So, so, so sorry about the slow update! I'm an awful person, you can tell me this and I won't deny it.
"Hello, Mr. Richardson? It's Quinn Evans, Samuel Evans's… wife." Quinn murmured quietly down the line, hoping that she didn't sound too confused about her current situation with her husband. It had been about five days now, this being one of the only times she had evacuated her room, even though she planned to return after a brief use of the phone. "I was just wondering…" she sighed, twisting the cord between her index finger, "is Sam at work today? He… stayed over at his parents house the other night. I think he was feeling a little unwell, I just want to know if he was healthy enough to come into work today."
That was a lie. Quinn had done nothing but come up with possible scenarios in her head of where Sam could be and why. As much as she knew him inside and out, what had happened between them was so unpredictable, therefore making any of her guessing useless in return. The only solid foundation she had to go by was his workplace she had woken up that morning, deciding she wanted to get to the bottom of this.
After plucking up the courage to finally text him, she had received no response. So she tried again. And again, and again, and again. If she recalled correctly, her last message had been 'I just miss you… come home…'. She was really that desperate.
The house didn't seem to function properly without him, therefore making her feel uncomfortable in her own home. Prior to the days when Noah had shown up, it had just been the two of them - her and Sam. They had certain regimes and traditions which she had grown too comfortable with to dismiss so easily. Now, every time she walked into the bathroom between the hours of eight and nine, she was disappointed to find there was no blonde man in her shower, deep conditioning his hair with great care.
"Hello, Mrs. Evans. No, I'm afraid Sam has been absent from work over the past few days." he answered in a displeased tone, causing Quinn's heart to fall sadly. She was no longer as engrossed in this conversation than before. "But if you do happen to contact him, is it possible that you could inform him that he does not have the holiday's left and he is pushing his luck presently." Mr. Richardson spoke sternly, flaring a warning signal to Quinn.
"Yes, of course I can, Mr. Richardson." she answered dryly. She had been ready to hang up the moment she'd heard the word 'no'. "I'll tell him. Thanks for your time." She put the phone down before she could hear the response.
His words had done nothing but set in the cold reality of her situation - she was not contacting her husband any time soon. She allowed herself to fall limp against the wall, her head still aching from a hangover that should have passed a long time ago. She stood like that for a good few minutes, allowing her head to clear. After finally deciding she was ready to go back to bed and cry a little more, a familiar Mohawk stepped in her way.
"And so she appears. That's a start."
"Go away, Puck." she commanded him harshly. There was a warning in his words that he hoped he would grasp - he was pushing his boundaries if he decided not to leave her alone. She pushed past him forcefully, making her way down the rest of the corridor and towards the staircase.
"Hey, I was just checking that you were okay, MILF. No big deal. I'm sorry that you find my consideration for you offensive."
Scoffing, Quinn halted in her tracks and pivoted around to face Puck. "Oh please, Puck. If you're 'consideration' was so deep, Sam would still be here right now. So, if you would then I'd like to be left to rot in peace, thanks."
"You know, in my opinion," Quinn groaned, bracing herself for some 'Puckzilla logic', "I think you're being way too harsh on yourself." She quirked an eyebrow, ready to explain, in detail, the fact that her husband was absent from her life as she would too a toddler but he cut her attempts short. "No, wait, just hear me out." he held up his palms defensively, "Of course, Sam's gone and that sucks for you. But… what if there were things you couldn't do while he was here that you can do now? Like, get crazy and dance in your underwear with a bottle of beer, like you see in those movies." there was a brief pause before he hastily added, "Just until he comes back."
Quinn's jaw was open as she watched him in disbelief. The worst part was that you could tell by his face that he was serious. Laughing humourlessly, she began to approach him, sizing herself up to him in order to somehow intimidate him. "Let's get one thing straight, okay?" she began in a patronising voice, "Sam is gone. And the reason Sam is gone is because of your little 'idea'. So the answer to that is an indefinite no. Secondly, now that Sam is gone I have nothing here. Noth-ing. Okay?" he pronounced the words slowly, making each syllable as clear as day whilst Puck watched like a child who was being scolded. "And I most definitely do not want to be reminded of that by 'getting crazy'. I don't want to have fun, Puck. So why can't you just leave me alone? I am so on the brink of kicking you out."
For the first time over the past few days, Puck actually seemed serious as he spoke his next words. His voice was sincere and apologetic yet somehow Quinn didn't feel that she was too harsh. He was certainly pushing her over the edge and deserved whatever was coming to him.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he swallowed, shoving his hands into his pockets and glaring at the floor, "I just… I'll get out of your hair for a while, okay? I'll go out and stay in a motel somewhere and let you have some alone time." he proposed. "I know I might not act like it but I'm really thankful and stuff that you've let me stay with you but I haven't done much to repay you."
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Quinn folded her arms over her chest as she tried to remain straight-faced. "Would you?" she asked quietly.
"Yes." Puck answered sincerely, bowing his head. "If that's what you want, I'll go. But can I… come back? Later on, I mean. I-I still don't have that much going for me."
Quinn chewed on it for a moment or two, contemplating what to say. She did want him gone - very much so, at that - but now she was actually beginning to feel bad. Still, whilst sober she wasn't going to ignore any potential threats. She would allow him to come back if only he left her alone for a decent amount of time.
"Okay." she finally answered in a whisper. "Two or three days should be long enough for me to get myself together." She said this not only being she didn't want to feel too alone in this house but because she was also hoping Sam would be back by then. During all their other arguments, it hadn't taken him long to return to where she thought he belonged - beside her. It was a long-shot but she was putting her money on it.
Puck nodded again, his eyes closed as he let out a sigh. Clearly, he had wanted her to say the opposite but he was going to stick to his word.
Quinn swallowed again as Puck passed her, his hands remaining in his pockets and gaze to the floor. He collected his things and left as quick as possible. As soon as he was gone, Quinn took a shower in which she used Sam's shampoo and various other hair products. She then retreated to the bedroom. She opened all of the drawers where he kept his things and loaded some of his leftover clothes onto the bed. Then, she sprayed the room with the aftershave he'd forgotten, lay herself down and closed her eyes, pretending he was there with silent tears drifting down her face.
It was desperate and needy but it was the closet she had to the real thing.
'I called your boss. He told me to warn you that you should be in work… I miss you. Please come home.'
Sam groaned as he read what seemed to be the millionth text message from his wife. He wanted to go back to her but something inside of him was telling him not to, at least not yet anyway. It was his logic, he supposed, warning him that if he went back now, the fire may not have died down completely. He wished to give it just a little more time before he returned. And in addition to that, there was the fact that he was still furious, no matter how many loving messages she forwarded to him.
Over the past few days, he'd been taking it easy with Finn. His overly tall friend usually worked for the majority of the day so he spent a lot of time alone. Most of that time consisted of sitting and reflecting, perhaps watching TV or helping Finn out by going to the supermarket. When they were together they'd do things such as watch TV, have dinner and talk as if they were just college roommates.
Yet despite the number of talks they had, Quinn nor Rachel didn't come up once. Finn had been quick to identify that the point of Sam residing with him was to clear his head before he returned to his wife. Sam had done the same, never daring to bring up the brunette diva in casual conversation again. He supposed Finn had become so much wiser since their high school days. Sam no longer held that small grudge over the way Finn had managed to steal Quinn from him. They were at a truce.
"Who keeps texting you?" Finn asked over their TV dinners whilst they watched American Idol in silence. "Every time you pick up the phone it looks like you're going to throw a fit of rage or something."
Sam bit the inside of his mouth as he pretending to watch the TV, it's light blazing in the dark. Finn didn't often switch his lights on in order to save electricity bills from shooting up.
"Oh, it's just… uhm…" he stammered, unable to think of something reasonable to excuse himself from talking about Quinn. "Work. They wanted to know if I'll be in tomorrow." Not a total lie, he told himself to ease his conscious. The text had referred to work.
"Oh." Finn replied before they drifted off into another uncomfortable silence, the only sounds to be heard the scraping of their cutlery and the voices of momentarily famous wannabes.
"Well, maybe you should think about going back to work." Finn spoke up again despite the fact that Sam had deemed the conversation over and done with. "It could be a good thing. Then you wouldn't be alone as much."
Sam was beginning to feel like a child the way Finn suggested he do certain activities in order to decrease his alone time. Despite this, he continued the conversation as he normally would. "Yeah, maybe I will…" he replied though genuinely meaning his words. Perhaps if he did find a way to occupy more time, he wouldn't spend so much of it considering when to go back and sort this horrific mess.
"Might make you come to a decision more quickly too…" Finn murmured as he kept his gaze locked to the TV. He was playing with his food rather than eating it.
Sam's ears perked up at the words. "What do you mean?" he asked with a mouth full of food.
"You know…" Finn tried to explain without actually saying her name. He used his hand to make odd gestures but Sam only continued to stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. Sighing disappointedly, Finn finally said it. "With Quinn."
Stopping chewing almost instantly, Sam involuntarily shot him the most ultimate of death glares. He had grown so prone to not having to talk about it with Finn over the last few days that by now just the simple mention of her name her name had taken him by surprise. "How would it…?" he asked after a brief pause to swallow his food.
"Well…" Finn mused, seemingly trying to make some work of art with his fork in order to avoid eye contact. "I don't know, it might make you feel a little more normal… get back into your old routine and see if you, uh… you know, miss her."
Despite the awkward way in which Finn pronounced his words, they did make perfect sense. Sam allowed himself some time to devour what his friend was saying before setting his fork down on the table.
"You know what," he spoke confidently for the first time since they'd began the topic, "I'm going to go into work tomorrow."
Finn smirked triumphantly, as if he had accomplished something. "That's awesome, dude." he nodded approvingly before the conversation simmered down and they continued to watch the television in silence.
Puck had been gone only three hours and already Quinn was finding herself in a state of misunderstanding. The biggest question she asked herself was: how did it come to this? She'd only wanted a bit of fun and now she was without husband, or without any company whatsoever.
Saline droplets strolled down her cheeks as she collapsed over the lid of the toilet, her mouth gaping open as she prepared for the gross substance in the back of her throat to emerge through the gap. Eventually it did, twisting her stomach as she coughed and spluttered her body's denial of what looked like breakfast.
She gave one final choke before she was certain it was over. Her body was so fatigued from the amount of puking that she simply couldn't find it in herself to move. She just lay there, her legs twisted in an odd position and arms flung uncomfortably over the lid of the toilet. She panted heavily, trying to regain her energy.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, hoping that somehow something could teleport her back to bed where she could cry, meaning that should wouldn't have to move.
Although it came out of nowhere, she somehow managed to push herself away from the revolting stench of vomit and fall back against the bathroom wall. This was the perfect time to reflect upon the past five days.
Mainly, she thought of Sam - how much she missed him, when he would come back - but she also thought of other things too. It was strange since he was usually the only occupant of her thoughts. It was as if she was finally opening her eyes to the happenings that had been occurring around her since his departure.
It took her a moment to realise the state she was in. She let out a humourless laugh. "I'm a mess…" she whispered, shaking her head as the tears continued to roll. She had been completely unproductive since Sam had gone. After that first day, she had called in sick to work. She found that she had enough money to survive but she would have to return soon. She had to get herself out of this bottomless rut.
Then, she began to think of how she had coped, or rather, not coped. She spent most of the time locked away in her room, searching for a way in which she could be with him without actually being with him. She'd found the most successful of those theories to be the one where she just smelt everything he left, savouring the sweet fragrance in her nostrils like it was the key to everlasting life.
And of course there was the puking. Ugh, puking, she thought to herself, grimacing she glanced upon the toilet. It wasn't a pleasant thought. She tried to count how many times she had vomited over these past few days but she found herself lost for numbers. It had been at least once every day apart from one, she concluded. Somehow, this was only just beginning to seem suspicious.
It felt as if a bomb had dropped in her stomach once she recalled something from the days where Sam had been present; her and Sam had enjoyed unprotected sex. It seemed like a lifetime ago but it had only been something of a week or so, if even that. She immediately began to fret.
Limbs shaking, she pushed herself up from the ground and used the wall to support her. The cool tiles reminded her that this was real life, not a nightmare. This was happening and whatever came of it was not going to go away when she woke up.
She trembled as she hastily began to make her way into the bedroom, wiping hr mouth with tissue as she went. Her tears had now slowed as her reaction to this new theory had now put her into shock. She was on deadlock, now she only needed a decider.
"I could be pregnant…" she whispered, just to make sure that the words were real. She could hear them, hence the small, petrified shriek she released.
She reached for the bottom draw, pulling it open quickly before grasping the three pregnancy tests she had bought not long ago. She then headed back into the bathroom to find out her fate.
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