If it's not obvious by now, I just want to say that this story is slightly AU. Thanks for all the reviews and kind words. Also, there's about 8000 words of fluff in this chapter because I was feeling extra generous! Happy reading!
If we climbed the highest tree top and you said you couldn't climb back down
I would build the finest tree house for our new life above the ground
And when you smile at me so sweetly, I love what happens in your eyes
When they open up to me, my darling, it's all I need and it's so right
'Cause I believe that you are all I want
'Cause I believe that you and I belong
—Avanlanche City: You and I
•••
February 1st, 2016
Quinn tried in vain to keep track of the days. Her time was measured now in journeys between longing and fulfillment the pace of which might vary from merciless speed to agonizing stillness. Eventually, the days became meaningless. All she felt was pain. Sharp, agonizing pain. The first time it happened, she thought to herself, I'd survived the extraction of broken glass. I'd survived broken bones and ribs and my body's impact to a car. But this—the pain was too sharp, too acute, spreading from one section of her body to another. She had read about stress cardiomyopathy, better known as broken heart syndrome. The trigger for the syndrome is the body's sudden, massive release of adrenaline, which can stun the bottom half of the pumping chamber of the heart, in effect paralyzing it and requiring the top portion of the chamber to work much harder in order to compensate for the loss of blood.
She left her apartment only rarely. When hunger drove her out, she'd eat ravenously at some of New York's finest restaurants. Not that she could afford to squander her money in any way. She had already used up most of her savings on the insurance claims and medical bills. After she'd eaten her fill, she'd walk straight back to her apartment and turn on the television to numb her racing thoughts. She felt as though she had no energy left to continue with her life. She no longer cared for her career, making something of herself. Her life stopped the moment she walked out on Rachel and she didn't know how to pick herself up. The only thing she had been taught to do was—keep walking. There was nothing left for her to live for.
Food was her only comfort, her only source of emotion.
Often it was too much trouble to eat. She lost weight, hips and ribs prodding from under her skin. Every part of her ached, legs and back and abdomen, her raw flesh. At no time in her life had Quinn felt so entirely her body's citizen, yet at the same time her detachment had never been greater. She felt like a spectator, observing her physical self in baffled amazement as if it were a violent, stricken creature she were nursing through a fit. Phrases she'd hear or would float to her mind were: I've ruined everything; Rachel will be better off without me; we were going to get a divorce anyway; we married too young. They were all cliché's that provoked her scorn, but not her skepticism.
From the depths of sleep she reached for Rachel; mornings she'd imagine to be woken up to Rachel's caress, afterward collapsing back into sleep without a problem.
Turning on her phone, notifications poured in all at once: Santana, Brittany, Puck, Kurt, her mom, Leroy and Hiram, and Rachel. Ignoring them all, she listened to the one she was hoping would call her back,
"Quinn, it's me. I got your message, so things are finally coming to an end for you and that girl? I'll be in New York on the 1st. Call me to arrange something."
Hitting the redial button, the call was answered in three rings. Russell's voice boomed back at her. "I told you it was going to end, wasn't I? What do you need me to do to finally end it for good?"
Goose bumps broke over her arms and legs. Russell's short laugh and satisfying voice sounded like static on the line. The sounds stung, yet even though she wanted to she couldn't pull the phone away from her ear.
"I don't want to go into details." She said with a bored and disdainful tone, "Can you meet me in half an hour?"
There was a slight pause and then, with a musical tone, Russell said, "Text me the address."
After texting Russell the address, she forced herself out of bed. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she managed to stay upright. Her movements slow and halting, she maneuvered down the hallway stopping in front of what used to be their bedroom. She found that she couldn't spend any more than five minutes in the room before it suffocated her with what she had lost. She remembered every moment they had spent in that bedroom watching movies, falling asleep with the television on, Rachel would sing to her, she'd read to Rachel, most of all, their appetite for one another sharpened with the days, until sometimes it seemed impossible for them to not crumple helplessly naked on the queen-sized bed that was their home.
For weeks the sofa had become her safe place in the wildfire. It wasn't comfortable, but it was safe. It allowed her to sleep and eat and everything in-between.
Coming out of the shower, she saw herself in the wall of mirrors. Her neck and chest were covered with red blotches, a rash that had broken out because of her nerves. Her face was so flushed she looked as though she had a terrific fever. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair, still wet from the shower, drooped down the side of her head. She looked like a woman in the midst of a moment of sadness.
As she got dressed and tried to cover her sadness with make-up, feelings raced from anger to outrage to self-pity. She was hurt, mortally wounded. She feared that people would recognize her in the street as the woman who betrayed her wife. She imagined the vicious and arrogant reporters and paparazzi gathering around her to chant: "Quinn Fabray left her wife after three months because she was too scared to be by her side! What a joke!"
She walked straight out of her building, not registering the noise and traffic in the busy street, and claimed the first yellow cab she saw. The driver was smoking a cigarette and he quickly ground the remains into the asphalt before ducking into his seat.
"You can smoke in the cab," Quinn muttered absent-mindedly. "It's alright by me. In fact, I could use one myself."
"Sorry, lady, I can get a fine."
Quinn didn't even hear him. She looked out the window. An old lady, the kind you rarely saw in public anymore, her hair dyed chemical blue, wheeling an out-sized shopping cart, was standing blinking at the lights.
"Where to?" The man had been patiently waiting for her to speak.
She apologized and gave him her destination. Her fingers were tapping against the vinyl covering the seat. She didn't smoke, but she could really use one right now. Anything to relax herself. Why was this country so over-regulated? She was aware that nothing seemed to be penetrating her consciousness. The buildings, the other cars and vehicles on the road, the driver, the sky, the city. It was as if she were under the effect of some drug but there was no reciprocal pleasure permitted to counter the loss of what she could only describe as her intelligence. She felt as if she was floating, incapable of decision.
"Do I know you from somewhere?"
She glanced at the reflection of his eyes in the rear-view mirror. She was numb, she couldn't think. Was it from the ads? That independent movie she did? Or was it because she has been photographed next to Rachel countless times? Her mind cleared, irritability smacking away the fog, and she snapped, "No. Concentrate on your job." She was in no mood to sign autographs.
His face tightened and he focused on the route ahead. A few minutes later, she received an illicit thrill of guilt and said sweetly,
"I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'm feeling a little uneasy at the moment. My marriage is ending."
The man looked at her again in his mirror. "It doesn't have to end if you don't want it to."
"You think so?"
Quinn saw confusion spread across his face and he turned his eyes away from her again.
"I feel like I have to do this. Rachel would be happier without me, we married too young." Her eyes were focused on the rear-view mirror. She could see a corner of his face, but his eyes were averted. He didn't say anything and she focused her attention out the window.
They sat in silence as the cab weaved fitfully down the clogged city streets. Nearing the restaurant she realized that she was red-faced. She felt ashamed and then furious. Was he judging her?
She leaned forward and gave him the money and she mumbled, "Keep the change," before walking into the restaurant.
Russell was already sitting in the beer garden. He stood up when he spotted her and gestured her to take her seat. There was no kiss or a big hug. Kisses and hugs weren't in her forte when it came to him. However, for this occasion she did not want to wallow in spite or resentment of her father. The glue that bound them together was certainly not history. The glue was her mother. They both knew this. If it wasn't for Judy's pestering, she knew Russell wouldn't be in her life at all. An open bottle of wine was at the table and Quinn poured herself a glass.
"I take it that your mother knows nothing of this arrangement?" He sipped from his wine glass and eyed her cautiously.
"No," she replied swiftly. "I would like to keep it that way."
"What do you want, Quinn? I thought I would be the last person you'd come to for a divorce from your loving wife." He said viciously. The word spat on the tip of his tongue.
Quinn said nothing of the situation with Rachel. She tried to remain composed and seemingly serene. Quinn had seen several lawyers in the past few weeks, all of which costed her more to see them for a half-hour session just to ask the simple question of how long it would take to finalize a divorce than it would have been to go straight to the man she knew could finalize it in half that time. Each lawyer had said six to nine months. She almost dropped dead on her spot every time she heard that phrase. Her father, however, was a man of his profession. He had cheated on her mother but somehow ended up with most of their expenses and assets in the divorce. At least he was kind enough to have left them the house.
He explained that he could finalize the divorce in two months and that a court meeting won't be necessary if Rachel complies. He asked little questions regarding her life with Rachel, just enough to know what to write in the divorce documents and during the meeting with Rachel's lawyer. From time to time he stared across the table at her, his eyes taking on a glazed, far-off look like someone whose eyes had turned inward and who was really looking at some image or memory from his past. Between courses he listened to her, providing his full attention—something she had never expected him to do, but then again, Quinn knew that he was elated to know that she was getting a divorce and he would be the one helping her achieve it.
The little she ate, she ate because she didn't want to draw attention to her state. Their longest conversation came when Quinn cited irreconcilable differences.
"I don't believe that." Russell said, lowering his fingers and drummed a mindless beat on the lace tablecloth.
"You don't have to believe me." Quinn insisted.
"You're telling me that the Berry girl has agreed to this?"
"Her name's Rachel." Quinn gritted her teeth. "I don't expect you to understand anything about my life anymore." After a quick pause, she said, "I want this done as quickly as possible and without any media attention involved."
Russell shook his head in mock derision. "You know, Quinn, just when I thought you couldn't be saved by the Lord, you surprise me."
"This has nothing to do with that," she bit back angrily. "You have no right to judge me regarding my lifestyle when you are disobeying the ninth commandment on a daily basis. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor, remember that one, dad?" Her voice was devoid of any emotion. "You basically lie everyday because your career requires you to."
In an instant, he grabbed her wrist and twisted his lip into a scowl. "My job is based on evidence. You live your life in sin."
Quinn remained undeterred. "So you just ignore all the evidence, is that what you're saying? You represent guilty, rich men because the innocent can't pay you enough."
He leaned back in his seat and refilled his empty wine glass. "You've always been very smart, Quinn. Very observant. But you don't know anything about my career so don't sit there and assume that you do."
"I've read enough about the men you represent to know enough about you. Men who've committed sexual assaults, rapes, burglary, fraud are set free with a slap on the wrist. I'm surprised you haven't represented anyone who's committed murder. Perhaps that's next on your to-do list?"
"Who knows?" He shrugged, signally the end of the conversation. "I'm representing my gay sinful daughter, anything could happen." He took out his wallet and placed a one-hundred dollar bill on the table. "I'm going to send your soon to be ex-wife divorce documents this afternoon—" When he saw the surprise on her face, he said, "You want this done quickly, don't you?" She didn't respond and he continued, "I'll give you a call as soon as she sends it back with her signature."
"What if she doesn't?" Her heart sped up at the thought.
"Then the matter will be taken to court and the final decision will be made by a judge." He drank the rest of his wine and walked out without so much a wave at her.
Still reeling from Russell's words, she grabbed her bag and quickly stormed out of the restaurant, leaving the heat of the afternoon behind, along with the trees and birds and colorful flowers that encompassed the streets. She drifted the streets of New York. Everywhere she looked she saw couples ranging from the teenage to the very old. They would smile at her in greeting and she would force a smile in return. She couldn't help wondering if this was a sign from God to stop before it's too late. Was this what she and Rachel could continue to have if they were to stay together? Or was He just mocking her for making the worst mistake of her life?
She found herself walking west instead of east, then north, zigzagging through the wet side streets. Water squished in her shoes, her face burned with fever. It had started raining. She knew vaguely that she should get out of the raining weather, dry her feet, prevent pneumonia, but she felt a strong pull to go north and west.
It wasn't until she emerged onto Downtown Manhattan that she realized where she was going. She stood in front of their very first apartment, dingy white streaked with rain, water dripping from the connecting drains. This was their first home. The first time she'd come home and find Rachel singing while making dinner, the first time she waited up for Rachel because she had been at rehearsals, the first time Rachel had broken the television set because she was trying to rearrange their furniture. She saw their windows, the window they'd look out into the city. There was a light in the apartment.
Her heart came to life for a moment, beating with hope as she studied the names by the buzzers, imagining Rachel opening the door, her surprise, and the warmth of the apartment, the ceiling crumbling, the piles of magazines, a great movie on television, how welcomed Rachel would be to see her. Masaoka, Benoit/Rosnik, P. Henderson. But no Berry-Fabray.
She knew by her disappointment what she had really expected. That they would still be here. That she could go in and find Rachel reading her Barbra Streisand biography, and Quinn could wrap herself in beside Rachel and this would all be a dream that she could tell Rachel about. They hadn't been in a car accident, Rachel had not lost her memories, they were so very happy together. In that apartment Rachel would make her a cup of tea and laugh at the dream she had had, telling her, baby, you have ridiculous dreams. Quinn would kiss her, hug her, laugh with her.
But they were gone. It wasn't a dream. The door was locked, and the curtains Rachel had loved so much were now replaced by blinds on the window.
Quinn sank down on the pavement. She shut her eyes and tried to pray, teeth clattering. But God must have gone away, she'd lost him just as she lost Rachel. Or maybe there was no God on her side of the grass. Maybe he had never been there to begin with.
She pulled out her phone to see a voicemail notification from Rachel. Giving in to temptation and throwing away all her instincts, she listened to it, "Quinn, I got the papers—"
That was all she heard before she vomited the contents in her stomach on the sidewalk.
•••
October 26th, 2011
After another excruciating Saturday morning of Cheerios practice and the wrath of Sue Sylvester, Quinn couldn't wait to see Rachel. She managed to dodge all questions from Santana about any plans she had and ran out of the showers before Santana found her again. She drove to the riverbank where they had first met and went to meet Rachel at their spot. Rachel wasn't there yet, so she threw an old blanket across the grass, put the basket of food she had prepared on it, and then sat in the middle, feeling cheerful about their first date. It was a beautiful day, the park was thick with shade trees, it was close to empty which meant no interruptions from anybody.
It wasn't their typical first date. First of all, she didn't pick Rachel up at her front door—only because Quinn wasn't ready to meet her fathers. Secondly, there wasn't going to be any movie or dinner, but rather watching other citizens of Lima roam pass them as they ate lunch. And third—
She saw Rachel come into view through the trees, following the curving gravel path. She was wearing her red—horse? Dog? Rabbit?—sweater again, but this time she had on a red and black checked skirt that floated when the breeze blew. Her hair was curled loosely around her shoulders, but her stride was long and flowing as she came toward Quinn, and the sun picked up glints of gold in her hair, and Rachel smiled at her as soon as she drew closer, and it suddenly seemed Quinn had died and gone to heaven.
"Hi," Rachel said, grinning at her. "Did you wait long?"
"Hi," Quinn said and shook her head. "You're on time, as usual."
"I praise myself on punctuality." Rachel bit her lip and the breeze picked up again, rustling the trees and lifting the edge of her skirt, floating it closer to Quinn.
"You praise yourself on a lot of things." Quinn teased.
Rachel looked around hesitantly at first, and Quinn panicked that something might have been wrong. Before Quinn had time to ask what was worrying her, Rachel leaned forward and kissed her softly, her mouth fretting over her own so perfectly that Quinn trembled. Quinn definitely knew she was in heaven.
Rachel made herself comfortable on the blanket and peeked into the basket Quinn had bought with her. "How was Cheerios practice?" She asked, oblivious to the trance she had created in Quinn.
Quinn cleared her throat and moved her eyes up to meet Rachel's. She should not have been trying to figure out the color of Rachel's bra. "It was—good."
"Just good?" She took out two cups and her eyes lit up. "Quinn, you bought donuts!"
"It's for dessert." She took it out of Rachel's hands and placed it on the side.
Before she could say anything, Rachel said, "I hope they're vegan."
Quinn blinked. "What?"
Rachel tucked her legs under her and caught sight of Quinn's shocked expression. "Many donuts contain animal lard, milk and eggs."
"Why are you vegan again?" Quinn asked, slightly perplexed. She had went out of her way to buy Krispy Kreme Doughnuts only to find out that in the future she must go further out of her way to buy vegan donuts.
"Countless reasons," Rachel said plopping a strawberry into her mouth. Quinn wanted to be the strawberry. "A well-balanced plant-based diet is more in line with the nutritional needs in order to keep one healthy. It's low in saturated fats and cholesterol, high in protein and fiber." Rachel elaborated further and Quinn really wished she was that strawberry. "Industrial farming causes lots of water pollution, and many people argue that the grains used to feed animals would be put to better use to feed people. And lastly, eating meat is simply cruel. Did you know that some animals are specially raised to be slaughtered? Animals are just like humans, they have feelings too. Just because they can't talk or act the way we do does not mean—"
Quinn kissed her, gently, wanting to remember every second this time, the way Rachel felt, soft and sweet and tasting of strawberries. Rachel sucked in her breath and then kissed Quinn back, and the voice in Quinn's head said this one. She forgot her good intentions, she forgot they were in public, she forgot that there were people walking pass, and she cradled Rachel's face in her hand and lost herself in her daisy scent.
When she broke the kiss, chocolate eyes were half-closed and her cheeks were flushed. "We're in public." Rachel said, breathless, and Quinn said, "I know," and kissed her again, harder this time, feeling Rachel's hand clutch the front of her dress. A moment later something smacked into the back of her head and knocked her into Rachel, who jerked away feeling the pain and said, "Ouch. That hurt."
"Santana!" Quinn yelled, swinging around to face her friend. "What are you doing here?"
"You two lovebirds are kissing in public now?" She smirked.
Brittany almost fell into Quinn's lap trying to pull both girls into a hug. "I'm so happy. We can double date!"
Rachel rubbed the light bump that had possibly grown due to the knock on her head. "I'm confused. Did you tell them?" She asked Quinn.
Quinn didn't get a chance to answer. "San and I already know." Brittany picked up a strawberry and put it in her mouth.
"How?" Quinn said, sounding dazed. "If you tell anyone—"
"Oh, please," Santana sneered and sat down beside her. "If I was going to tell everyone I wouldn't have waited a month. The two of you have been eye-sexing and caressing each other with those sweet, little, sickening touches I could've outed you in less than two minutes."
"How did you know?" Quinn snapped the sandwich she had made specifically for Rachel out of Santana's hands. "Make your own sandwich."
"Did you even hear what I said? I know everything, Q. You can't hide from me."
Talking with her mouth full of strawberries, Brittany said, "She does, Quinn. She knew what was going on at Puck's party and she's been stalking you—"
"I have not been stalking." Santana protested.
It fell on deaf ears, Brittany ignored her. "She followed you to the riverbank a few weeks ago to meet Rachel and then watched when the two of you were really sad, and then when Rachel sung that song to Quinn in glee club everything came together and Santana was there when you were going to kiss Rachel in the auditorium so she called you to mess with your head and also interrupted you that time you two were about to kiss hallway. So yeah," she turned to Santana. "If that's not stalking then I don't know what stalking means." She ate another strawberry. "These are really sweet."
Quinn glared at Santana but she couldn't act on her anger. The light strokes Rachel were running down her arm were extremely soothing.
"Thanks for keeping it a secret, B." Santana said.
"No problem, San. I did a good job, didn't I? You said not to tell them but now that they know that we know I think we should tell them."
Quinn swallowed hard and sighed. This definitely was not their typical first date.
"So you're going to keep this secret for us?" Rachel's voice was low. Quinn felt Rachel shaking beside her.
"Like I said, Dwarf, if—"
"Hey!" Quinn snapped.
Santana rolled her eyes. "Like I said. If I was going to say something I wouldn't have waited this long. Besides," she paused and eyed Brittany's lips. "Quinn's been less high-strung since you've come along. Her anger must be directed at your inability to shut your mouth other than normal people for once."
"If you say anything like that one more time—" Quinn's eyes were hot and she was breathing faster, too.
"What, Quinn? You're going to make me run fifty laps? Just because you're back on the Cheerios doesn't mean Coach Sylvester has exactly appointed you head cheerleader. I can't help that your girlfriend dresses like your grandmother and she's an easy tease." Santana pondered, no longer threatened by Quinn.
"That's it!" Quinn lost her patience and stood up so quickly Santana stumbled in her position. She wasn't able to react the way she had planned though. Rachel stood in front of her, blocking her view of Santana and holding her arms to her side. Quinn smelt daisies and felt a rush of pleasure so intense, she almost sighed.
"San," Brittany slapped her girlfriend's thigh. "Don't be mean to Rachel."
"This is boring," Santana stood up, bringing Brittany with her. "Let's leave these wickedly, boring and mismatch lovebirds to their picnic."
Brittany frowned and her lips drooped. "I wanna stay and eat all the strawberries." She picked another one. "They taste like you, Santana."
"That's a vision I do not want," Quinn said. "You can have it all now." Quinn pushed the tupperware closer to Brittany who happily obliged.
"Thanks, Quinn. You're a great friend!" She perked and once again pulled Quinn and Rachel into a hug. "I'm so happy you two are getting your lady kisses on. If you need any advice I'm always here to help."
They watched the two girls walk down the gravel path, get into Santana's car and drive off. Rachel sighed heavily and resumed her position on the blanket, tugging Quinn's hand to pull her down. "That just topped off a great first date."
"Are you disappointed?" Quinn asked, wringing her hands together on her lap. She could imagine Santana looking gratified, her teeth flashing boastfully that she knew something no one else did. Santana had always been able to turn her emotions on and off, to change from one to another as easily as she changed channel's on a television set.
"Of course not," Rachel leaned in to kiss her cheek. "It was never your typical first date to start off with. If you haven't noticed, you didn't pick me up."
Quinn lifted an eyebrow. "You're never going to let that go, are you?" Rachel shook her head and Quinn added, "I think you should let it go."
"You may be correct but my intuition disagrees." Rachel snuggled her head against Quinn's shoulder.
Quinn loved that Rachel could turn a simple no into an intelligent and adept sentence so effortlessly. "I think you should take that back." Quinn turned her head to murmur against Rachel's throat.
"I'm not scared of you, Quinn." Rachel poked her shoulder.
"Really?" Quinn flung her down across the blanket, tickling her until she shrieked.
"Alright, alright, I take it back! Stop it, you'll kill me."
"Good." Quinn growled and covered Rachel's mouth in a quick peck.
Grabbing moments with Rachel at school was surprisingly easy. There was hardly a day they couldn't snatch some time away from their classes. At night Rachel would slip out of her house and they'd meet half away, sitting by the benches for a short while before returning to their desolate bedrooms and falling asleep to the thought of one another.
"What is it?" Rachel's eyes saw something right through her.
"Nothing." Quinn pulled her close. She didn't know how to tell Rachel that her knees dissolved every night when she'd see Rachel running toward her, laughing and breathless. There were no words. All she could do was show her.
"Quinn," she laughed when Quinn's arms wrapped around her. "I can't breathe."
Quinn had never been with a woman before, that much was obvious, she had never thought of herself being with a woman, but that wasn't why Rachel turned her bones into water. That was just Rachel herself.
"You know," Quinn said picking up the box of donuts. "Since this already isn't a typical date, we should have dessert first."
"I'm not eating those donuts," Rachel tore her eyes away from it. "It'll go against everything I believe in."
"This is not just a donut," Quinn began tearing two pieces under Rachel's eyes, the chocolate icing and glaze breaking like frost, the tender pastry pulling apart in shreds. "This is a chocolate-iced Krispy Kreme glazed. This is the caviar of donuts, the Dom Perignon of donuts, the Mercedes-Benz of donuts."
Rachel licked her lips. "I had no idea you knew so much about pastry." She tried to pull back further, but the wind blew her skirt over to Quinn again, and this time Quinn moved her knee to pin it down.
Quinn broke a bite-size piece from one of the halves. "Come on, I respect your veganism and all, but really, no animals were actually harmed in the making of this delicious donut."
"Cows were milked—"
"That's true, but how do you know it hurts a cow to be milked? Its nature, baby. A cow's nature is to produce milk in order for us to have healthy and strong bones."
Rachel blinked a few times and Quinn realized what she had said. "You just called me baby."
Quinn ignored the fire burning in the pit of her stomach. "I guess I did. Now try it."
"Stay away from me, Quinn." Rachel clamped her lips shut.
"Rach, I'm not asking you to eat a whole donut."
Rachel shut her eyes, screwing up her face as she did. Quinn said, "Oh, that's adult." She reached out and pinched Rachel's nose, and when she opened her mouth to protest, Quinn popped the donut in.
"Oh, God." Rachel said, her face relaxed as the pastry melted in her mouth, her smile curling across her face.
Quinn relaxed too, and thought, feeding Rachel is like getting her drunk. Rachel swallowed and opened her eyes to see Quinn holding out another piece. "Come on, baby."
"No," Rachel said pulling back. "No, no, no."
"You say that a lot. But the look in your eyes says you want it."
"What I want and what I can't have are two different things." Rachel leaned back further, stretching her skirt, her eyes were on the donut. "Haven't you ever heard no means no, Quinn?"
"Okay." Quinn sat back and bit into the donut while Rachel watched, the sugar rush distracting her for a moment until Rachel bit her lip, her strong white teeth denting the softness there. Quinn's heart picked up speed, and Rachel shook her head.
"I don't like you very much right now." She leaned forward to pull her skirt from under Quinn's knee. "Would you get off—" She began. Quinn took the opportunity to pop another piece of donut in Rachel's mouth and watched her lips close over the sweetness.
Rachel's face was beautifully blissful, her mouth soft and pouted, her full lower lip glazed the icing, and as she teased the last of the chocolate from her lip, Quinn heard a rushing in her ears. Before Rachel could open her eyes, Quinn leaned in to kiss her, tasting the chocolate and the heat of her mouth. Rachel froze for a moment and then kissed her back, sweet and hesitant, blanking out all coherent thought. Quinn let the taste and the scent and the warmth of the other girl wash over her, drowning in her, and when Rachel pulled back, Quinn almost fell in her lap.
Rachel sat across from her, her sweater rising and falling under quick breaths, her dark eyes flashing, wide awake, her lush lips parted, and she spoke, "More."
Quinn was breathless and dizzy and aching with lust. She held Rachel's eyes, looking just as dazed as she did. She reached for the pastry but Rachel stopped her,
"No. More of you." And grabbed the front of Quinn's dress to pull her closer, kissing her harder, her hand was resting on the back of Rachel's head, and this time she fell into Rachel, glitter exploding behind her eyelids.
•••
February 3rd, 2016
Quinn awoke with a dream still freshly sketched in her imagination. She was walking with Rachel, holding her hand and her brown hair was tied up into a bun. She preferred Rachel's hair like that, simple yet elegant. She wanted to tell Rachel she approved of the style but found that she could not speak. They were walking through a cold, sun-starved cityscape that she did not recognize. It was a little like what she had imagined Zagreb to be like if she were ever to go there. Rachel's grip on her hand was firm and she felt safe. There was no one else in the city. Rachel was pregnant, she was huge. They were happy.
Sometimes she would forget—just for a minute—what her life has become. She'd dance to the music she'd play at night, she'd emerge herself in guilty pleasure television; for a minute everything but her immediate surroundings would slip from her mind. But something always brought her back—jerked her, like discovering she'd overslept—and Quinn would remember that her present life was nothing but the aftermath of something vanished. Her life shrank even when she fought to hold it still—clinging to the seventeen year-old Rachel she had fallen in love with in high school, clinging to her eighteen year-old self. High school was simple. Rachel's breath on her neck, ribs splayed beneath her like a fan, and suddenly a different world seemed to offer itself to Quinn, bones and flesh, all she wanted was this—Yes, she thought, this was enough—but already it was starting to slip, she was slipping from Rachel even as she clung on, something she needed to remember like distant footsteps in the corners of her mind.
She sat up quickly when she heard a key rattling from the front door. She heard coughing and her heart hammered in her chest. She could hardly get her body to react, her limps refused to give in. Another rattle and then another. Quinn hauled her muscles along out of the sofa and before she got to the door, her mother pushed through almost knocking her to the ground.
"Quinn, what are you doing with that newspaper?" Judy looked at her in surprise.
Quinn tried to speak, then halted in frustration. "Mom! What are you doing here? I thought I was going to get murdered."
Judy placed her set of keys on the kitchen counter and turned to Quinn with sorrow. "I would have thought you were dead if I didn't see you for myself." She scanned her eyes around the dark, dusty and cramped apartment. "Look at this place. When was the last time you swept?"
There was a stack of old newspapers thrown around, the dishes dirty in the sink, the rubbish was piling up. It was easy to not care when you have nothing left to live for.
Quinn shrunk to the couch, her temporary blissful metamorphosis disappearing. "What are you doing here?" She repeated. "If you're here to lecture me about Rachel—"
"Yes, I am." Judy said sternly, sitting beside her. Quinn had thought Judy was going to hug her, she realized she craved the feeling of being that close to someone for a second. "You went to your father to help with the divorce? Are you out of your mind?"
"Did he tell—"
"Leroy and Hiram told me." She cut in. "Why? Why would you go that far?"
Of course, they did. Why hadn't that crossed her mind?
"He can finalize it in less the time than other lawyers." Quinn blurted. She breathed deeply, slowly, relishing the push of her lungs against her ribs, the satiny passage of air through her windpipe. "I want this done quickly and he can guarantee there'll be no media attention. I can't wait six to nine months."
"You don't know that, Quinn."
"Mom, dad's not going to let anything regarding his gay, married daughter getting a divorce hit the front of every newspaper and magazine in the country."
Judy stroked Quinn's hair and she flinched. "I don't know how to help you anymore, Quinn."
"I never asked for it."
Judy's face was entirely blank, they gazed at Quinn with dark, serious eyes. "So after everything you've worked so hard for you're just going to give up? Haven't I taught you anything?"
"No, you never taught me anything." She cried. "You never taught me how to love someone, you never taught me what it meant to be in a real, loving relationship, you never taught me what to do or say when someone loves you back." She was shouting, on the verge of tears. "You taught me to run when things get serious, when things get hard all you have to do is push it so far down that it no longer exists. So I'm running, mom, because that's all I know how to do!"
Now, Judy's expression looked stung. Quinn's sharp words hung there, trapped under a tree. "I'm sorry," Quinn said. "I didn't—"
"No, you're right," Judy looked away. "I never taught you any of that. I never told you what love really is, or what marriage would be like."
"No, mom," Quinn reached out for her. "You were there when Rachel and I had our issues. You listened and you told me what to do. This time it's just—" Quinn burst into tears, the choking, gulping sobs of the fucked up life she has created for herself. "—I just can't anymore. I've lost the energy to care about anything."
Something was wrong; something was wrong but she didn't know what. She was alone in the middle of nowhere, behaving strangely, with no one around to help her. She felt so empty.
"It'll be okay. It'll be okay. I'll be here to help you get through this." Judy cradled Quinn in her arms and she was bought back once again to the present.
The panic passed and she lay still in her mother's arms for a long time.
"We should go to dinner," Judy wiped her tears and examined her face. "You look like you haven't eaten all day."
Quinn nodded slowly, then she made her way to the shower and dressed quickly. She hadn't left her apartment since listening to Rachel's voicemail; she ate whatever leftovers she could find at home. Tiredness has become her constant companion, and she felt somehow distant from herself, as if she didn't really know who she was or what she wanted. She wondered what her friends thought of her now. They continued to blow up her cellphone with texts and calls. A part of her knew they weren't calling to check up on her; they were calling to remind her of the mistake she was making, the huge mistake regarding Rachel.
They walked the short distance from the apartment to a restaurant Judy chose set back from the street, with dark green patterned walls. The tablecloth was white, the cutlery heavy and silver. A piece of lemon floated in their water glasses, a single red rose in its slender crystal vase in the center of the table. Quinn leaned back and basked in it all. Money clearly wasn't an issue in this situation; not when it came to trying to put some light back into Quinn's eyes.
The waiter arrived and they made their orders, Quinn ordered a bottle of wine—much to Judy's dismay. Many tables were occupied by several people, and wherever Quinn looked, her gaze fell onto couples holding hands and smiling sweetly at one another. Judy tried to make conversation and she'd nod and add whatever came to mind. She picked up the saltshaker and turned it in her hand, studying it. Rachel used to do that: study things. The first time they came to New York, everything fascinated her, from lights to chairs to saltshakers.
The waiter bought the wine. He'd begun performing his duties with gross exaggeration, uncorking the bottle like a magician. A withering gaze failed to quell his merriment. Quinn drank and drank, craving that give, that welcome loosening world, but the opposite seemed to happen: her focus sharpened, as if she'd donned a pair of high-powered glasses that enabled her to see clearly the pitying looks the other diners were casting her way. Her endive salad might have been weeds yanked from the curb, the chicken dish a table leg. She imagined smashing her dishes to the floor, hollering aloud to the room at large, Don't be sorry for me! Do you think I want to do this? Can't you see I'm suffering without her?
"Quinn, are you okay?" Judy placed a hand on her arm. "How's your food?"
"I'm fine."
Judy wasn't convinced. "You need to eat. You've lost weight."
She nodded in acquiescence and finished her bland food. Then she finished the whole bottle of wine while waiting for her mother to finish her dish. She didn't say anything regarding Quinn's new found love for alcohol, paid the bill and they left. Along the street people were strolling, enjoying the warm night. Quinn walked with her arms crossed. The food sat uneasily in her stomach.
One step, another step; like a machine, she found herself prodding back toward the apartment, the last place on earth she wanted to be.
"Do you want to come up?" Quinn asked, looking past Judy to her car.
"No, I should get going. I have an early meeting tomorrow." Her eyes stayed on Quinn for a bit longer and then she said, "I know you don't want to hear this, but Rachel's seeing a vocal coach now. She's trying to put her life back together, you should, too. Please think about this, Quinn. You have so much going on for you, don't throw it all away. Especially your relationship."
Quinn bit her lip and looked down guiltily. Rachel was putting her life back together, she wanted this, didn't she? Yet, it was despair that she felt.
Judy pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. "Call me if you need anything, and I mean anything, any time of the day."
Quinn didn't stay to watch her mother's car leave, she went straight to the twelfth floor and switched on the light in her apartment. The yellow streetlights below gave the darkness a sulfurous tinge. It was nine-twenty. The room seemed tiny. It looked so plain—despite all the clutter of newspapers, DVDs, CDs, and books. She went straight to their bedroom and dug out the little jewelry box hidden at the back of her dress drawer. She opened it to see her wedding ring and the star necklace shining back at her, a bottle of Marc Jacobs' Daisy Rachel loved so much, little notes Rachel used to leave around the apartment for her to find. She spread them across the bed and turned on her laptop to log into tumblr—the first time in six months.
Going back to the very first page; she went through—four-thousand and eighty-six pages—everything.
It wasn't until four-a.m. when she brushed her teeth, changed into her sleep shirt, turned off the light and lay in bed. Their bed. The ceiling was made of white squares that sparkled faintly. Her heart pounded in her ears. She failed. She failed at making Rachel happy. She failed at promising her the world. She failed at being a loving wife. She failed.
Quinn curled into a ball under the covers. Just get through the night, she thought, but her body trembled, teeth chattering, heartbeat pounding against her eardrums. Gradually she found herself thinking of home, fog swirling like dreams around the riverbank and white buildings of downtown Lima. The movie theater the park, McKinley High, the book depository, all obscuring the open planes of her mind until she was being surrounded by it. In the center of it all was one girl. The only girl, only person she could ever love, smiling back at her, and there was nothing left to do but close her eyes.
"Happy four years, three months, fourteen hours and fifty seconds, baby." She whispered in the dark before crying herself to sleep.
•••
February 10th, 2016
Days had passed since her slight emotional breakdown. The pounding of her head had been unbearable at first, escalating from her temples to her scalp. For two days she'd lain quite still on the sagging bed, listening to scattershot sounds from the street. She'd been afraid to move; the membrane between herself and the breakdown seemed very thin, like the soft patch on an infant's skull. Sudden, drastic movement might puncture it, causing her to fall back through. Carefully Quinn would creep out of bed to use the bathroom, get a glass or water or to pay for her takeout. On the third day she'd begun reading her book of Charles Dickens stories: blacksmiths, scullery maids, Christmas roasts, somehow they were what she needed.
When the ache in her head subsided, Quinn turned to the task of repairing the apartment. She moved carefully, trying not to disturb her resting bones and retrigger further aches and pains in her body. She scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom, cabinet to the fridge, she washed the dishes, threw unwanted items in the rubbish bag where she emptied them in a wastebin. Then she moved onto the bathroom and repeated the same tasks. She did the same for the bedroom, her tears and lack of hygiene stained the bedspread, but after several cycles in the washing-machine and hanging it in the sun to dry, the stains (the whole spread in fact) had faded.
She did the laundry for all the clothing in the apartment, hers and Rachel's, and then after it dried she folded it neatly and put them back where they belonged. Quinn knew it was a ridiculous thing to do, but she rationalized it in a frantic sense—that doing this held the key to her survival. Rachel was gone; she had to accept the unacceptable.
It was when she was sitting at one of the oldest restaurants in New York—businessmen outside blowing cocoons of smoke, smells of beer, salt, oiled wood—that she realized she hadn't cried in five days.
She saw her manager Kelly Fitch climb a narrow flight of steps, she stood up and Kelly unexpectedly pulled her in for a hug, rocking her in arms whose feel was instantly familiar to her. "I'm so glad you called, Quinn. Jesus, it's been so long." Kelly drew away to look at her, smiling that sheepish smile of older relatives who haven't seen you in years. She gripped the tops of Quinn's arms, "I thought you left me to find another manager."
They seated themselves at a scarred plant table. Kelly ordered two glasses of wine, which arrived in bell-shaped glasses tall as wine bottles. Kelly raised her glass. "To the pleasure of drinking with you again, Quinn."
Quinn sipped the sweet, malty wine, cloudy in her glass. The taste was whole, like a meal itself. She hadn't drunk alcohol since her mother had been in town. It felt like a previous life.
Kelly watched her drink. "I've missed this."
Quinn burst out laughing. The wine seemed to flood her brain. "Me too." She said honestly. "I'm sorry I haven't replied to any of your calls. It's been a very hectic—"
"I understand." Kelly held up her hand. "You've had a rough few months and I support your decision to take time off." She opened her folder to hand Quinn some papers. "These are scripts that have been sent over to me from Lima. Have a read and if you're interested in any of those scripts I can put in a call for you to audition—"
"I don't want anything in Lima." Quinn said, before Kelly could ask any questions she added, "I know I said I did the last time we met. I'm sorry that you went through all that trouble for me. I've been thinking of moving to L.A."
"Oh," Kelly said hesitantly after a moment of silence. It occurred to Quinn that Kelly probably thought she was joking at first. "That's—a change."
"Yes." She had been thinking about it for a while, surprisingly enough, the idea came to her when she was watching the bedspread cycle in the washing-machine. Within the hour, she had decided to give her life new direction. Yale was a memorial experience and her acting career had gone to a great start, but she needed a change, something away from home, away from all that's happened in the past few months, away from the spotlight. "I'm actually going back to college to study English. Become a script writer, maybe? Even go into journalism."
They both smiled, the idea hung there.
"You have always had a love for words." Kelly said. "What can I do to help you?"
"I know it's a lot for me to ask. I haven't been exactly keeping in contact with you and out of the blue I'm asking—"
"Quinn," she said softly. "I'm your manager. I'm here to support you and help you in any way I can. What is it that you need?"
"A few small roles in L.A. to get me started?" She grinned apologetically, knowing that she had put Kelly through so much over the past few months. "Just enough to keep me financially stable and through college."
"Done." Kelly finished her wine glass. "Honestly, did you expect me to say no?" When she laughed her whole body shook and Quinn couldn't help doing the same. "As your manager I understand what roles you normally love to do and what you're comfortable in, but as your agent I suggest that we think outside the box."
Quinn raised her eyebrow. "You're not asking me to pose nude or anything are you?"
Kelly didn't respond. Instead she handed Quinn a new script. "It's a new project Dreamworks is investing in. You've always played the girl-next-door or Damsel in distress; I think this role will suit you, take you out of your comfort zone. You did once tell me that you were pretty bitchy in high school."
Quinn read the title: Mistress of Rome, and she flipped through the hundred or so pages before turning her attention back to Kelly. "What role will I be playing?"
"It's based on a novel, have you read it?"
"I can't say I have."
Kelly reached into her bag and handed Quinn the book the movie would be based on. "The role is for Lepida. She's the antagonist to Thea's protagonist."
"And what does Lepida do?"
"She's the town whore, basically. Rich, spoiled, bitchy, villain." Kelly shrugged and leaned closer to Quinn. "We all know the villain has the most fun."
Quinn's narrow eyes widened visibly. "And there'll be sex and nude scenes?"
"It won't be R-rated if that's what you're worried about. Look," she noticed Quinn's worried expression. "You're a great actress, Quinn. You've played mild nice girl roles and you're great at that, don't get me wrong. I think this will be a good opportunity to get out of your comfort zone and play a villain before going off to do bigger and better things. Not to mention that it'll prevent typecasting in the future."
After a long pause, Kelly said, "You don't have to decide now. Go home, run a bath, read both the script and the book and tell me what you think."
The restaurant was almost empty by the time they had finished talking. Pale light fell through the windows, cutting the smoky air into diamond shaped bands. Kelly paid for lunch and they said their goodbyes on the sidewalk, with a promise from Quinn that she will call about the project. It was late afternoon when she walked back to her apartment. Quinn felt nearly comatose, done in by the wine and the passive smoking at the restaurant. When she reached her building, she noticed the pickup truck parked right in front of the building. Her heartbeat spiraled; she began to sweat.
She ran the twelve floors of stairs to the apartment, and opened the door to find Finn sitting on her couch, reading her magazine. He didn't look similar to the way she remembered. In Quinn's mind Finn hadn't grown since the vast high school years, but his face was the same: white teeth, narrow gray-brown eyes, like the oafish animal he'd been nicknamed for. He'd lost his indelible tan.
Something flared in Quinn's eyes, he must have noticed because he stood up instantly. "What are you doing here?" She asked.
"Rachel. She—" He started.
Quinn lost herself in that moment. Her hand reached the kitchen counter-top for support. She couldn't understand what he was saying, was physically unable to hear the reason why he was here.
Neither of them moved when Rachel appeared from out of the bedroom, facing her. Quinn didn't say anything, her muscles seemed frozen and for a second she thought that Rachel might not have recognized her. Everything that came into her head seemed inappropriate, somehow lacking. Thoughts of the short time they spent together after the accident came back to her, she noticed how much Rachel's changed since then. She looked good, with her oversize shirt loosely flowing over her faded jeans, she could see Rachel's toned legs, narrow hips and a flat stomach. She was tan, too, as if she'd been sitting outside in the sun for most of winter.
When Rachel was finally ready, she took a deep breath and smiled. "Hi, Quinn."
The words startled Quinn, and she looked at Rachel with amazement in her eyes. Then after shaking her head slightly, she frowned. "How did you get in?"
Rachel's smiled disappeared in an instant and Quinn felt guilty that she had made this harder. "Your mom gave me the key."
But that didn't stop her brain from acting on impulse. "So you decided to come here and stir things up again?"
Rachel backed away further down the hallway and Finn stood beside her. She shivered from the rush of anger. "Oh, so you're here to flash your new relationship in front of me." The words stumbled out, they were out before she could stop them.
"Hey, that's not it." Finn began. Quinn interrupted him,
"Shut up, Finn. This has nothing to do with you." She spat.
He challenged her. "You're right, it doesn't. It's about Rachel and what she needs right now."
At first she was puzzled, then alarmed, she looked at the two of them in the room. Her eyes rested on Finn who looked at her open-mouthed and amazed. "And you know what's best for her, is that right? Where were you when the accident happened?"
"Where are you now when she needs you?" He said loudly.
The urge to punch Finn again was more tempting than ever. But Rachel had run into their bedroom and she followed, slamming the door shut. She stood there looking at Quinn, and her mind wondered onto what Rachel now thought of her. Her eyes were probably bloodshot, her hair disheveled looking as if she had been through an electric mixer. She didn't dress like her old self anymore, mostly because she had no one to impress.
For a long moment Rachel said nothing. Then she brushed her hair back with the palms of her hands and took a breath. "I've been trying to call you."
"I know." Quinn tried to not show any emotion.
"Were you ever going to call me back?"
"No."
Rachel flinched but she recovered quickly. "So that's it then?"
Quinn felt stunned. Her whole body became numb, as though she had slipped and fallen into one of the forest ponds in Lima when they had only a paper-thin sheet of ice on the surface. How deep were she and Rachel about to sink now? She wondered. "What do you want me to say, Rach?"
"That you want to be with me," she began. "That you want this to work and we can get through this." She walked across the room and stood by the mirror, her back to Quinn. "It doesn't have to end if you don't want it to."
"I can't do that." Rachel was cold-eyed, stern and determined. Quinn had to look away. "Rach, I can't anymore. I'm sorry."
"Why not?"
The two sides of her returned: the vicious and loving sides. Only the difference is now they were just one and the same, they were agreeing on the same thing. If that makes any sense at all. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've lost all feeling for anything and I don't know what do to or how to get it back," she sat down on the bed, drained of energy. "I don't want to hurt you, but I feel like I have to do this."
Rachel sat down beside her and reached for her hand. Quinn let her take it but didn't look at her. "Quinn, we'll get through it together. We'll find a way."
Quinn felt a tightness in her stomach. When she finally spoke her voice was steady, but she could still recognize the pain in it. "I'm so sorry, Rach. I can't."
Rachel didn't say anything right away. Instead she stood, wiped her face and walked to the far end of the room where she leaned against the wardrobe. She crossed her arms and watched the wind blow the curtains before saying, "Could you really leave me and never regret it?"
Quinn bit her lip as she answered. Her voice was beginning to crack. "No, probably not." She felt empty, her mind had no more proper contents than a road awaiting traffic. The feeling brought its own strange peace. "All I know is that I can't make you happy anymore."
They fell into a trancelike state as Quinn felt the reality of the situation. She could see the muscles in Rachel's arms (she had been working out), the easy smile, the tanned face. "Can I get my things?" Rachel asked and Quinn nodded before leaving the room to give her some space.
Finn wasn't in the living room when she walked out and she thanked the heavens for finally giving him a brain to know when to not stick his business where it wasn't needed. She sunk down on the couch, spent. She listened as the sound of Rachel's movements faded into nothing. She emerged from the room half an hour later with everything she needed in her luggage and walked toward Quinn with her head down, she realized Rachel had been crying.
"I have everything I need for now," she attempted a smile. "Next time I'll give you more notice before I come." Her face remained cast down, her lips pressed together. It was time for her to go.
"Finn's waiting for you outside." Quinn said. "Rach, you're not date—"
"No, we're friends. I needed a lift and he offered."
"Please, be careful."
Quinn walked her to the elevator and watched her finger hesitantly press the button once, as if trying to buy some more time together. She took her hand out of her pockets and on instinct, Quinn grabbed a hold of them, moving her fingers softly over Rachel's skin.
"I'll see you in court." Rachel said softly.
"What? Why?"
The elevator made it's ascend to the twelfth floor. Rachel stepped in when the doors opened. "I'm not signing those divorce papers, Quinn."
Quinn held the doors open when they were about to close. "Why?"
Rachel pressed the button in the elevator. "I have faith that you'll find a way back to me."
Those words hurt more than Quinn had expected.
Finally, reluctantly, she stepped back and watched Rachel with a remoteness befitting her own faint presence. The elevator door closed, and then stillness, a sound unlike any other, like the inside of a coffin as if the elevator had been lowered into a grave. Quinn walked across to the corridor window and watched Rachel step out from the big doors, making her way toward the pickup truck. She watched Rachel open the truck door, then she paused and lifted her head to look up at the building window where Quinn was standing and waved one last time without smiling before stepping in. Quinn watched the truck roll forward; she heard the wheels screeching. She watched the truck make its way down the street until it was no longer in sight.
Back in the apartment, she kicked the door shut with her foot. She sunk down against the wall, ranking her hands through her hair; the tears began to fall hard now. She closed her eyes, pushing her head down into her folded arms. She waited for her muscles to stop trembling. Waited for her blood to stop roaring. Waited for the vicious whispers to die down to simple, straightforward uncomplicated thoughts.
•••
November 3rd, 2011
For all the people she's ever met in her life, Quinn had never felt so powerfully drawn to anyone. To be in the midst of them, to bathe in their scent, reach out and hold them. But this was Rachel. Quinn didn't classify Rachel in the same race as the human species. No, Rachel was heaven, Rachel was home, Rachel was made just for her. And that very certainty overwhelmed Quinn with a riveting sense of power; light seemed to pour from behind her eyes, her smile was a nimble pair of arms reaching out to gather Rachel in.
Rachel leaned down to adjust her ballet flats, the top of her dress fell open slightly, her thick liquid hair spilled down her shoulders, pooling like oil in her lap, and Quinn couldn't turn away. Her love for Rachel was a thing she could harness; it sharpened her, distilled her every impulse to a single burning knot between her stomach and her chest, like a star; a magnetic field whose pull would either draw Rachel irresistibly to her or cause her to implode.
Her mind wrestled free when Rachel stood up and took her hand. "Come on." She pulled Quinn into the empty choir room.
Quinn moved to take a seat, but Rachel lifted her arms, craving again that relief of closing the gap between them. And in this room, their lips crashed, their legs and stomach against each other, so many points of contact that this meeting felt miraculous, irrevocable. Quinn held quite still, arms at her side, while Rachel hung there, pulling Quinn closer, fastened to the heat between them.
"Whoa, Rach." Quinn said, half laughing, trying to break free, but Rachel refused to let go.
Rachel turned her head so her lips met the hot skin of Quinn's neck. Quinn lifted Rachel onto her toes, one hand fisted in Rachel's sweater, their hearts beating in unison like something had come alive.
This wasn't new; kissing at school. In fact, often when she and Rachel finally sunk back into each other in the auditorium, under the bleachers in the football field, in the library, in the bathroom, something in Quinn expanded, craving more of Rachel's lips, her heartbeat clamored. Quinn would try with her mind's eye to resist temptation, always realizing that they were in a public—yet disclosed—area, but whatever rational thought she'd try and reason with disappeared when her lips met Rachel's until they would have no choice but to break free and re-enter the halls of McKinley suppressing their arousal for one another.
However, this was new; kissing in the choir room. A room soon to be filled with twelve or more students. Quinn can't seem to remember how many students were part of the glee club.
Quinn seized Rachel's arms, holding her trembling hands. "Rach, this is crazy."
Rachel responded by kissing her into silence, pushing her backwards until her thighs reached the piano. "You have no problems kissing me in the bathroom, Quinn. That part of the school is highly unsanitary compared to this one."
They switched positions until Rachel was sitting on the piano top with Quinn standing in-between her thighs, capturing Rachel's lips in another heated kiss. She didn't know that having Rachel's legs wrapped lightly around her hip would cause unfamiliar warmth to gradually pervade her body. With it came excitement, tension, a feeling of being on the verge of discovering something wonderful. Quinn forced Rachel's teeth apart and her tongue invaded her mouth, it caused her own skin to tingle with pinpricks of sensation. Their tongues engaged in a thrust and parry, then a sinuous dance followed by a chase that left Rachel panting for breath. She broke the kiss and leaned back, exhausted.
Quinn was made of sterner stuff. Without pause, she spread kisses over Rachel's mouth, cheeks, eyes, nose, forehead, and when she reached Rachel's ear, she nibbled her earlobe with her teeth, traced its outer edge with the tip of her tongue. Feelings intensified when Quinn slipped her hand under Rachel's sweater, her palm tracing Rachel's stomach and upward to cup her breast through her bra, she smiled when Rachel let her a gasp.
"What's going on?" A booming voice abruptly halted their heated moment.
Rachel nestled her face in Quinn's neck and whispered, "Oh, God."
Quinn thought that she would be angry at Finn for the interruption, surprised, shocked even, but she couldn't help feeling slightly irritated with Rachel. She looked down into the embarrassed eyes staring back at her, "You try to seduce me and you didn't think to lock the door?"
"I'm sorry! I was caught in the moment." Rachel said softly.
Quinn stepped back to give Rachel space to slide off the piano. They turned to find Finn, Mercedes, Sam and Artie staring at them, the shock was immense.
"What's going on?" Finn asked again, eyeing them suspiciously, then he turned to Quinn. "Is this one of your pranks? Are you using her for something?"
She didn't say anything and looked into Rachel's eyes, it was like looking into a pale midst of dark chocolate. She reached for Rachel's hand and squeezed lightly. It wasn't the typical way to come out to your friends, but when have they been the typical couple?
"Quinn," Finn said. "Stop playing pranks." There was something in his voice that told her he was feeling threatened by the small gesture, he couldn't tear his eyes away from their joint hands.
"Hey man," Sam put a hand on Finn's shoulder. "This is none of our business."
The rest of the students entered the room only to stop suddenly and wriggle past the crowd standing in the doorway. Quinn's mind drifted into the familiar fight-or-flight territory, but her thoughts were stopped once again by Finn's voice. "What were you two doing? Why were you kissing?"
Echoes of surprise erupted from the room. Mercedes and Sam were engaging in a conversation of their own, Tina was whispering with Mike, Rory and Sugar seemed more confused than everyone else, Artie and Puck stood with their mouths hung open. Santana was glaring at both of them, and Brittany was smiling happily, nudging Santana, whose expression Quinn couldn't distinguish as lack of interest or anger. Kurt and Blaine were huddled to the side with worried expressions.
Rachel stepped closer to Quinn and on impulse Quinn put her arm around her shoulder to pull her closer. One look at Finn told her that he was unprepared to see what had happened. His expression combined surprise, confusion and anger. "I'm going to ask you one more time, Quinn, what's going on?"
"Finn," Rachel started. "This isn't..."
"We're dating." Quinn said, the words were soft and warm. "We've been together for a month now." It was the first time she had used the word dating. It was a relief to finally get it off her chest. "There, are you happy?"
"Actually," Rachel said. "It's been one month, ten days and—"
"This isn't the time, Rach." Quinn whispered with a soft smile.
Sam stepped forward from the crowd. "Wait, wait, when you had that meeting," he recalled. "The person you referred to having not kissed was Quinn?"
"What?" Quinn and Finn's voice came simultaneously. But it was Finn who was quick to speak next. He turned his attention toward the rest of the club. "You guys all knew about this? Were you helping them sneak around?"
Some of them shook their heads, panic in their motions. Quinn felt Rachel tremble, reaching out to Quinn to steady herself. "Finn," her voice was hoarse. "They had nothing to do with this."
"This is a joke, right? You're not a lesbian, you don't even like girls, Rach. You don't like Quinn," he appeared to be having difficulty making his words form coherent sentences. "You've been lying to me all along?"
Quinn stood in front of Rachel instinctively to protect her from harm. "First of all, you and Rachel were over. Secondly, she didn't lie to you. We weren't ready to tell anyone."
"But you didn't tell me!"
"We didn't have to tell you," Quinn raised her voice to match his. "This relationship has nothing to do with you. You're not a part of it. So you can quit acting like the world revolves around you."
Finn's face consumed a hard, uncompromising mask. "It's bad enough that you slept with my best friend, lied to me about the baby. Now you want Rachel, too? Are you planning on taking everything away from me, Quinn?"
Rachel never thought she would be frightened of Finn, but her determination to defend Quinn overrode those feelings. "Finn, you have no right to bring any of that up. This was my choice as much as it is Quinn's." She tried to reason softly, the glee kids' reactions were making her nervous. "Can we talk about this outside?"
Through all the yelling and argument, they missed Mr. Schue coming around the corner until he was right behind them. "Sorry, I'm late guys!" He squeezed through the crowd but stopped in the center of the room. "What's going on?"
Finn's patience snapped. "You two are unbelievable!" His eyes were rapacious and so intense they seemed to burn. His face was magenta colored from his rage. "I quit, I'm out of here!"
"Finn!" Mr. Schue yelled. "What's going on? I thought we were a team, we're not—"
"They're dating!" Finn yelled. "I caught them making out on top of the piano!"
"Is this true?" Mr. Schue turned to ask the two girls.
Rachel said, "Yes, but I promise you Mr. Schue, kissing was all we did on the piano."
"He meant us dating, Rach," Quinn corrected. Rachel pulled herself closer to Quinn feeling slightly embarrassed at her outburst. Quinn said, "We're dating, yes."
"Okay," he clapped his hands, not knowing what else to say and looked around the room. "You're all friends, you're supposed to support each other."
"We do, Mr. Schue," Puck stepped beside Finn and patted him on the shoulder. "I missed that make-out session but I bet it was hot, right?"
"Yeah," Tina said. "I can't say that I'm extremely surprised. Rachel has always had a thing for Quinn."
"Tina!" Rachel warned.
"What?" Kurt asked in shock. "How did I just find out about this?"
Blaine put a hand on Kurt's arm. "I don't think this is the time."
Kurt turned to Tina and said to her, "Let's talk about this after glee."
"Hey!" Rachel stomped her foot. "That's—highly rude. I told you that in confidence, Tina."
Santana shouted from the top of the bleachers, catching everyone's attention. "Can we get back to the lesson? I have a song to sing that you will all undoubtedly love and praise me for."
"How can you all be okay with this?" Finn was furious by now, he was heaving profusely trying to keep his hands to himself, afraid that he'll do something he'll soon regret. Quinn wondered if everyone had forgotten he was in the room due to the slight shift in conversation. "I quit. I can't look at you two."
"You don't have to do this, Finn," Mr. Schue said, standing in front of him. "We can talk this through."
"No way! I don't want anything to do with the two of them." His patience was lost and he glared at Quinn and Rachel dangerously before storming off leaving everyone in a state of shock.
Quinn was startled to see tears in Rachel's eyes. Upon seeing Quinn's worried expression, she dashed the tears away. Quinn squeezed her hand further and pulled them toward the seats.
"I'll go talk to him," Puck said and before he reached the door, Sam added, "Yeah, I'll go too."
"Are you okay, Rachel?" Mr. Schue asked seeing tears swell in her eyes. Everyone had taken their seats. Kurt rubbed light circles on her back and she smiled at him thankfully before turning her attention to Mr. Schue to say,
"I'm okay."
He lingered for a moment before pressing on and continued with the lesson. He, as well as everyone else in the room, was solely focused on the event that had occurred. It was evident no one wanted to continue with the day's lesson. Mr. Schue explained Sectionals were only a few weeks away and with sufficient practice, they'll have a great chance of winning. Competing schools this year will be the girls from Crawford Country Day and the Unitards.
"Can I sing now?" Santana raised her voice when Mr. Schue had stopped talking. "I practiced this song solely for the purpose of rubbing it in Berry's face that I'm better."
"I think I'll make a hot lesbian."
Everyone paused to look at Sugar. She was twisting her hair around her finger with her head craned toward the ceiling. She came back to reality and said, "Oh, I thought we were comparing who'd make a hotter lesbian than Rachel." She leaned over Rory to ask Rachel, "What's it like kissing Quinn? Can I have a go at that when you've finished?"
"No!" Rachel said without hesitation. She moved closer to Quinn as if to possess her.
"You would totally make a hot lesbian." Brittany agreed, smiling and holding up her two thumbs. "I'd show you how it's done but I'm with Santana."
Santana hopped down the bleachers, pushing Mr. Schue to the side and taking center stage. "I know that you'll all enjoy my rendition of the Broadway classic, On My Own from—"
Rachel stood up instantly. "You wouldn't dare sing that song!"
Santana smiled wickedly. "It goes to prove that whatever Berry can do, I can do a million times better." She strutted over to Rachel placing both hands on the top of her shoulder to push her down on her seat. "Sit back and enjoy."
"Quinn, do something." Rachel whined, but the melody of the violin and clarinet rose in the corner, the band filling the room with its magnificent acoustics and when Santana opened her mouth to sing,
And now I'm on my own again nowhere to turn, no one to go
Without a home, without a friend, without a face to say hello
No one dared move. Rachel's hand froze on top of Quinn's, her mouth opened in an O shape. Santana's voice was raspy and sloppy, though she sings it with unfaltering conviction. There is a sustained, simple, pounding snare-focused beat in her voice that bursts sporadically throughout. Rachel didn't have much to whine about afterward, she leaned against Quinn gratefully; closing the gap between them seemed to ease some tension within her. A silence overcame the room. Santana briskly stepped forward looking into Rachel's eyes to finish the song with a rhythmic, heart-melting tone,
I love him
I love him
I love him
But only on my own
Santana received a standing ovation, with Rachel moving to hug her and Santana instinctively backed away only to fall into Rachel's determined arms with a cringe. Mr. Schue stood between the two girls plastering a wide smile on his lips. "That was unbelievable, Santana."
"I didn't know you had it in you," Kurt wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, God, I'm crying because of Satan."
"This gives me a great idea for Sectionals. Rachel and Santana, you'll sing a duet together." Mr. Schue said without pause.
"No way!" They objected simultaneously.
"We have to work together if we're to win this. Now," he handed the two girls sheets of paper. "Here are list of songs I've come up with that'll be good for Sectionals. We should meet up tomorrow after school to work on which songs will benefit both your voices."
"I ain't working with, Berry." Santana shook her head vigorously.
"Mr. Schue, I'm all for winning and everything," Rachel said softly. "However, partnering me with Santana only guarantees my death sentence. I think we should focus on finding me a new male lead. I vote Blaine."
The excitement of Sectionals was clearly evident on Mr. Schue's wide, pearly-white smile and he ignored their protests. "This will be great. I have a very good feeling about this." He gathered his belongings while saying, "Enjoy the rest of your week." Then he leaned in closer to Rachel and Santana to say, "I'll see you girls after school tomorrow in the auditorium."
"Great," Santana muttered picking up her backpack. "I have to work with big mouth for the next few weeks." She was about to saunter over and further attack Rachel, only to be stopped by Brittany. They both left the room, Brittany waving a cheery goodbye at them.
"I find this demeaning and embarrassing beyond my worst nightmares." Rachel whispered, half-angry, half-disbelieving. "Quinn, you're not helping by laughing at me!"
"I'm sorry, Rach," she said leading them out into the parking lot. "It's just funny that Santana sings a Broadway classic and Mr. Schue decides to put the two of you together."
The air smelled of flowering trees and motor oil. Quinn tugged in lungfuls of air to stop the violent spinning of her head. "Hey, about Finn earlier—"
Rachel wasn't listening. "You know, Quinn, you're going to have to be there with me at every lesson that I spend with Santana."
"Why?"
"To protect me! Who knows what Santana might do to me?" Rachel almost toppled to the ground, but Quinn caught her.
"Will you watch where you're going for once?"
"See," Rachel beamed proudly. "Without you I would have fallen flat on my face. Which goes to prove without you to protect me from the evil wrath that is Santana Lopez, I'll surely die, and you therefore, will be forever alone."
They reached Quinn's car and she smiled. "How do you know I'll be forever alone?"
"Are you saying that you'll replace me with another less talented, less adorable individual?"
Quinn shrugged and walked over to the driver side and opened the door. "Not right away, obviously. I need a mourning period, don't I? I'd say two days later." She laughed and got inside.
Rachel closed the passenger door immediately upon hearing Quinn's remark and she refused to get in. Quinn rolled down the windows and said, "Rach, can't you sulk in the car while I take you home?"
"No!"
"It's cold out."
"I don't care." She whined. Quinn could picture the pout on her lips. "I refuse to be in the same car as someone who finds me replaceable."
"Rachel!" Quinn shouted sternly. That got her attention. "Get in the car before I will really replace you."
Rachel did as she was told but refused to make any conversations with Quinn. Quinn kept driving, weaving across the small streets. The traffic was getting heavier and heavier and there were people everywhere, the sun was at an angle now; each tree made a cool bar of shadow on the path. She didn't know how fast she was going but the car seemed to fly down the streets until she turned to stop in front of Rachel's house.
"Rachel," she said, killing the engine. "Are you going to ignore me for the remainder of the day or should I be prepared to talk to myself for a lot longer than that?"
They stared at each other for a long moment, until Rachel reached for her timidly. "Friday the thirteenth is in ten days."
Quinn gave her a quizzical look. "And?"
"Would you stay over tonight? Its bad luck to wake up alone on Friday the thirteenth." Rachel said it so—expressionless and with such honesty Quinn couldn't be sure whether she was being sarcastic.
"O—kay? But it's not Friday the thirteenth." She waited for Rachel to elaborate further.
Rachel reached into her bag and took out a thin book. "According to this book, there are several actions that will counteract the negativity of Friday the thirteenth if done properly and must be done prior to the thirteenth."
"Let me see that,." Quinn said.
"No," Rachel moved her hand further away. "You'll laugh."
"Baby, I'm not going to laugh." It was pointless to hide the smile that was trying to break free.
"You always laugh at me."
"I laugh with you. There's a difference."
Rachel relaxed when Quinn leaned back in her seat, opening the book again, "The first page explains that one must not wake up alone on the—Hey!"
Quinn took the opportunity to snatch the book from Rachel's grasp and read the title aloud, "A witch's guide to surviving Friday the thirteenth." There was complete silence. Quinn could hear the sound of the wind blowing from outside. Then, she burst out laughing.
Rachel folded her arms, glancing out the window with an angry expression. "I knew you were going to laugh."
"Rach, you're not a witch." Quinn reasoned.
"I'm a little bit psychic. Phoebe from Charmed is a witch and she was psychic."
Quinn leaned in to capture Rachel's chin and lifted her face, closing her lips over Rachel's lightly. The hard muscles in her body relaxed as she pressed harder into Rachel and felt the blood beating to her lips. Breathless, she settled into the kiss. Sounds were foreign in her ears—cars, a police siren in the distance, the wind blowing the leaves. All she heard was the faintness of her own moans as it welled up in her throat.
"You are so adorable." Quinn whispered, pulling away from Rachel.
"I'm going to take that as a yes that you support my absurdity."
"Do I even have a choice?" Quinn asked, watching Rachel get out of the car.
"Nope." Rachel walked over to the driver's side door as Quinn rolled down the windows. Rachel leaned in, "I'll see you later, baby." She added with a slight flirtatious tone. She noticed the effect it had on Quinn and kissed her cheek before turning to walk up the steps and into her house.
Quinn started the car and drove home in a daze; this was how she remembered it.
She kissed her mother hello. How was your day, sweetie? Judy asked. Fine, thank you, I'm going to stay at a friend's house tonight if that's okay. I'll be home tomorrow. A friend? She replied back, who? Rachel, from glee. Okay, sweetie, have a good time. She ate something, possibly some fruit. She couldn't be sure. In her room, Quinn clawed her way out of her Cheerios uniform and took a very, very cold, yet, extremely refreshing shower. Then she put on clean clothes, let her hair down to dry naturally, packed a few things in her duffel bag and kissed her mother goodbye with an added promise to call her later in the night, got into her car and drove to Rachel's house.
Three taps on her window caught her attention. Her heart thudded once at the sight of Rachel—hard—then two more beats squeezed through, three, four, five, and soon she could no longer keep count.
"Quinn, are you going to come in? You've been sitting out here for half an hour."Rachel said.
Quinn licked her lips and swallowed deeply. She grabbed her bag and followed Rachel into her house. The Berry men were sitting at the sofa watching television and smiled brightly at her when the two girls entered.
"Quinn, so glad you decided to get out from your car." He held out his hand and introduced himself. "I'm Leroy Berry, I believe we've met one time. And this is my husband, Hiram."
She felt Rachel shift beside her and tried to remember the last sequence of events that led her to be in this position. The room kept turning, Quinn closed her eyes for a second to keep it still. She used to play this game as a child; you whirled in a circle, then stopped, savoring the explosion of dizziness in your brain.
She opened her eyes and saw everything clearly for the very first time in her life. Rachel gazed up at her with confusion written across her face. The pace in her heart picked up once again and Quinn thought she might begin to get a heart attack if she didn't calm it down. Seconds ticked by, it was as though she had been suspended in mid-air, looking down at the world she'd just traveled. The view was breathtaking.
"Well, this is awkward."
Leroy's voice broke Quinn's gaze, she quickly recovered. "I'm so sorry," she said apologetically. "It's just been one crazy afternoon." That was the understatement of the century. She smiled, "Hi, I'm Quinn."
"Nice to meet you, Quinn." Hiram brought her in for a hug. "You smell nice. What is that? Chanel. No. 5?"
Quinn grinned, her smile radiated. "Yes, actually. I got it just yesterday."
Quinn gathered in her surroundings inside the Berry house, it made her remember, nostalgically, the warmth of the home she used to live with her grandfather. A large Persian rug laid in the center of the hardwood floor. The walls were decorated in floral-patterned cloth paper, the colors in the petals picking up on the reds and whites in the upholstery rug. Over the large windows hung antique silk drapes, behind which were sheer curtains.
"You have a lovely home."
"Thank you, Quinn," Hiram said. He nudged his husband in the ribs lightly, "I like this one."
"Are you here to counteract Friday the thirteenth suspicions like Rachel does every time?" Leroy laughed amusingly.
"Dad!" Rachel said, only to be cut off by Quinn.
"Every time?" She turned to Rachel. "You never told me you do this every time."
"Oh, yes." Leroy added. "Every ten days prior to the thirteenth. That's if to say the thirteenth lands on a Friday. It's strenuous work, believe me."
"Is that so?" Quinn's eyes were laughing. "What does she do during these ten days?"
Rachel stomped her foot in an attempt to get everyone's attention. She was rather annoyed and a feeling a little ignored. Without giving Leroy the chance to answer Quinn's question, Rachel said, "Quinn and I will be studying, and then possibly watching television and falling asleep—"
"Don't stay up too late." Leroy said, walking back into the living room. He leaned in to whisper in Quinn's ear. "I'll tell you all about it another time."
Quinn laughed. Rachel rolled her eyes, turning toward the stairs.
Quinn hurried after her, closing the door once she entered Rachel's room. "Jeez, what a room."
The over-sized bed looked lost in the semi-enormous room, the floors of which were covered in a thick, beige carpet so soft to the step Quinn felt as though she were walking on marshmallows. To the right of the bed was a white marble vanity table, resting in the middle of a marble counter that ran nearly the length of the room. In the corner near the door was a dark wood book shelf, reaching almost the top of the ceiling.
"You really are spoiled, Rach. I thought you were exaggerating half the time." Quinn said, examining Rachel's collection on the book shelf.
"I went on a shopping spree one day and got a bit carried away." There was something in Rachel's hard tone that made Quinn's spine tingle.
Quinn turned, only to freeze mid-step. A coldness broke in her lungs, like inhaling helium from a balloon. From across the bed, there was frustration evident in Rachel's expression. "Umm, did I do something wrong?" Quinn said.
"Yes," she pointed to the clock above the door. "It's eight-o'clock, Quinn. What took you so long? I was going to wait for you to have dinner but we got extremely hungry. And then I see your car from my window only to have to go out to get you because you sat in there for half an hour."
Quinn hadn't realized it was so late, she hadn't realized the sun had disappeared behind stars, she hadn't realized anything since the moment Rachel had called her baby. That one word seemed like the last puzzle piece that finally brought everything into place.
Quinn watched the anger dissipate from Rachel's expression, fascinated by the warm abundance on her face, the sensation was extravagant. Something calmed in her now, cool in her chest, her head, warm blood coursing through her, drawing out the cold inside of her.
"What's wrong?" Rachel asked.
Quinn shook her head, moving in to kiss Rachel lightly. Rachel had other ideas and took Quinn's face in her hands to kiss her again, deeper this time. It wasn't enough. They continued kissing, harder and faster, until Quinn's breath started to catch in her throat. Quinn pushed Rachel further up the bed, blanketing over her, their kisses were more fevered now, almost desperate. Quinn kept stroking the skin under Rachel's sweater, her own fingertips brushing the curve of the breast beneath hers, and then she could no longer think about anything anymore. She tugged Rachel's sweater over her head before she felt she might have to tear it free. Quinn stared, startled for only a moment—before she took off her coat and lowered herself over Rachel again, sheltering her, keeping her warm.
What Quinn was feeling couldn't be said in words. Dizzy and blissful. When Rachel lolled her head back, Quinn nibbled her neck, biting into it softly and enjoying the moans escaping from Rachel. She was seeing stars and the room began to tilt and spin in the enclosed dome. Rachel weaved her fingers through Quinn's hair so as to keep her there, then she kissed Rachel's open mouth again. They were both breathing hard, getting crazy. Quinn pushed one of her thighs between Rachel's leg, she swallowed the moan that escaped Rachel's lips.
Rachel put her hands on either side of Quinn's face. "You and I—do you want me to—is this going to happen?"
"What?" Quinn came back to her from a very great distance. "Oh. Oh! I didn't think—tonight—"
"Me either." Rachel kissed her again; she was trembling, maybe with excitement. "But if you want to—"
"No—I mean," Quinn pulled back, thumping her head once on Rachel's shoulder. "I meant—now is—"
"Too soon?" Rachel finished.
Quinn sighed, straddling Rachel's hips. "Yeah. Is—is that okay?"
Rachel lay one hand on Quinn's cheek, she loved the touch of it. "I don't want to rush this either."
With another heavy sigh, Quinn slid to Rachel's side, resting her head on her shoulder. "We should watch a movie or something to..."
"Relieve the tension?" Rachel laughed, eyeing her with a dubious smile. "Are you hungry? Have you eaten?"
"I'll be fine." Quinn snuggled deeper into Rachel's side.
"Quinn, you can't skip a meal."
"It's fine, Rach. I just want to sleep."
"It's only nine-o'clock."
They were kissing for an hour? She stared at Rachel. "I guess hanging around you has made me old."
Rachel gave her a pout that never failed to make her warm all over. "You're older than me, Quinn."
"That's not to say that you're an old lady living in a sixteen year-old's body." Rachel wriggled herself free from Quinn's grasp and Quinn quickly pulled her back down, "Rach, I was joking."
"I'm only going to get dressed. And brush my teeth." Rachel had been so warm in her arms. "You can be possessive when you want me."
"You have no idea." Quinn smiled a sexy, lazy grin. It was getting harder to be apart from Rachel, it was getting harder to think about anything except Rachel.
Rachel pecked her on the lips. "I'll be back. You should change for bed, too."
Watching her, Quinn felt a weird, elated glow. The feeling lifted her up and crushed her, stopping her breath. She was lost in a sea of molecules, atoms, shifting colored patterns. Every instant had the dazzling power of retrospect, those dreams that shiver across your skin the next morning like the stroke of a feather. Rachel came out of the bathroom glancing down at her from her position.
"You're still not changed." Rachel was wearing pink star wars pajamas and Quinn erupted into laughter. "What?"
"You look cute, that's all. I didn't know you were such a nerd." She got her own pajamas and went into the bathroom.
The bathroom was full of spotless white tile. In the medicine cabinet Quinn saw a bottle of Marc Jacobs' Daisy perfume and several light brown hairpins laid neatly in a pile. A pair of jade earrings shaped like tears, a bottle of coconut-smelling lotion; Quinn stared at these while she brushed her teeth and washed her face, trying to make sense of the woman who had won her heart so quickly in such a short time, who had bought them and worn them, placed them so carefully here.
Rachel was sitting at the laptop when Quinn walked out, and before she got into bed she asked, "Does your obsessive-compulsive need to be on the left side of a school desk also apply to this bed?"
"Yes, I prefer to sleep on the left side." Rachel answered without turning around.
She yanked the bedspread away and lay under the sheets. Across the room she could see Rachel scrolling through her dash, often clicking on the reblog button to set some posts on queue. She was also scrolling through other blogs and answering questions. Then when she had done all that, she'd check her tracked tags—all fifty of them. Quinn, one time, sneaked a peek at Rachel's tumblr and was surprised that she had more followers than Quinn, a lot more followers. She received many anonymous questions regarding advice and life in general, and Rachel took the time to answer them all, no matter how childish some might seem. Rachel Berry was very tumblr famous.
Across the wall she heard tiny movements from the Berry men, and it reminded her to call her mother, but instead she texted her goodnight and switched her phone off. Rachel turned off the light and crawled into bed beside Quinn. They lay silent in the darkness, the only glare coming from the street light outside. Incredulously, that pulse of longing within Quinn was still beating through everything else. Seamlessly it mingled with her own breath, like two halves of one thing. She couldn't keep it in anymore.
"Rach—" I love you.
"Yeah?" Rachel turned her head to make out Quinn's reflection in the dark. "Oh, did you want to watch a movie? I completely forgot."
Quinn stopped her and she relaxed back onto the comforter. "It's okay, we can just lie here." I love you. She gathered Rachel's hair in her hands and moved close to her face, watching the movement of her eyes. "Do you want to talk about what happened with Finn?"
"No," Rachel shifted closer to her. "Are you okay with it? You know, coming out to our friends?"
Quinn shrugged. "Kurt already knew, which meant Blaine probably did. Santana and Brittany found out not long ago. So that's basically half the club."
Rachel giggled. "That's only four people."
"Do you trust them?"
"Yes." She answered without pause. "Don't forget that we also know their secrets." A few minutes of silence ticked by and Rachel said, "I'm going to talk to Finn tomorrow."
"Why?" They were facing each other again. "I'm not letting you—"
"I owe him an explanation, Quinn."
"You don't owe him anything," Quinn said. "You two had already broken up. He doesn't deserve anything from you."
"He does," Rachel tried to reason. "He's my friend, Quinn. Our friend, and I want to remain friends with him."
"You're too nice, Rach," Quinn sighed. "I think it's a bad idea. He's got anger issues."
"I promise I'll be okay," Rachel found Quinn's hand underneath the sheets, intertwining them. "I want him to know that we're not doing this to spite him and we never meant to hurt anyone."
Quinn rolled over to her side, her lips brushed against Rachel's neck. She changed the topic. "So, what other Friday the thirteenth suspicions do you believe in?"
"Are you going to laugh at me if I tell you?" Rachel also rolled over to her side. Quinn was surprised by how close their lips were to each other's.
"Of course." She said honestly.
"Then I don't want to tell you." Her breath lingered on Quinn's lips. Rachel then said, "Let's just agree that my absurdity amuses you and that you're willing to put up with it for as long as possible."
Quinn dropped the subject even though she could use a good laugh. She rolled her eyes and asked another question, "What did Sam mean today when he said that you had a meeting and talked about not kissing me?"
She told Quinn everything, starting with her insecurity for having not kissed her after being together for three weeks, she told Quinn how she had prepared a survey and was only able to ask one question, she told her how they were extremely helpful, yet, teasing her in the process.
Quinn asked another question when Rachel finished speaking, "What did Tina mean when she said you've always had a thing for me?"
"Oh, that—" Rachel released her hand from Quinn's. "That's a secret."
"But I want to know."
"One day, baby." She laughed and kissed Quinn's cheek.
After a moment's silence, Rachel bought her lips closer to Quinn's ear. "Ask me out."
"What?" Quinn muttered.
"We have yet to properly set an anniversary date. As I recall, you have never asked me out, or to be your girlfriend for that matter."
"It was a mutual agreement."
Rachel sing-songed, not agreeing with Quinn. "Technically, I'm still single."
Quinn stared at her for a moment, she let out a low unsatisfied moan. "You really want to say that again, Rachel?"
Rachel giggled and ran a finger along Quinn's neck and down to her collar bone. "Ask me out, then, Quinn. If you want me." She snaked out her tongue to run it along Quinn's bottom lip, refusing to connect their lips together.
Quinn gulped at the teasing gesture. She pushed down her arousal and gathered her thoughts together. "It's been one month and ten days. You've been counting since the twenty-fourth of September."
"Even so," Rachel argued. "It has occurred to me—"
"Just then?"
"—that you have yet to ask me to be your girlfriend. I serenaded you in glee and you were mesmerized by my performance, which is understandable, however, the way you pulled me toward the back of the bus stop after the performance and agreed to venture in this relationship with me lacked any form of sentiment."
"Why can't you ask me out if—"
"My point is, Quinn," Rachel interrupted. "I serenaded you, and therefore you must be the one to ask me."
"Oh, so this is how this relationship works. You do something for me and I have to return the gesture?" Quinn's tone was void of any anger.
"Quinn!" Rachel pulled back only slightly to look up into Quinn's eyes. "Ask me."
Quinn rolled her eyes knowing that Rachel probably couldn't see it. "Rachel Berry, will you make me the happiest person in the world by agreeing to be my girlfriend?"
"It's not a proposal, Quinn."
"Just say yes, Berry."
"Yes, baby. I would love to be your girlfriend. Today marks the first day of the rest of our lives." She laughed and snuggled further into Quinn, her breaths warming the curve of Quinn's neck. Rachel's voice became lighter and softer as she said, "It would've been wiser for me to have requested you ask me out sooner. Now, I have to recommence calculating our relationship from the beginning."
Quinn laid still breathing in Rachel's scent. It had become obvious: she's in love with Rachel. Ridiculously in love. Love echoed in her eardrums, her heart was beating to it. She felt a wave of calmness, then tentative happiness—it reminded her of the first time they'd spoken through tumblr, she had fallen so fast and hard then, it was happening all over again—the way Rachel said baby triggered a stronger feeling of promise, a swell of possibility that seemed almost to lift her from the bed.
Quinn sank into a trancelike absorption. Rachel biting into her pen when she's nervous; Rachel choosing an orange at the market; in sweatpants and a t-shirt, her hair tumbling from a clip. Quinn forgot where she was for a moment, drifting among a panoply of memories.
A single stir from Rachel jerked her from her reverie.
"Rach, are you awake?" Rachel was breathing heavily. "Rachel?" She tried again. Rachel mumbled something incoherent. Carefully, Quinn ran her thumb across Rachel's cheek, then slipped her hand through soft, brown hair, as if to feel Rachel's dreams through her fingers. And then she whispered softly,
"I love you. I love the way you look at me, how you see me, not the girl who used to torture you all those years, not the girl who's afraid of showing weakness. I love your obsessive-compulsiveness, especially numbers and how they always have to be even. I love the way you eat, how the foods simply can't touch each other. I love your drive and passion to succeed. I love the positive way you see the world, as if nothing could go wrong as long as you have faith. I love the way you laugh and breathe and speak. I love the way your eyes shine when you sing. I love the fierceness in your voice when you sing, because you know that you're one of the best out there. I love you so much I can't say it out loud in the daylight. But I promise one day I'll say it to you, and when I do it'll be the last time I'll say it to anyone. I know that I'll never be able to love anyone else as much I love you."
