Sooo... yeah. Super emotional chapter. Trigger warnings, of course. I don't want to give too much away, so i'm going to keep my mouth shut.
But i'm excited for your reactions.
When Monday morning rolled by, Rachel wasn't looking forward to school. She hadn't spoken to Finn or Quinn since the last time she saw either of them, and there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind like she did something wrong. Finn wouldn't answer any of her phone calls, and there was something about that that made her feel guilty when she wanted to talk to Quinn. So she didn't text the blonde who seemed to constantly be on her mind. Santana tried to call or text Rachel a few times, but Rachel didn't answer. She didn't know what she would say to Santana's inevitable questions.
School, however, was one place where she couldn't seem to avoid anyone. She had barely made it through the door all the way before she felt two bodies slide up next to her. In a sense, it was comforting. There was something about the two girls that Santana's body tended to be cold, and Brittany strangely warm. Rachel often internally mused that it must be something with their personalities, but she never minded being between the two.
"Ignoring me, Berry?" Santana asked.
"A little," Rachel admitted. She didn't look up at Santana, but could see the taller brunette cock her head to the side.
"Something up? I would think that you'd be thanking me for your date."
"Didn't you have fun?" Brittany questioned. "When you and Quinnie left, I totally thought you guys were going to fuck in the car."
Rachel stopped and looked up at Brittany, fighting the blush the felt rising in her face. "No such thing happened. I really would rather us not have this discussion right now."
She turned to leave, but only walked three steps forward before a cold hand wrapped itself around her forearm, pulling her back. "Quinn flip or something?" Santana asked.
Rachel sighed. "Santana, this is neither the time nor the place for this conversation."
Santana looked around. There were other people in the hallway, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to the three girls. "And why the fuck not, Berry? No one is creeping on you. Just fucking tell me. What's got you all worked up like this?"
"Is it Finn?" Brittany asked.
Rachel felt a lump quickly rise in her throat.
"Ohh," Santana sighed. "Now I get it. You had a convo with Frankenteen. Based in the fact that your face completely drained of color at the mere mention of his name, I'll take it that… you told him about your infatuation with the pretty blonde princess?"
Rachel looked down at her feet. "I met up with him to break up with him. But I told him that… that Quinn and I kissed, and he got mad at me. He said he was angry that I had kissed her while he and I were still technically together."
Brittany moved so that she was standing directly in front of Rachel and took both of the shorter girl's hands in her own. "Rachel," she began. "I know that a lot of the time the things that I say don't always make sense to a lot of people. Well, to most people. Only Sanny, Quinnie, and sometimes Puck really get it, but I'm going to say something, and I want you to try to understand. Okay?"
Rachel hesitated for a moment and nodded. "Of course," she whispered.
"Rach. I see the way you look at Quinn. I see the way you look at Finn. I know that it's possible to love two different people at the same time. And sometimes it seems like both people are right for you in different ways. Finn was there when you were sad, he was there when things got difficult, he stood by your side through so much, and he was your boyfriend. But that's not the only important stuff. Friends do that stuff. Love is about more than that. Love is about funny elephants dancing in your stomach when you see them, and it's them making you laugh even when their jokes aren't funny. It's you staying up with them on the phone until three in the morning even when you're so super tired because Coach Sylvester made you do extra wind sprints. And if Quinnie-Bear does those things for you, then just forget whatever Finn said to you. If she does those things to you, then your heart loves Quinnie more than it ever loved Finn."
Rachel smiled and glanced over at Santana, who looked adoringly at the blonde as she tried to casually wipe a falling tear from her cheek.
"Did that make sense?" Brittany asked Santana. "I tried really hard, but sometimes the words just get all jumbled in my head."
"I know Brit-Brit," Santana said, taking Brittany's hand in hers and placing a kiss to her temple. "And yes. It made perfect sense. So much sense that even Berry could have followed your advice."
Rachel smiled and nodded. "Yes, Brittany. Thank you."
Santana looked past Rachel and saw a familiar face coming their way. "Come on, Britt," Santana said. "We should probably get going. Looks like someone wants to have a word with the short one." Brittany giggled and locked her pinky with Santana's before the two girls left. Rachel turned and found herself staring deep into green eyes.
"Hey," Quinn said softly, offering a shy smile.
"Hi. How was your weekend?"
Quinn pulled on the edge of her blouse a little. "Well, I had this really great date one day, but the rest of my weekend was rather uneventful because they never called me back."
Rachel smiled. "I know. I should have called or something. I just… I don't know. A lot happened this weekend for me."
"You wanna talk about it? You can walk me to my first period, if you'd like." Rachel blushed again as she watched Quinn smile. There was something in the turn of her lip and the sparkle in her eye that told stories of unspoken promises.
"I'd like that," Rachel admitted. "You have… British Literature first, correct?"
Quinn chuckled and started heading in that direction, with Rachel following close behind. "Staking me?" she asked jokingly.
"Well, if I'm correctly recalling what you previously told me at Noah's party, you don't really oppose the idea of my stalking you."
Quinn smiled and rolled her eyes. "Touché. So tell me. What wonderful events happened during Miss Rachel Berry's weekend that she found herself so preoccupied that she couldn't properly call her date back?"
"Well," Rachel sighed, "I don't quite know if I would call these events wonderful."
"Oh?" Quinn questioned. "And why not?"
"I broke up with Finn."
Quinn stopped walking for a moment and let that information sink in. "Because of-"
"Yes."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I had feelings that I needed to work out, and I did not think it was fair to him if he and I continued our relationship while I figured those feelings out. That and the fact that we kissed."
Quinn quickly snapped her attention in Rachel's directions, and Rachel could see the small wave of panic in her green expression. "And what did he say?" she asked, voice too calm to actually be calm.
"He said he understood, but told me that us kissing was me cheating on him."
The two girls stopped in front of the door to Ms. Francis's British Literature classroom. "He didn't question the two of us…"
"No," Rachel assured. "I mean, he was thoroughly confused with the situation, yes. But he didn't ask the questions I was expecting him to ask me."
"Oh. Okay. Well, maybe this time, you'll actually call me back and we can have legitimate conversations rather than the two of us needing to catch up in the school hallway."
Rachel laughed. "I'll do you one better. Today after school. Want to go grab some frozen yogurt? My fathers took me to this wonderful little place last week."
"Sounds fun," Quinn answered with a smile. "You drive, I pay. Now, hurry off to class Missy. Before you're late."
Rachel laughed and turned around. "See you around."
Quinn walked through the door and straight up to Ms. Francis's desk, pulling down slightly on the edge of her shirt. The short brunette looked up at Quinn over her eyeglasses.
"Yes, Miss Fabray?" she asked.
"Ms. Francis, may I please use the restroom before class?" She put on her best smile.
Ms. Francis sighed and glanced at the clock. "Okay, if you must. But please try to hurry up. We are going to start discussing Swift and his use of satire, and I would very much prefer that you did not miss the introduction to my lesson."
"Of course. I'll hurry."
The moment Quinn stepped out of the doorway, she sighed and headed straight for the cheerios locker room.
Santana shifted in her seat. Normally, she loved this class. Her love of numbers is one of the few things that she and Brittany did not share, and Santana's AP Calculus class was like heaven for her. But she had been in such a hurry to leave the house this morning after sleeping in late, and then her little brother missed the bus and needed to be driven to school, that Santana did not have the chance to use the bathroom yet in the morning.
She raised her hand. "Ms. Dolman. I seriously need to pee," she announced. "May I be excused?"
Ms. Dolman looked up at the clock. "Santana. Class started not even a full two minutes ago. Can't this wait?"
"Not without getting messy and me being very cranky."
"Fine, Miss Lopez. You are excused."
Santana smiled and got out of her seat and practically skipped out the door. She headed straight for the Cheerios locker rooms. She didn't mind using the regular bathrooms, but she sometimes minded the people. The Cheerios locker rooms are not only much cleaner and more pimped out than the regular bathrooms, but they also give you a sense of privacy since there are only about 32 girls on the squad, and they are the only people allowed in there.
Quinn walked straight in through the double red doors and locked them, heading towards the full length mirror and placing her bag on the bench beside her. She felt this numbing buzz escalating through her body. It was a feeling of need. A sensation like she was filling up and needed some sort of escape. She desperately pushed aside the books in her bag and searched for the small, unnoticeable pocket in the lining and pulled out her lighter and a paperclip.
She flicked the lighter on, watching the glow of the flame with an eerie fascination as she let the metal grow hot under its power. She lifted up her shirt, exposing her bare stomach and pulled down the waistbands of both her skirt and underwear, exposing the tortured skin. Without even a second thought, Quinn brought the hot metal down on her flesh, gasping at the heat.
Again and again, she moved the paperclip from the flame to her skin, toes curling each time as she felt her release. A small smile graced her lips as a feeling of equilibrium returned to her and she placed the lighter and paperclip back in her bag.
She looked down at her hips and saw a row of multiple white blisters surrounded by painfully red, enflamed skin. She reached for her razor and slowly dragged the blade along the length of each blister. After the burning, she couldn't even feel the pain of the cuts any more. At this point, it was purely about her desire to see the proof of her actions in her blood.
Santana reached to open the bright red double doors that led to the locker room and was surprised to find them locked. She furrowed her eyebrows as she reached for her lanyard and combed through the various keys until she found her red and gold key with WMHS printed across the top. Having a key is one of the perks of being co-captain. She turned the key and opened the door and headed towards the bathrooms.
A slight movement caught her eye and she turned towards it. "Hey," she called, approaching the girl who obviously wasn't wearing the signature red and white of a Cheerio. "What are you doing in here?"
At the sound of the footsteps, Quinn panicked just a little bit and hurried to put her shirt down. But when she heard Santana's distinctly raspy voice, she felt her heart rise to her throat.
"Quinn?" Santana questioned, recognizing her blonde friend. "You're not on the squad anymore. You know Coach Sylvester would kill you if she found you in here instead of me. What are you doing in here?"
Quinn, ever thankful for her quick-thinking, answered, "I like it in here."
Santana chuckled and rolled her eyes. "No shit you do. Clean bathrooms. Showers. No annoying people. Complete privacy. Private gym. Warm towels. Foamy hand soap. A bowl of lollipops. It's like a fucking hotel bathroom. But still. You can't be in here."
Quinn was going to answer Santana, had it not been for San's brown eyes traveling down the length of Quinn's body and zeroing in on her right hip, where a large red stain was spreading against the white fabric of Quinn's blouse.
"Shit," she hissed. "Quinn! You're bleeding!"
Quinn looked down at her shirt and back up at Santana with worry in her eyes.
Santana isn't like Brittany. Brittany is the one who has always been good with people. She's the one who could look at a person and read them better than any book she's ever read, and not just because Brittany probably has never read a book. It's because reading people was engraved in Britt's very being. She's not book smart, but she's people smart.
Even though Santana wasn't Brittany, she could read the hundreds of words that seemed to flash across Quinn's face in that moment. Yes there was worry and panic, but not the worry and panic of a person who just was informed that they were bleeding. No. Santana recognized this as the worry and panic of a person who felt guilty and knew that they were caught.
Santana narrowed her eyes slightly and lowered her chin. "Quinn…" she asked, trying her hardest to keep her voice even. "Lift up your shirt."
Quinn opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She defensively crossed her arms in front of her body and lowered her eyes, unable to bring herself to meet Santana's knowing gaze. Santana hurried back over to the door and locked it, returning back to Quinn.
"I'm not asking you politely," Santana warned. "Either you fucking lift up your shirt or I'm going to do it for you, Fabray."
"Why?" Quinn asked with a sob. "Why do you need to see it if you already know?" Quinn sat down on the floor and leaned against one of the lockers.
Santana looked at her friend and sat herself down on the floor across from her. "Because I don't want to believe that it's true," she admitted, her voice emotionally breaking over the last word.
Quinn looked up, and her emotional green eyes locked with Santana's confused chocolate. They sat like that, eyes connected, for what felt like the longest time before Quinn sighed and stood up. Santana watched intently as Quinn removed both her skirt and shirt, and pulled down on the top of her underwear, fully exposing the skin on her hips.
Santana gasped. She could distinctly count what looked like well over 100 vertical cuts on either side of her hips, all in various stages of healing. All different lengths and depths. Some were dark scars that looked like they were from many years ago, while others still looked like they were scabbed over. None looked as terrible as the eight bloody gashes dripping down her hip and thigh, where Santana's eye traveled to show even more scabbed over cuts.
"Quinn," she breathed. Santana didn't know what to think. She stood up and walked over to the Cheerios medicine cabinet, filled with painkillers and various FirstAid supplies. Santana grabbed the FirstAid kit and sat down on one of the benches, motioning for Quinn to stand in front of her. Reluctantly, Quinn obeyed.
Years and years of experience had taught Santana about how to dress a wound. Years of getting into fights with tougher boys. Years of falling out of trees or off her bike. Years of raising a boistrious younger brother. Years of spending time with a rather accident prone Brittany. Years of being around cheerleaders and a merciless coach. Santana's expert fingers gently cleaned Quinn's cuts and bandaged each up. Her eyes never strayed from the inflicted skin.
From above, Quinn watched Santana's expression. One of the things that Quinn always hated about Santana is that she had the ability to remain completely stoic. Quinn could watch all the minor movements of Santana's face, searching for micro-expressions or any hint as to what the brunette was feeling, but Santana never gave anything up. She was like a closed book with an iron padlock.
When Santana was done, she looked up at Quinn. "Why?" she asked. "You don't need to defend it. I understand the want to punish yourself. I feel like everyone does it to some extent, though not everyone does it quite the way you do. Some people deprive themselves of a certain food that they love. Others force themselves to sit down and finish a task. My own personal poison is excessive exercise. It's forcing your muscles to go past their limit, and pushing yourself until you think you're finished. But everyone has a reason. What's yours?"
Quinn turned to Santana's locker and used the combination that she had memorized freshman year to open it and pull out a new shirt and put her skirt back on and sat down on the bench next to the attentive Latina. "Because I'm never going to be good enough. Because even when I try to do everything right, I know that it will never be enough."
"By whose standards?"
"My own. My parents'."
Santana nodded. "Ever think that maybe the standards that have been set for you are a little unrealistic?"
"I have," Quinn admitted. "But it's not that that gets to me. It's the fact I can't…. I can't seem to admit my faults to anyone."
Santana nodded again. "So you… cutting, it's the words you can never say out loud?"
Quinn sniffled and locked with brown eyes that she was surprised to find brimmed with tears. "Quinn Fabray. Listen to me. Life sucks. But you know what? Shit happens and life goes on. I know that there are times when you hate yourself. I know what that's like. I know how it feels like you are so pushed to the ground by an outside force that you can't seem to get up. You feel like you're locked behind a closed door and that there is no way to ever lift the weight that is being put on you. It's like there is this pressure building up inside you, and all you need to do is just relieve a little bit of it before you get that feeling like you're going to burst. This? This is not the way to do that."
Quinn shook her head and got up. "Santana, please don't say anything to anyone." She gathered her bag and straightened out her hair. "I really appreciate all that you said and did, but I'm not ready to have this conversation yet."
Santana stood up as Quinn turned to leave. "You might not be ready, Quinn, but the conversation needs to happen. If you think I'm just going to stand back and watch you hurt yourself like this, you are sadly mistaken.
Quinn put her hand on the door and turned to look at Santana. "Yeah? And who's going to stop you from hurting yourself?" She stepped out the door before Santana had a chance to answer.
Bum bum bum...
i wanted to keep Santana's reaction as in-charactor as i could, which was really interesting. As fun as she is to write, she is so complex that sometimes, writing her thoughts/dialoge is like... brain-befuddling. And don't even get me started on Brittany, who, on the show, it seems like her intelect levels fluctuate so much it confused me.
Anyway, let me know what you think!
Reviews make me smile :)
