So on the one hand, this update took over a month to write; on the other hand, it's the longest one so far.
Trigger warnings for violence and homophobic language.
Quinn almost doesn't hear her alarm go off. It sounds further away than normal, and she only feels carpet when she reaches blindly behind her, and that's when she finally opens her eyes.
It takes her a moment to register how close she is to Rachel; they're facing each other, only inches apart so Quinn can feel warm breath against her cheek, and suddenly she is very, very awake. She sits up and gets to her feet and hits the switch on her clock to stop the beeping, then glances back at Rachel as she rolls onto her back and rubs her eyes.
"Morning," Quinn says, taking a seat on her bed.
"Morning," Rachel mumbles back, and then her arms drop to the floor and she takes a deep breath in and out. "I broke up with Finn."
"You did."
She props herself on her elbows, staring blankly ahead for a moment before looking at Quinn. "I should probably get home so I can shower before school."
Quinn nods. "Okay."
Rachel shifts off of the blankets and quickly folds them into a neat pile, then stands up and grabs her bag from a few feet away. "I'm just gonna go change," she says, and heads down the hall.
Quinn's eyes drop to the pile of blankets and pillows where Rachel was sleeping mere minutes before, and she's not quite sure why she's so stuck on the visual or what the feeling in her stomach is all about. She shakes her head and rakes a hand through her hair and stretches a bit, trying to remember what happened in the dream she had last night, but nothing surfaces.
"Thank you," Rachel says as she returns, "for everything."
Quinn nods once. "No problem."
She places her folded pajamas neatly in her bag and zips it up, then pauses. "It means a lot to me, what you did last night. Kurt and Mercedes probably would've said 'I told you so,' but you let me…" Rachel clears her throat. "Anyways, it means a lot." She gives Quinn a small smile and gestures to the door. "I'll get out of your way now."
"I'll, um… I'll walk you out," Quinn mumbles, because she doesn't like the idea of Rachel possibly encountering Judy without her there, and together they head down the stairs. "See you at school," she says once they reach the door.
Rachel nods, and it looks like she wants to say something.
Quinn's hand is on the doorknob. "You okay?"
She nibbles her lip for a moment. "Would it be alright if I hugged you?"
"Uh. Yeah…?"
Rachel beams and wraps her arms around Quinn, and between the smell of Rachel's hair and the warmth of Rachel's body against hers, it's surprisingly easy to hug her back.
"See you at school," Rachel finally echoes, then waits for Quinn to remember to open the door, and then she's gone.
Quinn closes the door and turns back toward the foyer, waiting for her mom to appear from the kitchen or the living room and demand an explanation for Rachel's appearance last night, but the house is silent.
.
"Why didn't you tell me you broke up with Finn?"
It's not until she hears Kurt's voice behind her that she even realizes Rachel is a few yards away at her locker, and she carefully organizes the contents of her own so she's not tempted to look around.
"Technically he broke up with me," Rachel replies, sounding uninterested and even a little annoyed, "but yes, we've separated."
"Alright, fine, but why didn't you tell me?"
She can practically hear the eye-roll. "Kurt, your status as my best friend and Finn's stepbrother doesn't mean either of us is obligated to share the intimate details of our personal lives with you. It's our information to share, in our own time, and with whomever we decide to share it with."
There's a beat of silence, followed by a sigh. "I'm sorry," Kurt says, "I shouldn't be whining about this; that was selfish. I'm just worried about you."
"I'm fine, Kurt. Really. It was a long time coming, and it's for the best… a-and I've already begun brainstorming a song to perform for glee club to address the matter."
"Please tell me you won't make us sit through any Taylor Swift or Beyoncé."
Quinn risks a glance over her shoulder and sees Rachel cross her arms. "While emotional power-ballads are certainly my forte, I am more than capable of dabbling in other genres."
"And I am more than aware of your versatility," he replies with a comforting squeeze of her shoulder. "Anything I can do to help? You can join Blaine and me for lunch if you want."
"While I appreciate the offer, I think I'm just going to eat in the choir room today; I need to regain my emotional equilibrium."
"Well, if you need a shoulder to cry on or a partner for any spontaneous musical numbers, you know where to find me."
Quinn hears him walk away, and her heart is racing; Rachel's voice is still echoing in her head, talking about "intimate details" and "whomever we decide to share it with," because Rachel decided to share this intimate detail with her.
"Hi, Quinn."
Rachel is now standing beside her, and she closes her locker. "Hey."
"I'd like to ask you something," Rachel continues slowly, "And I'll completely understand if the proposition makes you uncomfortable, so please don't be afraid to say no—"
"Rachel," she interrupts, her mouth suddenly dry as her heart hammers inside her chest.
"Would you like to have lunch in the choir room with me?"
It's such a simple, ordinary question, but Quinn nearly chokes on her own air.
"As I said, I won't be the least bit offended if you decline… I know the choir room is probably the last place you'd want to be, and I apologize if you deem it insensitive of me to—"
"No, it's… it's fine," Quinn says, but when she sees that Rachel is still nervous, she manages a small, joking smile. "But what about your emotional equilibrium?" Rachel blushes, and Quinn immediately feels guilty. "I-I wasn't trying to listen," she explains, her own face heating up, "It just… y'know…"
Rachel shakes her head and it looks like she's trying to hold in a laugh. "I'm not mad. And I only said that to avoid giving Kurt the chance to badger me about my choice in suitors." She shrugs. "I came to you last night for a reason; I hardly think your presence would have a negative impact."
She tries to ignore the way her stomach tightens at Rachel's words. "Um… yeah," she says finally, "I'll be there."
Rachel's smile is identical to the one she wore earlier this morning, when Quinn gave her permission for a hug. "Excellent! I'll see you then." She heads off down the hall, and Quinn's eyes stay on her for a lot longer than she intends them to.
"What are you doing?"
She whips around to find Puck standing behind her, frowning as he glances between her and Rachel's retreating form. "Nothing, I was just… I-I was talking to Rachel," she stammers, wondering why he looks so mad, but then she sets her jaw and tries to sound challenging. "Is that a problem?"
He takes a deep breath and lets it out with a sharp huff. "Look, you can screw with me all you want—you know, act like we're cool for two minutes and then let your asshole friends jerk you back to the dark side. But Rachel?" he continues, nodding down the hall. "She doesn't deserve that. And I don't know what you're trying to pull, but if it's supposed to end with her getting hurt..." He shakes his head. "Seriously, just leave her alone," he says coldly, then takes off before she can say another word.
She stares at the back of his head for a long moment, and once he turns the corner, she kicks the locker below hers as hard as she can.
.
When lunch rolls around she takes her time getting to the choir room; she doesn't want to be there before Rachel, or have anybody around to watch her go in, and when the hallway is finally empty, she makes two gentle knocks on the door.
Rachel waves her in and then she's across the threshold, stepping into the one room she's avoided like the plague since school started. It's strange, being alone with Rachel in here; she's so used to the room being filled with people, with sound, with pressure, but now… it's quiet and calm, like they're completely separated from the rest of the school, and even with Puck's words still swirling around her head, she finds it just a little bit easier to breathe.
"Hey," she says, stopping a few feet away from where Rachel is leaning against the piano, flipping through a thick stack of sheet music.
"Hi!" Rachel replies with a huge smile. "How's your day going so far?"
Quinn just shrugs, because she's not in the mood to talk about the Puck crap. "What are you working on?" she asks, nodding at the pile of papers.
Rachel sighs. "I'm trying to pick a song to perform for glee club this week—something relevant to my relationship with Finn ending, but…"
"Less power ballad-y?" Quinn supplies, sitting cross-legged in one of the plastic chairs and taking an apple out of her bag.
She abandons the music and sinks into the seat next to Quinn. "I tend to overdo it, don't I."
"No, I think… I think you're very honest," Quinn says carefully. "You don't hold back."
"That's the thing, though." Rachel fiddles with one of the buttons on her sweater. "If I'm being truly honest about this breakup, I'm—" She shrugs. "I'm okay. I'm not wallowing, o-or trying to devise a plan to get back together… Don't get me wrong, I did love him, and I suppose I still do, in a way." Rachel takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "But… we're done. For good. And I just… I want everyone to understand that, and not treat me like I'm this pathetic, lonely ex-girlfriend."
Quinn concentrates very hard on chewing and then swallowing her mouthful of apple. "For the record, you don't seem pathetic or lonely to me."
"I've told you, you don't have to sugarcoat anything for me."
She shrugs. "I'm not. Last night when you were upset, I didn't think it was because you're lost without him or anything. I thought it was because somebody you care about a lot let you down in a huge way. And who can really blame you for that?"
Rachel glances at her, eyes full of something Quinn can't quite place. "Thank you," she says quietly, sincerely.
Quinn takes another bite of her apple, trying to ignore how fast her heart is beating.
.
She comes home to a note from her mom saying she won't be home for dinner, and ends up doing her homework downstairs while a horror movie marathon plays on the TV.
Halfway through the second movie, she takes out her phone.
Do you like scary movies?
She adds another paragraph to her paper, then Rachel replies.
I haven't seen very many. I stopped watching them after Ghost Busters gave me nightmares.
Quinn snorts. I think you and I have very different definitions of "scary".
The next text comes faster than the first one. As a performer, I experience plenty of adrenalin rushes. I don't need to spend two hours stressing over people and situations that aren't even real.
How many times have you had to give this speech? She types with a quirked eyebrow.
Only every single Halloween, when my dads try to get me to watch the classics with them.
Quinn is smirking now. You poor, poor thing.
Don't you have a paper to write? ;)
She barks out a laugh at that one. Whatever, mom… she types, but then her fingers stall on the keys, and after a long moment, she deletes the words and writes a new message.
Fair enough. See you tomorrow.
.
"I've been thinking about what you said last night," Rachel announces the next day, "And I have another proposition for you."
Quinn spins her locker dial too far as her heart skips a beat, and she has to start over. "Yeah?"
Rachel takes a breath, like she's trying to steady herself. "Would you like to come over tonight and watch a movie?" She swallows hard. "A scary one?"
"Define 'scary,'" Quinn says, stifling a smirk.
"You can choose the movie."
Quinn raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to give me that much power?"
Rachel squares her shoulders. "I've decided that I trust you. And… how bad could it really be?"
"I guess that all depends on which movie I pick," she replies, not holding back her grin anymore.
Rachel nods. "I trust you," she repeats, sounding about as confident as someone preparing to jump out of a plane without a parachute.
"Has anyone ever told you you're a terrible liar?"
"On occasion."
Quinn grabs the notebook she needs and closes her locker. "Do you prefer psychological thrillers or gory slashers?"
Rachel actually looks like she might puke. "Is that a trick question?"
"See you at lunch," Quinn replies as she begins walking away, and a wave of dread hits her when she realizes she hasn't technically been invited again.
"Fair enough," Rachel says with a playful smile, and the dread is replaced with something different, something she forces out of her mind as she heads down the hall.
.
As she walks through the front door, she's so wrapped up in teasing Rachel about movie options via text that she almost doesn't hear her mom call out to her from the kitchen.
"Quinn, I need to speak with you about something."
She rolls her eyes and heads in that direction. "What's up?" she asks, fiddling with her keys.
Judy is staring at her wine glass, her lips pursed into a tense line. "What you're doing…" she begins quietly. "You can't."
"What I'm doing?" Quinn repeats slowly, arching an eyebrow.
Judy takes a small sip of her drink and swallows. "With that girl."
Quinn is still confused, but the words send chills down her spine anyways. She opens and closes her mouth before managing a reply. "What girl? What are you talking ab—"
"I saw you two," Judy interrupts, "the other night, when she stayed here."
She shakes her head. "Mom…"
"You can't let it happen again, Quinnie. It was… extremely inappropriate," she says, but there's something weird about her voice, and she can't look at Quinn.
Quinn's eyes are burning. "That wasn't even—"
"No more text messages, no more spending time with her outside of school—"
She shakes her head slowly. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about."
Judy's fingers are taut around the stem of her wine glass. "I know what I saw."
"She broke up with Finn, she needed—"
"That's enough," Judy interrupts once more, so quietly that it sends shivers down Quinn's spine. "Please stop this, Quinnie. I don't—I don't want to have to call your father again."
Quinn stares at her mom until her vision goes blurry, and when she blinks, a tear rolls down her cheek. She turns and walks away without another word, stuffing her feet into her boots and slamming the door behind her.
.
For a while she just drives—not really paying attention to lefts or rights, just going—and when she finally thinks she can trust her voice, she pulls into a grocery store parking lot and takes out her phone.
"Hey, kiddo."
She bites her bottom lip hard before speaking. "Where are you guys?"
"About to crash a party on Avery Street. What about you, got any plans?" The Mack's tone is mocking as hell, and Quinn can hear her snap her gum on the other line.
"See you there," Quinn replies before hanging up, then cranks the volume on the radio until "I don't want to have to call your father again" is distant background noise.
.
She finds them with surprising ease, given the number of people crammed into this house, but probably because no one else seems to want to be within five feet of them.
"Shit," Sheila says to The Mack as Quinn approaches, "I thought you were kidding."
The Mack lights a cigarette. "Where you been, babe? We were starting to worry."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Nowhere," she mutters, "Just… around."
"Yeah?" she replies with a dangerous smirk. "Doing anything fun?"
"Look, I'm here now, aren't I? Just get me a fucking drink and—"
"Man, you are precious," The Mack interrupts, taking a drag and flicking ash at Quinn's feet. "You know we notice when you disappear on us, right? Or do you think we're all just fucking idiots?"
"Not idiots," she says before she can stop herself, "Just in desperate need of a hobby."
Sheila snorts and Ronnie actually looks a little pissed, but The Mack just smiles pleasantly. "A hobby, huh?" She rubs her chin thoughtfully. "What about storytelling? I got a great one about this preggo-Christian-girl-turned-psycho-closet-case…"
Dread explodes in the pit of Quinn's stomach.
"What d'you think?" The Mack asks, grinding her cigarette butt against the side of a flower vase. "Should I gather everyone around for a show? I mean, who knows, I could even do an encore performance at school on Monday." She crosses her arms and her smile gets bigger. "Sky's the limit."
Quinn clenches her jaw so hard she's surprised her teeth don't crack; she wants to shove The Mack to the ground, scream in her face until she loses her voice, demand to know why the fuck she's so dedicated to shitting on Quinn's life.
Instead she pushes past The Mack and Ronnie, to the other side of the room, where a guy is filling cups from the keg. She grabs the half-filled one from his hand, tipping her head back and downing it in one go.
"Thirsty?" he asks with a smirk, taking a long sip from his own cup.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "You have no idea," she replies, and when she notices his big brown eyes, something in her stomach flips. "You busy?"
He lets go of the keg pump and takes a step closer to her. "That depends."
Quinn quirks an eyebrow and grabs his hand, hoping the Skanks are watching as she pulls him through the crowd and around a corner and down a hallway. When she finally finds a free patch of wall, she promptly pushes him against it and he lets out a grunt of surprise. She takes advantage of his open mouth, pushing her lips against his, and she feels a hand on her ass almost immediately while the other one slides up until his fingers are tangling in her hair.
"The pink is hot," he breathes, and now his hands are gripping her thighs; he picks her up and spins them around so she's against the wall, then his mouth and tongue start to get sloppier.
She tries to ignore how awkward the kisses are and how nauseating his aftershave smells and how not-right his body feels against hers, but after another minute or so, she gently pushes him back a little. "Mind getting me another drink?" she asks with what she hopes is a playful smile.
To her relief, he smirks again. "I'll be right back."
The second he disappears she heads down a different hallway, trying to find a way out of the house that doesn't involve running into him again, because this was the absolute dumbest fucking idea. For a moment she stops looking where she's going and she bumps into someone; a girl with long brown hair glares at her, but then her eyes dip in a way that sends a jolt of electricity to Quinn's stomach.
"S-sorry," Quinn stammers, her mouth suddenly dry.
The corner of her mouth quirks up. "Wanna make it up to me?"
Quinn almost asks what she means by that but then swallows the question as the girl takes her hand and leads her through a doorway to their left. She barely has time to register the contents of the room before she's being guided backwards onto a bed, and then there are lips on hers—much softer ones this time, ones that seem to play rather than smother, and something in her abdomen is already on fire.
The girl sits up and takes her shirt off, and then their mouths are together again and hands are slipping under Quinn's own shirt. She gasps at the contact and now the kisses are deeper and hips are starting to grind down against hers, and this is too fast they need to slow down they need to stop she shouldn't be doing this she shouldn't be doing this with her she shouldn't be doing this at all she shouldn't—
"Wait," Quinn breathes as the girl's tongue dances along her throat. She hears a low chuckle but otherwise gets no response, and the hands are practically in her bra now. "I can't—" She fumbles around until she's holding on to both of the girl's wrists, then pushes them away. "I can't do this."
The girl sits up again and pushes her hair out of her face, breathing heavily. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Quinn pulls her shirt back down and avoids her eyes. "I-I'm sorry, I just… I can't—"
"God, you straight girls are unbelievable," she grumbles, grabbing her shirt and yanking it back on, then walking out the door (which they apparently forgot to close on the way in) and slamming it shut behind her.
Quinn covers her eyes with her palms, trying to steady her breathing and hold in the sobs threatening to slip from her throat. She finally sits up and makes sure her clothes are all where they should be, then attempts to be as invisible as possible as she slips out of the room.
She spots the back door and heads out that way, deciding that there is zero need for her to be here anymore and it would be best to get to her car ASAP. It takes her a few minutes to get past the crowd on the deck, but then she walks along the side of the house and finally ends up at the curb where she parked, and she's never been so relieved to see her red Beetle.
She hits the unlock button on the remote and pulls on the door handle, but then there's a voice behind her.
"What's up, dyke?"
A hand pushes her car door closed again and she whips around to find the guy from earlier, looking significantly angrier and more drunk than he was during their first encounter.
"Leave me alone," she mutters, reaching for the door handle again, but he grabs her wrist and yanks, sending a spasm of pain shooting up her arm.
"That's not what you wanted earlier when you had me against the wall," he replies, leaning in so she's pinned to the car. "Y'know… before you ditched me to fuck that girl."
Her insides turn to ice and she grimaces at both the pain in her arm and his beer breath. "Let me go," she grunts, trying to shove him away, but her wrist gives her hell and suddenly there's a harsh slap across her cheek.
His mouth is right next to her ear. "Do you really think putting up a fight is gonna make a difference?"
Quinn lets out a sob that's cut off by a fist pummeling into her stomach; she doubles over and he grabs her by the hair, pulling until she pitches forward onto the pavement, then launches his foot into her side.
She cries out and her breathing is loud and ragged now. "Please," she gasps, then grunts at another kick, "Please stop, please…"
"What, you wanna to go fuck her again?" he asks, hitting her again and again. "Fucking slut. Should've known, with hair like that. Fucking freak."
"I'm sorry," she sobs, not even sure what she's apologizing for, "Please, I'm—please, stop."
When he finally does, several agonizing moments later, her eyes are burning. "Why don't you do us all a favor," he says, his tone icy and voice slightly breathless, "and jump off the fucking roof." He spits on a patch of ground next to her, and then he's gone.
Quinn doesn't move at first. She's shaking all over and she can't make her lungs take normal breaths and her wrist hurts like fuck and her cheek is still throbbing and she can feel shoe-shaped bruises all over her torso—
"Quinn? What the fuck?"
She hears Ronnie's voice and tries to sit up, but all her body lets her do is roll onto her side. Footsteps come closer as she lets out a sharp groan, and then there's a pair of boots in her peripheral vision.
"Shit, what happened?" Ronnie actually sounds concerned and Quinn avoids her eyes; if Ronnie's faking it, she doesn't want to know.
Quinn just shakes her head. "I need to go," she mumbles through clenched teeth. She momentarily forgets about her wrist and tries to push herself up, then hisses in pain and cradles her arm against her stomach.
"And where exactly are you going?" Ronnie asks, and Quinn can practically hear her arched eyebrow.
"Home," she snaps, or at least intends to, but she's so goddamn tired and everything hurts and her voice cracks on the word.
"You good to drive?" Ronnie grips her upper arm to try and help her up. "Jesus, you can barely—"
"I'm fine, I just need…" Quinn summons all the energy she has left and manages to get to her feet, grimacing at the pain and stiffness covering her body. She pulls away from Ronnie's hand and leans against her car for support. "I need to go home."
Ronnie doesn't move. "Quinn."
She opens the door with her good hand and starts to lower herself into the seat. "Thanks for…" she mutters, then grits her teeth as her bruised back presses against the leather. "Thanks." She pulls the door closed and the world goes silent except for the sound of her breathing; she goes to put the key in the ignition but her hands are trembling so badly that it takes her several tries. She lets out a shaky sigh of relief when the engine finally starts, but then each inhale and exhale gets tighter and tighter and she turns on the radio, cranking the volume until the music swallows her whole, until she can't hear how unsteady her lungs are, can't hear herself sniffling back tears, can't hear the quiet sobs drifting up her throat.
The drive home seems to take twice as long as her drive to the party; she can't believe how much it hurts her wrist to just hold onto the steering wheel, and she tries to manage with one hand as much as she can. By the time she pulls into the driveway her entire body is still shaking, so badly that it takes all of her focus to unfasten her seatbelt and finally get out of the car.
She all but stumbles into the house, grimacing as she carefully takes her boots off, and she can hear the TV in the living room but she goes straight to the kitchen; she just needs some water and maybe an ice pack, and she'll be fine.
Quinn gets a glass from the cupboard but her trembling hand can't hold on and she drops it to the floor and the sound of shattering glass fills the room.
"Quinnie?" The TV goes silent and then there's footsteps coming her way. "Have you been drinking again?"
Judy flips the kitchen light on and Quinn flinches; she slowly turns around, swallowing hard as she forces herself to look her mom in the eye. "I'm sorry," she chokes out.
The tendons in Judy's neck are taut. "There's Tylenol in the bathroom," she says quietly, after a long silence. "I'll clean this up."
Quinn's bottom lip wobbles with the effort of holding back tears as she grabs an ice pack from the freezer, holding it to her wrist as she slowly makes her way upstairs and to her bedroom. Her entire body is aching, like she's just had an all-day Cheerios practice without stretching before or after, and every muscle protests as she digs through her bureau for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.
She brings them to the bathroom and sets them on the counter, then turns on the shower and begins to strip her clothes off, careful to avoid looking in the mirror. Her phone falls out of her pocket, and when it hits the floor the screen lights up with text message notifications.
Quinn grimaces as she bends over to pick it up, and again when she sees that all three texts are from Rachel.
Are we still on for the movie tonight?
A tear rolls down her cheek.
Is everything okay? I'm not sure if you forgot about our plans or if something came up, but text me back when you get the chance.
Another tear follows.
I'm not mad, either way.
Quinn can barely see the screen through the moisture in her eyes, but she tries her best, even with trembling fingers, to type a reply.
Sorry
Sobs are starting to push their way out of her lungs. "I'm sorry. Please, I'm—please, stop."
Her phone buzzes.
Don't worry about it. Is everything okay?
She can barely breathe as she sets her phone face-down on the counter, opens the cabinet door, and reaches for the box of blonde hair dye that's been sitting on the shelf for months.
"Fucking slut. Should've known, with hair like that. Fucking freak."
.
When she gets back to her room, there are two pills and a glass of water sitting on her nightstand.
