Trigger warning: This chapter contains violence.
Quinn is very, very warm. This is odd, because her mom keeps the house at a frigid temperature and she usually needs every blanket from her closet to fight off the chills. Right now, though, her body is enveloped in a pocket of heavenly warmth that makes her extremely reluctant to open her eyes and face the day.
It's not until she tries to roll over that she registers the arm wrapped around her stomach, the hot puffs of breath hitting her neck, and the lingering scent of strawberry shampoo drifting up her nostrils, and as she suddenly remembers everything that happened last night, she feels like she's just toppled off the top of the Cheerios pyramid.
Rachel Berry is in Quinn's bed with her.
Her throat goes dry and her pulse speeds up and now it's way too hot under these covers and if she can just move away a little bit then maybe she'll be able to breathe properly. But the moment she tries to shift, Rachel nuzzles deeper into the crook of her neck and a jolt of electricity zips through her body. Quinn stays completely still at first—she doesn't trust herself at all with this situation—but as she looks at Rachel, a few loose locks of hair swaying back and forth as she inhales and exhales, her expression as calm and peaceful as Quinn's ever seen it, she can't stop her hand from drifting closer.
Her fingertips are less than an inch from brushing Rachel's hair away from her face when the girl stirs, and Quinn immediately withdraws her hand. Big brown eyes slowly open and focus and they meet Quinn's for one single moment before she snaps out of her reverie.
"Oh—I-I'm sorry," she mumbles, quickly putting space between her and Quinn. "I can be very clingy when I sleep."
Quinn shakes her head. "It's fine." She rolls over to face Rachel, not at all caring that it brings them a few inches closer. "How are you feeling?"
She thinks for a beat. "I'm not really sure. I suppose I'm okay. I just…" She pauses, nibbling her bottom lip. "I have a lot of thinking to do."
Something in her tone makes Quinn wonder exactly what she needs to think about but she doesn't ask. "Want some breakfast?"
"Sure," Rachel says, smiling.
Quinn sits up and goes to get out of bed but she feels a gentle hand on her wrist.
"Quinn?" She turns around and Rachel's looking up at her with those enormous brown eyes. "I wanted to thank you… for helping me last night, a-and for letting me stay. There aren't a lot of people I can trust with—" She stops, her gaze briefly falling to the comforter before meeting Quinn's again. "It means a lot to me."
The corner of Quinn's mouth lifts and she tries to ignore the pounding of her heart; these sporadic moments of honesty always knock her off her feet. "It's the least I could do."
Rachel smiles gratefully and then all but leaps out of bed and begins fixing her hair, letting it out of the elastic and smoothing out the kinks with her fingers. Quinn has to actively stop herself from appreciating how beautiful the girl looks after just waking up.
"Ready?" she asks, and after Rachel nods, she leads her downstairs. When they get to the foyer Rachel's attention is stolen by the small collection of framed black-and-white photographs on the wall. Her eyes are wide as she studies each one.
"These are amazing…" she says, her voice full of wonder and awe.
Quinn blushes. "Thanks," she mumbles, and Rachel stares at her, her jaw practically on the floor.
"You took these?"
"I went through a photography phase a few years ago," she replies, shrugging. "Before I joined the Cheerios or glee club."
"Why did you stop?"
Quinn doesn't answer right away. "Taking pretty pictures doesn't make you popular."
Rachel's eyes are back on one of the photos, one of an old, worn mailbox; Quinn's favorite. "Would you ever consider going back to it?"
She thinks for a moment. "Maybe. If something really inspired me." Rachel seems satisfied with her answer so they continue to the kitchen, where Quinn's mom is sipping a cup of coffee and reading the Style section of the newspaper. "Morning," she mutters, wishing she could ignore her completely but not wanting Rachel to get caught in the middle of this.
Her mom looks up and her gaze snaps to Rachel. "Good morning, Quinnie," she says with a false sweetness that only Quinn could notice, and it makes her skin crawl. Her mom doesn't say anything else and Quinn frowns at her tense expression.
"Mom, this is Rachel," she offers, gesturing to her, and Rachel immediately puts on a bright, friendly smile.
"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Fabray. You have a beautiful home."
Quinn waits for the usual "Please, call me Judy" and "That's very kind of you to say," but neither comes. Instead, her lips tighten into a forced smile and she nods once, stiffly. "Thank you." Her tone is flat and emotionless. She returns to her newspaper and Quinn's frown deepens. What is wrong with this woman?
Rachel seems to sense the awkwardness. "Quinn, thank you very much for your breakfast offer, but I think it's probably best if I leave. I have a lot of homework to do and my elliptical routine is most effective when completed as early as possible." She smiles again at Quinn's mom, though this time it's a lot smaller. "It was nice meeting you," she says once more before turning to Quinn. "I just need to grab my things and then I'll be out of your way."
Quinn throws a glare at her mom and follows Rachel upstairs. "I'm sorry she's being weird," she says once they're back in her room.
"I understand," Rachel replies as she grabs her bag and hangs the strap over her shoulder. "I did show up rather unexpectedly last night. She probably thinks it was rude of me to come uninvited."
Quinn doubts that's the reason, since Santana and Brittany used to do spontaneous sleepovers all the time, but she doesn't have the heart to point that out. "Maybe." They head to the front door and Quinn opens it for her, but they both pause. Rachel looks like she's mentally wrestling with something. "Are you okay?" Quinn asks nervously, a little terrified of what the girl could be so hesitant to say.
Rachel bites her lip. "Could I hug you?" she blurts.
For the first time in a long time—so long that she almost forgot what it felt like—Quinn laughs. The chuckle bubbles from her throat before she can stop it, and though the redness that shades Rachel's face makes her feel bad, it still takes her a moment to get herself back in check. "I'm sorry, I just… no one's ever asked me for permission before."
Rachel is still flustered. "Well, normally I would just announce the hug and then proceed… but I-I wasn't sure if… if you would…" She starts to trail off and Quinn can't take it anymore. Without another word she takes a step forward and wraps her arms around Rachel, and when she feels her return the embrace, it's like a weight has been lifted that she didn't know was there in the first place.
As much as she hates herself for thinking it… she could get used to this.
They pull away and Rachel is beaming. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The way she says it, Quinn isn't sure if it's a statement or a question, but she feels the need to answer with a "yeah" anyway. She watches Rachel walk down the brick path, climb into her car, and drive away, and she only closes the door when the Hyundai disappears around the street corner.
She turns and heads back to the kitchen where her mom is washing dishes with her back to Quinn.
"What the hell was that?"
Her mom continues rinsing a plate. "Language, Quinnie," she replies evenly.
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Seriously. Why did you treat her like she ran over your dog or something?"
Now she stills. "I saw you two." Her voice is quiet and sharp. Accusatory.
"Saw us what?" she asks, trying to recall what her mom could've witnessed them doing that would bother her so—
She whips around and slams the dish towel on the counter with her fist. "I checked on you this morning before I went to church. She… she was in your bed, Quinn!"
She arches an eyebrow. "And?"
"Lucy Quinn Fabray, that sort of behavior is not tolerated in this house."
Her jaw slips open in disbelief. "Mom, it's not... We were just talking and we fell asleep, nothing—"
"I would appreciate it," she interrupts, sounding like she's trying very hard to remain calm, "if you didn't bring her here again."
Quinn's heart is pounding for the hundredth time today, but this time it's from a much different range of emotions. "I don't understand. Santana and Brittany have slept over a million times before. You never had a problem with them."
Her mom purses her lips and looks determinedly at the expensive tile floor. "That was before…" She doesn't finish the sentence.
"Before what," she asks, her voice hard, taking her time emphasizing each word, even though she knows exactly what her mom is talking about.
Her icy demeanor crumbles almost immediately. "Don't be smart with me, young lady," she snaps, trying to stay in control of the conversation.
"Say it, Mom. Before what?"
There's a long, deafening silence as Quinn stares her down, waiting for her mom to say something. It never happens and she storms out of the kitchen and out the front door, slamming it behind her.
She walks and walks and walks and walks. There's no particular destination in mind, but she can't stand being in that house with her mother who doesn't get her and doesn't want to. Her mother who is so disapproving of her "new lifestyle" and yet can't even bring herself to say that horrible word that changed everything.
Quinn is heading toward a convenience store to get some food when she remembers that her wallet and cell phone are in her room at home. She swears under her breath and decides to go to the high school; maybe the Skanks will be there and she can fix what she messed up when she got into the fight with The Mack. She might as well do something productive while she's out.
It takes her a while to get there—she guesses maybe half an hour, but she has no way to tell the time—but the trek is worth it when she finds Sheila and the other girls under the bleachers.
The Mack glares at her. "What are you doing here, Fabray?"
"My mom was being a bitch and I'm out of cigarettes."
"How's the mouth?" she asks with a smirk, not sounding at all concerned.
"Peachy."
She stares Quinn down for a bit and finally hands her a cigarette. "Nobody's ever gotten into a fight with me before. I'm always the one starting it, you know?" She gestures for one of the girls two give Quinn a lighter. "I was wrong about you. You do got some balls. And that's the only reason why I'm not gonna kick your ass for that stunt you pulled."
Quinn tries to hide the wave of relief that washes over her as they all move on to a conversation about whether or not they can rig the school's water fountains to dispense vodka.
They spend the day wandering through town; they corner a few middle schoolers for money, shoplift some food from a gas station, and sneak into two movies in a row at the theater. Quinn feels bad for everyone who encounters them, but at the same time she finds comfort in the fearlessness that comes with being surrounded by The Mack and Sheila and Ronnie. All people see when they look at her is a punk, and she plays the role like Bruce Wayne wearing his Batman costume. Nothing bad can happen when she's this person, and since she can't get out, she might as well savor this one perk.
Quinn finally departs from the group at dusk. It's weird walking around Lima on a Sunday night; the streets have emptied for the most part and the air is silent except for the occasional bird or plane. She imagines that she's walking through a post-apocalyptic version of the town, where there's nobody around to judge her or tell her what she's doing wrong.
She gets lost in her thoughts for a while, playing out the scenario in her head, trying to decide who in the glee club would survive and who would fall apart when the going got tough. She's wondering what category she would fit into when she hears footsteps behind her. Her heart skips a beat but she figures somebody's just out for an evening stroll or something and she doesn't worry about it.
It's not until the footsteps follow her around two corners in a row that she starts to get nervous. She glances quickly over her shoulder and sees two guys that look to be about her age, both wearing dark, baggy clothes, and their expressions are unsettling.
She speeds up a little and a chill shoots up her spine when she hears the heavy shoes behind her do the same. Quinn decides to cut through the park, thinking there might be some families or a jogger or two to make her pursuers back off, and her heart sinks when she finds the area completely devoid of life. Where is everybody?
A hand grabs her elbow and she whips around, trying to yank her arm from the boy's grasp with no success.
"Let go of me," she demands in a tone that would have made Sue Sylvester proud.
He sneers and waits as his friend comes closer. "I don't take orders from dykes," he says, and Quinn's blood turns to ice.
"Wh… what are you talking about?" She jerks her arm again to try to free herself but there's a sudden blow to her stomach and she grunts and doubles over. "Please," she gasps, "I'm not—" A rough hand grabs a fistful of her hair and she cries out, tears springing to her eyes.
"Listen," the other boy begins, bringing his mouth right next to her ear, "we don't need freaks like you in this town. So why don't you do us all a favor and go jump off a building." The hand tugging at her scalp lets go only to return with a harsh slap across her cheek. The hit knocks her off-balance and before she can recover, one of them shoves her to the ground. She manages to land on her hands and knees but a shoe rockets into ribs and her torso explodes with pain and then she's on her back and her lungs are heaving for air.
Quinn tries her best to curl into a ball but the kicks keep coming and her arms and legs are screaming in pain and she's pretty sure she is too but her pulse is pounding in her ears and she can barely hear anything else.
Then, finally, it stops.
She opens her eyes, not having realized they were closed until now, and sees the two boys walking away, their shapes blurry from her tears. Her breathing is ragged and loud and every inhale and exhale hurts like hell, worse than even the most grueling Cheerios practice.
Quinn slowly rolls over, her fingers clutching at the grass as she tries to steady herself, and as she gets up off the ground, she grits her teeth from the pain flaring through her torso and the god-awful throbbing everywhere else in her body.
She manages to coax her legs into walking again even though all she wants to do is collapse. All of her senses are on high alert now and she flinches at the quietest noise, her wide eyes snapping to any movement, because if she sees anyone else who looks even remotely threatening, she's going to start running.
If she's being honest with herself she doesn't even know if she can run; her right arm is cradling her ribs and she has a feeling they'll give her hell if she tries to do anything fancy. So she walks as fast as she can toward home, the closest thing to safety she has.
By the time her hand reaches the doorknob she barely has any energy left in her body. She pushes the door open and steps inside before locking it behind her. The house smells like whatever her mom made for dinner and the sound of the local news station is coming from the living room. She heads in that direction and when she comes around the corner and sees her mom sitting on the couch, her bottom lip starts to tremble; she's never been one to seek comfort from her mom, but she's seriously considering it now.
She sniffles and her mom looks over her shoulder at her. Quinn waits for a reaction, wondering if there will be panicked concern, or if her mom will know it's because of that thing they're not allowed to talk about and get angry instead. She wonders if her mom will want to examine her injuries or call the police, or if Quinn would even let her.
Her mom's eyes dip as they survey her appearance, and except for a flash of what almost seems to say I'm not surprised, her face remains impassive. Her gaze travels back up to meet Quinn's for a brief moment before she turns back to the TV.
Quinn's heart plummets to the floor. Her eyes are burning, her trembling lips parted as she tries to say something, to shout or whisper or just make her mom care, but her aching lungs decide it's a lost cause before she can accept it herself.
She makes her way upstairs slowly, with her battered body protesting every step of the way. When she gets to her bedroom she ignores the light switch and rummages through her bureau in the dark, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a plain cotton t-shirt that Puck left there once, and she carefully steps out of her current clothes and into the new ones.
Her bed is still unmade from this morning and instead of getting in on the left like she usually does, she walks around to the other side and pulls back the covers before sinking into the mattress with as much grace as possible, though she still grimaces from the pressure on her already-forming bruises. Quinn lies still for a long moment, thinking about how Rachel was lying in this spot this morning, and wondering if she really can smell the remnants of her shampoo or if she's just imagining it. She thinks about her hug with Rachel, and how her arms were so warm and gentle and secure around her, and she thinks about the hand in her hair and the fists crashing into her without mercy. She thinks about how she has never felt so unloved by her own mother.
Quinn thinks about all of this, curls into a tight, shaking ball, and cries herself to sleep.
