CHAPTER 3

High school Sophomore year

There are so many things to express, yet so few people take the time to listen

There are so many things people could say about miscarriages. About what it's like, about the feelings and the motions you go through after that. Only every story is different. Quinn had been cleaned out, the baby filtered out of her body in clots and tissue and a tiny little body that hadn't had the chance to form properly. She didn't want to imagine it happening, and she had thanked god that because of how much blood she had lost she had passed out. The other night she had joined some stupid forum on the internet to write random drabbles of feelings. It had been Kurt's idea. But she didn't know what to say. Here were woman mourning the loss of the child they had wanted so badly. Quinn had been sitting at a screen, knowing that she had never wanted a baby in the first place. Not yet, not at this age.

Did that make her a bad person? Did that make her a sinner, for having these thoughts?

Filing through a handful of students, she kept her head down as she walked the length of the hall towards the library. Her life was set in motions right now, she was barely holding on. She couldn't talk to her mother; she couldn't talk to her friends, christ she couldn't even talk to her school counsellor because she felt so ashamed. Mr and Mrs Kawasaki had been devastated, Quinn had thought that they had been more devastated than what she had been, and the baby had been inside her. Christ she felt so god damn wrong.

Quinn sat down and drew out a piece of paper. Her body still felt numb. The library was quiet today. She liked it better this way; it was easier just to sit by herself without having people in her classes stare at her. There were so many different types of staring, the concerned stare, the sympathetic stare, and her favourite, the you deserved it stare. Opening her maths book, Quinn stared at the list of practise questions, she didn't get them; she would never get maths. She cleared the desk, moving a set of textbooks that had been left at the desk she had sat down at, as she did so a piece of paper fell out onto the wooden surface before her. Quinn went to brush it aside before something caught her eye; words.

Sometimes words hold more to them than pictures. They hold more to them because words always come from someone, someone says them or writes them, but either way they come from inside them, from inside their hearts. Words on a page, is like seeing someone's heart laid out before you.

These words rushed at her.

No one cares.

Curiously Quinn opened the paper further, and read.

I feel like a ghost, walking down these corridors with everyone staring at me like they see straight through me. I just want to know if someone feels the same way. Am I the only person who feels this way?

Quinn picked up her bio, and then set it back down again, and then re picked it up and held it caught between her fingers. She bit her lip slightly, before scrawling words of her own.

You're not alone. Sometimes I feel like the loneliest person in the world, even if I'm surrounded by a crowd of people.

She rolled her eyes at herself pushing the paper back into the textbook and to the corner of the desk, abandoning her stupidity she continued to glare at the algebra problem, everything just hurt, and now her brain had been added to the list. She couldn't do this. Life was too hard right now, she just wanted to disappear.

. . .

Quinn returned to the same desk as yesterday. She liked this desk, it sat by the window and she could watch the football field. At the moment she could see Brittany and Santana doing laps, she smirked slightly, clearly Sue Sylvester had caught them in the gym again, wonders would never cease with those two lately. She pulled her books from her bags, heaving them onto the desk. She frowned gently, those textbooks were still here, only that piece of paper now sat poking out of the binder, she swore she'd slotted the whole damn thing back inside. Gingerly Quinn glanced over her shoulder. The only person within ten feet of her was a freshman, with his nose not even inches away from a home science textbook. She pulled the piece of paper from the binder and opened it. Her eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity.

Surrounded by people who think they know you but they don't. Have you ever just wanted to scream at the world? Let them know who you are? Sometimes I'm not sure if anyone would want to listen…

Quinn grabbed her pen before she even had the chance to process what she was doing.

I'll listen to you.

If you want me to.

Scream your thoughts to me, you can show me who you are…

She shoved it back into the text book and didn't look at it again. She didn't dare move until she had finished her history essay and the bell had signalled the end of the period. The last thing she had seen from the window was Brittany and Santana collapsing in a heap on the football field and Coach Sylvester pouring the entire ice cooler over them. Walking from the library, Santana's spanish outburst was heard through the open windows.