A/N: Thank you for not hating me so much.
Chapter Four [Part One]: You're Still The Best
I wanted to run away. Jump off a bridge. Get hit by a car. Get stabbed by a miscreant. Get torched by a psycho.
I wanted to hurt. I wanted to transform all the stupid abstract pain in my fucking heart into something tangible, like a bleeding, gaping wound. Preferably a fatal one.
"FUCK." I yelled, throwing out a punch at nothing in particular. A mother walking nearby jumped, scooped up her daughter and ran off. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" I looked up at the sky, where I imagined God to be looking down at me. "FUCK YOU!" I screamed as loud as I could, slapping my hands on my face. "Fuck you! Can't I be happy? Just this fucking once? Why the fuck," I rammed my fists into the nearest street light, "are you going to fucking make me love her this much then make it fucking impossible for me to be with her? Fuck you! Fuck you!" I kept punching and punching until I could no longer feel my hands, and blood was splattered everywhere. Only then did I stop, releasing angry, broken sobs into the cold evening air. All my knuckles were busted, and every movement hurt like hell.
But in some sick way I felt satisfied. It hurt so bad, but it didn't quite hurt enough. I sank into the ground, sucking in great amounts of air that made my lungs hurt.
"Well, that certainly was something." I heard a familiar voice call out from behind me. I scrambled to my feet, turning so quickly I almost lost balance.
Quinn Fabray was leaning against the next street light, holding a cigarette in her right hand. As I watched, she took the stick to her mouth, before releasing a trail of smoke into the air. It was mildly revolting.
"So what did you do this time, break the Barbie doll's little unicorn?"
Something snapped inside me. Before I could even think out what I was doing, I had marched to her and slapped the smug smirk off her face. Oddly enough, she did nothing to stop me.
"Go on." She said, throwing her cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. "I know you need to let it out." When I did nothing, she pushed forward aggressively. "What are you fucking waiting for, Lopez? Hit me."
I stepped back. Hearing a swear word from Quinn was oddly disturbing, especially with my blood smeared across her face. "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction." I said in a broken voice. I took another step backwards, before turning on my heel, fully intending to run away.
Her hand grasped my wrist and pulled me back. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Fuck, I don't know, alright?" I yanked my arm away. "I don't have a fucking clue anymore."
Her lips hurled into a snarl. "So it's true then? You broke her heart." It wasn't a question. "Why do you always go and fucking screw things up for yourself?"
"I should probably ask you the same damn question, Fabray." I snapped back at her, clenching my fists. "And how the fuck do you know?"
"Because I actually went school today. I saw first-hand the damage you've caused." She crossed her arms over her chest. "She wasn't actually saying anything." She clarified when I opened my mouth, "But she wouldn't stop sobbing. She couldn't even walk into practice for New Directions because the room, apparently, 'had too many memories.'" She put two fingers in the air to form quotation marks. "I heard Satan Sue even went and allowed her to leave practice because she couldn't pull off any move without a round of tears."
Guilt, fresh and strong, lined all my blood vessels. It was causing serious circulation blockage. "Fuck me," I muttered to myself, closing my eyes against the bitter tide of tears threatening to overwhelm me.
"God damn it, Lopez." She breathed out. "If you weren't so beaten and bruised right now, I'd hit you myself."
I winced at her observations. I'd forgotten I still had the shape of my father's knuckles on my face. I pulled away, turning the opposite direction and walking off.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She snarled, coming after me and matching my pace.
"Going away." I said in a tiny voice. "I don't need another person to tell I'm fucking stupid, worthless, or whatever shit else I happen to be. I already have myself for that, thanks."
"You really are such a fucking bitch." She sighed, before grabbing my arm and forcing me to a stop. "Do you think I'm as crazy as you? No chance in hell I'm going to let you go home like this."
"No home." I muttered, mostly to myself. Quinn heard, though, and she replied in a lower tone,
"Yeah, I know, Brittany was your home, yada yada yada. Whatever. I was talking about your house. No way I'd let you go back to your house tonight."
"I had no intention to." I replied, moving my legs again. The searing pain in my thighs and calves was so strong I was already limping.
Lightning flashed in the sky suddenly, making me jump slightly, making my legs hurt even more. The low rumble of thunder followed soon after.
Quinn huffed loudly. She knew how much I hated storms. I could almost picture her rolling her eyes. "Christ, just stay at my place, alright?"
I snorted, just as the rain began to fall. "Your mother hates me."
"Yeah, well." She looped an arm under my left arm, reaching out to my right shoulder, so she was carrying part of my weight. She was so close I could smell the traces of tobacco on her breath. "My mother hates me, too."
Much later, when I was tucked safely into her front seat, with loud, angry Tokio Hotel music wounding my ear drums, she said casually, "So I presume the shiners you're sporting are your father's handiwork?"
I bristled, but said nothing.
"Thought so." She murmured, nodding to herself.
Of course she could tell. If there was one girl whose Daddy Issues could rival my own, it was Quinn Fabray. Not that either of us ever swapped details about our dysfunctional home lives.
I stared out the window the entire time, drowning out the jarring music and focusing on the way the lights blended indistinctly outside.
It was the worst irony in the face of the whole wretched world. I had to hurt Brittany in the one act that proved how much I actually loved her. The worst part, I think, was the lingering doubt. Did I do the right thing? Was it the best thing to do? Could I have been stronger? Fiercer? Wiser? Was there anything else I could have done? Why couldn't I have been more selfish?
"What do you feel like doing for dinner?" Quinn's voice – which sounded like it was coming from a great distance I didn't remember travelling – interrupted my self-induced haze.
"Not hungry." I mumbled, looking at her briefly.
"Don't pull that shit with me. You're emaciated. It's creepy to look at you."
I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the window. "Are you going to swear all the time now?"
She glanced at me and gave a small smile. "Maybe." Then she frowned. "Don't think you can distract me, Lopez. I'm just going to stuff you with things dripping with grease, fattening you until Sylvester won't have any choice but to take you out of her squad."
I made a small sound in the back of my throat. "I'm quitting." I said, the decision becoming clear in my mind only as I say the words.
The car wobbled out of the lane for a moment. "You're kidding." Quinn said flatly.
"Not a chance in hell." I said in monotone, just as Quinn entered a McDonalds drive-in. She made a long order – lots of burgers and fries were involved – but I tuned out the sound disinterestedly. Instead my mind wandered to the last time I was in this place with Brittany, and how her eyes lit up when she dipped her French fry in her diet coke. It looked gross to me, but she wouldn't stop pestering me until I agreed to try one.
"Eeew, Britt." I gagged. Her face fell ever so slightly. I bit back a sigh and dipped another fry into the coke. Anything to make her happy. I made a show of putting into my mouth and biting, chewing slowly. When I was finished, her face was back in its bright shade, her grin wide.
"I know you don't really like it." She said, poking me slightly. Then her grin faded into a more sincere smile, one that made my heart stop. "But it's nice to know that you'd pretend for me."
I said nothing then, only shrugging off-handedly. But now, as I try to keep calm remembering the moment, I wish I had the guts then to say, "Britt, I'd pretend anything for you." I'd even pretend not to love you.
/
Quinn's place was dark when we reached it. On the way, we'd both decimated the food like a bunch of starving, raving lunatics. It had taken a lot of force-feeding to get me to start eating, but eventually the demands of my empty stomach were too urgent to ignore.
"Where's your mother?" I asked when we entered the ghost town house. She flipped on the main switch for the lights.
She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't care either." She tossed her keys on the kitchen table. "Come on. My room. You look and smell like you could use a shower."
"Are you sure like you want to share a bed with me?" I asked almost sarcastically, ignoring her insult. She gave me a look.
"Why, you think I'm worried that you're gay?" She snorted in a way that was reassuring and annoying at the same time. "Please. I've known you and Brittany would be getting it on since grade school."
Her room was nothing like I remembered it. There were no neat piles of notes on her table, no girly wallpaper covering the walls. Gone were the sparkling jewelries, the babies blues, the glittering tiaras. Instead, every inch was covered with brooding black with tiny highlights of pink and red. Her wardrobe was open, and I could see that every single article of clothing she used to love – those stupid billowy dresses and shit – were all gone.
"Are you sure you're Quinn Fabray?" I asked in an alarmed voice.
She ignored me. "Go take a shower before you stink up my room."
"I don't have clean clothes to change into." I pointed out softly. She sent me an annoyed look.
"Yeah, but I do." She kicked off her combat boots and threw herself into the bed. "You can pick out anything you want. I don't care what you wear as long as you're covered up."
I obeyed silently, pulling out black sweats from the bottom drawer and picking out a faded wifebeater. In the back of my mind, I found it necessary for Quinn to boss me around. It gave me something to do without needing to think so much.
I stepped into the shower, allowing the water to wash off the blood that had hardened around my knuckles. It stung, but eventually I could move my fingers without wincing so much. I tried to be as mechanical as I could be without needing to think of anything at all: Water, shampoo, soap, rinse. Water, shampoo, soap, rinse. It sounded like a weird mantra, but it was comforting in some odd way.
When I was covered up like Quinn requested, I stepped out of the bathroom and stood nervously in a corner of the room. She raised her head, eyes in narrow slits. She sighed, "You're kidding, right? What now, are you looking for permission?"
I smiled tightly. She rolled her eyes and beckoned with one hand. "Come on, Lopez. Don't worry. It's a big bed, and I'm not into girls that way."
I shuffled closer to the bed. Quinn rolled to the right side, so I gingerly laid myself on the left. When I was tucked into the warm sheets, I was relieved to discover that at least Quinn's bed stilled smelled like Quinn, and not anyone else.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked me eventually, the words floating out into the air between us. I opened my mouth to tell her to fuck off, but I changed my mind and shook my head slightly instead.
"Alright." She said. She got up and flipped the light switch, sending the entire room into darkness. "Good night."
/
Quinn ignored me the next day in school. It didn't matter if I was wearing her clothes, or that she drove me to school, or that I was hoping to stay in her place again tonight. She wanted to maintain her image as McKinley's newest rebel, and I was in no shape to tear down her reputation.
I spent most of the day avoiding Brittany. But somehow, it was like being far from her made me so much more sensitive to her presence. The air tingled with electricity when she was nearby, and inhaling became so much more difficult. When she entered the room, it felt like all the particles of light clustered around her, giving off an ethereal halo that surrounded her head to toe.
But most of the time it was difficult to avoid her because she kept actively pursuing me. She would send me longing looks in class, trying to capture my attention (when she honestly always had it, anyway). She would wait outside classrooms to ambush me.
She succeeded once. I was leaving Sue's office after officially resigning as her co-captain ("Well, you've done it again, sandbags. This is your last chance. I'm not going to allow you into the squad next year again if you fail me again."). She grabbed my arm, pleading, "San, talk to me. Please. I love you." It broke me even more. "And I know you love me. Please."
I looked at her then. Her eyes were so hollow and empty, it was frightening to see. "I'm sorry." I whispered. I shook my head, extracting my arm gently. "I'm sorry." I moved away hurriedly.
She didn't give up so easily. "Tell me what's wrong. What are you so scared of? Is it your dad? San, you can move in with me. My parents won't care –" They will, I thought to myself. "and you'll be safe. Is it the bullies? San, you're stronger than that. You don't have to be afraid, you've always been strong enough to save yourself…"
"Brittany." I interrupted, turning on my heel to look at her. Every word that left her mouth felt like darts shooting straight through my heart. "Don't. Please. Just, don't."
I walked away again. This time, she didn't follow.
