At the Crossroads

15.

You aren't entirely surprised by the public announcement of Rachel and Finn's new relationship. They're officially dating, and Finn proudly sang Bruno Mars "Just the Way You Are" to Rachel in front of the whole glee club. The rest of the club awed and clapped for them. You kept a straight face and clapped without much enthusiasm as they shared a brief kiss while Santana made gagging sounds beside you on the risers.

Winter break is approaching, so suddenly you find a wrench in your own plans to continue your Pre-Calc study sessions. Although your parents were initially concerned with your sudden departure from Chastity Club, they're pleased that no boys have been making frequent appearances at your house. You've mostly gone to Rachel's house to "study," and Rachel has come over to "watch a movie" while your parents are at poker night at the country club.

You can hardly hear the movie as Rachel pants beneath you. You've found the part on her neck, right below her ear, where she holds her breath for a moment whenever you first graze your lips there. You're running your tongue over this spot, and you can make out the murmuring of Love, Actually playing in the background.

Rachel's hips dig into the couch cushions, and she lets out a moan when you bite her collar bone.

"No hickies," she rasps out.

"Sure," you mumble against her skin, giving her another small bite above the line of her v-neck shirt.

"I'm serious, Quinn," Rachel says, but she's still sighing and running her hands through your hair.

You move up her body and kiss her lips; it's surprisingly gentle at first, but Rachel deepens it. You press your body more fully against hers, and you move your hips to shift the weight on your arms when Rachel breaks away with a gasp.

"What?" you ask with some concern.

"Do that again," she says, lifting her head to kiss you.

"What?" you manage to say against her mouth.

"This," Rachel says, lifting her leg so it rubs between your legs, making your breath hitch.

You pause and look down at her, her hair fanned out on the couch pillow, red lips, bright, brown eyes reflecting the dim lighting of your basement. Suddenly you're aching, and you want her leg pressed against you again, but you don't let yourself voice your need. Instead, you capture her lips in a fierce kiss and shift your thigh so it presses with more certainty against her core. Now that you have some direction, you notice how warm she is against your leg. You hum against her lips, and you break the kiss for an almost embarrassing moan when she lifts her leg to satiate the throbbing between yours.

You're lying in bed, freshly showered, but there's still tension between your legs. You close your eyes and slip your hand beneath the waistband of your pajama bottoms. You think of the sounds Rachel made beneath you, the way she murmured your name, the gentle shaking and flush of her skin after you've both lost your breath from rubbing your bodies closely together for any sense of friction you could muster. Your fingers are wet, and you find the bundle of nerves you've learned about, and soon enough you're quaking more than you'd ever let yourself in front of Rachel. Your chest heaves, and you remember the feeling of Rachel's against yours.

When you come, you wipe your fingers on your bottoms and roll onto your side as you catch your breath. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, pushing scripture and confessions from your mind. You're just a teenager with hormones. Rachel is just a girl who's there. You don't let yourself think about it beyond that.

You're happy that you're naturally good at school because most of your study time has been spent with Rachel. Still, you have a final project due in Physics before the break, and luckily Mercedes paired up with you.

"I don't understand Mr. Reed's obsession with 'hands-on' projects," you grumble, trying not to super-glue your fingers together as you assemble some of the wooden parts of what is supposed to be a projectile.

Mercedes snorts, "Dude has done NASA work with the president," she says, "He literally teaches here for fun and because his wife is from here."

"So he enjoys torturing us," you say, groaning when one of the pieces sticks to your hand. "Shit," you mutter, grabbing the nearby X-Acto knife to carefully slide between your finger and the glue for the third time.

Mercedes laughs, "You know. I used to think you were really scary."

You quirk and eyebrow and look up once your finger is free, "And now?"

"You just seem happier," Mercedes says nonchalantly, "And the number of slushie attacks has decreased… at least for the girls."

You shrug it off, flipping a few pages in your physics book to find more information on projectiles. "I guess it's glee. I don't have to be responsible for a bunch of uncoordinated Cheerios there."

"Yeah. It's a good space," Mercedes says, nodding in understanding, "Don't worry; I won't tell anyone you like glee," she adds with a small smirk.

You smile back at her and bump her shoulder with yours when you rejoin her at the counter with your pathetic looking contraption.

"I don't know how you do it," Mercedes says, taking the glue from you before you glue yourself to the counter.

"What do you mean?"

She chuckles. "Dominate the school. Run Cheerios. Sing and dance in glee. Make all the boys swoon."

You roll your eyes, "I think it's because I don't care what boys want anymore. It's what I want."

Mercedes hums. "More power to you."

You start humming a song Rachel got stuck in your head last night. It's probably from some musical that's fifty-years-old, but you didn't ask. You showed up for your normal study session, but Rachel had to finish some homework before "Pre-Calc," so you both used the opportunity to get some work done together. Rachel, apparently, hums to herself when she's doing school work, which you found annoying, so you threw a pillow at her. Her facial expression and the resulting rant about comforting study habits made it difficult to hide a smile and stay seated on the floor and not get up to start the study session earlier.

Mercedes looks at you for a moment before busying herself with the mechanical pen that's supposed to somehow launch a small marble from your contraption. "So… can I ask a favor?"

"Mhm, sure," you say, using the ruler to check the length of the wooden pieces to make sure you're assembling it correctly.

"Would you be able to help me study for Spanish?"

You look at her with a confused expression.

"I'd ask Santana, but she still scares me," Mercedes explains, making a small laugh escape you, "And I know you help Rachel with Pre-Calc, and you're always getting A's—"

"How… I…" You feel the blood draining from your face, and you can't find the words to make up an excuse.

"I know you have some weird image to uphold. I won't tell. I just heard Rachel telling Finn that she couldn't go to a movie because she had a Pre-Calc exam and she had to study," Mercedes says. You look at her to gauge how much she knows, and it seems innocent enough. "And you said you have tutoring every Thursday, so… I just put two-and-two together."

"Yeah. She offered me some vocal lessons in exchange," you say.

Mercedes laughs, "I definitely have noticed she doesn't yell at you nearly as much in glee."

You smile, "Yeah. I'll admit she does know what she's doing," you focus on the book again, "But she's still obnoxious as hell."

"Mmm, that's true," Mercedes says with a chuckle, "But I guess someone has to be if glee club is going to make it through Regionals."

You sit in the backseat, and whenever you ride home from church like this, you feel like Lucy again—frightened, insecure, like the black sheep. You listen to your father rant about the inclusivity of some churches, how anyone can be Catholic these days. You play with the cross on your neck, and you ask for God's forgiveness as you watch the snow start to fall outside—full of grace.

You groan, enjoying the sound of Rachel's heavy breathing in your ear. You have her pressed up against her bedroom door, having wasted not a second once she closed it. Her dads are out doing some Hanukkah shopping, but Rachel is always cautious. You push your hips to meet hers, but it doesn't feel like enough.

It all started with making out, then making out lying down, and recently alleviating the throbbing between each other's legs. It's been over month, and you admit that you want her closer, but you're not sure what that means or how close.

"Don't stop," Rachel says, grinding down on your thigh, finding the rhythm you two have grown accustomed to.

"Or what?" you say, pulling your leg away.

"Asshat," Rachel says, pushing you away from her. "You were the one who pounced on me as soon as you got here."

You shrug, taking off your jacket that you hardly noticed was still on. You drape it over the back of her desk chair before walking over and flopping onto Rachel's bed.

"I've been thinking…" Rachel says, and you feel your heart stop briefly, a mild sense of panic setting in. You turn your head and see her standing beside her bed, looking unsure. "Is this… Is this still okay?"

You prop yourself up on your elbows, "Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. We just hardly talk in school," she says, biting the inside of her cheek for a moment, "And I have Finn and… I don't know."

You chuckle casually, "That was the idea of it all, wasn't it?"

Rachel nods, but her eyes are downcast.

You sit up and scooch to the edge of the bed and duck your head a bit to find her gaze. "Is it still okay for you?"

"Yeah," Rachel says, nodding with certainty.

"Because it's… you know it's not cheating, right? This," you motion to the room vaguely, "It… doesn't really count. No strings."

"No feelings," Rachel says quietly.

You swallow uneasily, "Yeah. Exactly."

You take Rachel by the hand and pull her closer. She stands between your legs, leaning down to meet your lips. "Just this," you whisper against her lips.

You see Rachel and Finn holding hands, and your chest aches. You can't keep apologizing every Sunday, but when you watch Rachel's mouth move, you can't stop yourself from remembering her breath and the holy sounds she lets slip from her mouth to yours when you kiss.

You're in class, watching Rachel mindlessly twirl your hair when it happens. You remember the times after kissing for hours when she would lie beside you and play with a few strands of your hair. You know that this isn't just hormones, but the thudding muscle in your chest. You want the tender parts of her—her smiles, her hands, her soft voice in your ear, her laughter.

You feel as if you can't get enough air into your lungs, and your heart is pounding against your sternum, sending shockwaves to your ribs. You raise your shaking hand and don't both asking, grabbing your notebook and bag and muttering, "I need to go to the nurse."

It was a panic attack. After lying down in the nurse's office for a few minutes, she directed you to Miss Pillsbury.

Now you're sitting across Miss Pillsbury's desk, watching the woman adjust a few small items in front of her before sighing and looking at you calmly.

"Panic attacks are quite common, Quinn," she says gently. If it were coming from anyone else, you'd feel patronized and walk out, but you know she talks to everyone like this. "Especially with students like yourself. You have quite an impressive resume already, but perfectionism can be draining." She pauses and waits for you to respond, so you simply nod. "I can imagine that you have had to make a lot of sacrifices to commit to all you do. This means some things may go unnoticed, or things get pushed to the side—things you may need."

You nod again, and when Miss Pillsbury figures you won't be saying anything, she clears her throat and walks over to a small filing cabinet.

"I have some literature," she says, pulling out several brochures. "I'm not a doctor, so I can't diagnose you with anything. Either way, you're your own person, Quinn. I'll just give you a bunch, so if there is anything that catches your attention, you can talk to me about it."

"Thanks," you say, offering her a small smile before taking the brochures and leaving.

For the most part, the brochures are absurd. There are a lot of photos of crying teens, and while you have definitely cried, you're not nearly as dramatic.

You're sitting at your desk with one specific brochure: So your hormones are taking over…

Inside, there is basic information on safe sex, primarily emphasizing abstinence, as Ohio requires. Then there is a separate part of the tri-fold devoted entirely to sexuality. It's vague, but there is a link provided for more information.

You slowly type in the web address before hitting enter. When the website pops up, and Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender appears in large font at the top, you quickly exit the page and delete your web history.

You know you don't need to research it. You know how you're feeling. You know that the first stage is acceptance: You want more with Rachel, and you know it's not your hormones. Quinn Fabray doesn't accept flaws like this, but Quinn Fabray is human—this part of you still has its limits, and your body still has this unpredictable pulse, matching the rhythm of this yearning muscle in your chest.

You managed to ace your Physics project and agreed to help Mercedes with Spanish every other week next term in order to "fit your Cheerios practices and glee in."

Now that winter break has commenced, you're freezing as your parents make you wander around the markets for an appropriately-sized Christmas tree. You round a corner when you collide with someone.

"Sorry," says a familiar voice.

"Rachel," you say, and you sound more happy and surprised than you'd like.

"Oh, hello, Quinn," Rachel says, clearing her throat.

"Why are you at a Christmas tree farm?"

"I'm—"

"Rach!" Finn appears down a row of pine trees and trots over to the both of you. He leans down and plants a kiss on Rachel's cheek. "Find anything good?"

"Yeah… I mean, no, not yet," Rachel says, not making eye contact with you.

"Hey, Quinn," Finn says with an awkward wave, but a genuine smile. The two of you are civil now, and you both realize—or at least you do—that the two of you were a mess anyway.

"Hey," you say, offering a half-smile.

"We were just meeting here to help my mom find a Christmas tree for the house," Finn explains. "But we're going to get some hot chocolate at the Lima Bean with a few other glee kids, if you want to join?"

You're figure it's most likely Mike and Tina, so you shake your head. "No thanks. I'm here with my parents, too. Tonight's Decoration Night at the Fabray's."

"Okay, well have fun," Finn says, crooked grin in place. "We'll see you around."

You nod, "Yeah, see you."

Rachel offers a small wave before walking off with Finn, hand-in-hand. You don't question why your chest clenches when you see him pull a piece of mistletoe from his pocket and hear Rachel laugh lightly before standing on her tip-toes and placing a small kiss on his lips. You confess to yourself: I've fallen for Rachel Berry.