Wow, thank you all so much for the support and reviews! I know that it's been a very long time since I've updated and I apologize for my tardiness. I hate getting so behind. I have one chapter left for my other story, It's Not Supposed to be this Way and then I'll be focusing all my time writing on this one :)

This chapter is written based on what I've read and my own previous knowledge. I apologize in advance if anything is inaccurate. The idea for this chapter stemmed from a book I read by Sarah Dessen called Just Listen. It really impacted me and I hope that I do justice to the serious subject matter.

Again, thank you all for the support. Special thanks to gleeothfriends90210cccjsAMD, BMontague,Shananigan, readbetweenthesigns, 12Lionzroar12, and Char for reviewing and for all the kind words. I couldn't be more grateful!

Quick Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the novel Just Listen by Sarah Dessen. I thank them for giving me such incredible characters to write about and sparking inspiration for certain storylines :)

Puck wakes early the next morning. He couldn't sleep after Quinn ran out on him at the cafe. He spent the whole night trying to figure out what he said. Wondering what words set her off.

He still can't believe they live in the same apartment complex. Is it a sign? He hopes so but pushes the thought out of his head. He can't afford to think that way. Regardless of whether or not it is fate, Puck decides to take advantage of it. So he tracks down her apartment number. It takes him a while considering she just moved in yesterday. There is literally no sign of her existence anywhere. But after retracing his steps, he finds a gentle old man who excitedly tells Puck that a "blonde looker in a short dress" moved in beside him. Puck takes this to be Quinn and fights the urge to chuckle. He also reminds himself to tell Quinn to lock her doors. If she ever speaks to him again that is.

His hands shake as he knocks on the door. He tries not to think about his actions too much. He waits for answer, her voice, the noise of a door unlocking. Nothing. He frowns and knocks on the door again. Still nothing. Five minutes pass and Puck is still standing there. He knocks one more.

At this point, he's starting to grow concerned. He probably shouldn't be. After all, Quinn has a habit of ignoring people. But something tells him otherwise: a feeling in the pit of his stomach. He reaches for the door handle and turns it. He's surprised to find it unlocked. A frown forms on his face. He pushes the door open slightly wider.

"Quinn?" he calls out. His voice echoes throughout the empty space. He wonders if he even has the right apartment. Then he catches sight of her purse of the table. Same one she had yesterday.

"Quinn?" he calls out again. He hears the faint sound of water running in the background. So that's why she didn't answer, he tells himself, she's in the shower. He probably should leave, he thinks, she doesn't even have to know that he was there. But something prevents his feet from moving towards the door.

"It's just me," he says as to not startle her. "Puck," he clarifies. He steps forward slowly. The steam begins to feel thick and heavy.

When she doesn't respond, Puck takes a step closer to the washroom. "Quinn."

He knows he shouldn't, but he slowly turns the handle to the bathroom. "I'm just coming in Quinn."

However, something on the other side of the door prevents it from opening easily. Puck frowns. He pushes it a little harder, giving him enough room to slide his body inside. He gasps as his feet hit a layer of cold water.

The room is so foggy that he can barely see. But the sight in front of him is something that only a nightmare could conjure up. He gasps. Lying in a pool of water on the washroom floor is Quinn, wrapped loosely in a towel. Unconscious. Her cheeks are hollow. The circles under her eyes are dark. He lunges for her body. It is weak and frail. He picks her up gently, pressing her soaking wet, half-naked body to his chest.

The drain can't handle the influx of water and it's spilling over the bathtub. Puck quickly glances at the toilet. The lid is open, and he literally has to tear his eyes away from what he sees inside. Sometimes when he closes he eyes he can still see it. He doesn't think the image will ever truly leave him.

Tears begin to fall down Puck's cheeks but he doesn't register their presence. He quickly turns off the running water, throwing down as many towels as he can find to soak up the water. That isn't his priority right now. Hands shaking, he wraps one of them around Quinn.

He hugs her tight, trying to warm her shivering body. He checks for a pulse: weak, but still there. He presses her closer to him. I can't loose her, he thinks frantically.

"Q…" he says, the tears falling heavily, "Stay with me Q. Everything's going to be okay," he whispers. Hands still trembling, he manages to pull his phone out of his pocket. He dials the number he always wished he wouldn't have to.

"911 What's your emergency?" the operator on the other line asks.

"I just found…." His voice shakes. "I found my friend unconscious in the bathroom. And she's shaking and…. blood…. and cold," he's having trouble articulating himself.

"Sir, I need you to calm down. I'm tracking your location and sending help."

"Okay," Puck manages to breath out.

"Can you answer a few questions for me?" the operator asks.

"Yes," Puck manages to mumble out.

"How old is your friend?"

"Umm 24, 25," but he honestly can't remember. Not at a time like this.

"Are there serious injuries that you can see?"

"Umm no, but I think…I think she just threw up…before."

He doesn't even understand what he's saying at this point. He swears that his heart is beating so loud that the neighbour can here.

"Does she have a pulse? Is she breathing?"

"Yes but, b-but it's weak."

"Okay. First of all, I need you to get her out of anything wet. Wrap her loosely in blankets, sheets, even a dry towel. Keep her as warm as possible. Body heat is often most helpful. I need you to continue to monitor her breathing, alright? Notify us if any drastic change occurs. Paramedics are on their way. "

"Okay."

"Everything is going to be fine sir."

Puck feels like vomiting when he hears that word: fine. Nothing was fine anymore. Nothing was ever fine.

He hangs up, tossing his phone somewhere. He pulls Quinn out of the bathroom and into her bedroom.

Laying her down on the bed, he quickly runs to her closet. But of course, it's still empty. She hasn't unpacked yet. And even if she had, Puck figures there wouldn't be much inside. He sees a white, fluffy blanket discarded on the ground. He picks it up and tries his best to wrap her in it. Feeling uncomfortable looking at her without permission, he averts his eyes away from her body. This doesn't help matters any. Puck's hands are still shaking from nerves. In that second, he gives up trying to be polite. He slowly peels the towel off, replacing the material with the blanket. He can't help but notice how thin she is. How he can practically count her ribs. But that isn't what worries him. The row of bruises along her inner thigh and along her collarbone is. He takes in a sharp breath. They certainly aren't from today. If he is truthful with himself, he knows they happened a while ago.

His brain is trying to convince him of something, but he pushes the thoughts out of his mind. Reaching down, he picks up Quinn again and notices that her breathing sounds stronger. He sends a quick prayer to the gods. His god, her god, any god that will listen. Picking her up bridal style, Puck carries her to the front door.

"Don't leave me," he whispers. "Please don't leave me. You can't. You just can't. Not now…not when we're both so fucked up."

He hears an urgent knocking at his door, followed by the sound of a turning doorknob. The paramedics arrive at that exact moment. They gently take her from his arms as soon.

"Good job son," someone mumbles. Puck doesn't know who it is. He just knows that Quinn has to be okay. She has to be. He follows them frantically out of the apartment and into the awaiting ambulance. He refuses to leave her side.

That's the way it's always been with them. Through thick and thin.