The Sweet Suffering
"Idina Menzel is a Broadway icon primarily known for her role as Elphaba on Wicked. I must say that she is an inspiration to young women of today who constantly battle nasal-" Rachel Berry pauses in the middle of her Idina Menzel appreciation speech that always somehow flowed perfectly out from her mind, glancing up from her non-dairy ice cream. The Jew always had]s a habit of going into grave detail on some of the more prominent, Broadway women of the century, often times daydreaming about the inevitable day she be immortalized with her own Emmy.
She has no shame in her dreams. But she does have shame in the fact that a dollop of non-dairy ice cream rested on the tip of her nose, only to be brought to her attention when the smooth fingers of Mike Chang grazed it away.
"Sorry," she mutters bashfully, picking up the napkin primly placed on her lap. Brushing away the dampness the ice cream left on her nose, she gives Mike the most enchanting smile she could create. Rachel often times perfected her smile, knowing that when she landed her very first role on Broadway, she would need to be prepared for the hounds of paparazzi going down on her.
"It's okay,"
Glancing around the 60's inspired ice cream shop, forever lost in the modern times wherein ice cream shops were obsolete, the brunette feels a light wave of giddiness pass by her body. Sure, her heart and mind was set on the tall jock with the kind eyes, but Mike Chang wasn't exactly a step down either. He didn't talk much, but if anything she rather enjoyed his silence. It gave her plenty of time to talk.
"I must say, I'm quite surprised Noah had arranged this little meeting," Rachel tries to ignore the disinterested, dazed look in the boy's eyes, biting her tongue to stop more words from falling to the ground.
"But I'm positively thrilled to be here!" exclaims the talented girl, picking up a spoonful of her dessert and placing it in her mouth.
"I heard about the Aldrin Yu exchange program," this seems to catch the dark-haired boy's attention away from the lemon ice cream that was melting on his own serving plate and onto her.
"You heard?"
"It's quite the program. Mind you, I stir myself away from the more rigid, academic programs and more into ones wherein I can hone my own artistic capabilities. In fact-" stopping herself, she lets out a tiny giggle. "I apologize, I forgot you weren't exactly the artistic type,"
"Right, yeah well… I haven't decided on it yet,"
"What's stopping you?" she asks innocently, thumbing through the tip of her hair. She watches as his dark eyes flicker to her fingers, as if he's recalling something or someone in the action, before turning back to him.
"I know that if I ever got something nearly as glamorous or prestigious as the Aldrin Yu exchange program to Shanghai, I wouldn't think twice before going. It's not like anyone would miss me anyways," she mutters the last bit. Rachel hates the lack of vocal expressiveness Mike exemplified. She took great pleasure in hour long, back-and-forth conversation. But she's sure once she breaks him in, their conversation shall run smoothly.
"Finn would miss you," she can't decide if his words are meant to scratch her golden heart, or if it just does.
"You heard then?"
"Everyone did,"
"Well," she coughs inwardly. "It's not like it really meant anything to either party anyways," the split second eyebrow raise she receives from the Asian boy makes them both aware it's quite a lie. But not as big a lie as Mike pretending to actually like being around her.
"You don't like me, do you?" Mike looks up, unnerved by her answer. Shaking his head furiously, he places his hand on her arm, sighing.
"I'm sorry, Rachel" he mutters politely, looking down on her wrist. "My head is just-"
"You don't like me, do you?" Rachel repeats firmly, capturing his attention. "Not really, anyways"
"I do like you," he insists almost too quickly. Rachel sighs to herself. At least he was trying, right? She couldn't say that much for the quarterback she had been pining for since kindergarten. Back when he was just Finn Hudson, the kind-hearted leader of the pack who kept the peace between the boys and the girls. Back when she wasn't called Ru Paul or man hands, just Rachel or Berrylicious. Back before he'd fallen right under the Fabray spell and was left forever enraptured in her.
"You've been staring at your ice cream muttering lemon for the past half hour and pretending to listen," she notes.
"First you talked about Spring Awakening then you talked about LGBT support because of your two gay dads then you educated me on how non-dairy ice cream was accomplished and for awhile, you shared you opinions on Jazz versus Contemporary. Contemporary takes the cake every time, by the way. But then you started talking about how you watched Rent last night with your dads, which led to Idina Menzel," a low whistle escapes Rachel's lips. Maybe he was listening.
"You missed my slight aversion to the astrology and how Dorado looks like a dragon," Rachel mutters.
"Draco,"
"Pardon me?"
"The one that looks like a dragon is Draco. Considering you're part of the Harry Potter club, I assumed you knew that," she filters out the judgmental tone in his voice, years of bullying has led her to filter the harsher tones out.
"I'm merely a member in order to build up my credentials for Julliard or other colleges two years from now," upon her arrival to McKinley, her name was on every single miscellaneous club there was, including and especially the Glee Club. Rachel could already imagine the admission offices of every high profile college salivating at the abundance of credentials listed on her resume.
"That's nice," if anything, Rachel detests it when people say "that's nice". She could feel them growing bored with her.
"How do you know so much about constellations?" perhaps talking solely about her wasn't a positive dating strategy on her part. She had set her bedazzled cell phone to vibrate every five minutes to interrupt her from talking about herself. So far, his responses were one words answers, but like most things in her life, she was driven to succeed. She would win the Football playing Asian after this little date of theirs.
"I just do,"
"Do you like Draco, then?"
"No,"
"Andromeda?"
"Not really,"
"Ursa Major?"
He shrugs. Biting her lip, she rests her back onto the leather seat, playing with the melting ice cream on her dish.
"Leo," he admits coolly.
"Why?"
"Why not?"
Sighing for the twenty-eight time throughout their date (she had kept count), she decides to switch gears for a bit. Perhaps he was just intimidated by her affiliation with Finn, or her newly acquired reputation as Finn's newest lover. Which was false, really, because as expected, he had dropped her almost as quickly as his history mark and made a go for his girlfriend, Quinn.
"Mike's a Leo, man hands. I figured that along with your background search on him, you'd have the decency to find out when he was born," the rigid, icy voice of the blonde head cheerleader made her freeze in her seat. Well, it could be attributed to her ice cream, but Rachel's almost ninety nine perfect sure it's Quinn's doing. Looking up from her half-finished ice cream, she looks up at those harsh hazel eyes. She's never been intimidated by Quinn per se, but the girl had the ability to crush her spirits. She has ever since kindergarten. Up to this date, she still has no recollection of what made the blonde hate her so much. Then again, now she actually did have some grounds. She did, after all, kiss her boyfriend. And may or may not have discreetly gone out on a number of dates with him, unknown to her.
"I wasn't aware-"
"Of course you weren't," she turns to Mike for support, but alas he had turned back to playing with his ice cream.
"May I help you, Quinn?" Rachel snaps, her brunette hair swishing in the air. She wonders if it'll ever be as impressive as the way the girl's high ponytail swished in the sunlight. Not likely.
"Q," both girls turn their attention to the statuesque Finn Hudson approaching them, his faded out jeans with ice cream smeared on the sides. Rachel fought the urge to hand him one of her custom napkins with little, gold stars on the edge. The talented Jew has to remind herself she doesn't have the privilege. She finds the entire thing incredibly cute, however. Something about Finn's innocence automatically made her heart skip a beat.
"Ugh, what did you do to your pants?"
"Puck-" he begins his explanation.
"Have I not told you about a million times now, Finn? Puck isn't a good influence on you,"
"Because he's the problem," mutters Mike to himself. Rachel notes a lump go down the blonde's throat.
"He was just fooling around," excuses Finn, sparing the girl a glance.
"Whatever," grumbles Quinn, turning back to the pair seated in the booth.
"Here," she slaps two laser printed flyers on the top. William McKinley High School was printed in bold at the top, with snowflakes and a picture of a dance, no doubt from Google, with the date, time and attire specified at the bottom. Fussing her eyebrows together, Rachel immediately looks up at the couple. She tries to stop herself from bawling at the absolute perfection of the two standing side-by-side. It truly did reinforce the idea that she and Finn weren't meant for one another.
"We already received this," Rachel says, picking up the flyer and letting the images shimmer in the overly-bright, florescent lighting.
"Turn it around," snaps the blonde. Complying, she sees a picture of Finn and Quinn from the Titans' last loss (0-4) standing side-by-side. As per usual, Finn still had that same dopey sparkle in his eyes, with his goofy smile to match, while Quinn stood beside him, her own classic, overly-exuberant cheerleader smile in contrast. She looks up at the blonde, taking in her less than stellar appearance. Take away her classic, American girl good looks and uncommonly shiny blonde hair, and all that was left to see was a girl whose frown was so deep, and whose eyes were so jaded with mystery and obvious pain. If Quinn wasn't exhibiting her usual passive aggressive tendencies along with her 'head bitch in charge' look, Rachel would have probably reached out to her.
"Winter Wonderland King and Queen, we're running"
"Shocker," mumbles Mike. Though this time, he looks directly up at the pair. Finn sends Mike a quick wave from behind Quinn, using his pointing finger to twirl around his temples while mouthing 'crazy' and 'help me'. Meanwhile, Quinn stairs right back down at the poster.
"Make sure to vote Hudson-Fabray,"
"That sounds like shit," a fifth voice interrupts the bellowing blonde, this time the rugged slur of one Noah Puckerman.
"No one was asking for your opinion, Puck" Finn is quick to step in. On a normal basis, most of them knew, he would simply shrug off to the background to avoid the two flinging insults at one another. But considering he has recently won his girlfriend back, as to how he still had no idea, he's upped his game.
"Just saying, Hudson-Fabray sounds shitty,"
"Lay off, Puck" a sixth voice joins in, that of Santana Lopez's.
"Don't you want to win this, babe?" asks Puck rhetorically, waving their own poster up for Rachel and Mike to see. On it is a rather explicit photograph of himself and Santana in tight fitting, summer get-ups over at the highway, their empty wine coolers discreetly hidden from the picture.
"All these couples running," whispers Rachel to herself, looking out at the window.
"Maybe you and Chang can run too," Puck's suggestive voice says all too seriously. The female Jew watches as Quinn's cheeks turn an unflattering color of red, her grip on Finn's hand growing dangerously tight. Puck turns from Mike and Rachel to Quinn, eyebrows raised pointedly.
"Who would vote for Berry?" the Latina comments snidely, catching Quinn's own hazel eyes with her own. "She dresses like one of those creepy cat women who have Necrophilia,"
"Santana," Mike attempts to step in, Quinn's head immediately shifting to his direction. "Lay off,"
"Like it's any of your business," the blonde female snaps quickly.
"It is since they're dating, Quinn" those six words uttered tauntingly and pointedly by Noah Puckerman is all Rachel needs to put two in two together. Puck didn't set her and Mike up because her "loudness would dull out his silence" or because "the Changster has some wicked set of abs, no homo". Puck set herself and Mike up so that he could watch Quinn's emotionless, stone-cold façade break for a split second, and the look of pure hurt overtake her. It didn't take a genius or anyone really in the know of whatever is really going on to figure it out. Quinn's eyes were always pools of mystery, always hiding her true emotions. Now, she was more transparent than ever. It's so difficult to bear even for Rachel, that she turns back to her melted ice cream. As satisfying as it felt momentarily, she felt herself grow empathetic to the girl.
"Maybe we should just go…" Finn trails off, tugging on Quinn's arm in an attempt to put the awkwardness to an end. She remains perfectly still, staring right at Puck, jaw slacked and eyes filled with unadulterated hurt.
"Maybe you should," Mike repeats Finn's words, playing with his hands at the bottom of the table. Turning to him, Rachel realizes that it's not only Quinn whose emotions were put on the line for everyone to see, but Mike's as well. From the way he fiddles to his hands, to the ambivalent emotion he felt, it was safe to say that he was caught between satisfaction and pain, just like Rachel herself.
"This is the part where you go," Puck tells the golden couple harshly, his words directed more towards Quinn than Finn. Which, from what Rachel can pick up, is understandable. From the bits she put together, she immediately got the impression that the two had been involved. What else would explain Quinn's momentary lapse into humanity?
"Vote Hudson-Fabray," is all the blonde says before she untangles her and Finn's joint hands, briskly walking away. Watching as the girl retreats to the girl's washroom, she turns back to Finn, his apathetic stance irking her. She may have adored Finn for all of who he is, but at this moment, as she watches him let the "girl of his dreams" not-so-subtly hide her tears as she makes her way to the washroom, she couldn't be anymore disappointed.
"He's with her," is all Santana Lopez hears come out of Quinn Fabray's lips. Truth be told, Santana had no idea Quinn's emotions ran this deep. For awhile there, she was sure the girl was made out of stone instead of flesh and bones. But this Quinn, whose shallow persona cracked under the immense humiliation and pain she had just been unknowingly subjected to by those around her, made the Latina reconsider.
Her and Quinn's friendship has always been a rough one, still is when she really things about it. Their constant competition, be it for men or popularity, always tore them apart. The number of horrendous things they had done to one another in pursuit for either thing was downright sinful, as her abuela would say. Maybe they shouldn't even be friends, considering the number of times she had put a metaphorical knife right into her back.
Yes here they are, standing in the middle of a dingy, low rate bathroom in Sundaes, Lima's local ice cream parlor. Here they are, being there for each other, the way they never have been. Here they are, facing the undeniable truth that they aren't God's gift to mankind or stone cold, flawless robots, but teenage girls.
Standing behind her, she wraps her arms around the WASP-esque blonde, cradling her back and forth. In very few instances did they open up to each other. She could name a good two or three instances, really. And never has she once seen Quinn this hysterical.
Not when she had overheard her father calling her a "disappointment" out of drunken stupor during one of their sleepover's (it was the last sleepover Quinn had ever held). Not when Coach Sylvester had forced Quinn up in front of her Cheerios, pointing out each and every flaw from her curvier thighs to slightly slumpy shoulders. And certainly not when she had seen Finn making out with Rachel.
It's scary for Santana to witness just how much love could crush a person.
"I know, Q" she hushes the girl's fears, rubbing her back.
"How can he be with her?"
"You did break his heart-" Quinn slaps her comforting hands away. The dark haired girl bites down on her lip. Maybe that isn't exactly the most comforting phrase to use.
"I did not break his heart. He shot me down," she hears the desperation in Quinn's voice. Her desperation to have Santana agree with her. Alas, the olive-skinned girl wasn't that kind. Quinn may have issued very few details about her and Mike's fling, but it didn't take a whole lot for the Lima Heights Adjacent resident to know that this is most likely Quinn's doing. The girl had a habit of fucking up more times than she could count.
"And here you are with Finn,"
"Are you trying to make me feel better?" snaps Quinn hoarsely.
"No,"
"So why are you here, then? To witness my humiliation?" Santana scoffs.
"You're not humiliated,"
"How do you know-"
"You just got your heart broken," she states matter-of-factly. Santana knew the difference better than Quinn, she had gone through both (humiliation and heart break). Humiliation left one, well, humiliated. But heart break, oh Santana knew that was an entirely different case all together. And as much as she would love to cast Quinn's feelings off as humiliation for her sanity and peace of mind, she had to be straight up. It's the only straight she is.
"That's preposterous,"
"Quinn,"
"I don't love him,"
"Bull shit," snaps Santana, shoving the girl's size 2, dainty figure slightly. The girl stumbles back, her hazel eyes illuminating with indignant rage.
"What the hell is your problem, Santana?"
"What's yours?" retorts her second-in-command. "You're lying to me, you're lying to Finn and you're lying to yourself," she knew Quinn was looking for her to pat her back and say Mike isn't worth it. That she would live happily ever after with Finn. But if Santana had to put up with her inner self begging for her to be honest, so would Quinn.
"I'm not lying, Santana. Puck just humiliated me, and I'm feeling jealous, it's nothing more than that," returns Quinn flippantly, her tears running further and further down her cheeks.
"Quinn," Santana grabs her arm, turning the girl around to face her. "I would love to sit here and say you're not heartbroken. I would love to tell you that you aren't in love with twiggy, the mute, Chinese-smelling Asian who screams virgin. I would love to make you go off with Frankenteen and live off your overrated, stereotypical romance. I would, Quinn. I really fucking would," sighing, she reaches for Brittany's feline themed handkerchief, holding it up to the hazel-eyed girl. As she nods, she slowly brushes it along the bottom of the girl's eyes, looking intently into those saddened eyes.
"But I love you more than I would love to make the pain go away," continues Santana. "You know that saying? Real friends stab you in the front?" Quinn nods. Of course she knew. The girl always had her nose buried in those boring ass books of hers.
"That's what I'm doing. If I let you go off thinking you're okay, I'd be stabbing you in the back. I'd be indirectly making you go through pain. However, if I tell you straight up that you are in pain and that you should be, I'd be stabbing you in the front,"
"We're real friends?" interrupts Quinn snidely.
"You're ruining the moment, Fabray"
"Sorry," she mutters.
"You look like shit,"
"You're bloated from all that ice cream," retorts the blonde wittily. Santana giggles, pressing down her handkerchief on the girl's face, forcing Quinn to slap her away. As Santana leans back in to swat her with the handkerchief, Quinn pushes it away, a sad, teary smile flashing on her face. Immediately, they break into a swatting competition, Quinn trying and failing to push the Latina away from swatting her with the mascara-smeared handkerchief. Moments pass, and as they sit on opposite sides of the bathroom breathless, Santana turns to Quinn.
"Why are you here with Finn?" she asks seriously.
"The same reason you're here with Puck," deadpans Quinn.
"Because we're popularity conscious, weak bitches who keep searching for the unconditional love that's really just staring at us in the face?"
"You sounded smart there for a second. Careful, you might break the dumb cheerleader stereotype," warns Quinn, who rests her head back on the wall.
"You know, eventually you'll have to face up to the fact that you want your little Asian back,"
"Right after you come out of the closet, San"
"Wanna come out with me?" Quinn's eyebrows shot up, jaw dropping.
"Santana, you're awfully sweet but-"
"I meant come out of the bathroom, Q" Santana cuts her off from further humiliation.
"Oh, right" the blonde says dumbly.
"Q?"
"Yes, San?"
"You're stronger than you think. Some shiny plastic crown won't change what's going on with your dad," she whispers quietly. "But Chang… He might,"
"You know the same goes for you," mutters Quinn. "You're strong enough to be with Brittany,"
"Yet here we are with our beards,"
Author's Note: Phew! I basically wrote this in one flash, no distractions. I like the two POVs I wrote it in. I figured someone needed to set Quinn straight, right? The next chapter should be the Winter Wonderland dance, assuming I don't add in another chapter I really want to do. We'll see? Until then, review!
