Chapter Twenty-Nine

.

Quinn

.

her love was the only medicine.
the only medicine that ever worked.
and this is why she left.
she wanted yours to work. too.

.

"I swear, if you rip your stitches, I'm going to kick you hard enough to send your skinny ass back to the hospital."

I let out a light laugh as I turn my head to look at Santana coming up behind me. "I'm just looking for a pair of socks," I tell her, all innocence. "My feet are cold."

Santana clucks her tongue. "I don't care," she says, eyeing the glasses perched on my face appreciatively. I've never truly understood the fascination but, between Rachel and Santana, they must look appealing. I just can't be bothered with contacts right now. "Get back into bed," she says. "I'll get your stupid socks."

I huff in both annoyance and relief, as I shuffle back to my bed. I've been home for exactly six hours and fifteen minutes, and I've been asleep for five of them. I'm terribly exhausted, which is expected but still irritating. I have so much work to catch up and my brain is fuzzy from the painkillers and the aching in my heart. Because I am eighteen years old and no longer a minor, I was able to complete by hospital discharge myself, which means that my mother's presence wasn't required. So, she wasn't there, and she's not here now.

In fact, Santana was the one to pick me up and she failed desperately at not laughing at me being wheeled out of the hospital by a handsome porter who looked at the two of us for a little too long. Santana looked tempted to break his brain by either flirting mercilessly with him or kissing me. That definitely would have destroyed him. It probably would have destroyed all three of us. And our respective girlfriends.

Speaking of girlfriends. Where is mine?

I climb into bed slowly, wary of my stitches and recline against my propped-up pillows. Something pulls slightly and I grimace, trying to ignore it. I take in a shaky breath, use my right arm to shift my sling, and try to relax. I want to reach for my phone and text Rachel, but the sound of Santana's gasp makes me look up. She's currently looking into my sock drawer and, just from the look on her face, I know what she's found. I'd almost forgot those where hidden in there. I'm literally such a cliche right now.

"San," I breathe, suddenly wanting to jump up and cross the room to hide the evidence of -

"What the fuck is this, Fabray?" she asks, turning her cold glare on me. She reaches into the drawer. "What are these? Quinn? Fuck, there are so many!"

I can barely look at her as she retrieves the evidence and walks towards me, looking more confused now. She clearly doesn't understand, and I don't know how to explain it. What am I supposed to say? I don't know how to explain myself. Santana drops down onto the edge of my bed near my thighs, jostling me enough to make my face contort. She ignores it. Apparently, she's too angry for sympathy right now.

"Quinn," she says, dropping the offending letters onto my lap. "I don't understand. These are - these are college letters." She frowns. "Why haven't you opened any of them?"

I don't have an answer that could possibly make sense. To her, or to me.

"Quinn?"

I shake my head. "I can't open them," I say. "I just - I don't know how to bring myself to know. It's better not knowing if I did enough to get out of this place."

"Quinn," she says again, touching my forearm. "We both know you're going to have to open them eventually." She sighs. "Does Rachel know about these?"

"No," I say. "She knows I've applied to all sorts of schools, but I haven't told her about the letters. She just - she believes in me so much, you know? And I don't want to disappoint her if these are all rejections. I mean, look at them..." I trail off, absently gesturing at the pile of letters.

She does look. "There are some prestigious schools here, Q," she says, nodding her head. "Are you nervous?"

"Terrified."

"Do you want to open them together?" she offers. "I mean, just the fact that you've received any letters at all means something. I'm still waiting for NYU to get their heads out of their asses and decide they want me already."

I know New York University isn't the only school she applied to, but it's the one she wants into, for all her Pre-Med classes. It's part of the 'Brittana' plan. Santana and Brittany will go to NYU together, with the blonde at the Tisch School of the Arts, and they'll live happily ever after. The future. It's scary, even for them. So, of course, I'm nervous, and terrified. I had tentative plans with Finn, and then no plans after him. And now... Do I have plans with Rachel? Am I even allowed to? We should probably, definitely, talk about it.

"It's coming," I assure her. "They were just so overwhelmed by your sheer brilliance, and it's taking them a while to recover."

She laughs lightly and shakes her head. "You're a fucking idiot."

"I know," I say, suddenly solemn.

She pats my leg. "I love you, you know?"

I grin at her. "I love you, too."

She smirks. "Not nearly as much as you love Berry, apparently."

And now I'm blushing. I duck my head to hide it from her before she teases me mercilessly. Because I do love Rachel, and I couldn't wait to tell her. I suppose I should have anticipated her tears. It was a miscalculation on my part, because she was borderline inconsolable after that. I fell asleep almost immediately after, and Santana had to tell me that LeRoy took Rachel home before she actually hurt herself from the force of her tears. I've seen her twice since then, and I've been hopped up on strong meds both times. I'm a little bit more lucid right now, and Rachel isn't even here.

"I didn't think I would freak her out as much as I did," I confess quietly.

"It's been tough," she says. "For all of us, but especially her. She was... plagued by the fight you two had before..."

I gulp audibly.

She pats my leg again. "Quinn Fabray, you're so easy to love, but sometimes you make it very difficult."

I risk a smile. "I'm sorry."

"It helps that you're sometimes worth it," she says with a shrug, turning her attention back to the letters. "Can we open them now? I want to live vicariously through you."

I take a deep breath, stitches stretching on my left side and shift awkwardly. "We can," I say slowly.

Santana immediately shuffles through them. "Is there one you want to start with?"

"Not really," I admit. "Just, can we maybe end with Yale?"

She glances me for a surprised moment, before she sets said letter aside. "We'll start with the west coast then," she says. "Because, obviously, I want you on the east coast with me and B." And Rachel, though she doesn't say the words.

Stanford and Berkeley want me, but UCLA puts me on a waiting list. "How dare they?" Santana sneers, with an amused roll of her eyes. We open Princeton, Harvard and Brown next - and, once again, I score a two out of three. Santana even whistles when she refolds the Harvard letter. "I think I might be okay with your being in Boston if I get to tell people my best friend goes to Harvard. Like, holy fuck. I'd get brownie points just for that."

I giggle, suddenly overwhelmed by acceptance. I run my right hand through my hair - it's particularly grimy because Dr Lopez told me that washing my hair is literally the least of my worries. I have half a mind to ask Santana to sort it out for me because, honestly, I feel gross about it. Maybe that's why Rachel isn't here.

She lifts the last two letters we'll even consider opening. Other letters from schools that Finn could realistically get into - possibly Duke, if his football were to get him anywhere - are easily sidelined, and Santana has Columbia and Yale in each one of her hands. I'll be the first to admit I'm most nervous about these two schools. Columbia is practically on Broadway in New York, which means Rachel, and Yale is... the dream I didn't even realise I had until I just did. There's just something about it that I felt while I was doing my college research and every word I read and every picture I saw and every video I watched made me fall more and more in love with the future life I could have there. It was all something I had to suppress because, well, Finn, but now I like to think I'm living for myself. And New Haven isn't that far from New York. Eighty or so miles. I checked.

Eighty or so miles too far, apparently.

Santana opens the letter from Columbia, her face a picture of calm. She says nothing as she hands it to me and immediately opens the one from Yale. Columbia is a yes, and I realise I'm holding my breath until I see the word 'Congratulations!' on the Yale letter as well, early admissions. I'm not really sure how to feel about it. If I'm being honest, I probably would have preferred to get into only one of them, which would make the decision much easier for me. Now, I feel as if I would have to choose: Yale or... being closer to Rachel.

Santana doesn't say anything for the longest time. And, when she does speak, she doesn't comment on the last two acceptances. She probably understands my dilemma better than I do. "Do you know if your parents are paying for college?" she asks.

I grit my teeth just thinking about it. "Even if they were willing to, I don't think I'd want them to," I confess. "I have two half-scholarships in the works for Yale," I explain. "Academic and for Cheerleading."

She smiles softly. "Do you really want to be a cheerleader?"

"I enjoy it," I tell her with a stiff nod. "I mean, anything can't be as bad as Sylvester, surely."

She worries her bottom lip. "Does your injury put that in jeopardy?" she asks, referring to my shoulder.

I shake my head. "It's not a terrible injury, considering," I tell her. "Given what could have happened, I should be right as rain in a few weeks."

"Good," she murmurs, before she clears her throat. "Because being the Head Bitch is fucking exhausting... I don't know how you do it, Q. Seriously."

"How has it been going?"

She sighs dramatically. "Well, after Coach nearly took my head off for messing with her Head Cheerio, I had to field questions a plenty," she explains. "It's like open season on questions about Quinn Fabray and her brief meeting with death."

The atmosphere turns cold quite suddenly, and we both grow sober immediately. Because I did die, which is something we won't be able to ignore for much longer. Or, at all. I only learned the truth of what happened during my initial surgery a few days after I first woke up, when I overheard two nurses talking about it. I died on the operating table, and the reality of that is enough to make my insides twist painfully. Unfortunately, Dr Murphy's considerable skill can't help with that.

She puts that same hand on my leg. "What happened, Q?"

I trap my bottom lip between my teeth for a beat, just thinking about it. "After Regionals, we went to her house," I tell her. "We were just going to hang out and - "

"Have sex," she comments, and I stiffen. "Or... not."

"It's kind of what we fought about," I say. "We were... kissing, and I guess I asked her why we weren't having sex yet."

She raises her eyebrows. "You're not having sex?"

"No."

"Oh."

I lick my lips. "Anyway, so, I asked that question, and she asked me why I haven't told her I love her." I close my eyes at the memory. "We fought about it, and I may have told her that she deserved better; she deserved someone who wouldn't even hesitate to tell her how she feels. She deserved someone who wasn't so fucking broken. I - I couldn't tell her what she wanted, Santana. I just - I couldn't." Before I know it, I'm crying. "So, I left. I just - I left. I ran, Santana. All I do is run because I'm terrified. I'm so afraid of her; of losing myself again; of having her leave me; of everything."

I take a shaky breath, trying to stay calm. "I called you because I needed to talk. I got in my car and called, and then you said I could come over, and I did. I was coming to you. I don't - I don't know if it's because I wasn't paying enough attention or maybe it was my tears. I don't know. It was just an intersection. A four-way. I don't remember much more than the sound of a car honking and - " I stop, closing my eyes because I can't look at her face as I tell her this lie. She - she can't know. She can't know... that I took my foot off the gas, but never hit the brakes.

"I remember the sound of the impact more than the feeling," I recall, my breathing laboured. "I remember the sound of metal and glass and plastic, and the sound of my own scream, and the - " I wipe at my eyes. "It smelt awful. Something was burning. I was - I was upside down, and I could hear the tyres spinning. Everything hurt. Everything was... broken."

Santana's hand squeezes my knee, and now there are tears in her eyes.

"I remember people," I say. "There were people talking to me and people trying to get me out and all I was thinking about was Rachel. I was concussed and in so much pain, but all I was thinking about was that I hadn't told her I loved her."

"Or that you hadn't had sex yet," she comments in an attempt to offer some levity.

I cover my eyes with my right hand. "Santana," I grumble, and then I yawn.

"Tired?"

"Always," I say through another yawn. "It's really annoying."

She shakes her head. "It's just your body telling you it needs to rest and heal. Listen to it."

I rub my eyes of sleep. "I'm listening."

She helps get me situated, finally helps me put on my socks, and forces me to take my meds before I eventually succumb to sleep. I think I dream, more in sounds than in pictures, and I wake to the sound of quiet giggles. My eyes flutter and clear, as I take in the blurry scene before me. Brittany and Santana are lying beside me, watching a movie on my laptop and failing to be quiet. The sounds from my dreams are still ringing in my head, harshly filling my senses. I suddenly feel panicked, and my unexpected whimper alerts them to my awake state. I can't breathe.

"Quinn," Brittany says, jumping up and running around the bed to my other side. "Breathe. Just breathe. There we go. In and out. Just, in and out."

I try to focus on her voice and the words she's saying.

"In and out. Just breathe. In. Out."

I look at her face, at her blue eyes. I breathe, in and out. I breathe, and I cry, and I want -

I choke on a sob, and Brittany wraps her arms around me. "Just breathe," she says. "In and out. There we go. Tell me what you need. Talk to me. What do you need?"

For a sudden, terrified moment, I just need my mother. I need my mommy, and she's not here. She hasn't been here, and I'm kidding myself if I think she ever will be. Because I'm not a kid anymore. I haven't been a kid in years, and I have to be stronger than this. I've always been stronger than this. I just - I need a moment to catch my breath. I need a little bit of time to get a handle on things again. I need -

"I need Rachel."

But.

Rachel doesn't visit my first night at home - Santana and Brittany spend it with me - and she doesn't come by the next night either. I try not to read too much into it because she's probably busy or tired, and this has been an emotional few weeks. School is also stressful, and Mondays are generally just painful. While I need to recover physically, she has to do it in other ways as well - emotionally - and I'm choosing to respect her decision to do it alone.

It's just -

Rachel doesn't text back the way she usually does and, when Santana starts to get agitated whenever I ask after Rachel when she visits on Tuesday, I have no choice but to accept that something is wrong; something neither of them is telling me. I can be patient from time to time - one has to be when you live in the Fabray household - but my patience is wearing thin. The entire reason Rachel and I had the fight we had was because we didn't talk about what we were feeling, and now we're falling right back into the pattern just days after my release from the hospital.

I call her on Wednesday during her free period and get her voicemail. I practically beg Santana to drive me to see her when she visits after Glee, and I get snapped at. And then apologised to. I just - I don't understand, and why isn't anyone telling me anything? I need to know what's happening so I can fix it, but I can't fix what I don't know is broken. It's confusing and I hate that they're keeping me in the dark and I hate that I can barely stay awake for a few hours or that I can't even put on my own socks.

I spend Thursday composing messages I don't send, and even LeRoy and Hiram aren't that forthcoming about the Rachel situation, even after they ask after my well-being and Hiram tells me he misses our conversations on Literature and LeRoy says he misses his 'Little Chef.'.

So, it's after my afternoon nap that I make the decision. It's stupid, probably, but I can't just spend another night at home without knowing. I can't, and I won't, which is why I struggle into fresh sweats, force myself through putting on shoes and then leave the house. I don't have a car anymore and, even if I did, I doubt I'm going to be driving anytime soon. So, I walk. It's slow, but I appreciate the fresh air and the way my limbs burn. I suspect I must look a sight in my sling, various bandages and lingering bruises but I don't care. There's a house on Jacaranda Avenue I need to visit.

I still have a key, so I don't even bother with knocking. I just unlock the door, step inside and try to catch my breath. It doesn't work, so I just head up the stairs towards Rachel's bedroom, an odd sense that this could be the last time I make this walk washing over me. I knock once on her door, and open it, consciously holding onto the doorknob to keep myself steady and upright.

She immediately jumps up at the sight of me, stumbling slightly. She looks... tired, miserable, something. "Quinn?" she says, clearly surprised, and I get this weird sense of deja vu. We've been here before, that Sunday I burst into her room and told her I was ready. Somehow, I just know this meeting isn't going to go the same way. We're somehow coming full circle. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I wanted to see you," I whisper, breathing heavily and holding my left arm with my right one. It's aching.

She moves towards me. "The doctors said you should be resting, Quinn," she says.

"I know," I whisper. "I just - I wanted to see you."

She puts a hand on my uninjured shoulder and guides me to her bed so I can sit; so I can rest. I feel a little lightheaded. "Quinn, you shouldn't have come."

I shake my head. "Why - why haven't you come to see me?" I ask, my head spinning. "What's going on, Rachel? Did I do something wrong? Because I've texted and I've called, and nobody's telling me any - ugh."

She startles. "Quinn?"

I touch my forehead to stem the sudden pain - and panic. I'm panting now. Jesus, that hurts. I slowly lie back, just wanting everything to stand still. Maybe if I close my eyes. "Ahh."

Rachel jumps up. "Quinn, hey? Quinn?" I feel her fingers on my cheeks, and then the back of her hand on my forehead. "God, you're burning up. Quinn? Hey, stay awake. Tell me what's wrong."

I grumble something unintelligible.

"Quinn? Quinn? Baby, don't do that. Quinn?" She sounds panicked. "I'm calling someone, okay? Just, just stay awake."

It's the last thing I hear before I pass out.


There are considerably less tubes and machines when I wake up this time around. In fact, I'm not even at the hospital. I'm still in Rachel's bedroom, lying on my back on her bed. Everything hurts, but I'm really more embarrassed than anything.

"Oh, good, you're awake." Rachel's voice draws my attention to my right, where she's perched on the edge of her bed, writing something in her journal. She immediately sets it aside and gives me her full attention in a way that makes me uncomfortable. She seems stiff and her eyes won't meet mine.

"How long have I been out?" I ask her, frowning at how odd this all feels.

She looks... nervous. "Fifteen minutes," she tells me. "My Daddy said your fever's coming down."

My eyes flutter.

"You shouldn't have come, Quinn."

I sigh. What is this? Seriously. "What choice did I have?"

She drops her gaze.

I sit up slowly, fighting off a wave of dizziness. "I don't understand, Rachel," I say. "Something is wrong and I need you to tell me what it is."

She fiddles with her hands in her lap.

"Rachel?"

"Quinn?"

"What did I do?"

"It's nothing you did."

"But it's something."

"I can't do this with you, Quinn," she says quietly, and it transports me to a time in my life I thought I'd done enough to forget.

I blink in confusion. "I don't - " I stop, realisation hitting me in the worst way and I make a strangled sound in my throat. Is that why she can't even look at me? "Are you - are you breaking up with me?"

"What! No!"

I flinch at the outburst, and she reaches for my hand but I pull it back.

She tries not to look hurt by my rebuff. "Quinn, I definitely don't want to break up."

"But - "

"I just - I think I need us to take a break," she says, and my heart bottoms out. "I need a break."

My mouth drops open. "What?"

"I thought I could this, Quinn," she says. "I want to, and I know I can, but..." she trails off. "I'm just so... Quinn, you almost died. You almost died."

I am so confused.

"And the first thing you did when you woke up was tell me you loved me."

"Because I do," I tell her. "And I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you. I just had - "

"Quinn," she interrupts. "I should never have pushed you into it. I shouldn't have brought it up the way I did, and we definitely shouldn't have fought about it the way we did. I should have been patient because I know you, and I know how you struggle and - " she stops. "I've given this a lot of thought, and I just need some time to sort through just how much I love you."

I frown. "What? Rachel, you're not making any sense."

"I just - I need time, because I'm lost in you, and you almost died and I hate that you did that to me," she says. "You're in me Quinn. You're in my veins and I can't - I can't live without you, and I have to come to terms with that before - " she stops again. "I just, I feel so much, and it terrifies me. I'm - " Nothing. "Please can we just take a break. Please."

Her voice breaks me.

She breathes out. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry I can't be the one to hold you together right now."

And, just like that, I'm angry. Raging. "Is that what you think this is?" I snap. "Is that why you think I'm here? Because I'm falling apart and I just need you to fix me?"

"It can't be me who fixes you, Quinn," she says, calmly ignoring my outburst. "It can't be anyone but you."

"This is bullshit," I say, scrambling to get up off the bed and ignoring my body's protests. Jesus Christ, that fucking hurts. "I'm not with you because I need you to fix me! I'm with you because I want to be! Because I - " I halt.

Her eyes are wide, and this is taking me back to a Friday afternoon in November when a dopey boy broke me.

"Just say what you want to say, Berry," I say. "I know I'm a fucking mess, so just tell me if you don't want me and get it over with. I'm a big girl. I can handle it."

"Quinn, that's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?" I ask.

"I'm saying I'm overwhelmed," she says, and the sound of the word slices through me the way the metal of my car did not too long ago. "I'm saying I just need a break, so I can wrap my head around what it really means to be so hopelessly in love with you."

"I don't know what that means."

"And I'm clearly not explaining it well enough."

"You're not explaining it at all!" I yell. "What do you want from me, huh? What do you want? Because I thought I gave you what you want. I thought I made it better. I... I told you I love you. Isn't that what you want?"

"Not like that."

"I thought - " I stop. "I don't - why are - " I shake my head. I don't even know what to say right now. The world is spinning again and my heart is thundering in my chest. This isn't happening. Not again. "What the fuck, Berry? I told you I love you. I love you. I've been terrified out of my fucking mind for weeks because everyone I love leaves me. They always leave, and you were supposed to be different. You were supposed to be - " I stop. I huff. "You know what; you're right. We do need a break because I can't do this with you right now either. You have a problem with me; you talk to me. You don't fucking ignore me!" My tears are making my vision blurry. "Dammit, Rachel! You promised me."

She looks confused.

"The first time you called me overwhelming and I panicked, you promised me you would tell me if it became too much. You promised! We were supposed to talk about things, but you've been ignoring me for five days! Five days I've spent wondering why my girlfriend isn't coming to visit me; thinking that I did something wrong... and you don't get to do that to me. I deserve better than that. Even I know that. At least Finn had the decency to tell me to my face he didn't want me."

"Quinn - "

"Save it," I bark. "Just save it, Berry. Cut the crap. If you don't want me, just fucking tell me."

She opens her mouth but no sounds come out. There are tears in her eyes, and we both know what that means. Jesus. This was definitely not how today was supposed to go.

I instantly deflate. God, I'm exhausted. "I'll make it easy for you then," I say. "Don't worry about being sorry or feeling guilty. There doesn't have to be a grey area here. We're breaking up." I suck in a pained breath. "We're breaking up," I repeat. "You are hereby relieved of all responsibility."

"Quinn - "

"You no longer have to worry about me. You no longer have to suffer the burden of holding me together."

"Quinn - "

"You're free now, Berry," I say, my tone cold and calculated, drawing on the HBIC inside of me. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the more you believed I could be. It seems I'm not good enough for anyone." And that's all I'm going to say. I don't think I can say anything else anyway. So, with one pained look, I leave as quickly as I can, needing to get away from her before I crumble. I stumble down the stairs, squeaking on the third stair and drawing attention.

"Quinn?"

I stop in my tracks when I hear Hiram's voice and turn to see him standing in the doorway to the living room. "Hiram," I breathe.

"Are you okay?"

It's obvious I'm not, so I don't bother to respond to him. I'm definitely not okay. For some reason, I don't think I'll ever be.

He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. "Let me drive you home," he says.

I want to argue. I want nothing more than to get as far away from this place and these people as quickly as I possibly can but I'm just so exhausted. So, instead, my shoulders sag and I nod my head. He jolts into action straight away, and I follow him into the garage when he has all he needs. He opens the passenger's door for me and I slide in, forcing myself not to give away just how much pain I'm in. I must fail, because he looks distraught.

I curl up in my seat, wanting to hold myself together. My head rests against the window, and my eyes close as he gets us on the road. I appreciate the fact he doesn't try to talk to me about what he probably knows just happened. Gosh, I don't even know what just happened. If he can make sense of it; I'd love for him to explain it to me.

When the car comes to a stop in my driveway, I'm almost asleep. I shake my head quickly, trying to focus. I blink a few times, trying to clear my vision. "Wh - " I mumble, halfway to a panic.

Hiram places a calm hand on my forearm. "You're okay," he says gently.

I shrug his hand off. "No, I'm not," I whisper. "I'm not okay, Hiram. I've never been okay, and I never will be, because I'm just an unlovable mess that nobody wants."

"Quinn, no," he says, shaking his head. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" I ask, sounding defeated. "It's true. It has to be, Hiram. What other reason is there?" I can feel myself losing control, my tears pooling in my eyes. "It's me, Hiram. It's me! My parents don't want me. Finn doesn't me, and now Rachel doesn't want me, and it's only a matter of time before you and LeRoy also don't want me, because I'm broken. I'm unfixable."

"Quinn - "

I shake my head, hard. "I thought I was getting better," I say, growling slightly. "I wanted to be better for her, Hiram. I didn't want to overwhelm her. I was trying so hard to be better. I wanted to be more for her, and for myself. But I failed. I failed, and I'm right back where I started. Lost and confused, and alone."

"You're not alone," he's quick to say. "I told you - "

"It's okay," I interrupt, settling my racing thoughts with a deep breath. I feel calmer now. "It's okay, Hiram."

"Quinn - "

"It's okay," I say with a shake of my head. "It's okay." But it isn't, and we both know it. Nothing is okay.

He sighs, as if he's accepting he can't get through to me today. "Oh, Rachel," he murmurs under his breath; "what did you do?" But I hear him. I hear every word, and it squeezes at my heart in a way that makes it difficult to breathe. It hurts. This hurts, more than anything I've ever experienced before.

In silence, I open the door and get out, feeling a bit better when my feet touch the ground.

"Quinn," he says, and I turn to look at him, schooling my features into something passive. I suspect it's a facial expression I'm going to be wearing from now on. I don't know how I'm ever expected to smile after this.

"It's okay, Hiram," I repeat. "This is expected, and it's okay. Just, take care of her, okay? I will see you and Flo on Saturday. Thank you for the lift." And, with that, I close the door, turn sharply and go into the house. I go up to my bedroom, practically crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.


I wake to the feel of warm arms wrapped around me... from both sides. One breath tells me that Brittany and Santana are surrounding me in love and warmth, and I breathe out in content. I don't want to think about anything else right now. Just this. Just this feeling of safety. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.

Brittany's arms tighten around me. "Hi," she breathes.

I open my eyes and just about manage to look at her. "Hello."

"How are you?" she asks.

I have no response for her because I'm trying desperately not to think about what I'm feeling. Everything that's happened today feels like it happened to someone else entirely. Like, it was part of a horrible Lifetime movie that doesn't have a happy ending.

I clear my throat. "What are you doing here?"

"R called," Brittany tells me, and my heart lurches.

"Oh."

Santana sighs. "What were you thinking, fucking walking to see her?" she asks. "You just got out of the hospital, Quinn. What were you trying to do?"

"What choice did I have?" I ask, completely and utterly defeated. "I had to see her, San, and she wasn't coming here and nobody was taking me there," I grind out. "I had to do it alone, because I'm alone."

Santana growls. "Don't fucking say that."

Brittany kisses my temple. "Q, you're not alone," she whispers. "You have us."

I close my eyes, unwanted tears pooling behind my eyelids. "But you're just going to leave me too."

"Quinn," Santana breathes. "Please, please just stop."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I just - I hate this. I hate feeling like this."

"I don't like the word 'hate,'" Brittany says.

"I love it," Santana says, and I let out an unexpected laugh.

"I love you guys," I say.

"We love you," Brittany says. "And we're not going anywhere, I promise. You have us for life."

"Even if I end up going to Yale?"

Santana tenses at my side, but she says nothing.

Brittany frowns at me, looking confused about my question. "Even then," she says anyway.

I turn my head. "San?"

"Yeah, whatever, Fabray," she mutters. "And you better not be making this decision for Berry."

I flinch, despite myself. "I'm not," I say. "I'm definitely not." I take a breath. "This one, I'm definitely making for myself."

"How far is it from New York?" Santana asks.

"Eighty miles, give or take."

"And you just just know that...?"

"I do, yeah," I say. "I'm amazing at Geography; didn't you know?"

"Such a fucking idiot."

"You are amazing at Geography," Brittany says. "I get lost all the time."

"We'll help you find your way, Britt," I whisper.

"Good."

We fall into silence, each of us lost in thought. It takes only five minutes for my stomach to grumble, which makes us all giggle.

"Dinner time?" Santana asks.

I nod. "And then shower time."

"I am not helping you with that," Santana says immediately, and we all giggle again.

"I don't know, San; I really need to wash my hair," I say, sighing.

Brittany hums in acknowledgement.

"Hey," Santana says, making me look at her. "I have an idea."

"Oh, boy," I murmur.

She grins in mischief. "Do you remember that one time I suggested we get you a haircut?"

I nod, my brow furrowed.

She leans in close, not allowing me to look away for a moment. "Now that you won't be tumbling with the Cheerios for a while and Sylvester probably won't burst an aneurysm if we mess with her favourite Head Bitch, do you think you're up for it?"

I blink. A haircut? "Uh... really?"

"Really."

"Right now?"

"I can call Tony," she says. "I'm certain he'll be more than happy to do it. I think he'll even come here."

I wait, thinking.

"Q?"

Slowly, a smile spreads across my face. "Okay."


Santana calls me during her lunch period on Friday and tells me to get dressed into something nice, and that she's coming to pick me up straight after she gets out of school. She doesn't even allow me to ask any questions before she hangs up. I don't really care. I just want to get out of the house, even if I have to put on actual clothes.

Something nice? Hmm. I go into my closet and pick out a blue, black and white striped dress, a burgundy blazer and black ballet flats. I stare wistfully at a pair of Oxford wedges, just knowing that it would hurt my healing ribs too much to wear them. I pick the blazer to hide the bandages on my shoulder, as well as my sling. It's difficult doing things with one hand, but I'm just relieved it's my right arm that's uninjured. Regardless, it takes me the better part of two hours to shower, get dressed, do my makeup and handle my hair. It's going to take some getting used to, definitely, but I appreciate how short it is right now. I wouldn't be able to put it up anyway.

I was worried. It's a big change, and I've gone back and forth over whether I regret it or not. It's short. But it's still long enough to tie into the tiniest of ponytails, so Coach Sylvester won't throw a complete tantrum, even though it'll probably grow to a suitable length by the time I'm healed enough to resume my position on the squad. She doesn't like aesthetic changes to her prized Cheerios, but I manage to accept that I needed it. I know that now. It makes me feel like more, and I wish I'd listened to Santana sooner. I won't tell her, though, because she'd get way too much satisfaction out of it. I haven't completely lost it. Yet.

I have a chicken salad for lunch that Santana made sure she put in the fridge for me because she was worried I wasn't eating properly, particularly when I'm in recovery. I also have to make sure I eat enough to take my medication. I force down as much as I can, take my meds and take a nap on the couch until Santana arrives. She's surprisingly gentle when she wakes me, and then we're going.

"Where are we going?" I ask as she helps me with my seatbelt.

"It's a surprise," she says, and I don't question her further. "How was your day?" she asks, and there's such concern in her voice that tears pool in my eyes. I hate being so damn emotional.

"I slept in," I say, letting out a small laugh. "I never do that."

She smirks at me. "Lucky bitch."

I tuck some hair behind my ear, unsure why I'm blushing.

"I know I've already said it, but I really like the hair, Fabray," she says. "Honestly, I think it's the best decision you've ever made."

I touch my hair again. "I think it is too."

She takes a breath. "And... the other thing?"

"The other thing," I echo.

She hums. "Hmm."

"Are you referring to the fact I'm single for the second time in five months?"

Santana scowls. "Quinn."

"I'm trying not to think about it," I say. "Or feel it."

"But you will, right?"

I nod. "I think going to church will definitely help."

She smiles knowingly, and we drive the rest of the way in silence. There isn't even music playing. It makes me fidgety but I force myself to sit still. My mother would be so proud. Hah.

When we get to McKinley, I turn to Santana with a frown. "San? What are we doing here?"

She pulls into a parking spot and turns off the engine. "We're going to Glee."

My heart rate rises. "What? No! No!"

"It's going to be okay," she says. "This has been planned all week, Quinn. It's nothing to do with Berry."

I flinch at the sound of her name and, if Santana notices, she doesn't mention it. "I hate you," I grumble.

She grins at me, moving to open her door. "You love me."

I follow. "I do. I really do."