It had been a while. I do appologize. This story is going to be coming to a close soon. I'm thinking maybe, four more chapters? That should give me enough time to work everything out. Well, here comes the next chunk.
Enjoy :)
Quinn walked back into her BritLit class, where Ms. Francis was standing in front of the white board, eyeing her down. Quinn realized she must have been gone for a full ten minutes, and she mouthed 'sorry' as Ms. Francis continued her lesson.
Quinn's hand went to work writing down the information on Jonathan Swift and his satirical ways and Gulliver's Travels, but her mind was elsewhere. Santana had seen something Quinn had never let anyone see before. It wasn't like Quinn was planning on Santana walking in at that time, and Quinn realized that it was mainly her fault for thinking that no one was going to enter the locker room. And even though Santana is a very good friend of hers, she was worried about what Santana would do with her newly acquired information.
Santana strutted through the door of her calculus classroom, and Ms. Dolman stopped writing an equation on the whiteboard, leaving it for the students to attempt to solve. "Santana," she chided. "If you continue to leave my classroom for such extended periods of time, your bathroom privileges will be revoked. This is not an easy class, and any lost time will result in you falling behind."
Santana shifted her gaze to just to the left of Ms. Dolman's head, where the equation was written. The numbers and symbols shifted in her head like an animation, easily manipulated by her eyes until they began to make sense. "The answers are 24 and -38," Santana said simply, and sat down, taking out a notebook.
Ms. Dolman furrowed her eyebrows and turned to the answers in her book. "That's correct," she said, surprised.
"I know," Santana mumbled. Ms. Dolman watched as Santana flipped through the notebook, whose cover clearly stated 'Math Class', yet did not have a single number in it. Each page was filled with doodles.
Santana internally chuckled as the shorter, old woman went to work explaining to the other students in the class how Santana came to her answer. In any other situation, Santana would be sitting back, leaning against her uncomfortable plastic chair, arms crossed in front of her chest. She would be sitting there and wondering how these 'peers' in the room with her could possibly be amongst the most intelligent in her grade level when Santana saw herself as being obviously superior. She would eventually get fed up with Ms. Dolman's byzantine explanations of the simplest of concepts and how the rest of the class was unable to follow, and she would take out her notebook and sketch.
She wasn't the artist Brittany was, but each of her notebooks was filled with intricate doodles of flowers, famously historic buildings, random faces of people she may or may not know, and adorable animals. Today, her hand went to work sketching the delicate jawline, gentle nose, and beautifully soft eyes of a blonde she couldn't stop thinking of.
Quinn was right. Santana trying to stop Quinn from hurting herself would just be hypocritical. Quinn couldn't even begin to understand the details of Santana's situation, nor did Santana wish to ever admit them to the judgmental girl. Santana tried over and over again to convince herself that the situations were completely different, but the more she thought about it, the more painful correlations Santana could find. Quinn was deliberately hurting herself, and Santana was letting herself get hurt. Was there any difference? Either way, neither cared to stop the injury. While Santana's was at the hands of someone else, doesn't her refusal to stand up to the hand that hurts her almost make the injuries self-inflicted? Santana couldn't help but wonder if that meant that she hated her sexuality as much as Quinn did. That maybe, the part of her brain that fought for self-preservation at his hand subconsciously believed that Santana deserved the abuse that was being handed to her.
Quinn walked from class to class, only wearing a smile when people looked her way or spoke to her. Quinn was always very good at that. She was a Fabray. Fabrays were strong. They were stoic. They could put on a mask and pretend like everything was all fine and dandy when their entire worlds were being flipped upside down.
The fact that no one seemed to notice when something was bothering her was both a blessing and a curse.
When the final bell rang, Quinn made her way to Glee. She spent half the time tuning out the sound of Rachel's voice, yet smiling at her when she caught her eye. The rest of the time was spent avoiding every opportunity to talk to, or even get near Santana and her knowing glances. They made Quinn nervous. They made her feel naked. It made her feel like everyone knew Quinn Fabray's dirty little secret, and the world was judging her.
When Mr. Schue announced that they were done for the day, Quinn was relieved. From the corner of her eye, she saw Santana grabbing her back pack, telling Brittany to hold on a sec, and her making her way over to Quinn. But, before she made it half way across the choir room, Rachel slid up beside Quinn and snaked her arm through hers.
"Ready for FroYo?" Rachel asked.
Quinn smiled and looked slightly past her to where Santana was standing and watching. She shook her head and turned to Brittany, and the two of them left to go to Cheerios practice.
"More ready than I'll ever be," Quinn said with a chuckle. "This just might be the highlight of my day."
Rachel looked up at Quinn, beaming. "Mine too."
Brittany was sweating, and she loved it. Coach Sylvester was working the girls to the bone. The gymnasium was literally filled with blood sweat and tears. Their regionals was in two weeks and Sue wanted to pound this dance routine into them. She had them do it over and over again. So much so that any normal person would be begging to stop. But these girls knew better.
You never complain to your coach if your coach is Coach Sylvester.
"Sloppy work!" Sue yelled through her megaphone. "You girls disgust me. You call yourselves cheerleaders? Homeless men who have never done a one handed double back handspring would be able to do that routine better than you. Go take a drink and get out of my face for five minutes as I try to wash the taste of failure out of my mouth!"
The girls made their way over to the bench where they kept their bags. Santana grunted as she whipped sweaty hair to the side of her face. She lifted an arm up and rubbed the back of her neck. She was about to say something to Brittany when she turned and saw that the blonde had her water bottle in her hand, eyes closed, and was going through the routine, quietly humming the music. Santana leaned against the bleachers and smiled until Brittany stopped and looked at her.
"You're weird," Santana chuckled.
Brittany furrowed her eyebrows and looked at her as she took a small sip from her water bottle. "Yes," she said simply.
Both girls stared at each other for a moment before cracking up.
"Aren't you exhausted?" Santana asked.
"A little," Brittany admitted. "But I like it. It's like when you run. Your legs hurt like a bitch, but you keep running because you like it."
Santana sighed and sat down, feeling the coolness of the gym floor beneath her legs. "Why do I do that to myself, Brit? Why do I keep on running if it hurts?"
Brittany was confused. "Sanny," she asked. "Where is this coming from?"
"Something is wrong with Quinn," Santana whispered.
Brittany sat down and scootched closer to Santana so that no one could hear their conversations. "Is it the darkness?" Brittany asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I was talking to Quinn, and she told me about the darkness, and how it scares her but she can't run away from it. And she knows that she shouldn't be playing in the dark, but there's something about it that keeps calling her name and begging her to come back. She said that the darkness makes her feel like she needs it to survive."
Instantly, Santana knew what the darkness was. "Do you think the darkness is hurting her?" she asked.
"Maybe," Brittany answered thoughtfully. "But she's scared of it either way. When I mention the darkness, her eyes get sad and she looks like she just needs a hug."
Santana was going to answer when Sue's bellowing voice echoed through the gym, ordering the girls back on their feet and ready to rehearse the routine again and again.
Quinn walked into the frozen yogurt place and instantly felt giddy inside. The entire side wall was covered in a row of those nozzles that soft-serve ice cream comes out of, but in a variety of flavors. Everything from Vanilla, to cheesecake, to Nutella. She and Rachel giggled as they put various flavors into their cups. Then, the far wall was filled with a buffet-style table covered in toppings. Quinn poured more hot fudge on her raspberry swirl FroYo than she should have and dusted it with a thick layer of rainbow sprinkles.
"This is amazing," she said to Rachel between spoonfuls. "Definitely my new favorite place to go grab a snack."
"I'm glad you're enjoying your frozen yogurt," Rachel said. "So how was your day?"
Quinn reached down and tugged at the edge of her blouse. "Pretty boring. Yours?"
"Well, I spent the entire day avoiding Finn, if that's anything. I never realized how often I see him in the hallway until I'm trying my hardest not to see him."
"Understandable," Quinn chuckled. "He still angry?"
"I'm not sure. I don't doubt it. Most people don't take too kindly to being cheated on."
Quinn felt a tiny pang of guilt. First, she cheated on Finn with his best friend, and got pregnant. Then she cheated on Sam with Finn. And now she is the reason that Rachel cheated on Finn. She didn't blame him for a moment if he completely hated her.
"So," Quinn started, shoveling more ice cream into her mouth. "Have you told your parents about us?"
"Oh!" Rachel exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "That reminds me. Uh, yes. I told my fathers. I never exactly had any reason to believe that they would have any difficulties accepting my sexuality considering the circumstances. But actually, my dad emailed me fourth period. See, my fathers and I drive to Cleveland every year for the pride parade there. The parade is coming up in two weeks. I was going to ask Brittany and Santana, and Kurt and Blaine, and hopefully, you, if you would like to come with my fathers and i."
"A pride parade?" Quinn whispered, subconsciously looking around to see if anyone was listening. "Like, out in public? Is there a lot of people there?"
"Thousands," Rachel confirmed. "It's fun. Everyone is all dressed up and laughing. There are performances and refreshments. It's quite an experience. Would you be interested in coming along? It would mean a lot to me."
Quinn swallowed the last bit of her ice cream and put the cup down on the table. "I don't know, Rach," she admitted. "I mean, it seems like such a bold move. Like, the moment that I step out into the streets at a pride parade, it's like I'm putting this giant rainbow sticker on my forehead."
"Straight people go to these parades too," Rachel defended. "Besides. There are thousands of people. You will be just one person. They aren't going to make a big deal that you're there. No one will even recognize you. It would just be you, me, Britt and San, Kurt and Blaine, and my fathers."
Quinn pursed her lips. "I have to think about it," she sighed. "I hope you understand."
Rachel nodded solemnly. "Yeah," said. "I understand."
Rachel's phone rang. She picked up, "Hi daddy. Yes, I remember. I'll see you soon."
When she hung up, she got out of her seat and put her jacket back on. "My father called. I have a dentist appointment. It seems I need to go. I'll drive you to your house."
"No," Quinn said, putting on her own jacket. "It's not a far walk. Now that I'm off the Cheerios, I gotta get some exercise somehow."
"You sure?" Rachel asked.
"Yeah, I'm positive. I'll see you tomorrow."
Rachel stood up on her toes and gave Quinn a quick kiss on the cheek before walking out the door. Quinn glanced at her phone. The time read 4:30. She pressed speed dial number 3 and waited.
Santana was putting on her coat and heading out to her car as her phone rang. She almost dropped her red and white cheer-bag as she searched for her phone.
"Hello?" she answered, fumbling for her keys as she approached the red car.
"Santana?" Quinn asked. "Cheer is over, right?"
"Just got out," Santana answered, getting in the car and turning the key in the ignition. "What's up?"
"Can you come pick me up?" Quinn took a deep sigh as she tried to steady her breathing. "We need to talk."
Santana nodded even though no one could see her. "Yeah, Quinn. Yeah, we do. Pick you up at your house?"
"No. Actually, I'm almost on the corner of Applewood and Lincoln. Wanna pick me up at the Public Library?"
Santana chuckled as she made an illegal U-turn to go to opposite way, in the direction of the library. "Catching up on your reading, Juno?"
"No, just on my way back from a date with Rachel," Quinn answered, ignoring Santana's nickname. "No being on the phone and driving," Quinn said, and shut her phone. She leaned against the lamp post outside the library and waited not even a full five minutes before Santana's car came speeding down the road past a stop sign and screeching to a halt in front of the building.
Santana leaned across the center console and opened the passenger door from the inside. "Get in," she called. Quinn flung her bag in the back and sat down beside Santana, putting on her seatbelt and leaning far into the seat as Santana quickly lifted her foot from the brake pedal and doubled the speed limit.
"Remind me again why you're such a reckless driver?" Quinn asked calmly, closing her eyes as Santana sped through a four-way intersection.
"Because my primo is the chief of police the next town over, and I have a PBA card, so I can." She smiled as she quickly took a dangerously sharp corner. "Besides, my way is more fun."
Quinn looked out the window and frowned. "Where are we going?" She asked. "You're heading towards West Lima."
Santana looked over at Quinn and shrugged. "We're going to the park."
"The park?" Quinn laughed. "Why? You want to go play on the swings?"
"Hey," Santana defended. "I like the swings. And I know you do too, so don't even try to deny it. But no. We're going to the park because you wanted to talk. So we're going to talk… at the park."
"Okayy…" Quinn said, letting her voice trail off as Santana's hand reached towards the volume control, drowning out anything else either girl could say with Santana's favorite Amy Winehouse CD. It wasn't until they pulled into the park and Santana turned off the car that either girl said something.
Brittany stood in front of the mirror at the dance studio and took a deep breath. She had roughly five minutes before her next class started, and this was going to be the only time she got today to be in the room by herself. Brittany had been coming to the same dance studio since she was seven years old. When she turned 16, she made a deal with the owner that she would teach beginning ballet, hiphop and jazz classes in return for her having free lessons and use of the studio afterhours.
Brittany heard the eight-count in her head and moved her feet, shutting her eyes and giving her body away to the rhythm. Her phone rang and she cursed, something that Brittany rarely does.
She dug through her cheer bag, which doubles as the bag filled with her various dance shoes, and found her phone, surprised to see Rachel's face flashing on the screen.
"Hey, Rach," she answered. "You with Quinnie Bear?"
She heard Rachel laugh on the other end of the line. "Hello, Brittany. No, I'm not with Quinn. Actually, I'm calling to ask you a question. A favor, if I may."
"Yeah…?"
"Well, every year my fathers and I go down to the gay pride parade in Cleveland, and I was wondering if you and Santana would like to come? I invited Quinn, and I'm about to call Kurt and Blaine."
"I'd like that," Brittany said with a smile, changing into her hip-hop sneakers as the first few eight year-olds began to file into the room and take their places against the mirrored wall as they waited for class to start.
"Well, you see," Rachel began, "It would mean a lot to me if you and Santana would come, and I'm sure it would mean a lot to Quinn as well. But, I was hoping maybe you would be the one to tell Santana of my invitation. I understand that her going to a pride parade may be a sensitive topic, but I feel as if you asking her would be slightly more convincing than if I were to ask her."
Brittany did a really fast headcount and saw that all 12 of her students were in the room and waiting. "Yeah, Rach," she said quickly, trying to get off the phone. "I'll talk to Sanny."
"Fantastic!" Rachel beamed. "I will email you all the details and-"
"Yeah," Brittany interrupted. "I'll talk to you later. Gotta go." She hung up her phone before Rachel could reply.
"So," Quinn started as Santana made her way towards the swing set. "Why did you bring me to the park?"
Santana sat down and furrowed her eyebrows. "What is it with you and parks? I like the outdoors. That so hard to understand? Besides, it gives us a bit more privacy, which I figured you'd appreciate since we're here to talk about your dirty little secret."
"Santana-"
"What?" Santana snapped. "That is why we're here, right? What you wanted to talk about? Because if it's not, then that's what I'm going to make this about."
Quinn waited for a short moment before sitting down on the swing next to her. "Is it wrong of me to do this if it is what makes me feel good? I'm not suicidal. I'm not going to end up killing myself. That's not why I do it. My cuts are shallow. It's just enough to bleed, not do serious damage. If I'm not going to hurt myself, is it that wrong?"
Santana looked ahead and gently swung back and forth, pushing herself with her feet. "I don't know, Quinn. It's not normal. It's not like you've taken the healthy road."
"I know that. But, sometimes it's not a road that I pick. Sometimes when I get emotional like that, it's like I just start cutting, and it's out of my control, and my mind doesn't fully register what I'm doing to myself until after it's done."
"You want my honest opinion?" Santana asked. Quinn nodded and looked at her. "I think you need help, Quinn. I'm not saying it to be a bitch. I'm not saying that you're crazy insane and need to be heavily medicated. I'm saying it as a friend, and because I care. And I care if you do something to hurt yourself. And I know that you say you're not suicidal, but what if one day you accidently cut too deep? Or what if you get blood poisoning or an infection? Then what? There are too many variables for me to tell you that what you're doing is harmless."
Quinn fought the pressure of tears behind her eyes. "I know that something can go wrong. But there is a chance that something will go wrong with everything you do. You could get hit by a car on the way to school. You could have a heart attack. You can get cancer. There are no promises. It's not like me not cutting anymore is writing my fate in stone and saying that because I stop, everything will be okay."
"Yeah, but at the same time it's you not sitting there and basically writing your own faith. Maybe if you talk to Ms. Pillsbury, she can help with something, or just be someone to talk to."
"Or Rachel," Quinn suggested. "I… I kinda want to talk to Rachel about it. I thought that talking about this was just going to be painful, but you're not treating me like a leper like I thought you were going to."
"Maybe because I understand."
Quinn nodded slowly and paused for a moment before whispering, "Have you ever…?"
"I thought about it," Santana admitted. "I thought it would be easy. I was willing to do anything to stop the emotional pain. For a long while, I hated myself. I wasn't willing to admit who I was, and I hated that that was my one point of weakness. And then when I started loving myself again, my Abuela told me she hated me. And so I started drinking more and using more, and I got most of my stuff from my amigos in Lima Heights. And that started eating at me too, thinking that I couldn't even handle my own shit when I was sober. And then they started making me pay them in crazy ways since I didn't have the money, and that just made me hate the fact that I was powerless against them. All of that emotional pain wanted to manifest into some sort of physical pain, as maybe an escape, but I couldn't cut myself. Even when I thought about it, and thought that it was the way for me to deal, there was something nagging in the back of my mind that told me that I was going to hate myself even more if I did. You know what that thought was?"
Santana met Quinn's eyes as the blonde shook her head no. In that short moment, deep brown eyes locked with emotional blue, and the two truly understood each other.
"Brittany," Santana said. "It was the thought of Brittany that saved me. It is what made me try to stop using as much. It's what made me resist the urge to cut. Instead, I found a way to fulfil that physical want to feel pain, without so much of the consequence. I'll jog and work out until the point that my body can't seem to go any further. From the outside, it's not even dangerous. People see it as the cheerleader who is obsessed with the way she looks. I'm okay with that thought. It's better than being seen as the cheerleader whose enter life is a complete wreck and the only way she could possibly cope with her self-hatred is by cutting herself and making the outside match the inside."
"Is that how you see me?" Quinn asked, finally letting a loose tear slide down her cheek. "You see me as a complete wreck?"
"No," Santana said. "That's not you. That's my sob story. You're life sucks in different ways. I feel like a fuck up, when you just feel alone and like no one cares about you. You barely see your parents, you had to give away your child, and you are starting to come to terms with your sexuality. You don't hate yourself; you're lost. There's a difference."
Quinn stood up and wrapped her arms around the brunette. "Thank you," she said, enveloping Santana in a hug. For a short moment, Santana tensed at the sudden contact before comfortably melting into the embrace.
"I may act like a total bitch half the time, Q, but it doesn't mean that I don't care about you. You wanna talk, find me. Call me at two in the morning. As long as you bring me coffee, I don't care if I need to come find you in my pajamas. If you want to go talk to someone else, and go get help, and you think that you need a friend standing by your side and holding your hand, let me be that person, okay?"
Quinn smiled and extended her hand to Santana, and the two girls walked back towards San's car.
I love a Quintana friendship, don't you?
Reviews make me smile :)