Hello, my darlings! It is I, A. Tenmeadows, back again with another dose of Faberry love. : )
I'd like to thank Chopin44 for suggesting Santana's return, because it wasn't something I'd considered when I mapped out the plotline for Life's A Rodeo.
I hope you all like it! Enjoy Chapter 11! : )
Time runs together when you spend most of your days unconscious. It's as if any dream you have goes by in slow motion, so much so that you've begun to realize that anything you see behind your eyes is only a figment of your imagination. But you can't find it in yourself to care. You start lucid dreaming, twisting the reality of your life so that it's more appealing. You do it because it feels good, and just for this moment, you want something about your situation to feel good.
So you let your dreams wipe it all away. No accident. No heartbreak. Just Rachel.
I can feel her, even though I'm sure I've been asleep for more than a few hours. Her essence has completely penetrated me. It's gotten such a firm hold on my soul that even physically separating myself from her would give me no reprieve. This fact both astounds me and frightens me, because as hard as I try to erase the pain she's caused me, I can't bring myself to forget. My heart wants so desperately to forgive her; to take her into my arms and tell her that everything is going to be alright between us.
My head, however, feels differently. It tells me not to trust her; to keep her at a distance until I figure out where we go from here. All in all, that rationale makes sense… But as I've come to find, the heart doesn't operate on logic.
Suddenly, a beautiful voice breaks into my thoughts and beckons to me. I let my mind follow it into the world of the conscious, and within a few seconds, I come to realize that the sonorous voice is Rachel's. She's singing to my slumbering form, and a few warm teardrops hit my forearm.
"The world is coming down on me,
And I can't find a reason to be loved.
I never want to leave you,
But I can't make you bleed if I'm alone."
Her song is mesmerizing, and a hand gently strokes my hair as I fight to open my eyes. My head is still swimming from the powerful intravenous painkillers the doctors have me on, so I'm incredibly groggy and disoriented when my heavy eyelids finally let in the light of my hospital room.
"I hope that you see right through my walls.
I hope that you catch me,
'Cause I'm already falling.
I'll never let a love get so close.
You put your arms around me and I'm home."
The blurriness in my vision fades, and I'm able to make out Rachel's shimmering brown eyes, filled with both devotion and tears. The hand that was playing with my hair moves down to softly trail along my cheek, a watery smile making its way across her features. I return her smile with a weak one of my own, and a comfortable silence falls over us as I lose myself in her soothing gaze. After a time, I gather all the strength in my battered body in order to speak.
"Are trauma victims and drunkards in bars your target demographic?"
My own voice comes out as a dry, harsh croak from lack of use, but my little jibe still manages to make Rachel chuckle lightly. I can almost see the weight being lifted off of her shoulders as the laugh reverberates through her small frame.
"I didn't know trauma victims were so cheeky."
I try to shrug, but a stab of pain runs down my spine when I attempt to move. I wince and abandon the action, settling instead on sticking my tongue out at her. She snorts at my childishness, but there's still a small amount of guilt in her eyes that she's attempting to mask with wariness. I can tell that she's trying to hold back from blurting out what's bothering her, but in our current situation, it isn't hard to guess.
"This wasn't your fault, Rachel," I whisper softly, laying my hand on her arm in comfort.
The tears flow freely down her cheeks now, and a gentle sob escapes her as she rests her forehead lightly on my shoulder. I wish my sore body would let me hold her; or at least kiss her anguish away. I don't blame her at all for what's happened to me, because the mistake was mine. I want to tell her as much, but I know that as stubborn as Rachel can be, that assumption of responsibility would only end in an argument.
"I'm so sorry, Quinn," she brokenly mumbles against the thin fabric of my hospital gown.
The door to my room squeaks open while I'm dropping small kisses to the crown of Rachel's head. I assume that it's Sue again, back to make more cruel jokes about my accident, so a rather stinging insult is on my tongue when I glance up to see my new visitor. My heart relaxes in my chest as I notice that this time, a much younger and kinder-looking blonde is smiling back at me. She looks so New York chic, with her ripped Miss Me jeans and Urban Outfitters owl t-shirt covering her tight dancer body.
"Quinn, you're awake!" Brittany almost screams before rushing over to my bedside and pecking me on the cheek. I shouldn't be surprised to see her, considering the fact that Brittany has been with me for every major event in my life. Still, I know she's at Julliard, and she's not able to just drop everything and fly to Ohio whenever she feels like it.
"Yeah, I'm up, Britt," I laugh at her excitement before looking back at Rachel, who's grinning warmly at my interaction with my best friend. It's then that I realize, however, that I've completely forgotten my manners. "Oh, Brittany, this is -"
"Rachel. I know," Brittany giggles lightly. "We met while you were sleeping."
I dip my head shyly and blush hard as Rachel squeezes my hand again. I hadn't even thought of that. While Rachel and I share another love-struck gaze, Brittany leans down to whisper in my ear.
"I like her."
It's this simple seal of approval that makes me grin at my best friend. Brittany is a surprisingly good judge of character, and it warms my heart to know that she's taken a liking to Rachel. Just after the messages leaves her lips, Brittany bolts upright and begins to jump up and down happily.
"Speaking of which, there's someone really special I want you to meet, Q!"
Before I can tell her that I'm not particularly in the mood to have more visitors, Brittany practically leaps over to the door, cracks it slightly, and dips her head into the hallway. I hear her speaking affectionately to someone in the corridor, clearly trying hard to coax them into the room. After a while, Brittany opens the door fully and grasps a tan hand, leading a beautiful raven-haired woman into the room. Her long, bone-straight raven hair is covered by a tan cowboy hat, and she walks with a subtle swagger in her taupe plaid shirt and stonewash jeans. My jaw drops when my eyes meet the stranger's intense brown ones, and just as Brittany opens her mouth to introduce us…
"Santana?" I breathe in shock. My eyes flit over to the rider next to me when I feel her tense, and I'm confused when I see that Rachel's eyes are burning with hatred.
Santana's sculpted eyebrows skyrocket when she spots Rachel, and she throws her a nonchalant wink and a shit-eating grin. "Berry? Well, I'll be damned. February 2011 in Columbus seems like a lifetime ago…"
Rachel looks as if she's ready to leap across my bed and shove Santana's words right down her throat, but when I give her hand another squeeze, the fire in her eyes dims slightly and she relaxes in her chair. I turn my attention back to Brittany, who looks incredibly lost and hurt at our reception to her new friend.
"Britt," I say gently in an attempt to preserve my best friend's feelings. "What are you doing with her?"
Brittany stands straight in indignation, her jaw set firmly as she answers. "She's my girlfriend, Quinn. We've been together for four months now."
She punctuates this last statement with a tender smile at Santana, who returns it just as sweetly before bringing an arm up to rest on Brittany's slim waist. I stare hard at the Latina and remember a time when having her arm around me would have set my soul on fire. That one night together had triggered a year of pining, and now that she's standing in front of me again, all I can feel in pure, unadulterated rage. My teeth clench hard, my eyebrows drawing together in a scowl.
"How the hell did you even meet her, Santana?"
The Latina smiles at Brittany again, laying a gentle kiss to Brittany's cheek. "I was staying with my friend Mike in New York, and one day, we decided to go out to lunch. We went to Sylvia's in Harlem, and our waitress was so beautiful, I knew I had to have her…"
Brittany blushes at her girlfriend's compliment and nuzzles her nose against Santana's affectionately. I fight back the bile that's rising in my throat, and Rachel hisses in distain beside me. I try not to imagine how Rachel and Santana met, but I don't doubt that they had a fling similar to the one that briefly existed between us when the Latina came to Lima. My fingers curl into angry fists when she turns back to grin at me.
"If this is another one of your cons, Lopez, I swear, I'll -"
"You'll do what, Fabray?" she scoffs incredulously before tightening her hold on Brittany. "Run over my feet with your wheelchair?"
Her comment slaps me in the face, and my eyebrows draw together in confusion. My bewildered gaze tries to find comprehension in Rachel, but when I look over at her, she is shaking her head angrily at Santana. Santana's face drops from her smug smile into a grimace, her head hanging slightly in shame. I turn my attention back to Brittany, who crosses the room to lay a gentle hand on my shin in an attempt to comfort me. I don't understand her worried expression until she makes contact. When I see her manicured fingers come to rest on my leg, a terrifying sense of panic takes hold of me.
Because I can see my best friend's hand touching me. But...
"I can't feel that," I whisper as fear begins to seize my chest.
Brittany opens her mouth to explain, but closes it again in defeat after failing to find the right words. Her eyes fall to the woven blanket sadly, piteous tears welling up in her baby blues.
"Why can't I feel it?" I say softly to no one in particular but praying someone will answer me.
I raise my hips in an attempt to get Brittany to look at me, but my legs refuse to cooperate and simply shift like logs in the bed of a pick-up truck. This further perplexes me, and as I go on to try another three times to move my lower limbs, the same result stares me coldly in the face. My futile efforts swiftly cause my bewilderment to turn to boiling rage. Slamming my palm against the mattress in frustration, I lose my patience with the overwhelming silence in the room.
"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?! Why the fuck don't my legs work?!"
Santana comes up behind Brittany and rests her hands on my best friend's shoulders as she starts to cry openly. I glance over to Rachel, who has tears streaming down her own cheeks. Her words barely register with me when she begins to speak in a low whisper.
"The impact of the truck with your car caused moderate compression of your spinal cord," she rasps out shakily while rubbing her thumb against the back of my bruised hand.
A lump rises in my throat when the magnitude of what she'd said finally hits me. Angry tears blur my vision as I focus my intense gaze on the foot of the bed. My own voice sounds empty when I find the strength to talk.
"I can't walk."
It's more of a statement than a question, and when Rachel nods slowly and Brittany lets out a small sob from her place on the other side of me, my entire universe shatters. I start feeling light-headed and incredibly weak, and I fall back against the pillows behind me. My body feels drained of all energy, almost as if it's been weighed down by a lead cast. I stare up at the fluorescent lights above us and let the tears escape from the corners of my eyes. My jaw clenches and unclenches a few times while I try to fight back the sob that's rising up inside me.
My career, my livelihood… Gone in an instant.
I'm barely listening when Rachel speaks again, her tone hopeful and consoling. "But it'll be alright, Quinn. Dr. Holliday says that with physical therapy, you should make a full recovery."
I simply shake my head slowly in defeat, not even bothering to make eye contact with anyone in the room. They don't understand. Riding was there for me when I was disowned by my family. It was there for me when Santana broke my heart a year ago. It's become who I am… And it's been ripped away from me.
"How can I ride if I can't walk, Rachel?"
It's then that the floodgates open. I fall into my despair, the weight of Rachel's words and my situation finally crushing me. The tears come freely now, hard sobs wracking my battered frame and shaking the bed I'm lying in. My breaths come in choppy gasps because of my crying, and I want nothing more than for Brittany and Rachel to hold me and make it all go away. I want someone to tell me that this is all a horrible nightmare, and that I'm going to wake up in my bedroom back at Shannon's, scared out of my mind but perfectly unharmed. But of course, as life has so cruelly pointed out, this is no dream. Suddenly, everything goes black. I've never fainted before, but surprisingly, no panic rips through me as I fall into the darkness. Rachel's voice calls to me, but I'm already too far gone to care. For the moment, I'm content to drown in my own melancholy.
Brittany doesn't normally sing, but right now, she's almost positive that Quinn could use something to calm her in her fitful state of unconsciousness. She'd sent Santana to check into the hotel a few blocks away from the hospital, partly because it needed to be done, but mostly because she couldn't stand the animosity that hung in the air between her girlfriend and Rachel. They'd agreed before she brought Santana into the room that they were going to ease Quinn into the news about her legs. But when her girlfriend had crassly shed light on the subject, they'd been left no choice but to tell her.
Rachel had refused to leave Quinn's side, and her devotion made Brittany smile. But the blonde dancer had insisted that Rachel get some sleep, the bags forming underneath the brunette rider's eyes darkening with each passing hour. And, as a result of her persistence, Rachel is now sound asleep on the small couch near the door, curled into a ball with a small blanket draped over her.
Across the room, her best friend continues to flinch and grunt, her body covered in a cold sweat. Brittany gently pushes Quinn's damp bangs off of her forehead and sighs.
"It's going to be okay, Quinn," she whispers into the stillness. "I promise, everything is going to be okay."
Quinn responds with a shiver followed by another soft grunt, and after Brittany presses a kiss to Quinn's clammy cheek, she begins to sing quietly to her clearly tormented friend.
"I'll take care of you.
Have faith that when you call my name,
I'll be there.
I'll be right there.
So keep breathing.
Keep that sweet heart of yours beating,
I'll be right there."
AN: Rachel's song, Arms, is sung by the incredibly talented and super hot Christina Perri.
And, since I haven't done one in a few chapters, here's a little review challenge for my lovely readers:
The first person to tell me the name of Brittany's song and the artist who sings it shall win a chance to preview the next chapter before I post it! Run along! : )