There are twenty seven bones in the human hand.
"Twenty seven." Quinn remembered from anatomy class, as she painfully swiveled the joint. Russel had twisted Quinn's wrist with such force that it made her entire hand balloon up, thick with blood and heat. She studied her swollen wrist through a lens of detached, grotesque fascination. That was the only way she knew how to deal with this life any more.
She saw everything clinically, divorced from feeling, divorced from the obligation to care about herself as if she were more than an interesting case study. Her father wasn't a hateful bastard. He was an apathetic sociopath suffering from narcissistic personality disorder. He didn't choose to drink at the expense of his wife and daughters. He had developed an alcohol addiction because of overactive neurotransmitters that released endorphins which made him forget what a hateful bastard he was.
And, for the record, Quinn wasn't falling apart. She was surviving.
Quinn laughed ruefully when she thought of how everyone saw her as a dumb blonde.
Right. If I were dumb, I wouldn't be alive right now.
It was five o'clock in the morning when Quinn woke up to ponder the wonders of the human anatomy, the dismal science of psychology, and, only occasionally, the way Rachel slammed her eyes shut when she hit the high notes.
The sky outside slowly turned to a color lighter than black as she meticulously laid out her outfit for the day.
Blue sundress. Long enough to cover everything. Short enough to keep them interested. She smiled at the old saying, ignoring the throbbing pain of her wrist when she flipped her dress over to pull it over her head.
Sandals, but with heels.
I want them to hear me coming.
Quinn walked over to her vanity only to watch her veneer crumble. She had really torn into her bottom lip. So hard, in fact, that she appeared as if she'd been punched in the mouth. She shuddered as she stared down at her swollen hand in the mirror. It was throbbing so badly that it looked and felt as though it had a pulse of its own. She fought back tears as she quietly slid open her dresser drawer to slip a white, cashmere cardigan over her shoulders. At least then she could pull her sleeve down over it.
She sat down on the regal, high-backed vanity chair and carefully applied her makeup, layer by layer to cover the faded black bruise under her eye. Then she opted to try painting her lips with red lipstick. She knew it was too severe for her outfit. She also knew that if her father saw her wearing a shade that vibrant, he'd call her a whore.
But I have to do something to cover this up.
The moment Quinn applied the slightest pressure, her lips split open again and blood dribbled down her chin.
Cursing the God her parents worshipped, she staggered into the bathroom and held gauze against her wound until it stopped bleeding.
Whatever. If anyone asks, I tripped and bit down. It's not even that much of a lie.
"Quinny!"
She launched herself across her bedroom, almost falling over after her foot tangled in her ripped heap of a prom dress.
"Breakfast is ready!"
Quinn opened the door, determined to make her gaze as lifeless and unforgiving as possible, "Thanks."
If Judy Fabray noticed her daughter's scorn, she never betrayed it, "Your favorite! Fat-free blueberry pancakes!"
Quinn held her textbooks tightly to her chest as she descended the stairs. When she reached the bottom step, she saw her clutch purse and her high heels from the previous night standing neatly in a pile on a side table. She had forgotten how he'd ripped them from her hands.
"Quinn honey, I shouldn't have to tell you to not leave your things strewn about the house. Please put those in your room."
"Right." Quinn was about to take the last step when something just under her foot stopped her. The corsage.
As she dusted the mantle, Judy watched, from the corner of her eye, as her daughter reached down to cradle the large blossom in her hand.
"Gardenia."
"What?" Quinn flattened out its crumpled petals. Another piece of evidence that what happened last night wasn't a dream.
"The flower that Finn gave you is a Gardenia."
"Oh." Quinn held onto it gently and returned upstairs. She tossed her shoes and purse on the floor with her dress before walking over to the trash basket. Just as she was about to let the gardenia fall from her fingertips, she caught it. She flipped it over to admire the light green ribbon, stroking her thumb across the soft silk. Quinn smiled sadly and walked over to vanity, placing it down delicately next to her small picture of Finn.
"Quinny! They're getting cold!"
OOOO
Had she been her typical self that morning, Rachel would have been the only William McKinley High student to look alert and alive. Everyone was hung over and battle-wounded from the night before. Of course, Principal Figgins and Sue had plotted to hold the junior prom on a Thursday night to prevent students from hosting wild after parties. However, when they arrived to school that Friday morning, they had to grudgingly deem their plan a failure by the sheer number of students who were either catatonic, sunglass-wearing zombies or had fallen asleep with their faces hovering a few inches over the toilet bowls. Rachel walked by the two adults arguing and couldn't help but smile through her exhaustion.
"Sue! All you were doing the whole night was interrogating that disabled boy and telling grinding teenage couples to 'Make room for the holy spirit!' Now, you know how I feel about public displays of wanton lust, but I was counting on you to make sure the kids weren't drinking, too!"
"Well, what do you think I was doing near the punch bowl? And if you'd have installed those breathalyzer tests at the gymnasium doors like I told you, your shoes might not be covered in freshman vomit right now. We could have used some extra security, too!"
"Sue, I was not going to hire the Hell's Angels to be bouncers at a high school junior prom…"
Rachel rolled her eyes as she squeezed between Sue and Figgins to get to her locker. She yawned and ran her hand through her long, dark hair, tousling it and reaching up on her tip-toes to stretch. Certainly, she had had a sleepless night, as well, but not for the same reasons as the stumbling students around her. She looked into the mirror in her locker and allowed herself a private smile as she slid vanilla chapstick over her lips. And then… Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Quinn.
Sure enough, when Rachel turned to greet the unmistakable sounds of high-heels on long legs, she saw none other than Quinn Fabray sauntering confidently down the hallway. Her long blonde hair was feathered and flowing in lose curls over her shoulders. Her dress was just short enough to show off her sunkissed legs. Rachel pondered to herself how someone could get markedly more beautiful with each passing day, as she saw throngs of students push up to the lockers just to let her by, untouched. The noise in the hallway even hushed to a dull roar whenever she'd pass by, no easy feat for McKinley.
Quinn walked by Rachel without acknowledging her at all until the absolute last second. Sensing those shining dark eyes on her back, she turned her head and nodded a small smile to Rachel.
At the small gesture, Rachel felt her chest fill up with sunlight and beamed back. She cocked her head when she noticed what looked like a deep cut on Quinn's lip, but even that couldn't mar her beauty. Because today was Friday, Rachel had Spanish first period. She tugged at the hem of her sweater and smoothed down her plaid skirt. Spanish with Quinn.
Rachel silently thanked God that her beloved, dorky Mr. Schuester assigned class seats by first name alphabetical order. She got to sit behind Quinn. This, of course, meant that she also had to sit in front of Santana who, while making progress towards becoming a tolerable human being, still delighted in whispering Yentl jokes in her ear. Brittany sat behind Santana because she didn't understand the concept of alphabetical order and Mr. Schuester was disinclined to explain it to her for the third time.
The bell rang and Rachel scurried through the door, smiling brightly at Mr. Schuester and her friends from Glee. Quinn concentrated hard on tracing over words she had already written in her planner, as Rachel walked by her to sit down.
Rachel studied Quinn from behind, how she curled her long tendrils around her fingers absentmindedly. How she crossed her legs off to the side of the desk. When she noticed Quinn's body start to swivel around towards her, Rachel panicked and stared down at the desk as if she were reading something. Her hands were planted firmly on either sides of the desk and she was staring down intensely into the wood grain which made for a bizarre image.
Quinn cocked her eyebrow and smiled softly, "Hey Rachel."
"Hm?" Rachel looked up as if she hadn't noticed Quinn was in the room, when in fact, it was all she could think about, "Oh, hey! How you doing, girlfriend?"
Stupid. Rachel's failed attempt at comfortable familiarity made Quinn break out into a genuine smile, "Um, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry I snapped at you last night…I was kind of in a…funk."
"What? Oh! Right. No problem." Rachel tossed her hair back, feigning casualty but she was again caught off-guard by Quinn's busted lip, "Ouch. What'd you get that from?" Without thinking, Rachel leaned forward in curiosity and placed her thumb at the corner of Quinn's mouth.
Quinn's expression darkened as she pulled away from Rachel's touch, her eyes darting around the room.
"Sorry…" Rachel laughed nervously, "Habit."
Quinn smiled evenly, a frost overtaking her pretty features, "I left my cell phone in my car this morning. I was in such a rush, that when I got it, I slammed my wrist in my car door and bit my lip."
Rachel was aghast and looked down at Quinn's hands, noticing the right was so swollen that it was noticeably larger than her left. She lowered her head to peer closer at Quinn's injury.
Self conscious, Quinn slid her hands into her lap and tugged at her sleeves, "It's fine." She turned her body back in her seat when she saw Mr. Schuester walk to the front of the class.
"Clase!" Mr. Schue boomed over the half of his class that bothered to show up today, "Today, we're going to put our heads together and do a little group work. If your groups can finish your worksheets before class ends, then you won't have any homework!"
Rachel sat up a little straighter in her seat, peering over Quinn's shoulder into her lap.
"Okay, we're going to do this by rows—four or five people to a group. First row: Quinn, Rachel, Santana, and Brittany…"
Rachel could have sworn that she saw a small smile quirk up the corners of Quinn's lips, "But," she reasoned silently, "It's probably just because she gets to work with her two lieutenants."
Mr. Schuester passed out worksheets on verb conjugation and chirped, "Okay guys, I want you all to push your desks together and get to work! I want to hear a lot of discussion going on 'en espanol,' of course."
Quinn stood up to try and push her desk but flinched in pain when she pressed her hand to its edge.
"Here, I can help you with that." Rachel practically pushed Quinn out of the way to lift up her desk in one motion and plunk it down loudly next to her own.
"Damn, Rachel. You're pretty strong." Quinn's eyebrows shot up behind her bangs.
"Yeah, you know." Rachel blushed and began rambling in her nervous teleprompter voice, "In addition to my morning elliptical cardio routine, I feel as though strength training is an essential element to any burgeoning starlet's routine. I mean, you can't give good jazz hands with flabby arms."
Brittany pushed her desk against the front of Rachel's and Santana sighed heavily as she slid hers in front of Quinn's, "Listen Rachel, you can be open about the fact that you're secretly the bearded lady-man, you just started shaving."
Quinn's eyes narrowed, "Shut up, Santana. God, I'm really not in the mood to deal with you today if you're already in full-blown bitch mode."
"Wow, take a joke, Quinn. We both lost prom queen to Clay Aiken last night." Santana looked at Quinn's lip suspiciously, "And you look like you hit the bottle last night and it hit you back in the face."
Rachel balled her hands into fists, but she was deterred from speaking up by Quinn's patience.
"Ugh, whatever…let's just get started on this, okay?"
The girls worked in almost complete silence for twenty minutes. That is, Rachel and Quinn worked. Santana and Brittany were tapping their feet together and leaning into each other, whispering coyly. The two girls mooning over one another certainly didn't make Rachel feel any more comfortable sitting in such close proximity to Quinn. Every once in a while, Rachel would check her answers with Quinn, but Quinn would never start a conversation.
Eventually, Quinn rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin, "I guess you don't really have any work to do at all, huh, S?"
"What?" Santana turned towards Quinn, harassed.
Quinn leaned forward, "Aren't you, like…Hispanic? I mean, don't you speak Spanish."
"Damn right I speak Spanish, puta. I just pretend I don't so I can get an easy A." Santana leaned back and stretched her arms behind her head cockily.
"And you've never been called out on it?"
"Yeah, Figgins played that game with me once but I told him I'd sue the school for being racist. They shouldn't just assume I speak Spanish because I'm Hispanic.
"But…" Rachel ventured slowly, "You do speak Spanish—"
"Details!" Santana opened her palm in Rachel's face impatiently to change the subject.
Brittany looked lost in thought before remarking, "I speak the language of the trees."
The other three girls exchanged awkward glances as Brittany continued.
"I can also tell if my dishwasher's sick by the noises it makes."
"Britt, what did you get for question four?" Quinn leaned over to look at the girl's paper. On the answer line that should have had read "me trabajo" was a doodled turtle with what looked like a rocket ship strapped to its back.
"Words are boring," Brittany tossed her hair back, "And I feel as though they stifle my creativity."
Rachel couldn't help but giggle and Santana smiled as she thought quietly to herself, "Britt-Britt might be a weirdo, but she's my weirdo."
"Can we honestly get to work? I'd like to finish this worksheet before the bell rings so I don't have to do it for homework." Quinn sighed impatiently.
It took Santana about thirty seconds to scribble down all the answers. Then, she pointed down to her finished paper, "Bam. Suck on that."
"Congratulations on being able to do basic grammatical exercises in your first language."
At Quinn's snipe, Rachel couldn't stifle her loud laughter and leaned into Quinn's space, which made Quinn both flush with excitement and freeze.
Santana narrowed her eyes. She may have been a reformed mean girl, but she could still play that game like no other, "Is that legitimately a sparkly gold pom-pom on your sweater, Rachel? For real, though?"
"It's…it's cute. The pom-pom's supposed to be the little nametag on the cat's collar."
Santana rolled her eyes, sneering.
Brittany leaned forward to poke the decoration on Rachel's chest, much to the girl's alarm.
"Wow, could you both knock it off? Jesus." Quinn thrust Brittany's hand away and stood up, imposingly, between her two former henchmen and the small brunette. The class discussions around them slowly died down; Quinn damn well knew how to make a scene.
Rachel, on the other hand, couldn't move an inch; she just watched in awe as Quinn bore down on Santana and Brittany with a withering stare. After processing the scene, Rachel allowed herself to feel a warm rush in the pit of her stomach that seemed to lift her up straighter in her seat. Her heart swelled, brimming with hope in…she didn't quite know what, yet.
Is Quinn…defending me?
Brittany looked terrified, but Santana's mouth quirked up into an almost hungry smile as she started to stand up. The ex-cheerios had all being getting along well lately, but the tension between them, especially between Santana and Quinn, always bubbled just beneath the surface.
"I'm 'bout to pop Barbie's head off." Santana enunciated every syllable as she walked around her desk to meet Quinn's glare.
Mr. Schuester sighed when he noticed the scuffle between the four girls. He should have known that group would be volatile sharing the same space. Rolling up his sleeves literally and figuratively, he walked over to calm the situation, "Quinn, is there a problem?"
By then, the entire class had fallen silent and all eyes were trained on the girls. Because they were in the back row behind the group of desks, no one seemed to notice that Rachel had impulsively grabbed the hem of Quinn's dress—no one, that is, except Rachel and Quinn. Rachel was shocked at the instinctive way in which she grabbed onto Quinn in the heat of the moment, even if it were subtle. Her hold wasn't tugging Quinn down, it stayed put, as if letting Quinn know: "I'm here for you. Thank you for being there for me."
The instant that Quinn felt Rachel's small hand grip her dress, a rush of joyful adrenaline surged through her and she let herself steal a brief glance at Rachel's pretty face—grateful, shy, almost giddy. Feeling Rachel's knuckles slid against the bare skin just above her knee electrified every nerve-ending in Quinn's body.
Protecting Rachel made Quinn feel powerful, and even though she didn't know why yet, she let herself revel in the rush of emotions as she arched her eyebrow higher, challenging Santana.
Kurt and Mercedes both turned their desks in the direction of what they both knew would make the high school cat fight hall of fame. He snapped his Chanel compact mirror shut and leaned to whisper in Mercedes' ear: "Twenty bucks on Quinn. Nobody's fiercer than an underfed WASP."
"Psh, please. I'm taking Santana on this one; those Lima Heights bitches don't play."
Mr. Schuester repeated himself, "Quinn, what's going on?" His raised voice snapped her out of her reverie, and all at once, she was overwhelmed by how many people were watching her, whispering about her, and, she thought, judging her. Quinn yanked her dress to the side, abruptly ripping it from Rachel's grip.
"Nothing. Everything's fine except nobody can seem to focus on anything but Rachel's stupid sweater." Quinn huffed and sat back down in her seat as several people around her snickered.
When Quinn looked briefly to her left, she immediately wished she could take it back; she had seen Rachel flinch from the corner of her eye, as if she'd been stricken. Her shoulders slumped forward, and the blonde could see her wrap her arms around her chest tightly, covering her sweater. No matter how hard Quinn willed the guilt away, it tore her raw when she saw those good-natured brown eyes water.
Mr. Schuester was about to interject when the bell sounded and students almost knocked him down to reach the sweet reprieve of the open door. Even the other glee kids all bolted; they liked their drama by proxy, not in high-def.
"Girls…just…cool it, okay? We're coming up on Nationals and I need my whole gang together!"
"Well, holy hell, why is everyone so sensitive all of a sudden? I was just kidding." Santana threw her hands up at Mr. Schuester. "I mean, so Rachel dresses like a hot toddler. You dress like the guy with the balloon house from Up. I'm not judging, I'm just saying." And with that, Santana stormed out of the room.
Brittany, who had long since lost interest in the scuffle, was still drawing her homework at her desk when Mr. Schuester took Rachel aside and gave her an earnest pep-talk about her obligations as club captain to keep the Glee Club stable going into Nationals. Rachel listened intently to his advice until she noticed something in the corner of her eye. Quinn had walked to the front of the classroom where Finn had been silently watching the argument the entire time. Rachel darted her eyes from Mr. Schuester to the couple, desperate to both feign interest in Mr. Schue's advice while keeping an eye on Finn and Quinn. Her heart started to pound relentlessly when she saw Finn slide his hand around Quinn's waist and lean down to kiss her. What Rachel may not have realized was that, when the couple's lips connected briefly, they were both still covertly looking over at Rachel making the kiss profoundly uncomfortable for all three of them.
"…As club captain, your biggest obligation is to foster the talent of those around you while—"
"I understand, Mr. Schue." Rachel nodded eagerly, hoping to appease him enough so they'd he'd leave—hoping they'd all leave so she could finally collapse. She felt her sinuses burn and tears well up behind her eyes as she beamed brightly at a departing Mr. Schuester. The next instant, Finn was walking towards the door and neither he nor Rachel could bring themselves to make eye contact with one another; instead, they both nodded at the floor.
"Finn."
"Hey Rach."
When Rachel did look up, she locked eyes with Quinn from across the room. Rachel's resolve to be angry faltered when she noticed how pained Quinn's expression was. Her eyes seemed to be watering, too, as if Quinn were pleading with her. But, Rachel shook off her compassion and reasoned, Quinn had nothing to be sad about.
She was probably flaunting her relationship with him in my face because she knows how much it hurts me.
Rachel was awoken from her thoughts when Brittany started to pack up her things.
"Hey Rachel, I really do like your sweater. In fact, I was going to ask if you could knit one with Lord Tubbington on it for me. I can give you the yarn! I think you'll need like five balls of it, though, because," Brittany leaned forward and whispered, after making sure no one was in earshot, "Lord Tubbington's kind of fat."
Rachel smiled tightly and nodded, only slightly taken aback—it was Brittany, after all.
Out of nowhere, Santana stuck her head back in the classroom, "Britters! I needs ta gets my tan on. Let's go."
"But we have geometry in, like, five minutes."
Santana looked scandalized, "Brittany, look at us. Girls as hot as us don't need to know math." She bound over to Brittany and slapped her ass playfully, "Now, c'mon!"
As Santana dragged Brittany out into the hallway, Brittany shot back over her shoulder, "Also, do you think you could knit a sweater for Lord Tubbington with me on it?"
Before Rachel could respond, the girls had gone and she was alone with Quinn. Rachel busied herself by zipping and unzipping the pockets of her backpack and shifting things in and out of them. Quinn finally walked back to her desk, almost tip-toeing to make the least amount of noise possible. But even when she walked softly—Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Quinn looked down at Rachel nervously, but felt compelled not to leave. They were both waiting for something.
"Rachel…"
But Rachel only pursed her lips tightly and rezipped her backpack loudly. She tossed her long dark tresses huffily over her shoulders for dramatic effect. Do it with Flourish, Hiram had always emphasized.
Just then, Quinn was rocked by the scent of coconut oil and what smelled like honey drifting from Rachel's hair. It was warm, sweet and inviting. Just like her, Quinn thought.
Faltering slightly, but not deterred, Quinn leaned down so she was at eye level with Rachel, kneeling on the floor, "Hey Rach." Quinn hesitated before resting her swollen, black and blue hand over Rachel's which made every wall Rachel had put up crumble at their feet.
"I just wanted to—"
To keep herself from crying, Rachel refocused her energy, "You need to go to the nurse for that wrist right now." Rachel gently held Quinn's hand in hers, which made Quinn wince.
"It's fine. I—"
"No, it's not. Your entire hand is swollen and bruised, and if you don't put some ice on it, then the swelling could be permanent." Rachel choked out the last part bitterly, "And you wouldn't want man-hands, would you?"
Quinn's heart sank at the stab and she felt another wave of guilt crash over her.
She must hate me. She must really fucking hate me. She'd be completely justified, too.
"Please, I didn't mean those insults—"
"You mean you don't mean them…? They're not exactly past tense."
Quinn couldn't bear to look up at Rachel, she only stared down at her hand which was, curiously, still cupped in Rachel's.
"Why would you kiss him like that in front of me? How could you do that to me?"
Quinn tried desperately to read Rachel's pain, but her pessimism made her jump to a sad conclusion.
Finn. Of course, this was about him; it's always about Finn with Rachel.
"I'm pretty sure that I can kiss my boyfriend wherever I damn well please." Quinn pulled away from Rachel abruptly and stood up, "Jesus, Rachel. When are you going to get over it? He's with me."
Rachel stood up and nodded resolutely, "Fine. Let's go."
"Go where?"
"To the nurse. I know that if I leave you, you won't go," Rachel paused and collected herself, "You don't take care of yourself like you should, Quinn. Maybe it's because you're too busy trying to hurt other people."
"You don't know anything about me."
"I don't think anyone does. Finn sure as hell doesn't. Sometimes, I don't even think you do."
Quinn straightened her shoulders; in heels, she towered over Rachel, but Rachel refused to wilt under her gaze. The petite brunette stared gamely up at Quinn with her hands firmly on her hips. Just then, it occurred to Quinn that Rachel may be the only person in the entire school who wasn't even a little bit afraid of her. Realizing her defeat, all of the air deflated from Quinn's chest and she turned to collect her things. Rachel could see her hand shake unsteadily as she slid it under her mountain of heavy textbooks, so she wordlessly took them from Quinn.
Before Quinn could open her mouth to object Rachel asserted, "I don't want to hear it. Let's go."
Quinn was taken aback by Rachel's obstinate refusal to let her get her way.
"Fine."
Rachel masked her pleasant surprise well as Quinn followed her down the hallway. The blonde dragged her feet, sullenly, striding a few feet behind Rachel. She didn't want to think about what Karofsky and Azimio would do if they saw Rachel carrying her textbooks for her, she reasoned. But there was a more covert reason for Quinn to walk slower than the small brunette. Seeing no one around her, Quinn allowed her eyes to travel up and down the girl's petite frame. Santana was right; her sweater was ridiculous-looking, but it hugged her every curve and lead down to her skirt which was, Quinn thought, mercilessly short…
What is wrong with me?
"What's wrong with you?" Rachel spun around to a wide-eyed Quinn, making both of them come screeching to a halt, "I'm pretty sure everyone's in class so it's not like anyone will see us together—don't worry."
Quinn swallowed hard and continued to walk towards the nurse's office, making Rachel follow, "Umm…hey, aren't you supposed to be in class?"
"No, I have study hall second period."
Quinn furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, "Wait, you do? I do, too. I haven't seen you there all year."
"Mr. Schue lets me stay in the choir room. He gave me a spare set of keys."
"Well, I mean, you could always sit with me if you don't know anyone in our study hall."
"It's not that, Quinn. Jeez, you must really think I'm a loser; I do have friends."
"Rach, you know that's not what I meant, I just—"
"I feel like…I'm at home, there. That's all. I can concentrate better there than in any library."
Quinn nodded thoughtfully, "You're lucky…"
Uncharacteristically, Rachel stayed silent and waited for Quinn to go on.
"You have something that you love so much…and you're so good at it."
Rachel allowed herself a small smile before looking up into the intensity of Quinn's green eyes, "Sam's right."
"Hm?"
"You can be incredibly kind when you want to be."
Quinn surrendered a small smile, bowed her head in thanks, and strode forward to open the door of the nurse's office for Rachel.
Her smile is so disarming; I can't.
"Girls, how can I help you?" A portly, elderly women shuffled up to the two girls.
"Two vitamin C pills, please." Quinn muttered under her breath to make Rachel giggle.
"I think Quinn here has a bruised wrist."
The nurse looked puzzled, "Alright, dear." She turned to Quinn suspiciously, "Is there any particular reason you couldn't come in by yourself? Is it that bad?"
Quinn shone her best placating smile, "Well, Nurse DeCosta, Rachel was just helping me carry my books." The blonde slid down onto the medical bed and carefully steadied her breath as Rachel sidled up next to her, crossing her ankles and swinging her legs, shyly.
"Yeah, we both have study hall so we're not missing class or anything."
"Well, isn't that nice of you to help your friend!" The nurse absent-mindedly rummaged through the freezer for an icepack and tut-tutted about how "A friend, in need, is a friend indeed."
Both girls stared off into opposite directions. Neither of them knew what they were, but they certainly weren't friends.
"Okay, Miss Quinn, let's see what we have here." The nurse wheeled over her chair to inspect Quinn's injury.
Quinn nervously rolled up the sleeve of her cashmere sweater and extended her arm, "I wasn't paying attention when I was getting my backpack out of my car this morning and I slammed it in the door."
The nurse nodded and put on large-rimmed glasses that magnified her eyes twofold, making the girls share a smirk. She inspected Quinn's wrist thoughtfully, then knitted her brow, "Huh…that's odd."
"What? It's not broken, is it?" Quinn's eyes widened and Rachel looked on, curiously.
"No…But given the location of the swelling, right here on your carpal ligaments, and your limited range of motion, your wrist looks like it's been twisted the wrong way, not crushed."
"Well, that's…that's just…"
Quinn's mind was so inundated with untruths that she couldn't pick one and hold fast to it—especially in front of her. There was something about Rachel that made her too vulnerable to lie. And usually, the lies came so easily to Quinn; they came easier every time. It had never mattered before if she'd amended her story, because nobody ever bothered to ask questions more than once, and no one in her life cared enough to press her.
"I don't know! I'm not like, a doctor, I'm just telling you what happened. Maybe I slammed it in the door at a weird angle. Whatever. Can I just have some ice?"
Both Rachel and the nurse were taken aback by Quinn's sudden outburst. Quinn noticed immediately and elected to turn her charm on, "Gosh, I'm really sorry, Nurse DeCosta…I'm just in a lot of pain right now." Her voice was silky smooth and her eyes, plaintive and demure.
The nurse's face softened and she gently packed ice around Quinn's wrist with athletic tape and gauze. Rachel, however, grew even more suspicious.
"I'm just so tired," Quinn continued to lay it on thick causing the nurse to fuss over her, "I couldn't sleep last night, it hurt so badly."
Rachel, never one to hide her feelings, wore her shock like a beacon.
Last night? Didn't she just say she slammed it in the car door this morning?
The nurse continued her tender wrapping, humming blissfully to herself which soothed Quinn's nerves until she caught Rachel's expression—confusion, concern, horror; Rachel looked mortified. Quinn raised her eyebrow in a question, and then—
Shit.
"Quinn—" Rachel breathed, barely a whisper.
"Don't."
Quinn yanked her hand roughly away from a bewildered nurse and stammered, "I can finish wrapping the rest. I have to get to class."
She was already halfway out the door, Rachel in tow, when the nurse called out: "Well, at least have your friend help you, dear."
Quinn muttered, loud enough for Rachel to hear, "She is not my friend." Never had Rachel damned having short legs so much as when she desperately tried to keep up with Quinn's long strides down the hallway.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
"Quinn, wait—"
At that, Quinn turned on her heel and glared down at Rachel with such intensity, the smaller girl flinched and stumbled backwards, her cheek still stinging with the residual pain of last night.
"How many times have I had to tell you to stay out of my business? Leave me alone. Leave my boyfriend alone. Just leave."
As if it were punctuation to Quinn's sentiment, the bell rang. Students flooded the corridors, all desperate to be one class closer to finishing the day. Quinn used the bustling hallway as a means of escape, spinning around to tear down the hallway.
Still frozen in shock, Rachel could only watch as the seas parted for Quinn, like they always did. Seconds later, she felt herself being bombarded with the elbows and backpacks of careless students, like she always was.
But something's different. And, certainly, not all is right with the world of Quinn Fabray.
OOOO
As they were arguing, both girls were too distracted to notice the usually unmistakable form of Finn Hudson watching them over the crowd. He, like everyone else in the hallway, could only decipher what Quinn had roared at Rachel; she seemed so angry lately. He was both afraid for and afraid of her. If she spit enough venom, she'd find herself alone and lonely.
Rachel turned to busy herself in her locker and Finn could see fresh tears spill down her face.
God, Quinn can be so cruel. Girls like Rachel can't help their feelings. If Rachel could choose not to be in love with me, she would. But not everyone's a robot like Quinn.
Just as Finn was about to walk over and comfort Rachel, he felt a hand on the scruff of his neck jerk him sideways. Coach Sylvester. Of course.
"Hey Jolly Green, I saw you on the attendance roster for the gym class I'm subbing for. You don't want to be late for that. Maybe you could burn off some of that cankle weight so you could drag your feet a few yards without getting tackled next season."
Before Finn was begrudgingly shoved into the gym, he stole one last look at a shaking Rachel. He knew what he had to do. How he would break it to Quinn was another story.