Quinn.

I wake the next morning to the scent of jasmine tickling my nose. It's nice, familiar, but nowhere near as wonderful as lemon sherbet. Stretching out on my back I let my eyes trace the small crack in the ceiling above my bed.

My mind has been engulfed. There is only disorder, only chaos now. I am finding it all deeply unsettling.

Firstly, my dream. For the precious few moments directly after waking I knew that my life had changed. But now, in the hazy gray of day, alone in my bed, sherbet-less, Rachel-less, all I can remember are snippets. Teasing snippets of black, or brown? Of red and.. white, I let out a sigh, glorious white. That part is still perfectly clear, I cherish the warmth of the memory and keep it close to my chest.

I am washed and in the middle dressing now, a crisp and freshly pressed uniform replaces yesterday's creases. I find that the process of putting it on centers me. I like the red and white, I like the boldness and the power, I like that it's too tight and hurts me when I breathe.

I remember circles and sunshine and trees and then falling. I remember falling, and waking. Waking to a reality much stranger than any dream. Waking to Rachel, to Rachel's room and Rachel's smile and all of Rachel's words.

A swallow gets caught in my throat; Rachel's words.

I have spent years so caught up in making sure that no one has noticed that I have noticed her that I haven't noticed her noticing me. Let alone noticed that she has been noticing me noticing her. My head knocks against the frame of my door with a helpless groan. I cannot possibly process all of this. I don't have enough time.

Not that it matters anyway because, regardless of what Rachel thinks her feelings are for me, nothing will ever happen.

On the back of this declaration I allow myself a heartbeat, just a moment really, it lasts not even a second before I shut my mind down. Even entertaining the possibility of any of this is pushing way beyond the boundaries I have set for myself. It is time to close things once again.

But, even so... perhaps. Just perhaps... there could be no retribution today? There could be no pain.. well, no pain for Rachel anyway. Perhaps, I don't have to be the one to wield the knife, perhaps I don't have to hurt?

Reaching the bottom of the stairs I swing into the kitchen, intent on grabbing a granola bar before I leave for school. I'm still thinking about the possibilities today holds when I get to within an itch of crashing into my mother.

"Mom!"

I cannot control my shock, today is country club day, and she's usually gone by up her teetering coffee cup my mother pivots to avoid a spill.

"Quinnie! What are you doing here? Aren't you meant to be at Santana's?"

I consciously lower my eyebrows and roll my shoulders into a more relaxed stance."Oh, yeah, I forgot to bring any spare clothes with me so I got home early to change."

My mother's face is searching, she takes a slow sip of her coffee and I suddenly feel very nervous.

"mmm, I got your text message. You sounded strange."

I scrunch my nose up in feigned confusion, grappling for anything to keep this casual."How can anything sound strange in a text message?"

My mother takes out her phone and, after three quick clicks, begins to read.

"Good evening mother, I'm writing to let you know that I'll be having a sleepover at my friend Santana's house tonight. Love, your daughter – Quinn Fabray."

I can just barely keep myself from rolling my eyes in exasperation. Uhg, verbose. I hated it when she got verbose! For a 'born performer' Rachel Barbra Berry could sure use some lessons on subtly.

Morphing my face into a pleasant grin I desperately try to maintain levity.

"What? Too formal?"

"Quinn.."

Ah, the famous Fabray eyebrow, well played mother.

"Okay, so I may have been slightly distracted when I was writing it, me and San were working on conjugated verbs and-"

I am startled from the rest of my whimsical fabrication by my mother's coffee cup harshly hitting the table in front of us. We stand silent for a moment, locking eyes, before she speaks.

"I received a call from your school yesterday, you were missing for most of the afternoon, including from Glee club. Mr. Schuester was worried. I asked him if anyone else was missing too, guess what he said?"

Damn it, damn it, damn it! I had completely forgotten about Glee club! Rachel and I were both missing from it. This was an extremely unusual occurrence, in fact, to date I don't believe I had ever allowed it to happen before.

The realization hits me deep in my gut and I can almost feel my toes singe from the embers of my fire-ravaged world still glowing at my feet. I can already hear the whispers and this makes me want to close my eyes in resignation. I want to give up, I want to cry, I want to go back to sleep.

Instead, I choke out a desperate "um, Santana?"

"Not quite, a different girl, Berry I think, Rachel Berry?"

My mother's eyes pin me steadily. Her confusion is feigned, we both know she knows the Berry name. Immediately I feel small and bad and very, very caught.

"Anything you care to share with me regarding that strange coincidence?"

Pulling myself together, I know the only way I can escape this is with nonchalance. Rachel is only as important as I make her.

"Okay okay mom, you got me. She was upset about something so I drove her home, I knew you'd freak out about it so I told you I was at Santana's instead."

My mother's sigh is resigned and filled with disappointment as she frowns at me searchingly.

"I don't want you spending time with that girl Quinnie. Her fathers, God forgive me for having to use that word as an actual plural, lead unnatural lives. You don't want to let yourself get any closer to their perverted existence than you have to. I know you have a big heart sweetie, which is wonderful and very Christian of you, but..."

Something in my mother's gaze stills and I know that this will be a warning.

"Don't go back there again Quinn."

Less than five heartbeats pass and the intensity of our conversation recedes, it is replaced with cheery casualness which is just as, if not more, frightening.

"Okay?"

I desperately try to remember the role I'm meant to be playing so my nod is sad and ashamed, although neither of the emotions are particularly forced.

"Okay, I know, I'm so sorry mom, forgive me?"

My mother looks down at her coffee in thought and I can do nothing but watch on as her fingers nervously circle the rim.

"I don't think we should tell your father about this."

My body sags in relief the moment I register the words. My mother is one thing but I cannot even fathom a reality in which my father knew I had stayed at Hiram and Leroy Berry's house, the very thought is enough to cause my palms to itch in anxious fear.

"But really Quinn, it's not me you need to be asking forgiveness from."

I know what my mother is saying and before I can even blink my hand is clasped tightly around the crucifix hanging from my neck and I am reciting the words I've known by heart since I was a five year old girl with a dirty dress.

"Please, Oh God. Forgive me for my sins, be merciful to me. Wipe away my sins. Wash away all my evil and make me clean again. Wipe away my sins. Wash away all my evil and make me clean again. In Jesus' name Amen."

One nod of soft approval from my mother and I spin on my heels, eager to flee the trap I've fallen into, I should have known better than to think it would be that easy.

"Oh, Quinnie? You said the Berry girl was upset?"

My mother's voice is searching and inquisitive. I nod casually even though my insides are screaming, restlessness slowly crawls along my skin.

"Yep."

"And you spent the night with her because?"

I feel as though my mother is being purposefully inflammatory with the way she shapes the question. Spent the night? It sounds like it's meant to be so.. dirty. Even though it's exactly what I did. It didn't feel dirty. Crazy dreams aside, it felt, peaceful.

Regardless, I need to be careful here. I'm searching for a reasonable explanation frantically when suddenly I realize, there is one sure fire way of clearing my name and shifting attention.

"Oh, well we got to talking, about.. boys. I wanted to invite Sam over in the next few days so we could.." My manufactured blush is marvelous, I can feel it tint the tips of my ears unpleasantly. "..get to know each other better. Really talk, you know? I was asking Rachel's advice on what she thought I should wear and what he'd want to talk about and before we knew it, it was really late, so.."

My mother's face is glowing with pleasant surprise. When I furrow my brow and just barely let my bottom lip jut out, I know I'm winning.

"I'm sorry again mom, I'll know better next time."

"Oh of course you will Quinnie, that sounds wonderful! I think your father and I have a dinner function in a couple of days, we'll work it all out! Were you thinking summer dress or skirt? I think those sandals I saw you wearing the other day would be perfect with your new pink dress! Boys love girls in pink you know dear, or yellow!"

I think Rachel likes me in green..

Taking in my mother's dreamy expression I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach and try to muster up a smile. Game, set, match.

The moment my hands push the doors to McKinley open I know what today will be.

I will be cruel and I will be cold and I will make sure that Rachel never speaks to me again. She is my sacrifice, my lamb; trussed and ready. She is what I need to destroy in order to snuff out any risk of exposure. I think about my mother's hopeful smile and my father's steely absence and I know there can be no other ending to this series of mistakes. There can be no perhaps.

I don't catch sight of Rachel until after second period. She is walking towards her locker and I wait, silently, in dread, a few feet away.

I must force myself to watch.

I must remember this.

The moment her lock disengages and she casually pulls her locker door open, a violent blue wave crashes towards her. I have made the engineering club rig a slushie bomb and it has definitely just exploded.

I watch as all of Rachel's belongings, all of her pictures, all of her books, all of her complex pages of notes, begin to swim and melt in the bright blue mixture. It's gotten watery with time.

I watch as Rachel herself, wearing a plain black t-shirt and casually fitted jeans is also soaked to the skin. I watch as blue drops whisper down her skin in random swirls like fantastic rain.

Even now, she is beautiful.

Her scream is high pitched but it lacks any real surprise and this leads me to realize she has been expecting my attentions. I take in her dark outfit and frown, she must have known I would go for blue, but how did she know I would target her outfit? Thinking back on her words to me last night I am almost shy at her perception before my veins fill with frightened disdain. I did save her outfit that day, but no matter. It won't happen again. I will give nothing more away.

The final tier of the prank is coming into play now, the wonderful by-product, the most damaging part. People are laughing, in large groups, small cliques, on their are pointing and laughing and Rachel is mumbling in embarrassment.

My hands, which have been wrapped around my chest, begin to tighten and soon I am bleeding from the death grip my fingernails have on my biceps. Still, I force myself to keep watch.

This is the path I'm taking.

Rachel gets lucky though, her public ridicule is intense and beginning to escalate but it's cut short when a Freshman walking past slips in the slushie mix and falls down in a messy heap.

Just like that, the torment is over, redirected.

I only turn away when I see Rachel reach inside her locker and pull out a tightly wrapped plastic bag with a change of clothes within it.

This causes me to frown again. I knew it was there, I even tightened it. I cannot stop the disappointment that I feel for myself. A locker full of rotten eggs, cow manure, pig's blood, even with short notice I know I could do better than I have, but something within me is not as it was. There has been a change, and I have no idea where it's come from but it is definitely new so I hate it all the same.

I watch as Rachel quickly runs towards the bathroom with her supplies. If she has seen me watching she has given nothing away.

I frown at my failure and resolve that I need to do better, and I will.

I am running late to Mrs. Jenkins' AP History class. This is partly due to my textbook having disappeared but mostly due to how preoccupied I have been with ensuring Rachel's locker-bomb went off to a satisfactory level.

Just as I am rounding a corner a strong hand closes around the material covering the small of my back and I am thrust into darkness.

Although I am shocked by the jarring shift in my momentum, the moment I hear the door slam behind me, I regain my faculties. Turning around, I am primed and ready to destroy whatever witless individual has dared put me on the receiving end of such an attack.

"Okay, so you have a deat-"

My words find immediate cessation at the steady, brown eyes that instantly lock onto my own. This is unexpected, I don't know what to do with our proximity. For a moment, she unravels me again..

"Rachel.."

The abrupt intrusion of lights being turned on wakes me from my haze, still, I cannot do much but stare as Rachel speaks. She absentmindedly hands me my missing textbook before her hands begin to gesture animatedly with excitement.

"Wow, that was actually exhilarating. I've never been on the instigating side of these types of things before, no wonder it's a personal favorite of yours!" Rachel's ramble fades as the lights settle above us and she is able to regard me fully.

"Quinn.."

Her voice is soft, awed. I try not to notice how similar it is to the greeting I gave her. "Good afternoon.."

It has only been a matter of seconds and I am already reaching my limit. I throw my textbook onto a nearby desk in irritation. Why is she doing this to me?

"You broke into my locker? What do you think you're doing?!"

My sharp change in demeanor appears to shake Rachel from her stupor; where there has been excitement there is now sheepish embarrassment.

"Oh.. well, you're not the only one who knows how to do that, and I just, I wanted to talk to you, to know how you were feeling.."

Ignoring the fact that her chosen method of discerning this is pulling me into an empty classroom, I focus on keeping distance between us. I can't leave just yet, Rachel has stepped in front of the door, as if she knows that alone will keep me from approaching it.

"How the hell do you think I'm feeling Berry?"

Her frown is puzzled as she embarks on a slow, careful trajectory towards eyes close momentarily when I notice that her hair is still slightly damp.

"I.. don't know? That's why I'm asking. You left so quickly last night I never got the chance-"

"Don't."

My response is sharp and I feel as though it cuts us both when Rachel's eyes dip to the floor.

"It was a mistake. All of it, just, don't mention it, don't talk about it, don't even think about it. Ever again. Are we clear?"

The smile that quirks her lip is tauntingly enchanting.

"Or what?"

Oh, how I hate this woman.

I want to fall to my knees and say:

Or I won't be able to ignore the fact that you seem to know everything about me. That you actually know that I have far too many feelings for you and that I hate myself for it.

That I am at complete odds with who I am as a human being and the only moments of solace I experience are the moments that I spend with you, however painful they may be.

That it's been nothing more than small hours since I was lying in your bed and dreaming of red. Dreaming and falling and waking. Waking to have you there, right there, in front of me, on the verge of telling me the impossible. Until I stopped you.

That my mother knows, I don't know exactly what she knows, but she knows, and this is more terrifying to me than anything I have ever experienced before in my life.

Basically, or my entire world will fall apart. Again.

Instead, I step menacingly towards her and say:

"Or today will only be the beginning."

I have made this delivery before. It is flawless. My tone of voice is frightening. I compose my face to project only blank indifference to contrast menacingly with the severity of the insinuation. One of my fondest weapons, this delivery has been the cause of many tears throughout my life.

It is for this reason I find myself utterly incensed with the fact that Rachel is able to breeze past it with practiced nonchalance, delivering something that makes me want to be the one to cry instead.

"Quinn, I know that our history is interesting at best. But I hope you know that you never have to be afraid of me."

I only now begin to notice that she has been tracking my movements. We have ended up quite close. I am leaning against a wall in desperate casualness, Rachel has come to a halt in front of me. She is positioned with her hands clasped, innocently, as if standing on a stage mark.

My response is guttural, instinctive.

"I'm not."

"mmm.."

Rachel's smile is small and she is studying me carefully, like she has me cornered and is trying not to make me bolt. I want to feel insulted that she would liken me to a wild animal in such a way but, she is right, I am one moment away from running. Finally, just when my heart rate begins to decrease, she makes the push.

One sunkissed hand reaches towards me and presses into the wall by my shoulder, she is not touching me, but her position has increased our proximity intimately. She is clever.

"You hurt me today."

I blink away the unfortunate shame that floods my body at the blunt statement. Of course I have, Rachel is my target. She knows too much. She is far too dangerous. I try not to think of her damp hair or the blue rain on her skin.

Although her tone is casual, I am pinned stationary by the determination in her eyes. It is a frightening thing, to have Rachel Berry focus on you. It makes you feel.. endangered.

"I say this, because I think it's only fair that you know, that I know, the days you do that, are the ones that you're the closest to kissing me."

The shock on my face lasts only for a moment before it tenses into a sneer and I give her chest a hard shove.

"Back off!"

Too much. She is pushing too much.

I, of course, should have known better. Rachel is nimble and has been expecting the move. Her hands wrap around my wrists softly; it is a most perfect pressure. Not painful, but secure enough to make my heart hesitate over whether or not to pull away.

"Quinn, let me in.."

Rachel punctuates my name with a soft squeeze of my wrists and I can feel my pulse begin to race at the hold. Her words are a knock at my door, but she is asking for access that I cannot grant. Whatever game we are playing she is definitely winning, and that, I cannot allow.

"Don't. This, we're not, it isn't.. natural."

I recall my mother's face and try to speak the recited lines bravely but I stumble at the last hurdle, voice breaking over the final word. I want so much to believe.

My wrists are suddenly cold and Rachel's hands are bold as they push up my neck. The immediacy of the move sends a shock from my throat all the way down to my toes. This feeling is even more pleasantly stretched the moment her fingers move to thread through the loose wisps of hair at the base of my neck.

The action feels like a coming home, a settling. I am terrified by the deliciousness of her closeness. The rest of my speech eludes me. We have never been quite this close.

It is impossible.. dizzying.. and I..

"Quinn.."

I bite my lip as arousal spikes through me, quick and merciless, at the timbre of Rachel's voice, it is instantly overwhelming. I am held together only by the fingers trailing through my hair but even they are moving now; down past the curve of my jaw, following the delicate links of my chain. They draw a strangled gasp from my lips as they graze over my crucifix before eventually coming to rest high on my chest.

"Natural?"

She is pushing. We both know this. It is too much, but just as I am about to pull away and flee her eyes pin me again. They plead for me to stay.

Please..

"Listen, listen to what your body is telling you Quinn. To what your heart does when we're together."

A gentle palm extends a slow push into my chest, I can feel my heart hammering, there is no stutter in its rhythm. It seems to be the only part of me that knows exactly what to do.

"That's as natural as it gets."

Her breath is warm and she is so, so close.

Close enough that, for just a moment, I forget. I forget that she knows too much. I forget that she is my target, my bleating lamb. The sacrifice I must make for my continued survival. I forget.

I forget everything that is not the gasp that leaves her lips the moment they make contact with mine.

Rachel.

The contact is delicate, I am afraid to allow more. Afraid to cut open the tightly controlled vest of restraint I have kept on my passions. Reflecting on these feelings for a moment, I am sure that, if I were to let go, I would surely devour Rachel alive. I would push and work and fight for the blessing of each beautiful sound her trained lungs could produce.

And there would be so, so many.

Caught up in these thoughts I am taken by surprise. I am not expecting the fistfuls of my uniform that crunch in her grasp and I am not ready for the full-body buckle that she experiences. My hands hold firmly to her hips to soften the collapse. She has come undone, our contact has literally knocked Rachel over.

This, knowing this, sends a hot thrill straight to the very core of me.

The pressing of her body to mine is electric and she is so beautiful.

I feel control and power settle deep in my stomach at our position. It is maddening. I am heady with it until I hear the desperate keen that leaves her lips. Suddenly, there is a break within me. A bowstring pulled too taut. My ears are now deaf to all but the clean whoosh of a shooting arrow.

Muscles bloom into spasm throughout my torso, the plea affects me so. My eyes squeeze painfully shut as one, long, shuddering breath escapes me and, at once, I am lost.

I push forward in desperate motions, it takes four steps and I am knocking Rachel onto a desk. The object provides the resistance we need to stop our momentum and gives our lips a chance to crash together again. I am panicked, I have no restraint. But everything I give Rachel she immediately takes and gleefully plays with. My mouth is hot on hers as my hands try to remain steady on her hips. The moment my fingernails sink in a loud moan rips from her mouth and into mine.

I am barely aware that I have chosen this moment to slip my tongue past Rachel's lips. I am reeling. Oblivious to everything but the way she tastes. I would gladly endure a lifetime of contrition to never have to make myself forget this taste. To never know of anything beyond the restless peace that ignites within me every time my fingertips skirt the edges of Rachel's shirt.

She is now sitting on the desk, her thighs have, at some point, parted to allow me closer. The moment I feel them lock around me I am broken again.

We push together closer, always closer, until another frantic whine echoes into my mouth. Every inch of the skin on mine is so hot. Rachel is feverish. I am fervent. Without thinking I cup my hands around her backside to slide us closer, the contact is so profoundly delicious.

Rachel's hand curls around my neck, her fingers find purchase on my chain and grip it tightly, as if tethering us together.

"Quinn, please, Oh God.."

The moment the words billow, like plumes of smoke, from her lips I am stalled. Reality strikes fierce to my gut as I tear myself out of Rachel's grasp. Everything has begun to crumble.

Forgive me for my sins. Be merciful to me.

Our gazes are locked. The space between us is a cavern. My eyes are distraught, Rachel's are bewildered, confused, but only for a moment, before knowing disillusionment fills them to the brim.

Wipe away my sins.

I have disappointed her deeply. This I know. But I can do nothing other than clutch at my crucifix tightly in remorse, the biting pain that flares through my hand is comforting. I am condemned.

I love this woman so much, but there is no room for her in my life. Flashes of wide smiles and white teeth flicker under my eyelids. I am not ready and there is no more time.

Wash away all my evil and make me clean again

"I'm..I'm so sorry."

I am backing up before the stuttered excuse finishes leaving my mouth. I don't know who I'm apologizing to more, Rachel or my mother. Rachel tries to grapple for me as I retreat but her limbs seem heavy and she cannot reach me in time.

Her eyes are bright with tears and I am filled with such self-hatred for having put them there. The notion is ridiculous, after what I have put her through today, but somehow, this seems so much worse.

"Quinn, please, don't do this."

Rachel stumbles towards me but my hand is already fumbling with my textbook and clutching for the doorknob. Just as I begin to turn it, she clumsily body-slams the door in a last ditch effort.

"Wait! Stop, please, just, stop running away from me!"

I breathe a deep sigh, she'll never understand that I just cannot let this happen. I have to convince her to give up on me. I set my jaw tightly and try to ignore the tingle that is still usurping my lips.

"I'm not running away. I'm leaving."

"What?"

Rachel's brow is furrowed and it aches to look at how beautifully bruised her lips are. I did that, my mouth, my lips, me.

"Today, with your locker and everything" I sigh and clear my throat, struggling for resolve. "It won't be like that anymore but please. Please. Don't do this again. You have to leave me alone Rachel. I'm not what you want."

Her hand is hot as it grips the doorknob over mine "Yes, you are! You are what I want."

I swallow at the emotion in the eyes before me. Lies, it's all lies. I'm not, I know I'm not. Rachel deserves the best, she deserves strength and bravery and romance and freedom and I am none of those things.

"Okay fine. Listen very carefully: you're not what I want. Okay?! I don't want you. Now leave me alone Rachel, I'm serious. Never pull this again."

Seeing the hurt in Rachel's eyes I know I have hit my mark. I find I have to look down at our hands in order to regain control of my breathing.

"Now, let me go."

Rachel hand squeezes around mine painfully and, looking back up, I expect to find tears, despondency, or just plain sadness in her eyes. I am not prepared for the affronted brown I am met with.

"Never!"

The word is an oath, a promise, and I know she's a diva but a part of me thinks she might actually mean it. It grieves me all the more; I'm not ready for any of this.

Rachel holds my gaze for a moment, determination never wavering, before slipping her hand from mine and effectively setting me free. The moment she lets me go I feel nothing but confusion; the lack of contact should make me feel better. It should, and yet, as the door clicks shut behind me, I cannot restrain myself from slamming my forehead against the wood.

I miss my boxes, I miss the order. It was painful but predictable. Nothing is predictable now, other than the fact that I have once again left Rachel alone. Something that I know she cannot stand. Something that I know hurts her deeply.

I can still hear her breathing on the other side. I imagine that we are pressed up against each other again, without the door between us. It is a final goodbye. I won't let myself think of this again.

"Quinn.."

Though it is muffled by wood and space, my chest still aches at the pleading dejection in Rachel's tone. I make a box in my mind and tape it shut. It's time to start again.

Turning to leave, I don't look back.