When I first got here and they did that whole intake thing where they sat there with my mom and told her exactly how long I was going to be in here for and where and when she could pick me up and visit me and all that stuff, it felt like my life was over. I remember them telling me that I'd be in that place for 90 whole days and as soon as they said it, it was like floodgates open and tears rolled down my cheeks and I just couldn't stop.
They made me give them all of my things and said that I'd get some of them back after they screened them and made sure they weren't "inappropriate", then took my shirt and pants and gave me a shirt and pants that had been "pre-approved." I looked at my mom and cried because I couldn't believe she was actually leaving me there for something so STUPID. But she just walked down the hallway, wiping her own tears, and left. Just like that. And I became less of who I was before.
I won't lie. The first few days were rough. It really felt like they took every shred of humanity I had in me and threw it away with the trash. I had no more privacy, no more alone time and no time to just sit back and think. If you've never been through it, then just think about feeling like you're an animal instead of a person. An animal told when to eat, when to sleep, when to pee. If you've been through this, then you know exactly what I'm talking about.
It's funny how I can sit here in this chair across from Jessica for what's probably the 30th time since I've been here, and remember how naked and exposed I felt the very first time I saw her. When she introduced herself to me and asked me a bunch of questions to get to know me. The first time I was just so convinced that talking to her wouldn't actually work.
But I sit here in front of her again, I find myself wishing that I could never leave this place. I know it's a dangerous thought and probably super unethical but in a way, I feel like Jessica is my best friend. And I can't believe that after I have my last session in a few weeks and leave this place after 90 days, I'll never speak to her again.
"So you have what? 15 days left? 12, maybe?" she sits down in her usual seat across from me and pulls her shoulder-length brunette hair into a ponytail. "Are you excited to get the heck outta here?"
"A little," I admit, then pick the yellow nail polish off of my thumbnail. My roommate's going to be pissed when I go back upstairs and she sees that I ruined all two hours of her hard work on my nails, but I can't help it. My hands have to be busy while I'm talking to Jessica in some way or another. She says that it's my anxiety. But I think it's just a habit. "I miss my big queen-sized bed."
Jessica snorts , then offers me a fidget spinner that I gratefully take. "Can't say I blame you. Going from a queen to a twin has to be hell, huh?"
"It is! Like I can't even roll over without falling off the bed. I'm so used to stretching all the way out and here, I'll be lucky if I sneeze and stay on the bed. It's totally nerve wracking."
She laughs some more and puts on her glasses so she can start to take her notes on the session. "What else do you miss about home? You miss your friends? You miss Beth?"
"Uh-huh," I nod and wince a little at her name, but it doesn't sting as bad as it used to. Before when she used to mention Beth, the entire session would go downhill because I'd either cry or get so angry that I'd walk out. But it's getting better now. Perhaps that's what we call growth? "I always kinda miss her. But it's not like I see her, you know? I just… miss her from a distance."
"I thought you said the adoption wasn't closed."
"It's not. It's open….ish. I mean, I know who has her and I know where Shelby lives and stuff and I guess I see pictures of her from time to time but it's not like I just walk down the street and hang out with her."
"Does Shelby live in Lima, too?"
"No, just like ten minutes outside of it."
"Then why haven't you seen her since she was born? The adoption's open which means Shelby obviously wouldn't care if you —"
"She totally wouldn't care if I… I mean she wouldn't deny me. If I asked. But I just… I don't know…"
"Why haven't you asked?"
"...I don't know," I shrug. I feel the tears coming on but I'm able to blink them back before they fall. "I guess… I guess I just don't know if I'm… ready for that yet. I… I miss her a lot and all. But I don't know if that means I want to see her."
"Understandable. But what do you say we make that one of your goals for when you go home? To reach out and ask Shelby if you could see Beth? Why don't we make that a goal?"
"...Sure," I shrug again and this time I feel a little guilty because I know in my heart of hearts, that will probably never happen. I don't think I'll ever be strong enough to see Beth. That used to scare me to death but these days, I kind of just accept it. I'll never be at a point where I can go over and see Beth and not want to stuff her in my purse and bring her home with me.
She scribbles that down on the goal sheet that I get on our last session together, then puts the pen down. "What about school? And your friends? Don't you wanna get back to them? And Glee Club?"
"I guess," I mumble and look down at the floor.
"Eye contact, Quinn. Remember. Eye contact."
I look up at her this time but mumble again, "I guess."
"You've never really told me about Glee Club. So tell me about it. What do you guys do? Just go around being… gleeful?"
"It's show choir," I explain and let the smile tugging at my lips come through. I forgot just how much I missed Glee… I used to think that it was just a sad part of my life and I only liked it so much because it was the only thing that made me happy while I was pregnant. But now I just… I don't know, I think I just miss it in general. "We go to competitions and stuff. There's sectionals, then regionals, then nationals. And we sing and perform. It's… it's a lot of fun, actually."
"So that must mean you can sing and dance really well, huh?"
"Not really. I mean, I'm okay. But I'm not the best. I'm not the best singer or the best dancer. I'm no Brittany."
"Brittany's the star?"
"No, no, just the best dancer. Well, her and Mike."
"Who's the best singer?"
"Rachel. Hands down. Maybe Mercedes too, but Rachel's just… she's got something about her that just… I don't know… she…" my voice trails off as I try to find the right words to describe her aside from incredible. "She makes you look at her. No matter what. She just gets up on the stage and commands your attention and you just can't help but stare at her and admire her and… she's amazing. She's so good."
"Rachel's a friend?"
"A friend? No," I shake my head. The thought is actually kind of funny. Rachel? A friend of mine? Ha. That's funny. I just left out the fact that she's intolerable. "She's the most annoying and frustrating thing on the planet. She could make a nun cuss in church. She's like a Cabbage Patch Kid mixed with a Teletubby and has the sex appeal of a Sunday School teacher. I've eaten broccoli that was more appealing than her."
"Woah," Jessica holds her hands up. "Time out, time out. What did Rachel ever do to you?"
"You just…" Good question…. I don't have an answer… "If you knew her, you'd understand. She's dating Finn."
"And that's why you don't care for her?"
"No, no, I could care less about that. I mean, Finn's hers. I don't want him. She can do whatever she wants." I shrug but I don't think that's all that convincing. "She's also Shelby's daughter."
"...I thought you said Beth was Shelby's only daughter?"
"She gave Rachel up for adoption."
"And so that's why you don't care for Rachel? Because she's Beth's sister? I'm just trying to figure this out."
"I don't like Rachel because Rachel's Rachel. There's nothing to figure out, Jess. That's all there is to it." I'm starting to get annoyed. Okay, I know I don't have any valid reasons to hate Rachel's guts the way I do, but I do. Okay? I just do. There is no deeper meaning.
"See, I don't think that's true." Jessica folds her hands and sits back like she's trying to study me. "I think there is something else to it."
"Why? Why not just take my word for it?"
"Because when you told me she was the star of Glee Club, your face completely lit up and it was like you were talking about magic. That doesn't happen with people you hate, Quinn."
"Yeah, well. You don't know Rachel." That's all I can even muster up to say.
"...Have you ever considered the fact that you may like Rachel?" she asks, after a few minutes of silence.
"Sometimes I like her. She's not horrible all of the time. But like 90% of the time, she's intolerable. Unless she's singing, I can't stand her."
"That's not what I meant, Quinn."
"Well what did you mean?"
"I meant…" she hesitates. "Sometimes… when we like someone a lot… our brain mistakes that for dislike. It's like… you ever hear the expression "loving someone so much you hate them"? It's like that. For really emotionally closed off people… they tend to mistake that love for intense hatred because this person has… broken through their walls. Understand?"
"...No. I don't like Rachel at all. It's not like that for me. I just really don't like her."
"Consider the fact that you don't."
"What?"
"...Consider how you grew up. Consider that nobody ever told you what having a crush on another girl was supposed to feel like."
"I'm done," I mumble and stand up. "You're not about to sit here and tell me that I'm…. I'm…" I can't even say it. It's so disgusting and horribly wrong and she's WRONG. "You're wrong. I'm allowed to dislike Rachel."
"You can't just walk out on every session that upsets you, Quinn! Sit down. And listen to what I'm trying to say to you. You can sit here and tell me that you dislike Rachel and I'm not saying that you don't. I'm not. What I am saying is that I think if you consider a few things, you can find out where the source of your dislike for her is coming from. And I suspect that source may be because she stirs up feelings within you that you want to suppress. Feelings that you hate."
I sit back down and say nothing. But she's wrong. She's very very wrong. I'm not… that. I'm not. I've never kissed another girl, I've never thought about another girl in an unnatural way and I sure as hell don't think of Rachel that way.
"Quinn, I'm not here to judge you. But if you don't look inside yourself for these answers, you're never going to get better. If you don't confront this head on and… allow yourself to be who you really are… you'll never stop hating yourself. You don't have to walk around hating yourself anymore. Because what you are and what you feel isn't wrong just because someone told you it is. It's not wrong. Stop hating yourself."
I fold my arms and still say nothing. Because I have nothing to say.
"You don't have to tell me these answers out loud. You can keep them to yourself. But just be truthful. Okay?"
I just keep staring forward.
"When you start to like Rachel, do you automatically shut that feeling down? Do you ever feel the desire to be closer to her? Do you shut that feeling down when you feel it? Have you ever spontaneously wanted to touch her? Do you shut that feeling down when you do?"
I blink once and the tears completely fall. Jessica hands me a tissue and stops talking, which I'm grateful for. I dab my eyes, then clear my throat. And then:
"A-Are you trying to say that I'm G—"
"Quinn!"
I feel the weight of her hands on me, and she shakes my body back and forth after she squawks my name with her loud, screechy, annoying voice. Before I pop my eyes open, I really have to weigh out the pros and cons of slapping my mother.
Pros: She'll get the hell away from me and understand I mean business.
Cons: She'll probably kick me out the house. Again.
"Quinn! Get up! Now!"
I roll my body over onto my side to face her and I swear the pros of slapping her and looking better and better and better. It is a Saturday morning and it's the first morning since I've gotten home from Pennsylvania that I've been able to sleep in. I was having a really good dream, I was soundly and restfully sleeping… WHY in the hell would she wake me up?!
"Quinn!"
Finally, I clench my fists together to will myself to calm down, then sit up with a hard, long, drawn out "WHAT?!"
"YOUR THERAPIST JUST CALLED."
"SO?! GET OFF OF ME!" I snatch my arm out of her grip and I haven't felt this angry since the day I found that cup of scotch on the counter by the Keurig.
She grabs my arm again, harder this time. "SO SHE TOLD ME YOU MISSED EIGHT SESSIONS. EIGHT?! I HAD TO TALK HER OUT OF DROPPING YOU AS A PATIENT."
"Congrats," I mumble and lie back down. I pull my pillow over my head and she yanks it back off. "STOP!"
"NO! GET UP! NOW! GET DRESSED! YOU'RE GOING TO THERAPY IN AN HOUR. I MEAN IT."
"Don't be ridiculous," I roll over again and grab another pillow. "They're closed on Saturdays."
"Well today's your lucky day. She set up a special session just for you and you're going. Be downstairs in half an hour or so help me I will GROUND you until graduation. UNDERSTAND?!"
She turns and leaves my room and leaves the door open behind her and I don't particularly know why, but this really irritates the hell out of me. I know I probably shouldn't. I know I'm just acting out of anger and I'm just mad that she woke me up like this and grabbed her hand around my arm really hard and yelled at me like I was ten-years-old again and left my room without closing the door, but still. I get up, still donning my t-shirt and underwear, and follow her. I catch her just as she's about to go back downstairs.
"You know what?!" I yell, and she stops right on the second step. "I am SO tired of you acting so oblivious! To everything! YOU weren't taking me to therapy! How the hell did you think I was getting there?!"
"Quinn, I —"
"You know Mom? You may be dumb, but I'm not." Now's not the time to bring it up…. now's not the time…. but I can't help it. "I know you've been seeing Dad again. Your too wrapped up in him to notice that I'm not going to therapy. I'm not stupid. I know you've been screwing each other again."
"Quinn, this is not about me and your father. This is about you going to therapy and working your treatment plan."
"Sure it is! It's always about you! It's always about you and about Dad! It's —"
"WHAT DOES IT MATTER? HE'S NEVER HERE WHEN YOU ARE. WHY DOES IT MATTER SO MUCH, QUINN? WHY?"
"BECAUSE YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULDN'T SEE HIM ANYMORE! AND YOU LIED! YOU SAT THERE IN FRONT OF ME, IN FRONT OF MY THERAPIST AND LIED."
"I DIDN'T KNOW I LIED!" For the first time since Frannie and I kicked the soccer ball into the house and messed up the numbers, my mom yells at me like I am actually her child and not a close friend. It's not all that startling, but it's enough to make me fall completely silent. Silent enough for her to feel like she has the upper hand again. "When I told you I wouldn't see him anymore, I really thought I was telling the truth. I really, really didn't think it'd be this hard. You just… you just don't know, Quinn. You've never been in love with a man."
I guess I can't really argue with her about that. She's right in a sense. I haven't ever really known what it's like to be in love in that way, I guess. But I don't think it really matters. Not when it comes to something like protecting your child…
"I love you, Quinnie," she says and for a second I think she's going to cave in and cry, but I'm wrong. She collects herself as usual and she's back to being the prim and proper and polished Judy Fabray. "I love you and when I thought I lost you, I —"
"More than Dad?" The question shocks me and I swear I didn't even know that it was going to roll off my tongue.
"What?" she asks and I really don't want to repeat myself because I know what I asked is kinda out of line, but…
"You said you love me. You love me more than Dad?"
Silence falls between us. She doesn't answer me right away but honestly? She doesn't really have to. Her hesitation speaks volumes. That's an answer enough for me. She only starts to speak when I roll my eyes and turn to walk away.
"Of course!" her answer makes me stop in my tracks. I still don't believe her. I'm not stupid. I know she's just doing her damage control. "Of course I do!"
"Yeah, right," I head back to my room but she just keeps talking to my back.
"Quinn! Get back here!"
"I'm done talking," I slam my door behind me and rummage through my drawers for a pair of pajama pants that I can just throw on. There aren't many times where I feel utterly ridiculous, but arguing with my mom on a Saturday morning while I'm wearing nothing but my underwear definitely takes me there.
And as if she wants me to take the cons for slapping her, my door flies open again and she stands in the doorway. I have to give it to her. This is the longest she's ever stood her ground with me. Usually she just lets me win and walks away. Looks like she finally grew a pair.
"You have to believe me," she says. Her face is all red and blotchy and I think I see tears on her cheeks from across the room. And for a split second, I do feel bad. For a split second, I think about just telling her that I believe her just to make her feel better. "You don't know what it's like to have to choose between two people you love, but you have to believe me when I say —"
"I don't believe you. I don't believe anything —"
"You're not a parent, Quinn!"
I feel like she just slapped me across the face with an open hand. It stings, it's hard and it makes my jaw drop. It even makes me hurt a little. Actually, I think I would rather she have slapped me…
I shove my legs into my pants and pull them up. Then grab a ponytail holder off my dresser and use it to tie my hair up. Then shove my feet into a pair of my running shoes, without socks. And with that? I brush right past her and head for the steps.
"Quinn!"
She calls after me, but that doesn't make me stop. She just keeps calling my name. Even as I stomp to the kitchen and grab the car keys. And even as I grab a jacket and slam the door behind me. I don't know where I'm going. But it's sure as hell not here.
I just don't know how she could say such a thing to me. Don't get me wrong. I already know she felt that way. I already know that she feels like since I don't have Beth, I'm not a parent and I can't possibly compare to her. I already know she feels like just because I don't parent the way she does — physically — means that I don't know what it's like to be a parent. But for her to say it?
I'm a hundred thousand times better than she is.
I slam the car door shut behind myself and shove my keys into the ignition so hard that I won't be surprised if they broke inside of there. And I know she's watching me from the window as I back out of the driveway, but I don't care. I'm on the road now and I'm away from her.
I know that I took the easy way out with giving Beth up. I know I was a coward who didn't want to give up my picture perfect teenage life and I know the harder thing would have been to keep her and sacrifice and be a parent. I know when Beth gets older, I'm going to have to answer to her and beg her to believe me when I tell her that giving her up wasn't easy. I already know all of this. But I swear to the God I'm not even sure I believe in anymore that I'm better than my mother. Because Beth would come first, always. I wouldn't stay in a marriage with a man that abuses me and my daughters. I wouldn't let that man continue to manipulate me. And if my daughter happened to attempt suicide partially because that man was so horrible to her, he would never be allowed in my house again so that my daughter can heal. Beth would always come first, above my husband.
And she would never have to question it, either.
I'm starting to think that Jessica really had no idea what she was talking about. She said that I wouldn't hate my life forever, but I'm really starting to doubt if that's true.
I think I need to start accepting that this is what my life is. It's always going to suck and it's never going to be perfect, so maybe I should just stop trying…
I don't know how or why I ended up here, but I did. When I got into the car and started driving, it wasn't my intention to come here. But I just kept going and going and I had nowhere specific in mind, and it seems like the fates just wanted me to go here or something, so here I am. Sitting across from Bailey. Watching her type things into my chart. In stunned silence.
I have to admit, I thought she'd be a little more pissed at me than she seems. I thought for sure she'd pull me into her office and tear me to shreds about wasting everyone's time and money.
But she didn't. She invited me in with a smile, told me to sit down and said, "welcome back." She didn't even ask me why I missed so many sessions. She didn't even look like she was so much as annoyed with me. She looked like her usual happy-go-lucky Bailey self.
Finally, she stops typing and opens up a notebook. She clicks her pen, then adjusts some papers on her desk, then looks at me like she actually missed me.
"Long time no see!"
"Mhm," I mutter. I trace her eyes to my pajama pants and loose t-shirt, then cover myself as best as I can with my jacket. I know I look horrible. She doesn't have to silently comment. "I um, just… rolled outta bed."
"I see that," she nods. "How was the sleepover yesterday night?"
"What?"
"The sleepover. At your friend Mercedes' house? Your mom mentioned you were at one yesterday night when I called this morning."
"Oh."
"...So why has it been so long since I've seen you?" There it is. I was waiting for the dreaded question.
"I joined Glee after school…" Usually she gets annoyed if my voice doesn't carry above a mumble, but today she seems okay. "It's every day… until 4:30."
"We can revisit the idea of seeing you in school if you'd like."
"...Sure," I mumble and I'm surprised that. I was halfway expecting myself to tell her no again. But saying yes just felt so natural.
"Is there a period that works best for you?"
"12th. Since I just have study hall."
"Perfect." She writes that down. "Were you crying? Your face is a little red…"
"I had a fight with my mom. It's nothing."
"Oh really? What about?"
"Stupid stuff."
"You think you guys are gonna make up?"
"I dunno."
"Well… your mom loves you a lot. I think you guys will make up."
I'm half tempted to tell her that she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. She doesn't know the Judy that I know. She knows the Judy that my mom wants her to see. I'm half tempted to tell her that there was only one time in my life I ever felt like my mom truly loved me…
"I need an ambulance! Please! A-A-At 8748 Wynwood Court. I-It's my daughter sh-she stopped breathing, she's not moving, I don't know what she took! T-There's a pill bottle o-on her bed, I-I-I don't know how many were in there.
It's happening exactly like you see in the movies. Everything is fuzzy and blurry and I can see myself lying there on the floor and I know I should probably get up to tell Mom that I'm okay, that I just took a few sleeping pills because I was having a hard time falling asleep, but I can't. It's like someone put a thousand pound weight on top of my body and the only way I can get up is if I move it. And I try to open my mouth, I do. Because I just want Mom to know that I'm fine, that I can breathe and that I'm just in a really deep sleep, but my mouth is too heavy to open.
"Quinn! Honey, honey, it's okay. It's okay, Mommy's here, I'm here," she kneels down on the ground beside me and brushes my hair out of my face. "What did you take, sweetie? Oh sweetie, sweetie, what did you do?"
I try to open my mouth again to tell her that I just took a few sleeping pills, but all I do when my mouth opens is cough. She pats my back like I'm a baby again and moves my hair away from my mouth. And then I feel the tips of her fingers graze my lips, and pull them apart. When she puts her fingers in, they're so far that her wedding band scrapes the roof of my mouth. And she makes me gag.
… I guess there's probably a reason why the fates decided to have me drive all the way here on a Saturday morning. Maybe I shouldn't ignore it. Maybe I should actually participate. But I don't feel like talking about Mom.
"It was fine, by the way," I say. She raises her eyebrows at me. "The sleepover, I mean. It was fine. Fun, actually."
"Oh yeah? Tell me about it."
"It was okay. We just did the normal stuff, you know. Watch movies, eat popcorn, talk about boys. The usual."
"But you had fun?"
"I did. Until Shelby sent me a friend request on Facebook. That kinda ruined the mood a little for me."
"Why's that?"
"Nevermind." I still haven't confirmed or denied the request. Every time I feel like I'm strong enough to, every time I feel like I've gathered enough courage… I chicken out. I exit out of the Facebook app so quick and try to forget that her friend request is just sitting there. "It was weird, it was like…. like I belonged there or something."
"At the sleepover?"
"Yeah. It was like the first time in a long time I felt like I belonged somewhere. ...I don't think I'd have had that much fun if Rachel wasn't there, though."
"Why's that?"
Damn. For a minute there it really felt like I was talking to Jessica again. I forgot I'm actually here with Bailey. I thought we talked about Rachel before…
"No reason."
"You can talk to me, Quinn."
"...Do you think there's anything that's unforgivable?"
Why am I talking so much this session? Seriously, what's the matter with me? Did I really need to come to therapy this badly? It's like I can't stop running my mouth…
"What do you mean, honey?"
"I mean…. I mean my parents. They're still… they're still trying to forgive me for getting pregnant. They'd never forgive me if…"
"...Is Rachel someone you have feelings for?"
"Anyway, I'm kind of stuck on whether I should accept Shelby's friend request. It sounds like a good idea because then I'd get to see every picture she posts of Beth, but then again that seems scary. Oh, and I've been journaling like you told me to. I journal almost every night before I go to sleep and sometimes in school when I get a free moment. And I —"
"Quinn," she leans across the desk and looks at me with the most gentle eyes. "Is Rachel someone you have feelings for?" I look down at the ground and still don't answer that. "You really ought to be more honest with yourself."
I feel a little better now. After therapy I was still a little pissed off and fired up from our argument, but I stopped at Wendy's and got three orders of French fries and a Frosty to dip them in. And I got rid of it all in the parking lot without the vomit even burning when it came up. And after the long drive back home, I feel a whole lot better and I'm ready to take on Mom again because I know for a fact she's going to want to talk about it.
So I park the car in the driveway, grab my Wendy's bag and get out. Mom's car is still here so I know she's inside. I take a deep breath, jog up the front steps, and go right inside.
But the house isn't quiet like I expected it to be. I don't smell lunch and hear some cheesy soap opera like All My Children playing on the living room TV.
Instead, I hear two voices. And only one of them belongs to Mom.
I don't know if I'm ready to face Dad just yet, even if he does offer me some sort of an apology. So I drag my feet until I get closer and closer. I just… don't know if I'm ready to face my dad…
So it's a good thing I don't have to.
Because my mom isn't sitting on the couch talking with my dad like I thought she'd be. She is sitting on the couch, yes. And they are talking.
But imagine my surprise when I see Puck sitting there with her.