I don't think they notice me right away. Or, at least, I hope they don't notice me because they don't really stop singing. They all just keep looking forward at Mr. Schue while their mouths move in unison, singing the same words that initially drew me in. It sounds strange, but it feels like every word they sing comes out of their mouths and stick to me like Velcro on shoelaces. Their words are enveloping me, encasing me like a warm blanket on a winter's day and I have to close my eyes to take it all in because damn, it feels good.
"If you're lost and alone or you're sinking like a stone, carry o-o-o-o-on."
When I open my eyes, my smile opens with them and I just rest my head against the doorframe. I don't know if I'm actually going to join or if I'm just going to awkwardly stand here at the door listening, but either way, I don't want to lose this moment. Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could move. My feet are cemented to the ground and my body won't allow them to move any direction. In a way, I think it's my body's way of protecting me; of telling me that I'm not done healing yet. Their music is like a Band-Aid, patching up every broken part of me.
"May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground and carry o-o-o-o-on."
I think Mercedes is the one who notices me first, because her voice is the first one I notice that drops out. And sure enough, when I look at her, her mouth is still. Quiet. We lock eyes from across the room and I don't even have to look at the bottom half of her face to know that she's smiling. Her smile reaches her eyes. They crinkle at the corners.
And it's like the domino effect with her because one by one, their voices all drop out and their eyes fall on me only, it doesn't make me uneasy. I was halfway expecting to want to feel like running away with everybody just all staring at me like this but really, it only makes me want to come in and take that empty seat in the back corner.
Mercedes stops singing first. Then Tina follows. After Tina, Rachel stops singing. And after Rachel, Finn. After Finn, there goes Puck and Artie and Santana and Brittany too and before I know it, the entire room is silent. Waiting on me.
Mr. Schue slowly turns with realization and only when his eyes meet mine do I feel like backing away. He's always been the only teacher I cared about disappointing. Really, any other teacher in this building could look at me with worried eyes and I'd look right back at them without faltering but somehow when it's Mr. Schue, he makes me want to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness.
He walks over to me at the door and every step he takes makes my heart feel like it's going to beat out of my chest. My eyes are low, downcast. I can't look him in the eye. I just can't.
"Is there something that you want, Quinn?" he asks, his voice that low and soothing tone. It's gentle, but still commands respect. Still demands an answer.
"I, uh," I quickly reach up to wipe a stupid tear that fell from my right eye. "I was wondering if it was too late to try out."
He shifts his weight onto his back leg and puts his hands on his hips. I feel like he's about to say no, even though in my heart of hearts I know he won't. There's a small part of me that thinks he might deny me and if he does, I can't say that I blame him. After all, they've been practicing a while now and nobody should get to join in the middle of everything.
"We'd be honored to have you," he says. "Go find a seat."
It's like Mr. Schue's words are the absolute law around here, because only when he gives me information do my feet finally come unglued. I shift my backpack onto my shoulder and go right to the back row, where I always sit. Everybody watches me climb the steps, but nobody says a word and in some way, I'm grateful for their silence. I think it'd only make it worse if they all welcomed me back one by one. Their silence and non reaction makes it less awkward, makes me feel like I never left. I silently thank them all for being so cool about this.
"Everybody," Mr. Schue says as he stands back in the front of the room again. Please don't make them welcome me back. Please don't make a huge deal about this. "Let's start again from the top," he says that with a wink at me and I can finally breathe for knowing he won't draw anymore attention to me than there already is. "And one, two. One, two, three, four…"
"Well I woke to the sound of silence, the cars were cutting like knives in a fist fight. And I found you with a bottle of wine, your head in the curtains and heart like the Fourth of July."
This time, I sing right along with them and I don't know you've ever sat in a room with a bunch of people who fully understand you, then opened your mouth and belted out a tune. If you have, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you haven't, let me be the first to tell you that it's the closest thing to magic you'll ever feel on this earth. The feeling of love. Of being united. Of doing something you love with people you love. I don't believe in much, but I believe in this feeling. And I don't know if I should trust it since these days, every time I feel like something is going right it suddenly goes left. But it's a feeling so genuine that I decide to hold onto it.
I think the name for this feeling is hope.
As I walk up the front steps to get to my door, I'm still riding the feeling that Glee Club gave me. And in a sense, I want to smack myself silly for not joining from the jump. I mean, it's not like I didn't know it was going to feel this good, because I did. There's something about Glee Club that has the power to make everything feel like it all makes sense. Something about Glee Club is magical. But when I left Pennsylvania, I vowed to myself that I would change all the things that were wrong about my old life so I didn't slip into any of my old destructive habits. When I left Pennsylvania, I told myself to see Rachel as little as possible.
Soon as I fumble with the lock and get the front door open, Mercedes' mom beeps the horn and Mercedes hangs her hand out the window to wave at me. I wave back, then shut the door behind me.
For the first time in a while, I don't have an anxiety attack about coming home. I just kick my shoes off at the door, put my backpack down beside the coat closet and head to the kitchen to tell Mom I'm home. For a while after I first came home, it used to shock me dead to see my mom in the kitchen. But these days, I'm not too surprised. It actually feels kind of normal to see her standing at the stove stabbing a meatloaf to make sure it's done.
"Hey," I say, looking around. Meatloaf and some kind of noodles. Where's the mashed potatoes?
"Oh, hi Quinnie. How was school?" she sticks the meatloaf back in the oven and like she read my mind, pulls the bag of potatoes from the fridge. "I'm making meatloaf and potatoes. Your favorite."
"Yeah. School was… fine," I sit down at the island and just watch her rinse the potatoes off. "Need any help?"
"Yes, actually," the way she says that, I can tell she's surprised I even asked. I'm surprised, too. I must really be in a good mood… "You can peel potatoes for me, sweetie."
I slide off the barstool and replace her at the sink with the potato peeler. Frannie used to peel potatoes with a spoon. I used to laugh at her for it, but I think I get her point now. She swore it was easier and a little less dangerous. Dare I say it, but I actually kind of miss Frannie…
"How was therapy?" Mom asks next.
"Hmm?"
Oh. Crap.
"Therapy. How was it?"
Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. CRAP. I forgot all about therapy! When I told her she didn't have to worry about picking me up from school… crap. CRAP. Play it cool. Maybe she doesn't know I skipped. I think it's illegal for Bailey to tell her I skipped.
"It was fine too," I shrug. That didn't sound too convincing….
"Yeah? Who took you?" she presses, but I can't really tell if she's buying it or not….
"Mr. Schuester," the lie rolls off my tongue with ease.
"That's nice of him," she replies. I'm in the clear… she buys it….
"What do you boil these on?" I ask since I'm finally done peeling.
"Don't worry about it, honey. I'll do it. You go get cleaned up and comfortable. Just leave them on the counter there."
She says to just leave them on the counter, so leave them on the counter is what I do. I take them out of the bowl in the sink and put them in a new bowl on the counter. And as I'm leaving the kitchen to go up to my room and change out of this skirt, something catches my eye…
Hidden off beside the Keurig… one of our fancy glasses has a little bit of brown liquid left in it. Nobody drinks from our fancy glasses unless it's a special occasion… and nobody drinks Scotch Whiskey except…
Well, wait. Maybe it's not scotch.
I glance over at Mom to make sure her back is still turned and once I'm sure that it is, I pick the fancy glass up and sniff it. Just from the stench and the color, I already know what it is. But just to be sure, I tip the glass up to my mouth and take a sip. Scotch Whiskey. Just like I knew it.
I put the glass back in its hiding place, then stomp up the stairs.
Who does she think she's fooling? Does she think I'm an idiot? Does she really think that I wouldn't notice? She promised… she promised me…
I really want to slam the door, I really really want to. But I don't. Mostly because I don't want her to know that I'm in the bathroom. If she knows that I'm in this bathroom, she'll come up here and she'll want to talk to me and ask me what's going on and I don't want to talk to her. Not now, not EVER. How am I supposed to talk to someone who just deliberately stabbed me in the back? How am I supposed to talk to someone I don't trust? I CAN'T trust her…
She promised… promised…
I know Jessica said to treat this session like any other session but I can't really do that when my mother's sitting right next to me. Something about this woman just makes me shut completely down when she's in my presence and for therapy, shutting down is something you really can't do. I don't think this session is going to be very productive…
But I promised Jessica that I'd try. Mom drove all the way from Lima just to see me this weekend and I did agree to let her sit in on this session, so I guess it's up to me to make the best of it.
"Quinn?" Jessica starts. "Why don't you start by telling your mother what —"
"A lot of everything comes from Dad," I mumble. Why not just cut to the chase? Me and Jessica have been preparing for this meeting for a week now; ever since Mom told me she was going to come and visit. I already know what Jessica wants me to say. Let's just get it over with.
Mom shifts toward me with what Jessica calls an "open body pose", but that doesn't make me take my arms down. They remain folded tightly across my chest. "What do you mean, Quinnie?"
"Exactly what I said," I clear my throat. "A lot of my… issues stem from the way Dad treated me."
Mom looks at Jessica and shakes her head slowly, which really makes me want to punch her. I have to hold onto my arms just to make sure I don't. "I'm not — I'm not sure what you mean by that, honey." She looks to me with a half-smile and I'm dying to ask her if she's freaking serious. I mean did she really think that she was going to home here and not get an ear full? Did she really think that Dad had absolutely nothing to do with any of this?
Jessica picks up on my silence, which I'm grateful for. She picks up on it and takes over for me when I just can't speak, "What Quinn's trying to say Judy, is that she… can pinpoint the source to a lot of the issues we've been working on to her father. And she wants you to know all of this, because a vital part of her recovery is trying to… avoid or possibly cut out all the things that are not helping her heal."
Mom stares at her, dumbfounded, then turns back to me. "You're saying Daddy made you… do what you did…?"
"No," I shake my head and look straight forward. "Not all the way. Partially." I feel them at the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall and I swear to god if my body betrays me by letting these tears go, I'll never forgive myself. I refuse to give this woman the satisfaction of seeing me cry during this session.
"H-How so? Quinnie, Daddy's always been —"
"He never thought I was good enough." There, I said it. Point blank.
"That's not —"
"Like the time we went to Ocean City for a week back in sixth grade and I wore that bathing suit you ordered special for me." The way my voice comes out kind of scares me. It's like there's no emotion left in me and maybe there isn't… maybe it's all gone. "How he told me if I wanted to wear that bathing suit, I'd better skip dinner and bedtime snack."
"Oh Quinn, don't be ridiculous. You know he didn't mean it that way. You know he —"
"Then how did he mean it, mom? If he didn't mean it that way, then which way did he mean it?"
"Your father —"
"He forced you to put me on Weight Watchers."
"That's because he cares, Quinn! You were really very unhealthy and your weight was —"
"I was eight."
Mom is quiet again and when I look at Jessica, her hands are writing a million miles per hour. Mom and I must be giving her good material. She hasn't even looked up from her notepad since we've started talking. I've been silent for a little too long now and I know I have more gripes to bring up with my mom, but I just don't know where to start. My brain is like a filing cabinet and I don't know which issue to tackle first.
"...I got a nose job," I merely whisper. Jessica stops writing because this is news to her. I haven't told her about my nose job. I guess it's probably because sometimes I forget about it. "When I was thirteen, I got a nose job."
"Now wait a minute, young lady," Mom starts. "You're not about to pin that on your father. Quinn, you BEGGED him for months to pay for the surgery. YOU wanted it!"
"Because I never caught a break!" Finally, I take my arms from across my chest and look at her because she really must be stupid if she thinks my nose job was something I wanted for my own sole purposes. I mean really, Judy. REALLY. "Every single day at school, I heard it. Kids calling me 'Birdy Beak' or Toucan Lucy. It was bad enough I got it in school but then I'd come home and hear him point it out too. How he'd say things like 'your nose is nothing like your sister's.' And 'you swam in your mother's gene pool for a nose like that.' I just… wanted it to stop. I expected kids at school to be cruel but he was my dad… he was supposed to think I'm perfect the way I am and he…" I sigh. "I just wanted to hear the end of it."
"Well how were we supposed to know it bothered you? We used to tease Francesca the same way and she never —"
"Doesn't make it right, Mom. It hurt… it hurt when he said those things to me. Every time he commented on my weight or made a joke about my nose or called me a slut or…. kicked me out of the house."
"Quinn, look —"
"And you defend him. All the time. You're always on his side, it never fails. Even when he's clearly wrong and I'm clearly right. You just… turn the other cheek and pretend you don't see it. And it just… it feels like you love him. Way more than you love me…"
"Then I'm done," she says, looking down at the ground.
"Huh?"
"Done with what, Judy?" Jessica pushes.
"It won't be like that anymore, I promise. I promise. If… if Daddy is the cause of all this… pain for you, then I won't stand for it. I promise, sweetie."
See, she promised. She absolutely promised me, but now I know that she lied. She lied to me. It was all just a big joke to her, she never took any of it seriously. There's a glass of Scotch on the counter downstairs and he's the only one who ever drank the Scotch. And it's no coincidence that she knew I wouldn't be home. I texted her. I told her not to pick me up. I went to Glee, I was gone for a while. She invited him over. He was here… and she promised he wouldn't be and she lied…
And now I don't know how to tell her I'm hurt. I don't know how to tell her that I know he was here and I know she went back on her word and it feels like she's picking him all over again because part of me knows that it's insane. Part of me knows that I can't ask her to make such a hard choice, between me and Daddy but what if I did? What if I did ask her to choose? It's starting to seem to me that she would choose him anyway, even though she knows how bad he hurt me.
I can't tell her and I can't be angry… So I guess the only thing there is left to do to make myself feel better is… that.
And it's no surprise to me how much better I feel once I'm flushing everything I ate today down the toilet, then wiping myself off so I can join Mom for dinner.
A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for sticking with my story through all the boring exposition stuff. I hope you understand that I just had to set up the world and get you guys to understand how Quinn's head works in this story. So anyway, within these next couple chapters, things are REALLY going to start picking up. Chapter ten is going to be a really fun one! (It's the start of some REAL Faberry stuff ] ) Okay, so since I'm still learning what this fandom likes in stories and whatnot, I do have a question for you guys.
How do you guys feel about smut? Do we like smut? Do we dislike smut? Are we okay with smut or do we really not prefer to read smut?
Because me personally, as a writer, smut isn't really my favorite thing to write, but I do write it and I do try to keep it pretty PG-13 but sometimes I get carried away while writing and it gets a little M rated so I thought I should ask beforehand. I do usually put warnings at the beginning of my chapters if anything gets dirty, so if there's smut in the future (there is probably going to be a little in this story), you do get a warning before it, so you can skip it if you want.
You can tell me how you feel about it in a review, but if you'd feel more comfortable PMing me, my PMS are always, always open.
And as always, thank you guys for being so awesome and welcoming to me. I'm already thinking of my next Faberry fic to write because you guys are so much fun.
~practicallyaprincess.
