Quinn.

My room is drowning in chaos; a frighteningly disorganized mess of color and cloth. Which, considering the seriously limited amount of possessions I currently own, I consider to be quite a feat.

The small suitcase worth of clothing I've been surviving on for the past few weeks is strewn haphazardly across my bed. I've made it as far as putting on the only pair of jeans I own, a plain white bra and some shoes, and now, I'm standing in the center of the maelstrom I've created and staring at a pair of t-shirts that I have scrunched in my palms. One is red, one is black.

I can do this. I can do this.

I blink and attempt to still the anxiety that is pressing my chest into submission. Life is about changes. It's about moments; slipping and sliding away from one another, never staying the same for more than a heartbeat. These are the building blocks of existence, the foundational thoughts on which all life is created; change, rebirth, transformation. It is the way of things, and I know what's been on my horizon for a while now; I have been counting down to this morning for days.

There is always destruction in evolution; for something new to exist, something old must fall away. But all that doesn't make my room any cleaner or the t-shirts in my hands any easier to choose between.

Finally regaining some vague grasp on reality, I quickly pull one top over myself and shove the other in my bag. If I know McKinley, I'll be needing them both today anyway.

My head is burrowed in the cluttered recess beneath my bed as I determinedly search for a hairbrush when I hear my phone begin to jingle. Scrambling away from the floor, I paw at the side pockets of my schoolbag and frown when I see Santana's face smirking on my screen.

"Uh, hello?"

"So, I feel it's only fair to give you a heads up on what's been happening since you left."

My lips feel soft under the pressing of my teeth; they crumble and yield in unquestioning surrender. Santana's words have me cautious, what's been happening is never a good way to open a conversation.

The possibilities make my head spin but I'm distracted when I spy the edge of a hairbrush poking out from underneath my bed. I fall to my knees again and grasp for the handle, sighing at the mess I know my next words are going to create.

"Okay, so what's been happening?"

"Q, you're HBIC and then all of a sudden you quit the Cheerios and get yourself suspended for pulling a stunt on Berry! People are going to talk."

I can hear the sound of water running in the background and every third or fourth word that comes out of Santana's mouth is slightly muffled. I resolve that she must be brushing her teeth and the sheer banality of the act has me leaning against the side of my bed wearily.

Politics, high school politics, what would life be like without them? Wonderful probably, not that I would know. The thought makes me bitter and, before I know it, I'm pressing the hairbrush into my forearm, watching the dull teeth mark my skin in hypnotic patterns. After a moment of thinking, I retract the brush and the unattractive self-pity that has dug its way into my skin and force out a frustrated puff of air.

"Whatever, I'm not HBIC anymore, you are, why would anyone be interested in me?"

A sound scrapes over the receiver and I can't tell if it's a particularly aggressive scoff or if Santana has just spat out her toothpaste, either way, I pull the phone away from my ear until I hear her voice again. It is clear now; her diction precise, spoken in that strange combination of derisive and caringly exasperated that only Santana can ever really pull off.

"Are you stupid? Everybody loves a fall from grace. All I'm saying is there have been a crap load of rumors. The Trout's been pretty tight lipped, he hasn't said anything other than you two aren't seeing each other anymore, but.."

My eyebrows furrow immediately. "Rumors? Why hasn't Rachel told me any of this?"

The rustle of fabric and the muted bite of a zipper preface another amused snort and I'm strangely comforted at being part of Santana's morning routine again. It seems like a lifetime ago that we use to put each other on speaker and debrief before heading into school, seamlessly informed, fire and ice, steaming through the hallways. Before I can think any further on the matter, Santana's voice breaks through and reminds me of just how much time has passed.

"Thumbelina? Please, she wouldn't know gossip if it hit her in the face. Which I'm sure it has. Repeatedly. Not that I can blame it, let's face it; we've all felt the urge."

I hear Santana's words for what they are, not what they sound like. I know she can't see it, but I try and hide the smile on my face anyway, smothering my quiet laugh by pressing the back of my hairbrush against my lips tightly. Thumbelina? A week ago it would have been hobbit, halfling, dwarf, sewer rat, midget or a million other insults carefully shaped to cut and injure. But now, her words are filled with clumsy overcompensation, as if wary of being too nice.

"Thumbelina? That's actually.. pretty cute San."

There's a small patch of heavy silence then, in which I'm sure Santana is calling on every shred of her resolve to not suckerpunch me over the phone. Finally, she emits a quiet, uncomfortable grumble that reminds me exactly why I want her in my life.

"Yeah well, all the weight you've gained since you stopped cheering means you'll be able to body slam me harder than Lauren Isis so I figure it's best to curb the insults sooner rather than later."

It's just a stupid name, I know that, and if it were anyone but Santana it wouldn't seem like much, but it is her, and I can see what she's doing, I can see how she's trying. For a girl from Lima Heights that's been taught to punch first and ask questions never, it's a big, big step. One that I'm sure we will never discuss, so, tugging my brush through my tattered locks, I wince distractedly even through my thoroughly amused chuckle.

"Brittany told you to stop being such a bitch didn't she?-"

"-Fuck off Fabray."

There's not even an ounce of hesitation in the remark, just a clear, irritated bark that somehow has me grinning happily even through the messy knots in my hair.

"Awesome, later Lopez, thanks for the heads up."

Santana's muttered "Whatever." is the last thing I hear before the dial tone sets in and I'm left on my knees by my bed; alone again.

The position stirs something in me that I've been brushing aside for weeks. Sparing a glance at my alarm clock, which is half buried under some pajama pants, I let out a deep, steadying breath and center myself; opening my mind up to a musky page of a book that, until now, I have kept tightly shut.

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy na-"

I know the words. They sit on my tongue, intimate and unthinking, through all my waking moments. I know the words, but I don't know what to do with them anymore. So, murmuring my way into silence I shuffle in place again. This time, I slide out of my kneeling position and move to sit Indian style instead, resting a hand on each of my knees, palms up and open.

My eyes sink closed and I begin again, hoping for a new conversation; for some kind of fresh page.

"…I'm afraid."

My tongue licks over my lips in distress and I frown at the anxiety even saying those two words brings out of me.

"I'm afraid of what this day will bring and what this day will take away."

There's another swipe and a small part of my brain catalogues the need to bring a stick of balm to school with me today. My gaze lifts slowly to my stained ceiling and I'm immediately lost in the tiny veins of cracks I see up there.

I sit this way for what seems like long moments; staring and searching; silent and still.

As a general rule, I count silence to be a friend of mine, but in these moments of desperate uncertainty, there isn't much I wouldn't give for.. well.. something to answer me, something to let me know I'm not ..alone. The thought causes a lump to build in my throat that I determinedly try to whisper through.

"Most of all, I'm afraid that you don't listen to our conversations anymore. But then, I know it has to be more complicated than that. Maybe it's not even about you at all, maybe it's about me listening. Maybe that's the way it's been all along. I.. I don't know."

My hands twitch in their place on my knees and, fighting the instinct to bury my face in them, I lean my head back instead and slowly breathe out every last scrap of air that's buzzing in my lungs. It's nice, for a moment, to feel so empty; the seconds before I succumb to the uncomfortable burn of oxygen deprivation settle me strangely.

"I..I've missed our conversations. Even if they are one-sided.."

Glancing up at the ceiling again, I manage a quiet smile for a moment before my world fades back to black. I know about this thing called faith. I know the set of limitations it comes shrouded in. I know they can make it beautiful and they can make it ugly and I just wish..

"I wish so much that you'd let me kn-"

My eyes snap open at the jarring sound of my cell phone and my jaw drops as I wonder, for one ridiculous moment, if it could be who I think it is. Slowly dragging the phone towards me, my eyes track between it and the ceiling in desperate, panicked motions before my shaky fingers finally turn the screen over to face me.

My lungs, which I have filled to bursting point, empty themselves once more as I sag in palpable relief upon seeing who it is.

There's a rather shy grin lighting up my screen and I smile instinctively when I spot the edge of my lips, just noticeably grazing over one blushing cheek in the corner of the cropped photo.

Rachel.

Looking up at the cracks on my ceiling again, this time my smile is confident; grateful. Because yes, of course it is, it has always been, and will always be.. Rachel.

There's a thickness in my throat that feels like hope, and I swallow it down in tiny bobs as I cradle the phone to my ear.

"Hey you.."

The ride to school is uneventful but the moment I step off of the platform I'm ready. I have caught a late bus to avoid the heavy traffic of students clambering to get to class on time.

Instead, I am quite alone, with only one or two disoriented Freshmen milling about. Looking up, I see that the main building of McKinley is just around the corner and, front and center of that main building, are the main doors.

I have walked through those doors countless times. I have been Quinn Fabray: Cheerio hopeful, Quinn Fabray: Cheerio captain, Quinn Fabray: HBIC, Quinn Fabray: the Terrible, Beautiful and Great.

Most recently, I have walked out of them as Quinn Fabray: ex-captain and suspendee.

My fingers trail along the chainlink fence that curves around and up towards McKinley High. The metal diamond outlines tug at my skin; grasping with friction and resistance. Ugly gray and spliced with garish orange, they have been made porous with rain and rust and time and they make me wonder.

Who will I be today, as I cross the threshold once more?Now that I have hollowed myself out, who will I put back in?

Will I be fierce? Will I falter? Not for the first time that morning, I both wish that I had been brave enough to ask for Rachel's help and fiercely curse the fact that it's a Monday. I barely even get to see Rachel on Mondays, but she had called, full of assurances that she would be more than happy to drive us both to school so we could face this moment together.

I turned her down and, leaning against the metal rail of the school fence now, I don't even know why I did it.. I just.. did.

As if it was no big deal. As if I wasn't nervous at all.

I think Rachel bought it. I hope she did. Because I don't want her to worry, but this is a big deal, a very big deal, even though I don't want it to be.

I have no interest in being who I was, but I've skipped over a vital piece of the puzzle, I've misplayed a maneuver; I have given no thought as to what role I will play today.

Slowly, carefully, I am assembling myself; I am learning how to be the architect of my own existence, but this has been occurring in a bubble, with only Sam and Fran and Rachel being granted varying levels of access.

When I walk through those doors today.. the bubble will burst.

My racing thoughts fall in time with my footsteps and so, before I'm even the slightest bit ready, I find that I have scaled the stairs and am standing underneath the dusty 'entrance' sign.

Just as my hand is reaching up to rest against the large doorway, something catches the light in the corner of my eye and, as I turn my face, I am shocked to find Rachel standing only a few feet away, watching me intently.

As she walks towards me I notice that she is wearing a navy blue t-shirt with an oversized yellow bow printed on it and, somehow, seeing this makes every vicious knot in my stomach instantly unravel.

But she is nervous, flighty, in a strangely apologetic way, and, regardless of the adrenaline that is screaming through my system at what I am about to do, I find myself curious about this.

"Ra-"

"I know you said it was fine, that you were fine.. but.. just in case you weren't I thought I'd..I know it's silly and controlling, but, I hope that's okay.."

I look down at the anxious twists Rachel's hands are making and swallow through my suddenly dry throat.

"No.. I mean.. yes, it's.. I.."

She knew. How does she always know? I am aware that I can be difficult to read, that my face can be a puzzle box, my eyes a cryptic cipher, but Rachel always seems to know me.

My mind is racing now, racing with words that I want to push out, but they curl themselves around my bones and hold on for dear life because, no matter how much I hate it, being back in front of these stupid doors has made me afraid to let them go.

But I am not who I once was, there has been change, miles of it, and, as I desperately try to hold onto that fact, I pitch forward and crush my lips to Rachel's.

She is shocked, almost as much as I am, but her moan is throaty and the contact is hot so reciprocation takes but a moment. My hands dig into the base of her hairline, at that wonderful junction, that cluster of vertebrae that join neck to spine. This is exactly what I need right now. Rachel. Because I only ever really know how to be myself when I'm with her and, right or wrong, that is all I've learned how to do for now.

So, pulling back, I breathe out against her lips in flushed rushes of air before settling for a blindingly inadequate "..Thank you."

I can feel my face contorting and I am sure it doesn't look attractive. But, surprisingly, Rachel's expression seems to soften all the more as she takes me in. She flicks a tongue out to trace over her lips and the way she watches me watch her do it..so intent and so entreating.. it's like she's reliving a memory, like she's making a promise. Like she's whispering to me..

Remember.. Remember this. Please, please remember this..

I want to ask her how she thinks I could ever forget, but when my senses finally return to me and I take three steps back to rebuild the distance between us, I am sure that maybe that's not quite what she means.

There's a large inhaling of air then, it fills my lungs sublimely, but, before I can use it to form some words of comfort, I catch the glinting silver of Rachel's charm bracelet and take pause. She follows my gaze and smiles, fingers naturally curling around the object in a quiet, cradling grasp.

Stepping forward, I feel oxygen leak from my chest like a soft breeze the moment my fingers move to graze over the small, twinkling star that sits between us. Gentle kisses of sunlight brush past in bright flashes and they make it seem illuminated, like a shining beacon; high and bright and clear. It is so beautiful, so like Rachel herself, that I find I have to look away.

"It looks.. so good on you."

Rachel grins softly and gives her lips another slow lick before she nods and tilts her head towards the door.

"Are you ready?"

I square my shoulders on automatic and nod back, sharing a final smile before my hand connects with the door once more.

"Let's find out.."

Last August, my parents' neighbors built a wall. It was large and red and every morning at 6:45 the builders would start construction and I would wake to the sound of bricks being laid. The metal trowels would sound hollow banging against the clay and shale. They'd connect in clicks, constant clicks, like the ticking of a clock, and slowly but surely a structure would be built. A barrier would be raised. Click, click, click.

There's a clicking in my mind now; a wall being raised, and I don't know how to make it stop.

Santana's arm is resting on my shoulder. I cannot see the expression on her face but I am sure that it is pinched. I cannot see the expression on her face because I cannot see anything and I cannot see anything because I have been blinded. Blinded by a slushie.

It's colder than I expected..the sudden temperature change is causing a throb to start in my skull and, knowing that I have inflicted this upon people, countless people, that I have made anyone feel like this- it makes every icy bite go deeper, like a carving on my skin.

"I'm going to tear him a new asshole for this."

The warmth of stale tap water splashes against my eyes and, after a few more moments of torturous stinging, I blink them open to see a pool of red water in the sink before me. I can see Santana now, her jaw is clenched and she is methodically folding up a piece of paper towel in harsh, angry motions.

I can't quite keep my eyes open indefinitely so, just before they close again, I curl my hand around hers and tug the paper towel from her grasp.

"Don't bother."

Running the towel along my neck I can feel the chunky shards of sugared ice begin to melt and fall. Soon there will be nothing left, just sticky residue to wash away and a memory to keep forever. Santana is pacing now, I can hear her shoes go click, click, click and each sound is a stone pressing against my skull.

"Are you fucking kidding me Q?! If he thinks he can just do that to you.."

Splashing more water on my face, I blindly tug my soiled t-shirt off and use it to shake the last shards of ice from my hair. When I remove it, my eyes open to find Santana strangely silent and looking at the wall, holding out my spare t-shirt awkwardly.

I roll my eyes and rinse the rest of the cherry from my skin before pulling on the clean shirt.

We're standing now, the two of us, reds and whites and blacks are spilling out from all corners of the room and it's only then that I notice Santana has pulled me into a gymnasium bathroom; one reserved for the sole use of the Cheerios.

I don't belong here anymore, and the realization of this has me clearing my throat and reaching out to Santana, who has once again begun pacing rabidly. My hand lands on her shoulder and we only stiffen for a moment before accepting the contact.

"Don't bother San, because he does think he can, and nothing you're going to do will stop that. You know how this place works, it's just a slushie, it doesn't change the fact that twelve months from now Karofsky is going to be a fry cook at Pearl's Diner and you, and me, and Brittany, and Rachel, we're all going to be.."

My eyes are shining, I can feel it in my gaze, but I can't help it, because the image of that tomorrow is so hotly burnt into my mind that I cannot help but feel anything other than passionate about it.

It's okay though, because, for the first time in our entire history, Santana opens up too. Her eyes burn with the fire of hope; the heat of determination. It's just one word that she speaks, but it feels like a revelation, like an epiphany for the ages.

"Gone."

All I can do is nod, because yes, we'll be gone..

"So gone."

"..and out, Britt's already bought us matching rainbow socks."

We have never spoken like this before, Santana and I, but there is red in my hair and Santana is trying to pat it out with more paper towel and, in some incredibly existential way, it feels like we're sitting on my bed and talking about boys. Because that's what best friends do, isn't it?

"I'm sure Rach has a rainbow headband and I saw a scarf with my name on it the other day."

"Pft, screw that."

Santana scoffs and catches my eye in the mirror, she juts her chin out at my hair and I automatically move to look at what she's referring to.

"Check out what the cherry's done to your hair, I say roll with it."

I picture myself then. I am sitting in a lecture hall and my hair is a cacophony of color; reds and oranges and greens and blues and all the colors of the rainbow are there for everyone to see, like a badge, like a flag. The image is terrifying in a somewhat ridiculous way, but it has me smiling all the same.

"We'll see.."

I chew on the inside of my lip thoughtfully as we slip into silence before trying to catch Santana's eyes once more.

"Hey, thanks for being so cool about Rachel, and for telling Britt."

They are awkward words coming out of an awkward mouth; I have no experience at this kind of thing. But Santana accepts my thanks gracefully, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she continues to draw the red out of my hair.

"Whatever. I had to spend half an hour yesterday trying to explain that Rachelberry wasn't a type of fruit."

I laugh at the amazing way that Brittany interprets the world and nod happily.

"She is one of a kind."

Santana nods back at me and I can see that she is thinking about Brittany. I know this because there is a crinkle that forms by her left eye when she does it. I like to think that that's where Brittany lives, inside Santana's mind, in that tiny wrinkle of time and skin; that is where she waits.

I wonder where Rachel waits on my face and, before I can even think to flush at the imagery the notion elicits, a question is already forming and tumbling from my mouth.

"Have you gotten any letters yet?"

Santana's hands still in my hair before she pulls them away altogether.

"Just one.."

My eyes widen at this and I spin around, no longer content in continuing our conversation through the inversion of a mirror.

"And?!"

I cannot read the look on Santana's face and each thick tick of silence increases my anxiety exponentially until she finally speaks; plainly but with an unmistakable undercurrent of relief.

"I'm going to NYU."

"Tisch?! Are you serious?! Santana tha-"

"The School of Business actually, I figure high school's more than prepped for dealing with divas and their dramas and I know an artists' life isn't going to feed my Jimmy Choo addiction."

Everything makes sense then; the hesitation and the strange baseline of tension that's been sitting between us for the past few minutes. Santana is nervous because, from the look on her face, this is the first time she's ever shared something that has actually mattered to her, and she's terrified of how I will respond.

She doesn't need to be, my mind is already constructing images of her owning the streets of New York with a briefcase and a power suit. Smiling as she spends her millions on making every single one of Brittany's dreams come true; a rehabilitation clinic for cats coming off 'the horse', a lifetime full of dance, limitless amounts of love.

Their future plays like clockwork in my mind's eye but, rather than share it with Santana, I do the next best thing and pull one half of my face into a smile, bumping our shoulders together softly.

"Yeah, I can see that."

She is serious then, and I feel the weight of the hand that's placed on my elbow acutely.

"You will see it, because you're going to be there too. You'll get your letter Q."

Immediately, my eyes close to block out the harsh light of the bathroom and I sigh; head already full of clouds at the subject matter.

I cannot fathom a reality in which I will not get a letter, but the situation is entirely out of my control and all of the words in my mind do nothing to adequately describe how that makes me feel.

Either way, I cannot go into this now, so I nod shortly and run my hands through my hair, frowning at the strange pinky-red streaks Karofsky's slushie facial has left me with.

"So, how do I look?"

Santana flicks a damp curl away from my eye and looks me over, frowning disapprovingly even as she tosses my soiled t-shirt for me to catch.

"Like a rat that's tried to drown itself in soda, now let's go we're already late."

I take a second to look at myself as Santana heads for the door and I have to laugh at my messy complexion; never in a million years did I think I'd be walking through the halls of McKinley looking like this. For some strange reason, it almost makes me smile.

"Perfect."

I am walking through the halls of McKinley in search of Rachel, I haven't seen her since the morning and there are two empty trays in the cafeteria with our names on them. Further to this, if I'm quite honest with myself, the knowledge that we would be having lunch together has been one of the few things holding me together today.

The last few herds of athletes and hipsters stroll towards the cafeteria and I weave through them to avoid another Karofsky-like confrontation but, as I turn the corner to find Rachel's locker, my footsteps stall when I see that she is not there. I feel around in my back pocket for my phone and drag it out, shoulders relaxing slightly when I see that it has not quite reached one o'clock yet; Rachel is nothing if not punctual. She will come.

The last few steps toward Rachel's locker have me weaving past a few more people and, as I duck and parry, I feel as though I am covered in cloth; as if everything I'm doing is being muffled today.

Nothing is as sharp or as clear as it once was and, rationally, I know that the soft, white tread of my Cheerios trainers would have been near silent on the hallway floors, but my memory is making them appear forceful and loud and making the gentle padding of the high-tops I'm wearing now seem even more out of place.

I look up, and where, in the past, eyes would have been fearfully averted, many types of gazes pin me now. I see curiosity, derision, nonchalance, lust. There is no awe; I am no longer a phantom, no longer great. No longer untouchable.

This fact in particular is outlined almost poetically when a scrawny body makes contact with mine, clumsily knocking me into a metal wall of lockers.

"Christ Israel, watch it!"

My skin burns at the intrusive contact but Jacob doesn't miss a beat, instead, he scrambles to right himself and produces a black microphone that is attached to a tape box. He grins through his labored breaths and sticks the object in my face, effectively pinning me in place.

"Quinn Fabray, are you aware that you're setting pants and twitter accounts alight with your edgy new persona?"

My eyes stammer downwards to look at the splashes of red slushie littering my jeans and the black t-shirt I'm currently wearing, it has a somewhat faded ["That's what" – she] printed over the chest. Bringing my gaze back to Jacob and his intrusive microphone, I just about manage to raise an eyebrow in the face of my building panic.

"Edgy? Do you even know what you're saying right now?"

"How do you respond to speculation that you've had a nervous breakdown? Have you joined a cult? What about the pregnancy rumors? Word on the grapevine is that it could be Noah Puckerman's?"

My eyes scan across the hallway, it is empty now and, momentarily forgetting that I am not who I once was, I push myself away from the lockers and advance menacingly. My height has Jacob swimming in shadow and I use every inch of it to get my point across.

"Okay first, I am not pregnant and the day I sleep with Noah Puckerman is the day you lose your virginity without having to pay for it. Second, no Jacob!"

"In that case, this could be the biggest news to hit McKinley in years! Is former HBIC Quinn Fabray channeling Tegan and Sara and pursuing Santana Lopez: feisty new head cheerleader, hot Latina and all around love monkey for one Brittany S Pierce?!I hope so, because if I put one more lesbian into this sentence, I'll have the Indigo Girls!"

Oddly, the first thing to pop into my head is the intense desire to stab Jacob in the eye with his stupid microphone and inform him that there are, in fact, only two Indigo Girls. But the instinct fades before I have time to smother it, everything fades really. My mind is left blank, a white sheet of paper, empty.

I don't even register that Jacob has paired me with the wrong girl, the only thing my mind has latched onto is the word lesbian. Because this is the moment, isn't it? This is the fall, where all of my intricately constructed walls are bulldozed over without remorse.

I am not ashamed, but that does not mean that I am not frightened. Because this is all very new to me; having a part of my life that I care about so deeply be subject to public ridicule and mockery. It causes my defenses to tighten and a pointed finger to jab sharply into Jacob's chest.

"Look. I know that you're about one degree of separation away from being a bonafied sexual deviant so this is going to be hard for you, but keep your mind out of the gutter Israel."

"But my sources confirm seeing you and Miss Lopez entering a private bathroom together this morning."

My eyes widen as the implication finally sinks in and the absurdity of it is enough to make me laugh.

"Are you serious?! I was covered in slushie!"

Jacob raises his microphone in a gesture of surrender before smirking lecherously and waggling the twin caterpillars on his face he calls eyebrows.

"It's not my place to judge kinks; I'm just after the truth."

"Jacob, you wouldn't know the truth if it bit you on the ass now get out of my way, this little 'interview' is over."

I've pushed past his hunched form and am making my way back to Rachel's locker when Jacob begins to speak again. Mouth full of words that cause me to still and take pause; deathly and tense.

"Tough act Fabray, but do you have the social capital to back it up? You're not even near the pyramid anymore, let alone on top of it. So, from where I'm standing, right now you're pretty much on par with me and McKinley's very own social pariah Rachel 'manhands' Berry."

My eyes flutter, and it is only after a moment of blinking that I realize I have Jacob pinned against a row of lockers with my fists curled tightly through the front of his ugly plaid shirt. The obviousness of our height difference is further exacerbated by the way that his posture seems to shrink before me.

It's a wonderful position I find myself in then; terrible, but wonderful. Familiar.

"Do not call her that again. Ever."

My fists are pressing against Jacob's windpipe tightly but his eyes spark at the threat laced in my response and he manages to push his microphone between us once more.

"Ah, your passion is as intriguing as it is arousing. Maybe I've gotten this all wrong, as someone who's been blogging about your insults since Freshman year I can say that you have always saved the best for Rachel Berry. Including some of my personal favorites.. 'I hope your dads kept their receipt' 'Did someone leave your cage open?''Do you ever wonder what life would have been like if you'd gotten enough oxygen at birth?' and of course, this particularly sharp zinger from the winter of Sophomore year: 'is that your face Berry or has your neck just thrown up?'"

I can feel my cheeks lose color as I recall, in painful detail, the moment each and every one of those insults left my lips. My grasp is about to loosen instinctively as I retreat into myself but then Jacob smirks, clearly aware that he's hit a nerve, and pushes on.

"Plus, let's not even start on the plethora of highly original nicknames you've integrated into popular use; RuPaul, stubbles, treasure trail, and, of course, the quinntessential, excuse the pun, manhands. They're all on my blog!"

It's only once I open them again that I realize I've let my eyes sink closed. As if depriving myself of sight will somehow soften the blow, but a part of me feels that it's important to listen to what is happening in this moment anyway; that, as vital as the sting of slushie on my face, the pathways of sadness and rage my words created must never, ever, be forgotten.

Still, I let go of Jacob's shirt and rest my shaky hands on my thighs, trying to still the dangerous churning in my stomach.

I'm not that person anymore. I'm not. I'm not.

But..

How could I have been so cruel?

How could I have hurt so much? Hurt Rachel? Rachel who sees and knows and touches and feels.. Rachel.. who makes me feel.. everything.

Rachel who jumps on the soles of her feet when she gets excited, who smells like Christmas biscuits, who has lips that glow with warmth and hands that burn away all traces of anything that has come before them.

How could I have done all this?

Swallowing down the bile in my throat, I look up, aghast, as Jacob, who seems quite unaware of my fragile state, whips out his vibrating phone and grins.

"OH! Twitter alert from one of the faithful! Jockblock93 says: 'Fabray is totally lezzing out right? what do 2 chix do 2gether? I'll pay4 pics JBI!' So what do you say Fabray, you and Rachel make a cute couple, are we doing cash or card?"

My wayward insides still then; as if in some strange state of antigravity. I bring myself back to stand full height and effectively pin Jacob to the wall with my glare.

"Leave it alone Jacob."

To his credit, despite his cocky smirk I can see that Jacob's shoulders shuffle slightly, as if he's standing before a caged tiger; stationary but inherently not at ease.

"Why would I want to do that?"

All I can think of is the crumble that would rocket through Rachel's brow if Jacob photo-shopped some images of us. It makes me feel panicked, boxed in and weak and, before I even realize what I'm doing, I find myself stepping close again. Not touching now, never touching, I let him feel the space between us now, the coldness of the air. I let him drown in the distance I create.

For a moment, I am an artist again and my voice is a shard; it pierces the air acutely and something within me begins to rejoice at the uncertain fear that usurps Jacob's gaze.

The moment I feel it; that telltale mix of power and control, my stomach turns. It does nothing for me anymore, not like this, not even with Jacob.. and I know this is an objectively good thing but right now I need to hold onto the past a little bit longer to make sure he doesn't do any damage.

With that thought in mind, I lick over my lips and settle my face into its most impassive state.

"You think the fact that I don't have to wear that stupid uniform anymore makes me any less dangerous? That it makes things more difficult for me? It makes things easier you moron, because now I don't have to worry about getting kicked off the team. I have nothing to lose. So yes, you'll leave this alone."

I know I've hit my mark when a small sheen of sweat begins to light Jacob's forehead, but he is foolish in our game, he doesn't know the skill of the player he is up against and, as he splutters out a clumsy challenge, I try to tell myself that his loss is my gain. I try to be terrible, only for a moment more.

"Or you'll do what Fabray?"

"Or I'll be getting into contact with Principal Figgins and telling him exactly how you go about hacking into the school's internet server every Monday afternoon to download and distribute porn to the Freshmen. I've seen some of the stuff you hand out, and I don't think you need me to tell you that it's definitely not legal. What do you think they do to pudgy, white, Jewish boys in juvie Jacob?"

Where seconds ago there was triumph, now there's nothing but a lump in my throat at the fear reflected in Jacob's eyes; he doesn't know what he's doing and his inexperience is made even more apparent by the way he fumbles with himself.

"You.. how did you-"

Snippets of pornographic images with Rachel's face photoshopped atop them flash through my mind as I make my final assault. I remind myself that I care nothing for this boy's feelings because he cares nothing for mine, and certainly nothing for Rachel's. He could cause so much hurt, hurt that someone like Rachel, who Googles herself three times a day, could never quite let go of.

My eyes narrow as I step close again, causing Jacob to press himself against the lockers in an attempt to get away from me.

"I ran this school for years Jacob, I know all of your dirty little secrets. I also know exactly where to find your mother at any given time of day, I'm sure she'd love to hear about this."

At the mention of his mother, Jacob looks every bit the terrified Jewish boy and I am just about to swoop in and seal the deal when a voice injects itself into the atmosphere and shatters everything I've tried to hold together.

"Quinn..?"

My heart crumbles at the trepidation in Rachel's tone and, in the space of seconds, it feels like my whole world has begun to spin backwards. But Jacob is still before me and his eyes are beginning to shift carefully between Rachel and myself.

I can see what he is thinking. I can see the judgment and intrigue and, my stomach turns, the perverted interest in his gaze. It makes me flush and panic and I'm not sure I can handle it continuing so I rally everything within me and ignore Rachel's presence, keeping my gaze intently pinned forwards instead.

"Don't look at her Israel, look at me. Do we understand each other?"

Jacob seems to snap out of his stupor when he begins to fumble with his microphone,clicking it against the side of his recording device and nodding frenetically at my imposing figure.

"C-Completely!.."

My insides settle at the fear in his eyes; the game is won, his silence is assured. But then there is that voice again and it creates colors that bubble along the edges of my vision insistently.

"What's going on?"

I blink back the tremble that is fighting to overtake my voice; suppressing the adrenaline surging through my system. My fingers curl around Jacob's recording device in a decisive move and there's a voice in my head telling me that it never hurts to have insurance.

"Jacob was just letting me borrow his recording equipment-"

At that second, a dawdling crowd of Sophomores turns the corner towards us and, seeing their approach, Jacob looks like he's about to protest, for one, very small moment in the group, I focus my energy on blinking steadily into his shifting eyes until Jacob eventually nods and relinquishes his hold on the object.

"-I.."

My mind is already trying to come up with ways to return the equipment (sans tape of course), in a manner that doesn't denote weakness when I notice Jacob still hovering fearfully.

"Thank you. Now go."

There is a heavy weight in my arms as Jacob scrambles away, but I'm not sure if it's the tape box or the methods I had to employ to acquire it. The encounter has left me agitated; brimming with energy and self-derision. I didn't like the way he was looking at me. Especially the way he was looking at me and Rachel.

I want to close my eyes and let out a long, soothing breath, but then I hear Rachel's voice and, all at once, I remember that she has been watching me. She has seen what I have done, who I have been.

"Quinn.. are you okay?"

My head snaps to look at her and, for the first time in weeks, I feel trapped by her gaze. It is too knowing, she is too close, I have always existed as a careful lie in these hallways and, even now, it seems as though Rachel knows I have been playing a part.

I step away from her and struggle to push down a swallow, I think of the slushie on my skin and the microphone in my face and the countless other invasions of space I've experienced today. Touch was turning into such a wonderful thing but.. I feel so out of place, like a picture out of focus.

My eyes flicker towards Rachel's when I realize I have been silent for far longer than usually acceptable.

"I'm fine."

"Quinn.."

There is a small crease in her brow and my chest struggles not to collapse as I wonder if that's where I live on Rachel's face, am I the worry in her brow? Am I the anxious wait?

I blink and try to organize my thoughts but my mind is awash, all I know is that I feel dirty and wrong for having dipped my toe in the waters of who I once was. I hated that girl, I hated her, but there she was.. ready and waiting the moment I became uncomfortable with the way I was being looked at.

I'm not sure whether it's the white of my knuckles or the silence of my blank expression or the worry of Rachel's, but the group of Sophomores passing through seems to have picked up on the undercurrent of stress between us. They slow their walk slightly and it's only then that I realize the two girls at the head of the crowd are Courtney and Tanya; the two lower level Cheerio's whose absences from practice were responsible for my running suicides with Coach Sylvester. For my boarding on physical exhaustion. For my collapse in the Chemistry lab. For.. everything that happened thereafter.

I swallow when I see that they are both looking at me closely and I don't quite know what to do with the derision in their eyes. Instinctively, a flame in my chest begins to glow with contempt. They're at the bottom of the pyramid, they're Sophomores, and I could extinguish their athletic careers with one snap of my fingers.

Except, I couldn't.

Not anymore.

I rub a hand over a knot in my shoulder absentmindedly as my thoughts continue to spiral; it has experienced so many intrusive knocks today. I am nothing to these people anymore.

Worse, I am a target.

The sea doesn't part for me, instead it churns and spits and I am tumbling through the undercurrent of another wave of unpleasantness when, apparently unaware of the source of my turmoil, Rachel steps forward to close her hand over mine.

My nostrils flare in panic at the delight that blooms on the faces across the hall from me. They know. They know about this beautiful, delicate thing that I'm experiencing and now they're going to make it dark and dirty and seeing this makes me feel so..

My stomach locks in a violent churn; this is too much. I can't. I don't know what to do.

I try and center myself but there is a wall in my mind and the click, click, click, of bricks and when I feel Rachel's hand make contact with my skin my reaction is immediate.

Unwarranted. Unwelcomed. Completely unforgivable.

But immediate.

My hand turns to coil tightly around her wrist as I snap it away from my shoulder, tearing myself away from the intrusion.

"God damn it! Just get away from me Berry!"

The inertia of my forceful spin has caused Jacob's tape box to spin out of my grasp and crash onto the floor. The sound of plastic breaking is the first thing to clear the bruising fog of terror from my mind.

There is silence then, save for the awkward giggles coming from across the hall as Courtney and Tanya lead their group onward towards the cafeteria. It's only too late that I realize exactly what has come flying out of my mouth and exactly who I have so viciously rebuffed.

I can't quite find the words to adequately express the remorse I am feeling. It doesn't matter, I would throw them to the wind even if I could, because Rachel's eyes say it all.

She is holding her hand to her chest, glancing between me and the broken box on the ground and looking as though she's been burned.

There's a hole in my world when I realize it's because I have fire in my eyes. Fire aimed at..

"Rachel.."

My face cracks as my lips tremble violently with the beginnings of a thousand words. Because this is not who I am anymore, but the damage has already been done and Rachel's face is filled with sadness as I quickly begin my retreat.

"I'm.. I'm so sorry.."

I have to go. Go before more damage can be inflicted. Before more words I don't even mean can cut themselves out of me. I'm already racing towards the football field, which I calculate to be the part of the school that is the furthest away from my current location, when I hear Rachel's voice sound again.

"Quinn, please wait-"

But it's too late, she's too quiet under the throbbing in my ears and my legs don't stop their relentless pounding until vinyl gives way to tile and tile gives way to grass and grass gives way to the bottom of a large metal fence that I strike my fists against helplessly.

Panting against the cool of the metal, I breathe out shakily and lower my forehead with a crack, relishing the quick flash of pain that rockets through me at the contact. Rachel is color and promise, she is my aria, my gatekeeper, my everything.

But I am pressed up against a wall and there is no way out and I've already gone too far when I realize that I've left her behind.

My eyes snap open at this, hands connecting with the fence again in loud agitation.

"Shit."

I left her behind, I left her.

Spinning around, I push off and race back to the hallway, because there has been change, miles of it, and, regardless of the circumstances, I will never run away from Rachel again.

I promised. She is Polaris, and I have to find her.

I am sitting in the second row of Glee club with my knees pressed up against my chest. I spent the rest of lunch searching for Rachel but I could not find her. She wasn't in the auditorium, the rehearsal room, the cafeteria, the library. Rachel has never been difficult for me to find, even when I have been trying to avoid her. It stands to reason then that this sudden absence could mean only one thing: that she did not want to be found. Not by me.

So, as I'm flanked either side by a wall and Santana, I sit and wait for Rachel's entrance, if she will choose to make it today. I sit and wait for the inevitable apology. She will do it sweetly, for I am sure that is the only way Rachel knows how to do these things, but there will still be a break. Not that I can blame her, I have come with far too many red flags.

But, whether it is selfishness or selflessness, I cannot let things lay this way. I cannot let one thoughtless moment ruin all of the joy that we have shared. I think about sand and music and dancing and laughter and my mind races blindly over all of the things I want to say to convince Rachel to just stay because I could be good for her, I could be good to her, I could, I just need time, because today has been a lot all at once and I feel like I just need a moment to breathe.

Mr. Schue enters then and a sigh flutters from my mouth when I see his frame is shadowed by Rachel, who is smiling softly at his excited jabbering. Immediately, I feel my heart begin to thump heavily as I straighten in my chair. Rachel's eyes lock on mine and there are questions in them I am not prepared for, she is looking at me as if I am the one that has been missing all day, as if she is surprised at my presence.

Before I can make sense of what is happening between us, Mr. Schue claps his hands together to garner everyone's attention and Rachel hastily sits in an unoccupied front row seat by Finn, who I happen to be sitting behind.

"Graduation's fast approaching guys and I want you to know how proud I am of each and every one of you. At times like this, it's important to look at where you've been as well as where you're going. I want you to share something that shows us where you were a year ago, or where you think you'll be a year from now. Something from your past or your future."

I'm still blinking at the back of Rachel's head when Finn suddenly jumps up, rubbing his hands on his jeans nervously. His eyes are tracking across the room but my gaze narrows considerably when I realize where they're landing on the most.

"Well, I have no idea where I'm going to be a year from now but I definitely remember where I was a year ago, so… this is for you Rachel."

I tighten the hold I have on my knees and glare daggers into Finn's face as he readies himself to sing. I know I am being irrational. I know that, as far as he is concerned, Rachel is as single as they come. But that doesn't stop the chill that wraps itself around my heart and squeezes.

"When I first saw you, I saw love. And the first time you touched me, I felt love. And after all this time, you're still the one I love." [1]

"Oh my God.."

Mercedes' murmur is echoed throughout the room as the telltale nineties keyboard introduction of Shania Twain's 'You're Still the One' begins to sound.

"mmm..yeeah.."

A full three minutes and thirty three seconds of awkwardness later, Finn gets up from his knees and smiles nervously at the silent room before taking his seat again.

My eyes, which have been glued to his strangely contorting face, blink rapidly as I try to figure out what the hell has just happened.

Next to me, I can feel Santana readying to express my inner turmoil verbally in what will, no doubt, be a beautifully scathing exposition of the absurdity of Finn's performance, when Mr. Schue saves him the embarrassment and interjects.

"Wow, um, thank you.. Finn.. anyone else?"

I see a long, tanned arm come into view and swallow at the perfectly shaped fingers that sit atop of it.

"Okay Rachel, what do you have for us? Future or past?"

My heart stutters as I unravel myself from the coiled position I've been maintaining, feet hitting the floor with a thud. Rachel is facing me now; standing to address the room, and finally getting to see those beautiful, expressive eyes again has me feeling unhinged and desperate.

She looks at me then, and there's another confused lilt to her brow before she blinks it away to address Mr. Schue.

"I.. I don't know yet."

I watch her nod at Brad, who has been sitting patiently at the piano, before she smoothes down her t-shirt, bringing the large, yellow bow into full sight again.

I think about what song she will choose, will it be a ballad, will it be a break up? I'm saved further anxiety by Brad's smooth piano intro and Rachel's voice, sounding loud and clear through the acoustics of the room.

Relief lasts but a moment though and my eyes drop because, from the first few chords, I know that I know this song.. I can feel that Rachel's eyes are pinned to me and, at once, I am sure that they will pierce with every word that leaves her mouth.

"Your arms around me come undone, makes my heart beat like a dru-" [2]

The sudden absence of Rachel's voice makes Brad's piano accompaniment seem out of place and empty. My eyes widen when my brain is finally able to piece together that this is so because Rachel has stopped singing. I snap my head up in shock and am further surprised to see Rachel turn around and rest a hand on the edge of the large grand piano.

"I'm sorry Brad, stop. I -I'm not going to do this. I'm just not."

Rachel's hair cascades around her in an open fan with the speed at which she turns her head and, suddenly, I am being pinned once more. Pinned by her eyes, by her gaze.. which feels like a pair of hands holding me in place; gentle and guiding and altogether far too dizzying to accompany the importance of her words.

"This is stupid, whatever you're doing, whatever happened today, just stop. Let it go."

My mouth curls downwards then as a painful lash tears through my torso. I want to, so badly do I want to, but I don't understand. Why would she hide from me? Have I misunderstood the situation? I watch as Rachel's gaze lowers to the floor and it is only then that I notice she is tightly clutching the star on her wrist. The faith with which she tightens her hold makes a spark of hope flash through my chest.

"Just, remember everything and come back to me. Please."

Everyone but Sam, Brittany and Santana is looking at Rachel like she's finally cracked, their faces an odd mixture of confusion, concern, and discomfort. Before I can gather myself enough to respond, Finn blinks and shuffles in his seat slightly, encroaching on Rachel's stage space.

"Rach, I.."

My eyes spark intensely at the sound of those words coming out of Finn's mouth. It makes my stomach twist; crusted and cold with discontent. I realize then the confusion that Finn must be feeling, because I am sitting directly behind him and Rachel has been looking at me and he must think that.. suddenly, memories of being in this exact same position as Rachel serenaded him play before my eyes.

I'm working through how exactly I feel about that when I realize the error I've made, I've taken too long, I've run out of time.

My eyes widen as Rachel's shoulders slump and she bites the inside of her cheek. There's an infinitely gentle "excuse me" murmured and then, faster than I can catch up with the situation, she's readying to leave the room.

"Rachel, what's go-?"

Mr. Schue is interrupted by the harsh screech my chair makes against the floor. I blink and look down at my feet, finally realizing I have stood up. Impossibly, my eyes widen further and I swallow heavily as I scan across the room.

I see Blaine, Puck, Artie, Mike and Tina blinking at me curiously. I see Sam, Brittany and Santana fidgeting restlessly. I see Mercedes and Kurt looking at each other in a mix of confusion and excitement. Finally, I see the edge of Rachel's shoe, which I can just make out in the doorway.

"I'm.. I've been in love with Rachel for- a really long time. My parents kicked me out a couple of weeks ago when they found out and I've been living with my sister since then. We're.. we're together, as in girlfriends.. together. I hope."

"You..WHAT?!"

"You're not pregnant?!"

"That's why you cut your hair?!"

"You're gay?!"

Although my eyes never leave the doorway, I can feel the looks I'm being given. I just know that Mercedes and Kurt are gaping in unison. Tina and Artie are grinning at each other in shock, Puck has already slapped his thigh in amusement and I can see Sam shuffling in his seat at the edge of my vision. His movements are echoed by Santana and Brittany, who both lower their feet from the chairs they have been resting against.

All three of them are tense; ready to take anyone on if need be, and just knowing that I have such wonderful people in my corner.. it makes me feel so much, it makes me feel strong and brave and fearless and before I know it I've slipped down to the front row of chairs just to bring myself that much closer to Rachel's still frozen frame. She turns around then, bringing herself to stand more fully in the doorway and I am shocked at the way the tears in her eyes look against the smile on her face, as if she is a composite, a stitching together of two very complex emotions.

Words tumble out of me then, they are stuttered and sloppy and perfectly indicative of how undone I feel at the mess I've made today.

"I came back, I looked for you, I tried to find you.. I thought.. I thought maybe you didn't want me to.. I'm so sorry Rachel. I had no idea that was going to come out of my mouth. I didn't mean.. I.."

I sigh helplessly as Rachel closes her eyes and draws in a painfully long shudder of a breath. She opens them again as her lungs empty and my entire world slows in blissful wonderment when I recognize they are filled with relief. Not sadness, or hurt, or apathy.. but relief and a strange hue of amusement as well.

"Lucy Quinn Fabray. I was looking for you.. everywhere!"

I let out a short laugh at the irrational embarrassment I feel from Rachel using my full name and I'm about to take another step forward when Puck, who has been grinning widely, leans back in his chair and wolf whistles, elbowing Finn in the ribs.

"So you're actually gay for the Jewberry? That is so hot. Dude, did you know about this?!"

"Shut up Puck!"

I'm distracted from the all-encompassing joy I'm feeling at the acceptance in Rachel's eyes by the harshness of Finn's words. Looking over, I frown in equal measures at the anger in his tone and the blotchy redness on his cheeks.

I'm aware that I've just blurted out a bombshell, so, turning around, I take stock of the shocked and amused faces in front of me and try to organize my thoughts.

"The reason I'm telling you all this is because I did something really stupid today and I just.. I don't want to lie to you."

My eyes catch Sam's for a moment and the subdued smile he is wearing makes me feel grounded, as if all of the anxiety in my system is entirely out of place and this whole encounter isn't actually as terrifying as I think it is.

I feel too far removed from the pull of Rachel's eyes, so, helplessly, I find myself turning to face her again.

My hands are twisting over my t-shirt, pressing against my cross and running through my hair in haphazard movements that I am sure I couldn't control even if I tried, but I barely notice any of this. Because Rachel is looking at me and there is no fire in my eyes and no sadness in hers and, even though all I really want to do is wrap myself around her and squeeze, I keep my distance for the moment because the clock is ticking and there are more words that need to leave my mouth.

"Rach.. I'm so sorry, I don't even know what I was thinking when I pulled away from you like that. I never want you to feel as though you're not welcome, because the truth is, you're so impossibly welcome it's ridiculous. Today has just, been a lot and-"

My features pinch at the scrape of another metal chair dragging across the floor and then the pull of Rachel's eyes is replaced by the push of Finn's; they are narrow and angry and full of confusion and challenge.

"You.. but you guys hate each other, you've spent the past few years fighting over me!"

"Shut it custard-nips, not everything is about you."

The thud of Santana's arm pushing Finn back into his seat seems to sound far louder than it should. The side of my mouth twitches in thanks and there's a flicker then, as the smoky flames in her eyes soften, I am so grateful that Santana understands.

Her hand disconnects and she gives an almost imperceptible nod as she shuffles back into Brittany's grasp. We both know the game, we know the weight a lie can take and the terror that comes with telling truths.

Finn pushes up again and steps towards me then, his hands large and outstretched in frustration.

"Why are you doing this?!"

My arms cross easily over my chest as I raise an eyebrow at the accusation in his tone.

"Excuse me?"

"What, you see me sing a love song and all of a sudden you can't handle the possibility of me and Rachel being together again?!"

My skin smarts at Finn's presumptuousness and I can't help but stiffen my stance in response to it. Because he's right, he has no idea what he's talking about, but he's right.

"Well yes, but not for the reasons you're thinking."

I regret the goad the moment it leaves my mouth, but it's too late, I've hit my mark and Finn snarls angrily, taking another step towards me.

"Shut up! Just, shut up!"

"Don't you dare Finn!"

Rachel's voice booms from behind me and I actually hunch slightly at the controlled force that is laced through it.

I turn around but Rachel isn't looking at me, she's looking at Finn, and her arms are crossed very, very tightly. Alarm bells go off in my head at the stance but Finn either doesn't see it or doesn't know how to read it, because he steps past me and stands close to Rachel; imploring her to understand.

"Don't let her make a fool out of you Rachel, you know what she's like."

My face twitches at the words; a strange cocktail of shame, anger and resentment filtering through my veins. But then Rachel's face is twitching too and her eyes are stormy and I am sure she is about to yell or stomp or do something equally dramatic until she takes a deep breath and begins again.

"Yes, I do know what she's like actually, better than most. You, however, clearly don't. So how about you calm down?"

I notice for the first time then, that the rest of the room has been watching these events unfold closely, as if frozen to intervene. I spy Santana, who looks as though she's about five seconds away from unleashing Snix on the general population, and swallow anxiously. I give Brittany a quick head shake and she nods in understanding, lacing her fingers through Santana's flexing hands and pulling their bodies back together.

My eyes track back to Finn and I frown at the uncomprehending desperation knitted through his brow. If only I could make him understand, if only I could make him see, see the truth of all of this.

"Finn, this isn't a spur of the moment thing. Trust me, I never.. I never expected anything like this to ever happen between us."

I try for a sad smile but it dies on my lips instantly when I realize I have definitely chosen the wrong word to use. Finn pivots away from Rachel and rears into me angrily, his hands are flailing and enraged and I find I cannot look away from them for a moment.

"Trust? Trust you?! What's your angle huh? You finally realize I'm never going to take you back so you move onto Rachel? Hm? That's almost as sick as imagining the two of you together in the first place!"

My eyes connect with Finn's in a flash and I immediately see the light of regret in them, buried deep and pulsing. I know he didn't mean it, no more can be said though because Mr. Schue chooses that moment to finally intervene, slipping from his chair and coming to stand between us.

"That's enough Finn, I don't care how upset you are, there's no place for language like that in these walls."

"What?! Mr. Schue! You're not seriously taking her side?!"

My posture slumps in on itself, more from having Finn's attention diverted away from me than from any hurt I'm experiencing in response to his words. I am expecting Mr. Schue to gently talk him down, but then Sam's voice is sounding across the room and, looking up, I see his arms are crossed and his jaw is flexing unpleasantly.

"This isn't about sides man, and it's definitely not about you."

"How can you of all people say that?!"

Finn scoffs disbelievingly and tracks his eyes over the rest of the room, desperate for some kind of support that, unfortunately for him, seems not to be forthcoming. He pauses for a moment before realization dawns and he snaps his head back towards Sam.

"Is that why she broke up with you? How long has this even been going on?!"

I swallow down a sigh and hesitantly step closer.

"Finn.."

"No, I just.. I can't deal with this, get out of my way."

Rachel disappears from the doorway, blocked by Finn's lumbering frame, but before I can panic and spring forward, she reappears again; hair slightly disheveled by Finn's rapid exit.

The fact that he was careless enough to barge into her makes my knuckles go cold in sudden anger. There is something inside of me that is already seething and stalking when, surprisingly, it is Brittany that springs from her chair and pins Rachel with a worried glance.

"Rachelberry, you're not a bumper car!"

In the time it takes Rachel to blink happily at Brittany's concern, I have already taken the necessary steps to eliminate the distance between us. There's a pleasant burn then, as I feel Rachel's hand slip into mine. The sudden intensity of our contact is very quickly dismantling me and I am sure Rachel can see this, because she squeezes my hand tightly for a moment longer before breaking our eye contact to look back to Brittany, effectively giving me room to breathe.

"Thank you for your concern Brittany but I'm fine, please everyone, just give him a minute."

The room breaks into a storm of murmuring and gossip with phrases like "oh hell to the no!" and "pudgy needs a Snix fix" filtering through to my ears. But Rachel silences everything as she stares out the door for a moment, before looking back at the room in honest reflection.

"Speaking rationally, he's probably feeling overwhelmingly inadequate considering the only two women he's ever been in love with would rather sleep with each other than him."

My face burns as Rachel looks around at the wide eyes around her and blinks innocently, a fact which only causes the flush dotting my cheeks to darken further.

And just like that, the most public confession of my life is over, and all I'm left with is a gentle dimple pinning Rachel's cheek and a shy, exasperated smile painting her beautiful lips.

"What?!"

As Mr. Schue gives his final pointers for the afternoon, everyone begins to trickle out of the rehearsal room until the only two bodies left in it are mine and Rachel's.

We are alone.

I am waiting on the bottom step, sitting on my hands, when I feel Rachel come to sit beside me. From the corner of my eye, I can see her hands run down the pleats of her skirt in unconscious movements that make my mouth twitch in spite of my exhaustion.

I am readying myself for an important conversation, because I believe that one really needs to take place. But Rachel seems to have other ideas, because she softly bumps her shoulder against mine and the delicious closeness of the simple contact makes me swallow and dip closer to her; instantly helpless.

I am so affected that it actually takes me a moment to register the words that have come out of her mouth, practiced and patient and perfectly clichéd.

"So, rough day?"

Before I can quite catch up to what is happening, I feel laughter build deep in my chest. It bubbles and bubbles as if I'm nothing more than a shaken up soda bottle and then all control is lost and I have no choice but to let it out; delirious and tumbling and simply tickled by the severity of Rachel's understatement.

I worry my response will be misunderstood but then I feel Rachel's shoulder shaking next to mine and the both of us are laughing loudly on the wooden steps of the rehearsal room floor.

"Oh God, yes. You could say that."

My chuckles settle as I speak, and then, where there have been bubbles, I feel dead weights begin to press against my chest as everything comes back to me. Turning around to face Rachel, I find I cannot quite meet her gaze as I set about righting the biggest wrong of my day.

I look at the tiny collection of charms on her wrist and my fingers gently brush over each shape until they reach Polaris. My North Star.. it hadn't really worked quite as I'd hoped for, but I try to remind myself that the day has ended mostly free from tears and perfect endings are best left to books and ballads anyway.

From the moment my fingers curl around Rachel's wrist to the moment I press her hand against my breastplate, I am focused; calm and steady in my motions. There is a second of terror, in that breathless tick of time before Rachel's fingers make contact, because I am wary of rejection, I am shaking at the prospect of refusal.

But then Rachel's hand touches my skin and it presses and, by the way it presses, I am sure that Rachel is striving to push through the muscle and sinew I am composed of to get to the very core of me, to all of the soft and yielding places that I save for her alone.

My eyes trail up a neck full of wonderfully clenching tendons, trace over the sight of teeth pressing into flesh, and come to rest in the slow blink of two brown eyes.

"I should never have said those things to you.. I'm so sorry.. and not just for that but, I'm also sorry for running away. I came back as soon as I realized but I couldn't find you."

My brow sinks in automatic response to the memory of my thoughtlessness, but Rachel simply smiles and shakes away my concern, an earnest expression overtaking her face.

"You're allowed to leave when things get too much Quinn, I'm not going to hold you hostage."

I briefly tighten the hand I have circled around Rachel's wrist because I want her to understand, I need her to understand; there has been change, there has been so much of it.

"No, I know that, but I shouldn't have left like I did, that's what I'm apologizing for."

My fingers fall away as Rachel's hand twitches against my chest. She pushes it up along my neck and over the line of my jaw before finally settling against the swell of a cheekbone. My eyes sink closed at the movement because I am learning that Rachel holds when she touches.. every time she touches. There is a cradle in her grip, as if every incidental piece of contact is sacred to her state of being. It is a most fervent wish of mine that this exchange should never cease to exist between us.

"Tell me what happened this afternoon?"

I swallow down the clumsiness that's sitting in my throat and force my eyes open, straining for some control over my bodily responses to return.

"Jacob was.. he was being Jacob: disgusting, intrusive, the usual. He wanted to take photos of you and me together."

I see Rachel's eyes widen so I shake my head to dispel any worry she may have before continuing on.

"I was threatened, so I frightened him into submission and that made me feel awful. I didn't like the way he looked at me, I didn't like the way anyone in that hallway was looking at me. At us."

I sigh wearily at the jumbled mess of words flying around my brain. I am so tired, but Rachel's eyes are warm and patient so I lick my lips and take a chance on voicing what I feel to be at the heart of the matter.

"I have been trying very hard not to be who I was and that was a giant step backwards."

We are silent for a moment then, until Rachel's thumb starts to stroke over my cheek absentmindedly as she stares out into the space between us.

"I don't think we're ever really anyone other than who we are in the present moment."

I quirk my brow at her wording and blink.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning.. who you're being right now is who you're being right now and who you were being this afternoon is who you were being this afternoon. They don't have to be exclusive."

My eyes darken as I envision the truth of Rachel's statement.

"But I never want to be her again."

Rachel laughs, gently amused at the obviousness of my discontent, before running her fingers through my pink-stained hair and ruffling it playfully.

"Well, that takes time.. and it's only Monday."

The intensely pleasurable sensations Rachel's fingers cause fizzle away into nothing as I register her words. Instead, I bulldoze through her hold and move to bang my forehead against her shoulder in despair.

"Uhg, please don't remind me."

There's another laugh from Rachel then, and it is so beautifully melodic that I don't even care that it's occurring at my expense. In fact, looking up through my curtain of hair at the dimples in Rachel's cheeks, I feel instant pride at being able to elicit such reactions in her.

I'm about to lean in and elicit even more wonderful reactions, when Rachel squeals knowingly and rushes away, dragging me along with her.

"Not so fast Foxtrot, you have a bus to catch."

The next few days pass in steady defiance of the flurry of activity that was Monday.

I almost don't go to school on Tuesday, mostly from sheer apprehension at having a repeat day of horror, but an extremely long telephone call and three or four chapters of Enid Blyton on Monday night settle my spirits enough for me to give it another try.

On Tuesday morning, I walk through the main doors of McKinley with Rachel again. It is a much better day.

We are slushied before lunch and again before gym;once by Karofsky and once, boldly, by Courtney.I should feel humiliated by this, but being alone with Rachel in the locker rooms as we get changed is enough to make the entire experience entirely worth it. Because I can see the curve of her shoulder and her gently straining bicep but Rachel doesn't stumble and I don't run away and not a single part of the moment is painfully boxed away.

Tuesday afternoon, I hold Rachel's hand over lunch and it is the single most terrifying public experience of my life. But I do it, and Rachel tells me that it makes my eyes sing and my hair shine and my face glow and then I tell her she needs to stop eating the vegan special and she smacks me on the arm and, even though Tina and Artie still can't quite speak to me and Santana and Brittany are sitting with the Cheerios, I feel the happiest I have ever been.

Wednesday morning, I find Jacob loitering outside of the girls' bathrooms and hand him a new tape box. No words are spoken and I try not to overshadow him, but he is quick to leave my presence regardless and that is something that I am not a hundred percent sure I am ungrateful for.

Wednesday afternoon, I see Finn standing at his locker and his eyes only narrow slightly before he lowers them and walks away from me. He still has a look about him, a look full of sadness and resentment and a torrent of regret not easily masked. Not that I can blame him; losing the shine of a star like Rachel would make for a dim life.

Thursday morning, I am sitting in English Lit attempting the near impossible task of not letting Mrs. Skinner's monotonous droning ruin Robert Frost for me.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep." [3]

"One of Frost's most resounding classics. Would anyone care to offer comment? Yes, Miss Fabray?"

My eyes trace over the crown of Rachel's head; she is looking down at her paper with such intense concentration that I cannot suppress my smile as I answer.

"I think it's about love, and the conflict of wanting to get lost in something so completely but knowing you're not there yet. There's so much imagery attached to the forest; it's a wilderness, a great unknown, but at the same time the initial stanza outlines that the woods belong to someone, that they're owned. So, is Frost alluding to a place or a person?"

"Interesting question Miss Fabray.. what do the rest of you think?"

I look away to see a small paper star being handed from Tina to Kurt and from Kurt to Artie and from Artie to.. me?

Looking at the small, yellow star I know immediately that is has come from Rachel's notebook so my eyes instinctively move to seek her out. When I reach my target, I find Rachel staring at me intently; a small but perfectly rounded smile sitting on her face. Something about the expression causes one side of my mouth to twitch and my stomach to flip-flop embarrassingly.

Unfolding the paper, my throat bobs in further emotive response when I see what Rachel has gifted me with.

It is a picture, intricately, if not somewhat crudely, drawn in green and black pen; an entire A5 sheet of paper full of meticulously drawn pine trees that only stop in a small, circular clearing at the very center of the page. In this clearing there is a bed, and in this bed there is an adorably short stick figure that looks suspiciously like Rachel; sleeping contently.

Lowering my gaze to the edge of the page, I see Rachel's neat, flowing handwriting weaving its way through the bottom row of pine trees, like a girl in springtime, like a wandering fawn.

'your woods are lovely, dark, and deep, and I have promises to keep…'

A burst of sunshine burns my skin and it causes a blush so profound that I have to close my eyes until the strangely provocative words settle in my belly. Of course Rachel would use Frost to flirt, of course she would know exactly what that would reduce me to.

Sighing away the painfully out of place arousal thundering through my torso, I finally raise my eyes to find Rachel's again and, when I do, I see that she is grinning madly, flashing her eyes between myself and Mrs. Skinner in a nervous attempt to not look completely disengaged from her lesson.

Slowly folding the paper back into its original five pointed star shape, I raise an eyebrow at Rachel's shining eyes before purposefully pulling back my t-shirt and tucking the note into my bra, tapping the place over my heart, where it has come to rest.

Rachel's eyes narrow as soon as my skin comes into view, and the wintered forest that lives in them.. I watch it burn; nothing but smoldering embers left in its wake.

I think then, of finding Rachel in a deep and darkened wood.. and a thrill smokes its way up my spine. Because yes, we have many promises to keep, and Saturday is just around the corner.

[1]Shania Twain – The One that I Love

[2]Katie Wallace – Bittersweet (cover)

[3] Robert Frost – Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening