Quinn's room looked like girly paradise. Many bright colored quilts, flowery curtains, plush toys of every breed and fabric. Very few pictures though, and Santana suspected this was because she didn't want to be reminded of a childhood where she grew up with a man who'd eventually leave her and cheat on her mom. Santana felt a glimmer of empathy for the girl but it quickly died out when she recalled an incident earlier that afternoon.

Quinn "accidentally" spilled her water bottle on Santana's lap (super-childish). Made more advances on Brittany (until Santana made a biting comment about Quinn gaining weight and her possibly being pregnant again). But then she hit a new low. Quinn walked straight up to Puck (now back from juvie) and asked him out. And amazingly no one thought she was a slue for doing so. Hello? They're Mommy and Daddy.

-|- present time -|-

"Why does it matter to you?" Quinn sneered as Santana had brought it up when she walked into her bedroom with drinks. The reason Quinn even allowed Santana in her room was because of their Glee assignment.

"It matters because we are the two hottest, most sexually promiscuous, badass kids at this school. We go together. You don't. And don't you realize what you are doing to your own reputation? Getting back together with the guy who knocked you up at 16? You know he's still going to sleep around behind your back. You're only doing this to get to me!"

Quinn almost cracked but she held her ground, "What are you in love with him?"

"No, but you're being unfair to him. He's probably always going to be a player but he genuinely cares about you, and you've moved on. Sam is good for you. He'll show you what a real romance is like, but if you keep stringing Puck along you'll only get hurt. And so will he."

Quinn was unperturbed by the profound nature of Santana's words, "So why do you keep seeing him if you know he's into me?"

Santana's head nearly exploded, "¡Por Dios! It's what we do Quinn!" Her hands were balled up into fists, "We sleep around, we sleep with each other. It may sound stupid and gross but it's therapeutic. We both can't have what we want so we go for second best. Is that what you wanted to hear? The sad truth about my love life. Yeah that's right. I love Brittany. But can you really bring yourself low enough to screw that up for me?"

Quinn knew Santana had feelings for Brittany, but she wasn't sure if she would try to ruin it. Quinn was not a bad person. Ambitious, yes. Evil? She'd leave that slot for some other bitch to fill.

But she couldn't help feeling the resentment she did, for Santana. What gave her the right to tell Quinn off like that? Her shit wasn't the only shit in the world. "You don't even deserve Brittany…" Quinn muttered quietly, a last, bitter attempt to piece together the perfect reality she'd created in her head. One where Santana was obliterated and all the doors were opened for Quinn and Quinn only.

Santana launched herself across the room and punched Quinn in the stomach, skipping the catty scratching and biting and moved onto a full on beating. Quinn wasn't a weakling. She flipped Santana over and fought back; each punch accentuated with newly formed tears.

After the girls had fought it out (bruises already covering much of their skin) they lay together on Quinn's bed, side-by-side. It was sort of poetic and melancholy. They were close enough to touch but still refusing to take that plunge. Like fire and water. Two equally powerful elements but never dare to reach the other.

Santana sat up, cringing as the pain in her stomach hit her full blast now.

"Sorry," Quinn muttered, getting up as well.

Santana refused to look at her. "Don't be. You make a good enemy, Q. And in all fairness you put up a good fight."

"I'd say the same back but that would mean you're winning."

Santana laughed mirthlessly, "Don't be stupid. You're the one who's winning. You always have been. The only reason I can't have Brittany the way I want to is because of my own stupid fears." She looked over at Quinn who was now staring directly at her, "Because, for some masochistic reason I prefer this more than love. I'd rather claw my way to the top than be with her. So you're right," Santana said as she got up to leave, "I don't deserve her. And she doesn't deserve to be strung along, with the hope that maybe one day I'll come out of the closet for her."

Santana slammed the door on the way out and Quinn threw her one of her many fat, fluffy pillows at it. She cursed Santana out and all her stupid wisdom. But she wasn't going to give up. She wasn't going to let Santana's rare expression of emotion get to her. She was going to be the one on the pedestal while Santana begged to kiss her foot.

She was full of it.