All of the psychology buffs out there know that there are five stages to grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Denial is obviously when the person refuses to believe the reality of the situation, anger is when they start blaming someone else for what's happened, bargaining is when they try to make a deal with the world or a person in order to better their situation, depression is when they wallow in self-pity and despair, and acceptance is when they finally get that they can't do anything about it and they move on. Well, Quinn has been stuck in the denial stage for so long, she basically just skipped the whole rest of the process and went straight to depression.
The rest of her Saturday and a good portion of her Sunday are spent listlessly in her room, listening to depressing music and occasionally succumbing to tears once more. Mercedes and her parents are worried sick about her, but Quinn's been ignoring them. It's mean of her, but she's dead-Quinn figures in the big scheme of things she'll be forgiven for being a jerk just this once.
Of course, that leads her to wonder if she'll be forgiven for all the other times she's been a bitch and that opens a whole 'nother can of worms that she doesn't want to think about.
Frank, surprisingly, has not uttered a single word since condemning her with the truth earlier. He's left her alone in the sense that he's given her time to come to terms with the bombshell that fell onto her life and blew it all to pieces.
…Maybe that last sentence was a little dramatic. But, hello! Dead! That is such a scary, permanent word. Dead. Death. Dying. A promise of oblivion and eternal sleep waiting at the end of every life. And then it leads one to wonder…what comes afterwards? Is there really a God; really a heaven or hell? Or maybe there's reincarnation, or maybe there's really nothing there at all. The last one is a terrifying concept.
Quinn has always been a devout Christian, so of course she's subscribed to the whole God and heaven deal. The big question, then, is if heaven will really accept someone like her.
Also, if and when she does become used to the whole dying thing (unlikely), Quinn has to wonder: now what? So, she's dead (oh god, she still can't really believe it) and all that's left is waiting for a cure for the zombie virus. What is she supposed to do for the time in between? Her lease on life is nearing an end, and she should treasure the next few weeks…but then, what exactly can she do? She's stuck in Lima, Ohio, for the rest of her life (god dammit) and there's really nothing that exciting to do here. Plus, she can't afford to make anyone suspicious by skipping school. No one knows but Frank, and if she had to tell anyone else she thinks that just might break her heart.
She's not even close enough to her family to tell them anyways. Quinn wonders if they'd even care.
Quinn has things she could be doing right now besides moping-homework, for instance. But then, stuff like that just doesn't really seem that important anymore. However…what is important? What does she really value in life? Glee, maybe? Regionals are coming up; if she spent the rest of her life focused on winning there that could be cool.
Minutes later, as if summoned by the thought of glee and singing, Quinn's cell phone blares to life. Quinn glances at the screen to see the caller id is unknown, and contemplates ignoring it.
"Pick it up," Frank says finally, voice a bit hoarse from disuse. He's still in Quinn's discarded bag. "It's rude to leave someone hanging like that."
Not really caring either way, Quinn does as told. She can always hang up right after.
"Quinn?" an all too familiar voice asks, "Are you there?"
"Rachel?" Quinn croaks out, surprised, "How did you get this number?"
"I asked Mercedes," Rachel responds, her voice sounding tinny and artificial through the phone, "she's worried about you. I'm worried about you too. Can we talk?"
"…We're talking right now," Quinn says cautiously. She doesn't want to talk.
"I meant face-to-face," Rachel elaborates, "I'm waiting outside the house right now. I'll be expecting you, Quinn." And, in typical diva fashion, she doesn't wait for Quinn to respond, instead choosing to hang up and give herself the last word.
Quinn glances around involuntarily when hearing that Rachel is outside, even though she can't see to the front lawn from her room. She wonders if Rachel would leave if she waited long enough.
"That was the shrimp, right?" Frank asks, "I can tell, so don't lie. I have ninja hearing."
"Yeah," Quinn admits quietly.
"You should go see her," he advises, "you've been cooped up in here all day, and it's not good for you." Quinn laughs a bit bitterly.
"Yeah," she says sarcastically, "and I should really be concerned with my health right now." Frank doesn't respond for a long, long moment, and Quinn almost feels guilty.
"…Do you hate me?" he wonders, so quietly Quinn almost couldn't hear him. From what she can hear, though, she can tell that he's not sure if he really wants to hear the answer to that.
A question asked that seriously deserves an equally serious response, so Quinn thinks about it. The answer 'yes' pops up almost at once, fueled with bitterness and resentment over the situation. But she's trying to be an adult now, since she won't ever have that chance later.
Frank didn't mean to kill her. She can't blame him-well, she can, but that would be unfair. He's in the same boat as her, after all. She killed him too. He was alive (kinda) before attacking her and could've had a chance to return to his family, but then she broke his neck and chopped off his head and that's kind of impossible for him now. If he's guilty, then she's equally as guilty.
And he's always been a friend to her, so she should at least try to be one back.
"No," Quinn says finally, "I don't hate you, Frank." There's an almost inaudible sigh, a whispered thanks. Quinn laboriously drags herself off the bed, stretching with a groan.
"I'll talk to Rachel," she concedes reluctantly. She walks over to where she dumped her backpack and crouches, unzipping it. The blond reaches in a grabs Frank's jar and pulls him out, serendipitously avoiding eye contact. She sets him on her desk, before leaving the room and going for the bathroom. Splashing water on her face doesn't help with the splotchy cheeks and red eyes and nose, but it definitely wakes her up more.
When she heads towards the door, Quinn ends up seeing Mercedes fixing herself something up in the kitchen. The other girl didn't spot her right away, so she considered running for it and avoiding any awkwardness. Then, of course, Mercedes just happened to look up.
"Hi," Quinn greets, averting her gaze. She must have really upset someone up there because she has pretty terrible luck. Mercedes places her hands on the counter, scrutinizing her.
"Are you okay?"
Quinn coughs. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Everything's fine."
"…Do you want to talk about it or something?" Mercedes asks, clearly uncomfortable at the idea. It's okay, though; talking about her feelings makes Quinn uncomfortable too.
"Rachel's waiting for me outside," Quinn says, "so you don't have to. Thank you, though." Something flashes across Mercedes face at this, but the expression is gone before Quinn can actually analyze it. Mercedes looks back down.
"Oh." she says softly. Quinn waits for a bit, but it seems like Mercedes is done talking. She hightails it out of there. Awkwardness. Quinn's pretty sure she's allergic to that.
It's late afternoon outside, and the sun is beginning its descent into the horizon. Quinn squints, wondering when it got so late, and glances around. She spots a figure sitting on the curb facing the street. Their knees are drawn up so they can rest their chin, and thick brown hair falls over their shoulders like a curtain. It's Rachel, obviously.
"Hey," Quinn greets, and Rachel jumps up and turns around.
"Hi, Quinn," Rachel nods and gives her a small smile, but she's staring at Quinn as hard as Mercedes was earlier. It's then that Quinn realizes she's been wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She fidgets self-consciously.
"Do you want to sit down or go on a walk with me?" Rachel asks, taking charge and preventing any uncomfortable silences. Quinn noiselessly plops herself down on the curb, thereby answering that question, and Rachel slowly sets herself back down. Quinn uses this time to subtly observe her companion.
The brunette's expression is pensive, and she's returned to the same sitting position as earlier with her arms wrapped around her knees. Even though she's dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and faded jeans, with that faraway expression and the setting sun giving an orange tint to her hair, she looks like she could be the inspiration for a beautiful painting or something. Thinking about that makes Quinn feel weird, though, so she looks away.
"Your phone number is the only one in my address book," Rachel says unexpectedly, "besides my relatives, of course. I apologize for taking it without asking, but I somewhat like having it there. I'd like to keep it, if you don't mind."
"Sure," Quinn responds, thrown off by the weird topic, "you can keep it." Rachel always had a strange way of talking about the more depressing aspects of her life with a sort of nonchalance. Quinn figures that if Rachel has such a blasé way of talking about it, then she should probably respond with a similar attitude.
"You have mine now, too," Rachel says, sounding pleased. "So whenever you feel the need for conversation, I'm only a few taps of a button away." Rachel pauses for a moment.
"I want you to use that privilege and call me as many times as you like," she begins, "I'd like to think that you trust me enough to know that I'm here to listen to you without judgment and that I'm willing to help you out with any problems you may have, if you just talked to me. So I'm not going to pressure you, but…"
"You want to know about what happened yesterday," Quinn finishes. She still hasn't turned to face the other girl, but she knows the brunette is staring expectantly at the side of her face.
"Yes." Rachel says, "I do."
For one terrifying, heart pounding moment, the truth forces its way up like some nasty, guilt flavored phlegm and Quinn is tempted to tell Rachel that she's going to die. However, Quinn manages to keep that truth swallowed and shrugs.
"It's the whole reliving trauma thing," she says instead, "being in the locker room made me remember that day and I flipped out. I'm sorry you had to be in the receiving end of that." Quinn clenches and unclenches her hands reflexively. She's relieved and disappointed at the same time when Rachel nods.
"Oh, so that's all?" she sighs and smiles in relief, "I mean, of course that's horrible that you had to experience that, but I was afraid there was going to be something much worse. I'm glad that you're okay."
"Yeah," Quinn smiles shakily back, "I'm perfectly fine." Except for the guilt pooling at the pit of her stomach, of course. And the fact that she's dead.
Rachel, oblivious to Quinn's inner turmoil, continues to grin, and it only serves to make the blond feel worse. She looks away.
"So…" Quinn searches for a topic, "how have you been doing in school?" Quinn wants to bang her head repeatedly on the sidewalk right after she speaks. What kind of lame question is that? She sounds like her parents!
"School is proceeding as usual," Rachel plays along with her eyebrows raised, "are you not going anymore?" Quinn gestures helplessly.
"No! I'm…I'm making conversation!" she glares at the brunette, "You're not really helping, here!" She tries to ignore the way Rachel is looking at her like she's a huge dork.
"Very well, then," Rachel gives her an indulgent smile, "what do you want me to say?"
"I dunno…anything weird happen?" Quinn wonders. Rachel tilts her head in thought, then frowns.
"I'm not sure if this would qualify as weird," she says slowly, "but Suzy Peppers hasn't been at school for a while."
"Really?" Quinn asks, surprised. "I didn't know that. Were you friends with her or something?" Rachel's frown deepened.
"Do I have to be friends with her to notice something like that?" she makes angry sweeping gestures, "No one cares because they think she's a freak! She's been gone for a week or so and no one even wonders where she is or anything!"
"I'm sorry for not noticing," Quinn says, wondering what the big deal was. "I don't think I even have any classes with her. And you have to admit, she is a bit strange."
"So that makes it okay? What if she's hurt or what if she ran away? She's our classmate, so we should be concerned about her," Rachel crosses her arms. "But instead, hardly anyone notices that she's gone. Just because she's a social reject…"
Quinn thinks that she might be getting the point now. She is on honor roll for a reason, and so does her best to read between the lines of Rachel's outburst. She hesitates for a moment before speaking.
"…you know," she begins tentatively, flushing with embarrassment, "you know I'd worry if you went missing or something, right?"
Rachel gazes at her for several moments with an absolutely stupefied expression, before it dissolves into a shy smile.
"Oh," she says simply, "I see." Rachel glances down for a moment, before looking back up.
"It might be presumptuous of me," the brunette says with that same small smile, "but I consider you as someone close to me…like a best friend, or something of the sort. I would miss you if you were gone, too."
Rachel certainly didn't intend for her words to pierce at Quinn like a knife to the heart, but they did anyways. They remind Quinn that she is, in fact, going to leave. Permanently.
"Thanks," Quinn coughs, clearing a suddenly thick throat. She smiles weakly back at Rachel.
Well, damn. When did she get promoted to best friend status? And Quinn has the sneaking suspicion that best friend was pretty much equated to only friend. Double damn.
She can't be Rachel's only friend! She's dead! There should be a rule about that; something about not making friends with dead people. Because when she does end up dying, Rachel will be all alone and that's just wrong and unacceptable. She can't rest in peace knowing that she's Rachel's only friend, and that she just abandoned the other girl. Rachel needs to make other friends.
Rachel just needs to be treated better all around, actually.
The other girl is still oblivious to Quinn's inner thoughts, but that's okay. Quinn's come to a decision. She may not have much longer to live, and she may be an undead zombie, but she's got a goal now: she'll spend what's left of her life to make Rachel's better. The other girl deserves that much from her, since she's the one who made a lot of it a living hell. And it feels nice, thinking about helping someone instead of hurting them.
Maybe if Rachel can forgive her for being a bitch, God can too.
