me. It's a blazing fact that I am still in love with Rachel Berry.
My heavy heart tightens at the realization. With my chosen lifestyle now, I'm so lonely and miserable. And the thought of seeing Rachel again ignited me to think that maybe things can be different. That maybe I don't have to be so alone all the time. But it was my own selfish desires that gave Rachel an injury. My eyes glisten as I continue to caress Rachel's hand and I slowly lift my gaze to scan her angelic face.
"Please forgive me." I say, my voice cracking with each syllable. I squeeze her hand tenderly one last time and I gradually bring it to my lips. My heart breaks a thousand times over just like that day when I parted from her to return to Yale. Just like five years ago, I experience the same overwhelming hole in my chest and it radiates to the tips of my fingers. My feelings for her will never change but I can't put her in any more danger. So I'll do what I've done to my past. I'll vanish and this time I'll never look back. This is for the best.
A few minutes after I regain my composure, I turn to leave Rachel and exit the hospital. I know she'll be in safe hands now and even safer when she's away from me. It doesn't take me long to hail cab to take me home. Once I'm there, I stealthily walk into my room that's engulfed in darkness. It's not until I sit at my desk and switch on a dull lamp that hundreds upon hundreds of photographic mug shots stare back at me, but I know who I'm looking for. Mitchell McMurry. I peel off his photo and grab my handgun from my desk, checking the loaded bullets as I leave my apartment once again.