Rachel

Last night was by far the best night of my life.

I would say it was almostworth being sick for two days beforehand. Almost – let's not get carried away. Nothing will ever be worth being so ill that Santana, of all people, had to literally undress me. Something I may never forgive Sam for. Although it's comforting that he also was laid in his bathroom, only he was expelling bodily fluids from both ends and with no one to change his underwear for him. So at least someone had it worse than me.

Thankfully, Santana has the fear-factor going for her which means that nobody has mentioned it since. Hopefully my newfound Broadway success will earn me respect from my fellow peers and deter them from teasing me for at least twenty years, or when I'm not horrified by the memory – whichever comes first.

I was worried that today I would feel, not lost, exactly, but a little forlorn. The day after opening night is always such an anti-climax. I may be slightly hungover from the after-party, and although I have another show this evening (and most evenings until the end of the run), I have to admit that I was scared the excitement would be gone now that the initial excitement is over.

However, my two best friends have come through for me once again. Not only have they been endlessly supportive on my journey to stardom, but they've also still stuck around to entertain me afterwards. Which is very kind of them.

We've spent all day watching stupid TV shows and reminiscing about the old days, and it's been the best day-after-opening-night I could have wished for. Copious amounts of ice cream have cooled me down through this ridiculous heat, and doing absolutely nothing has definitely aided my hangover. Along with the aspirin Santana forced me to swallow down.

I can't help but feel warm and fuzzy inside. I have my dream job, working with insanely talented people; incredible friends who have incredible girlfriends who are also my friends; an amazingly sweet boyfriend who I love and who loves me, and who I'm moving in with very soon. Life could not be better, for me and my friends. Jess and Brittany are insanely successful, Santana is happier than I've ever seen her, Quinn's cupcake shop is thriving; we've barely heard from Puck as he's been seeing Summer so much.

We're finally growing up, and life is coming together nicely.

Quinn

"Hey, guys!" I enter the girls' apartment, chuckling as I see them all sprawled out in the living room.

"Hey, sweetie." Santana grins, shoving a large spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. I duck down to give her a quick kiss as Rachel flicks rapidly through the channels.

"So what have you all been doing today?" I perch on the edge of the sofa, as Brittany is laid out taking up most of it, and frown as I gaze at each girl in turn. Brittany is wearing baggy pyjama shorts and a heavy helping of Cheeto dust down the chest of her t-shirt. Rachel is sprawled on the floor, her back leaning against the sofa, and she's wearing what appears to be a zebra onesie with the top zipped down and tied around her waist, and she's fanning herself with the hand that isn't wielding the remote control, whilst Santana is wearing slouchy sweatpants cut off at the knee, and a racer-back tank top with a large '66' emblazoned on the back, accompanied by an extra 6 drawn on in sharpie.

"Absolutely nothing." Brittany chuckles happily, "We watched Toy Story."

"Then watched Toy Story again when nobody could be bothered choosing what to watch." Santana adds, rolling her eyes. I'm glad Santana's spent the day relaxing with her friends. I often worry that she resents me and Jess, and Sam and Puck. She tells so many stories about the three of them, it seems unfair that they don't get that time together anymore.

"Whatever, you were just as indecisive." Rachel counters defensively, craning her neck to look at me, "Then we went to the store and bought lots of food that I can already feel rotting my insides."

"Sounds awesome." I nod with a small giggle, reaching behind me to lift Brittany's legs up. Her legs are a dead weight as I duck under the girl's ankles and sit back on the sofa, allowing the tall blonde to drape her legs over my lap.

"But we've also been productive. We spent almost forty-five minutes coming up with a stage name for Rachel." The blonde nods enthusiastically, and I raise my eyebrows expectantly, "Oh, we didn't think of any good ones."

"Well," Rachel reasons, "We spent ten minutes doing that. Then we got bored and started coming up with rude names." She giggles, finally giving up on the TV channels and dropping the remote with a clatter.

"Sounds productive. So it's like four pm. What are your plans for the rest of the day? And where's Jess, by the way?" I ask with a frown. I feel a small pang of guilt as I realise I had totally overlooked my best friends absence.

"We don't know what to do for the rest of the day. Our next plan was pizza." Santana tells me, her eyebrows raised, "You can get pizza with us if you want, but you have to wear something more…" her eyes travel down my outfit and back up to my face. I can't resist raising an eyebrow dangerously, "…bleh."

What a compliment.

"And Jess got a call back for that audition yesterday, she's dancing all day. Although, she should be finishing soon." Brittany informs me, and I nod slowly, mouthing 'oh'.

"Jess is so lucky." Rachel muses dreamily, "She gets like, every audition she goes for. It's amazing bordering on ridiculous, actually."

"Whatever, you're just jealous." Brittany teases.

"I am!" The tiny brunette agrees enthusiastically, twisting to kneel and face us, "I really am! I just don't know how she does it!"

"A lot of hard work." Brittany answers, shrugging with a small sigh, "But she deserves all these opportunities. Like, she'll take anything, no matter how short-term or bad pay. It looks good on her resume." She shrugs happily, but I shake my head.

"I don't know how you all do it. I don't think I could survive not knowing if I would have another job at the end of my current one. I need more stability."

"Me, too." Santana nods, "I like knowing that the same little shits will need me again in September, and my job is safe."

"Our jobs are safe." Rachel waves her hand dismissively, "Well, okay maybe they're not but…something else will always come along." She replies, licking ice cream off her spoon thoroughly.

"Still, I don't know how you-" I'm cut off by my phone ringing in my pocket, and I wrestle it out with an impatient frown. I glance at the name flashing on the screen, and am about to answer automatically, but I do a double-take.

"Who is it?" Santana asks in a stage-whisper, but my jaw drops open slowly as I gaze down at the name.

"It's my mom?" I reply with a frown, and Santana's eyebrow lifts as Rachel and Brittany frown. "Should I answer?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, why not?"

"No."

I glance between them as the girls all give me different answers, my heart-rate increasingly rapidly as the phone vibrates insistently in my hand. I move to press the answer button, but the phone stops ringing in my hand. What seems like a long silence follows, until Santana shrugs.

"Well, if it was important I'm sure she'll call back. You can decide if you want to answer in the mean time."

"Yeah." I frown, looking up at her, "Yeah, you're right."

Brittany

There's another awkward silence, only this time it is my stomach that interrupts. Rumbling loudly, it punctures the silence, and three pairs of eyes swivel to stare at me.

"So…" I begin self-consciously, "Pizza?" I grin, and Rachel rolls her eyes,

"Quinn, are you okay?" She asks, looking concerned, but the blonde nods.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. It was probably an accidental pocket-dial or something anyway." She shrugs casually.

I know very little about Quinn's relationship with her parents, but by the sounds of it from Rachel and Santana, the Fabrays are pretty mean people. We were talking about it today, actually. I know that when Russell and Judy found out that Quinn's a big gay, they were totally furious. Apparently she hasn't spoken to them since. That must totally suck. I mean, even if your parents are giant ass-hats, they're still your parents.

Luckily, my mom literally couldn't care less that I have a girlfriend. I believe her exact words were, "Oh, that's great news, honey. Ooh, and I'll never have to be an accidental grandparent! Oh, thank God! I mean, I know you're not exactly promiscuous honey, but it's good to know that no accidents are going to happen! Not that I'm against you having kids, of course, but at least I'll get some fore-warning, that's all."

My mom's kind of a hippy, I guess. She's very…new-age. And way too open about her sex life. It's pretty weird. But at least she couldn't give a crap that I'm riding the lesbo-train to clit-ville. Always look on the bright side.

"Yeah, why don't we order that pizza?" Santana nods enthusiastically, "Okay so Rachel, you want a vegan nince inch?" she asks breezily, and the brunette nods.

"Rachel always wants nine inches." I joke crudely, wiggling my eyebrows at the small girl by my side, who rolls her eyes in disgust. Prude.

"Brittany?" I raise my eyebrows, "What do you want?"

"Gimme an inferno, baby. Lay it on me." I grin, winking cheekily. It's not every day I can wolf down nine inches of spicy pepperoni, roasted red capsicum, jalapenos, chilli and a blend of mozzarella and cheddar cheese. But some days I can. And today is one of those days.

"Cool. Q, shall we share?" Santana asks, "Chicken and sweetcorn?"

Santana hates sweetcorn. I know this for a fact. She hates it. She says it's wrong to eat something that physically will not digest. Because 'If it doesn't digest, then surely it is not intended to be a food?!' But Quinn likes chicken and sweetcorn pizza. So Santana eats chicken and sweetcorn pizza.

What a sucker.

Although, saying that, I hate The Vampire Diaries but I still watch it with Jess. I don't even know why she likes it. She even admits that the acting is atrocious, but apparently she read the books and is kind of attached to them. I suppose it's like 50 Shades of Grey; so bad that you just feel compelled to keep reading, even though you can literally feel the minutes of your life wasting away.

As I get lost in my own thoughts, Santana picks up her phone to call for pizza delivery.

"Hey, I'd like a 9-inch vegan please, a 12-inch chicken and sweetcorn and a…" She raise her eyebrows at me, and I panic, realising I never told her a size. Grimacing, I hold up my fingers. She waves her hands and shrugs as if to say 'what the hell is that?' and I look down, counting my fingers quickly, realising I'm holding up all ten fingers, and I drop one with a guilty smile, "A 9-inch inferno. All with fries. Yeah for delivery, thank you." She gives the address and hangs up, and I apologize shyly as Quinn takes a deep breath.

"Okay, if I'm staying for pizza, then I'm going to get something more …'bleh' to wear." She pushes my legs off her own, and I scowl as they land on the floor with a hard thud, leaning forwards to rub my bruised heel as Quinn stands upright, "So I'll be back before the pizza arrives I'm sure. I'm just gonna run and get some-"

She stops mid-sentence, staring down at her hand again, and I can hear the buzzing of her phone once again.

"Your mom?" I ask quietly, unease curling in my stomach like a snake-pit.

She nods silently, staring down at the phone, and I glance over to Santana's anxious expression.

"Quinn? Why don't you answer it?" Santana suggests, sounding resigned and shrugging sympathetically, "Life's too short."

Quinn looks to her girlfriend and I can see her bottom lip wobbling slightly, and Santana gives her an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, she hits the answer button and raises the phone to her ear. We all watch as she sits back down on the edge of the sofa.

"Hi. Okay... What is it? Oh …Okay." The colour slowly drains from her face as she gives brief answers, her eyes glued to the floor by her feet. My chest tightens with worry, and I glance over to Santana, whose gaze is trained unyieldingly on Quinn.

After what feels like forever, Quinn lowers the phone silently and presses the hang up button. I want to ask what her mom said, but before I can even consider opening my mouth, Quinn swallows hard and answers my question for me.

"My Aunt Clara died."

Jess

I'm laid in one of the best cities in the world, in the glorious sunshine, in one of the world's most famous parks.

And yet there is nowhere I would rather be other than home.

I've worked so hard to get this far, and I've achieved so much that I feel as if I'm being ungrateful. However I can't help but wish I was enjoying a proper English summer instead of melting in the stuffy New York heat. Sure, Central Park is beautiful and incredible, but…I'd rather have dry-stone walls stretching across patchwork fields and the smell of wild garlic on the banks of winding roads.

I love America, of course I do. Otherwise I would never have moved here. Well, actually I moved here to get better dancing opportunities but same difference. But moving thousands of miles away from home isn't without its drawbacks, and like any long-distance move, it can get lonely.

Of course, I do have Brittany. I'm never lonely when she's around. And all of my friends. I know that I'm blessed to be surrounded by such people – they're like another family. But sometimes it would just be nice to be able to wander into my mum's kitchen and sit at the table and dip custard creams into huge mugs of tea. You can have the best friends in the world, but everyone needs their mum sometimes.

I take a deep breath, attempting to stare up at the surreal cloud patterns above me whilst the sun blinds me. The sun dips behind a cloud, and I can see clearly enough to make out a trio of birds swirling in the sky above me. I let out the sigh in a long stream, closing my eyes as the sun appears again, burning hot behind my eyelids. My entire body feels stale and sweaty from a full day at my – admittedly slightly unusual – call-back, and although I'm far too hot and my face will probably burn because I don't have any suncream with me, I can't bring myself to get off this grass.

The blades are tickling at my elbows and the backs of my bare legs, making my hair itch where my head is resting on the warm ground. I push myself up onto my elbows decisively, rummaging through my dance bag for my light hoody, and fold it up under my head with a sigh. I've decided I'm staying here for now, so I might as well make myself comfortable. Should I text Brittany to tell her I'm not heading home yet?

No; she'd only ask why.

My back is sticky, and I sit up again to get my towel from the bag, wiping my back quickly with a sigh. I feel uneasy, and unsettled. Lost. I lift my knees, legs crossed at the ankle, and wrap my arms around them, staring out at Central Park with my hands clasped. It feels so surreal here, seeing the huge New York skyline, stretching upwards behind the flat planes of grass. I'm settled on a bank by a cluster of trees, a few metres from the path, and a huge blanket of green is laid out in front of me. It's fairly peaceful, considering, but my heart still yearns for a bloody big hill next to a bloody big lake.

I could call Quinn? She'd probably cover for me and maybe come talk to me, help me out.

But as much as I love her, I just know she'd tell Santana – they tell each other everything. Santana would then feel awful, but still feel obliged to tell Brittany…and then I'm fucked. No, there's only one person to call.

I search in my bag for a few moments before finally locating my phone, laying down again and resting my head on my hoodie as I find the desired number. I wait to be put through, and finally hear the dial tone. Usually I'd let them know I was ringing in advance, and I chew my lip hopefully as the phone continues to ring. Come on. Answer, you silly woman.

"Hello?" A confused voice answers, sounding far away.

I remind myself that she is far away.

"Mum?"

"Jessica?" She asks excitedly, "Hello, petal! What are you ringing for?" I can hear the smile in her voice, and I close my eyes, relishing the sound of her voice. It's comforting to hear her familiar accent, the dropping of her h's and her bouncing lilt.

A lump rises in my throat, and I delay answering to swallow it down, tears pricking at my eyes.

"I just missed you, that's all." I say, almost in a whisper.

"Oh, you silly mare." She says sympathetically, and I can hear muffled sounds as she settles comfortably, "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's really wrong, mum." I shrug, wiping roughly at my eyes, "I just-" I sigh heavily and she interrupts me with her no-nonsense attitude.

"Right, love. I want you to go get yourself a drink, have a sit down, take some deep breaths, and then you're going to tell me all about it and we'll see what we can do, alright?"

I nod silently, before realising she can't see me, so I take a deep breath, "Okay. Um, I'm just in Central Park, so I don't have a drink. But I'm taking deep breaths."

"Right, well that'll have to do." She replies kindly, and I smile.

"Who's that?" I hear my dad demanding in the background, and I roll my eyes.

"It's our Jessica." She replies, before dropping her voice to a still-incredibly-audible whisper, "She's a bit het up."

"I'm not het up!" I insist, but I can hear my dad harrumphing. I can picture him stood in the kitchen with a disapproving frown, bearing a half-full mug of cold tea and wearing his usual greasy overalls.

"Oh, bloody hell. Tell her to calm down. That's what she gets herself for jetting off all over the world."

I roll my eyes again, but my mum chastises him for me. "Oh, give over, you ol' grump. Sorry," She directs back to me, "Your dads rolling his eyes. Now he's rolling them again. Now he's rolling them again and going back to the garage." I take a deep breath, forcing myself not to be impatient. Maybe my mum wasn't the right choice. "That bloody garage, Jessica. I swear if he doesn't bloody do them dishes I'm filing for divorce. Then he'd have to wash his own bloody overalls and wouldn't he get a shock!"

"Mum…" I groan as she rambles on, running my hands through my sweaty hair.

"Sorry, love. Go on. Have you calmed down?" She nags, and I sigh.

"Yes."

"Right, so what's wrong then, love?"

"Okay, so I have to make a choice. A really big choice. I can't tell you what it's between, because then you'd be biased. But…what would you do if you had to decide between two things, both of which you've wanted for…as long as you can remember?" I drop my head into my hand, and my mum huffs and sighs on the other end.

"Well, people always say that you never regret the things you do, only the things you didn't. Does that help at all?"

"Um…not really?" I reply with a confused frown.

"I didn't think so." She answers disappointedly. I roll my eyes.

"Well why did you say it then?" I ask despairingly.

"Well, other people seem to find guidance in it. Never really understood, myself." She sighs again, "Right, let me have a think."

"Okay…" I'm starting to seriously regret this phone call. My mum is a lovely woman, and in lots of ways she's very wise…sadly, apparently this isn't one of those ways. Which is infuriating. "Got anything yet?"

"Right." She begins seriously, and she takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, "Jessica."

"Yes." I match her tone.

"You've always been one of those little girls that always knew exactly what she wanted."

"Now you're rubbing it in." I interject petulantly.

"You always knew exactly where you were going, and you didn't care how much work you put in, you were going to get there. You had your dreams and you stuck to them and you worked at 'em. Not like your brother, bloody sitting around every day claiming he was looking for work."

"Oh, yeah. How is he, still at that abattoir?" I ask, side-tracked for a moment.

"Ooh, no!" She crows, "He moved on from that a long while ago, he works down at that caravan salesroom now. He bought your dad a towbar for Christmas."

"Eh?" I grunt, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion, "When did you get a caravan?"

"Oh, we haven't love."

Jesus wept.

"Right, anyway." I say impatiently, attempting to steer the conversation back in the right direction, "So you were saying?"

"What was I saying?"

"I've always known exactly what I wanted." I remind her in a monotone voice.

"Oh, yes!" She clicks her fingers and takes a deep breath, and I resist the urge to chuckle disbelievingly, "You had your dreams and you worked hard and look where you are now! Living it up in that Big Apple. And you love your job don't you? Every time we talk to you you tell us about what newest job you've had, and how much fun you're having."

"Yeah, I know."

"So, the big question is…your big dream. Have you achieved it?"

I frown, "What do you mean?"

"Well, this big dream that you've had your heart set on for forever. Has it come true now?"

"Well, some of it has." I shrug, "I mean, I am living out my dream, but…I don't know if that's it completely come true and over with?" I frown, resting my temple on the heel of my hand.

"Well then. If it's not come true yet, don't you dare bloody stop until it has." She tells me firmly, and I chuckle quietly, "If my favourite daughter's moved thousands of miles away to follow her dream, she'd better not bloody give up on it. Otherwise I'll be bringing you straight back home."

"I'm your only daughter." I point out.

"Accept the compliment." She replies instantly, and I chuckle again.

"Yeah, you're right. Okay." I nod decisively, taking a deep breath, "Thanks, mum."

"No worries, petal. Anyway, I'm assuming you have to get back to your busy, big-city life. Do you want to talk to your dad before you go?" She asks doubtfully.

"Nah, I'm alright. I have people here who can lecture me about cars and grunt at anything else." I respond, thinking fondly of Puck.

"Well then, I've got a crumble in the oven so I'm going to have to go, if that was all you wanted?" She asks kindly, and I nod.

"Yeah, that's everything. Get back to your domestic country bliss." I joke, and she snorts.

"I bloody wish. Anyway, talk soon, my darling."

"I'll ring you again soon. Love you lots."

"I love you, too, flower. Don't you worry. It'll all work out."

"Okay, bye for now."

"Ta-ra, love!"

She hangs up and I take a deep breath, sighing heavily as I throw myself back onto the grass. As much as I hate to admit it, I know my mum's actually right. I feel sick as I consider what this means now.

I have to talk to Brittany.

Santana

I am so lost. I have no idea what to do, no idea how to take away the pain that is written all over Quinn's face. We left Rachel and Brittany's straight away, heading straight home. She held it together for that long, her face blank and impassive, until we crossed the threshold to the apartment. Since then she's been curled up on the couch, a small pile of scrunched-up tissues growing steadily beside her.

I've never really had to deal with death before, honestly. I still have two grandparents, and the others died when I was too young to understand, or before I was born. I don't know what to say, how to be of any comfort. At the moment I'm freaking out a little, if I'm honest, but I know I need to pull myself together for Quinn's sake. I wonder how Rachel is coping with Sam. She called him before we left, and he said their mom had just called him, too. She was getting changed as we left, ready to go over to his apartment and comfort him. If only I could text her.

"Hey, sweetie." I sit myself beside a sniffling Quinn on the sofa. Her face is blotchy from crying, and there are raw, red circles around her watery eyes.

"It's not fair, Santana." She shakes her head with a loud sniff, staring down at the tissue in her hand as she shreds it.

"I know it isn't, sweetie." I reply sympathetically.

"I only saw her today." She cries disbelievingly, the tiny shreds of tissue fluttering around her ankles, "I was with her like…a few hours ago! She was fine!"

"I know you were. But, isn't that also a little bit of a silver lining?" I shrug hopefully, "At least you got to see her again?"

"I just can't believe it." She whispers, her eyes wide, "She was fine."

I nod silently as she gazes down at the sofa beneath her, and I sit back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, Quinn. I just, I don't know what to say."

"Me neither." She shrugs, looking hopeless, "I just can't believe that one minute she was fine, and the next minute…I'm…I'm never…" Her voice becomes hoarse and I reach out to her, placing my hand on her knee as she trails off, "How can she just be gone?"

"I don't know. Life is…very unfair." I shake my head slowly, and she nods her agreement.

"She was fine." Quinn reiterates, and I nod silently, "We were sitting in her garden! She was telling me all about what she was going to do out there, what she was going to dig up and move, what she was going to buy for out there. It's just so surreal. Now she isn't going to."

The tears begin streaming down her face again, and I shift closer to her, lifting her legs to move as close as possible. I place her legs over my own, wrapping her up in my arms and she clings to me, her arms around my neck. I can feel a wet patch of tears spreading through my t-shirt, but I don't care. I tighten my hold on her, rocking gently and rubbing soothing circles on her back.

We stay there until midnight, when Quinn finally settles into a deep slumber, and I carry her to bed. I lay her out, and she stirs for a moment, her eyes blinking open.

"Hey." She croaks with a deep set frown.

"Hey, sweetie." I reply, stroking her fringe out of her eyes gently.

"Are you okay?" She asks in a whisper. I resist the urge to chuckle at the fact that she's asking if I'm okay. Then I wonder if maybe, in her slumber, she's forgotten the situation. Half of me hopes she has, because at least that means that right now, in this exact moment, she isn't feeling the pain. But the other half knows that if she has momentarily forgotten, she will wake up properly in the morning only to be crushed under the huge weight of her grief.

"I'm great. Get some sleep." I smile kindly and she nods, her eyelashes fluttering closed once again. I kiss her forehead and push myself back into a standing position, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a long sigh.

I cross to the doorway, leaning against the frame as I switch the light off, gazing at Quinn as her figure becomes a silhouette. I rub at my eyes as I wander down the hallway to the kitchen, pouring myself a large glass of wine and revelling in the sound of the liquid glugging into the glass. I twist the lid back onto the bottle, depositing it in the fridge before taking a large gulp as I make my way to the living room. I flop down onto the sofa with a sigh, ignoring the dirty tissues as I cross my ankles on the coffee table, taking another large drink.

It feels odd that I've only met Clara a handful of times. The first was, by far, the most memorable. Since then I've accompanied Quinn on her visits a couple of times, mostly just stopping by for a cup of coffee or lunch. But Clara was a nice woman. Quinn is swamped with the loss and misery, but I know that although it is unfair that it happened so suddenly, maybe it could have just been Clara's time to go. They say everything happens for a reason. At least she lived her life to the fullest, and enjoyed her life to the very end. She was a happy old thing, that's for sure, and if God needed her up there, then up there she needs to be.

I finish my wine, lost in thought as I deposit it in the kitchen. Of course I'll miss her. I remember the feeling of her smiling at me, giving Quinn and I her blessing. I remember a feeling of contentment, feeling welcome. At home. It seems Quinn takes after her aunt more than either of her parents. There isn't an unaccepting bone in her body. She genuine, kind, generous, loving, easy-going. She's perfect, to me. I wonder if anyone ever thought of Clara like this. There's a lot I never knew about her, some of it I assume Quinn doesn't even know. I wonder if anyone ever stood in the dark, gazing at her sleeping form, and thinking of how perfect she was to them. I hope so. I hope someone did. I feel like Clara deserved to be adored.

I turn the lights off and wander down the hallway, back to the bedroom, and pause in the doorway. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can better make out Quinn's features, her lips parted slightly as she sleeps. She looks so peaceful and carefree.

Maybe Clara was loved. Like I love Quinn. Maybe not. It's possible that she never knew what it felt like to have another person by your side every day. Maybe she never achieved that feeling of being complete. The idea makes me feel forlorn, although the alternative isn't much better. If she did once revel in the throes of passion and find herself giddy with adoration, how come she ended up all alone in that big house? Although, tis better to have loved and lost.

I swallow hard as I watch Quinn's chest rise and fall in the darkness, thinking of how hard the next few days, weeks, months will be for her. And there'll be all the business of seeing her parents at the funeral, that'll be fun. I gaze at her face, forcing myself to drink in her expression in as much detail as possible. In the morning, her brow will be creased with lines of grief once again, her shoulders heavy with mourning.

One thing that can be said for death, it certainly makes you re-evaluate life.