November 7
She told me that she loved me too, and that's what I'm deciding to hold onto.
The last session I had with Bailey, she told me to start focusing on the good things instead of dwelling on the bad, so while I could sit here and mope and feel sorry for myself over what happened between me and Rachel yesterday, I'm going to choose not to do that. Instead, I'm going to focus on the fact that she told me she loves me, too.
We haven't resolved the argument yet, and we didn't talk in school today either. She sat with Kurt at lunch instead of us and sat beside him at Glee club too. We haven't talked about anything and haven't mentioned the fact that we argued, but she did text me back last night and tell me that she loves me too which is great because I don't think she'd have said that if she didn't mean it. If she didn't want to say it, she would have just ignored me like she's been for the last week and that would've been the end of it.
I'm also deciding to believe in what Shelby said. I'm not sure that me and Rachel's friendship is as solid as she thinks it is, but I'm believing the part where she said relationships with girls are harder than relationships with men. I'm not sure if me and Rachel will ever figure this out and I'm not sure if we will ever reconcile, but she said she loves me and I'm learning how to let that be good enough.
Though today was really crappy in comparison to how good other days have treated me in the past, I managed to get through it with the idea of seeing Beth tonight because for some reason, Beth always makes me feel better. I know it's a lot of pressure to put on a tiny baby's shoulders, but I can always count on Beth to make my day feel just a little bit brighter. Even yesterday, I found it hard to fall completely apart while she was laying down beside me. After Rachel left yesterday, I wanted nothing more than to eat a bunch of junk from Wendy's on the way home and stop on the side of the road to get rid of all of it, but I remembered that Beth seemed to really love me yesterday and that was enough for me to drive straight home without making a fast food stop.
Shelby cancelled on me watching Beth today and I'm beginning to think that I'll never have her two days in a row. Apparently she took Beth to the hospital today to check on that fever that wouldn't break and I guess they told her that she has the flu and they gave her some sort of medicine for it. When Shelby texted me all of that, I was a little bit of both angry and sad. I was angry because I felt like maybe that should have been me taking my daughter to the hospital or maybe she should have at least told me that they were going and she didn't tell me anything until they were already home. But then I got sad because it hit me that Shelby doesn't have to include me in anything, legally. It's very very hard and very very confusing when I think of my relationship with Beth because I feel like I'm her mother but then I also don't. My head is mixed up by it, and when it starts to make me feel tired, I just stop thinking about it and start enjoying the fact that I actually get to see her.
Mr. Schue handed out assignments for regionals today and it turns out that Mercedes has a solo. I'm super excited for her and I know she's going to kill it, but it really bothered me how I couldn't ask Rachel how she felt about it. The two of us weren't speaking in Glee club and if I would have asked her, it might have been awkward. But I really did care about how she was feeling, and I think that's how I know that I really love her.
I'm not really sure what's going to happen with me and Rachel and I can't say for certain that we'll ever be on good terms again. I mean, I think we will. I have a feeling that we will. But I'm not completely certain.
For now, I'm just going to hold onto the fact that she told me she loves me too.
Just as I click my pen closed and shut my notebook for the night, Mercedes knocks her two fingers against my door even though it's open, and I spin around in my desk chair to see what it is that she wants. I'm careful to cover my journal with my elbow too, just in case she gets a little nosy and wants to sneak a peek at it. As it is right now, closed and stuff, all she would see is a bright red cover with Rachel's name doodled all over it in various fonts and styles. It looks like a regular notebook but my most private thoughts lie between the pages of it and yeah, if I was ever going to let somebody read my journal it would be Mercedes or Bailey, but that doesn't mean I want them to read it.
"Can I borrow your math expertise real quick?" She stands in the archway and waits for my permission to enter.
"Yeah, come on," I shove my notebook back into my backpack and move over to my bed so we can both look at her book together. "What's up?"
"It's this last problem that I just don't get. Williamson keeps saying that this is basic trig but there ain't nothing basic about this shit. I'm so confused." She sits down beside me, legs crossed, and puts her book on her kneecap so I can see. "I keep getting negative five, but then I check my answer in the back of the book and it's wrong."
"Lemme see," I pick the book up and look at her notebook to see if I can tell what she's missing. "Well you have these two angles wrong. When you were figuring out the legs and hypotenuse, you did something wrong because the angles are all supposed to add up to 180 and you got 210 for the sum of your angles. So that's probably throwing everything off. If that angle is 100, the other one can't be 90 because that's over 180. So that one is 100, then that one is 50 and the last one is 30."
"Okay, I get it," she erases her work and scribbles the answers I just told her. "So then I'm supposed to find the tangent, right?"
"Well no, you have to find the sine first. At least that's how I always do it."
"But why that first if she's asking for the tangent?"
"Because you can't get the tangent without finding the other ones first. The tangent's the most complicated one."
"I'm so confused."
"No, 'Cedes, see?" I point to the formula paper that Williamson handed out. I took trig last year as part of my honors classes so I'm a little rusty but I still know what I'm doing, and I know that she's overthinking this. "The tangent is the hardest one to get. She's asking you to find the tangent of this triangle up here. And see? In the formula for the tangent, you need the sine, the cosine, and the cotangent. You have to find those before you can put it into your calculator. See?"
"So I find the stuff that I put into the calculator… like the answers and stuff. I find the answers and then type them in?"
"Yes. You're just overthinking it. All you're doing is putting numbers into a formula and putting it all into your calculator."
"What would I do without you, Quinn?" She erases all her work and starts hitting down different answers once she has an epiphany.
"Probably fail trigonometry," I mumble and watch over her shoulder to make sure she's not making any mistakes as she's going along.
I missed this. The first time I lived here, this was all me and Mercedes did. I was too tired and pregnant and moody to really do anything besides lie in bed and do my homework when I came home from school and Mercedes wasn't as popular then as she is now. So we would just pile up in her room every night and do our homework together and talk about how our days went in school, because we were in opposite classes just like this year. I missed doing homework with her. I missed having these moments to just hang out with my best friend.
"You nervous about your solo at regionals?" I ask her, leaning back against my pillows once she closes her notebook and is officially done with her homework.
"A little," she puts her books on my nightstand and leans against the pillows with me and I know we're about to have one of our famous best friend sessions. I'm glad, too. I've really been needing one since me and Rachel fought. "It's a great song and I think my voice will sound pretty good on it but I'm mostly just nervous that Rachel is going to be mad at me for having the solo. She seemed to take it okay when Mr. Schue announced it, but —"
"Mercedes, you're awesome. You're just as talented and just as big of powerhouse as Rachel is. She had the solos for sectionals, I'm sure she can share one for regionals." I put my hand underneath hers and she squeezes it. "And Mr. Schue wouldn't have given you one if he didn't think you could do it."
"I know all that, but…" she sighs, then looks over and meets my eyes. "You know how Rachel gets when she's not the center of attention. I know she's your girl and all, but she's pretty much —"
"I know what you mean. You don't have to say it." We may not be on speaking terms right now, but I don't want to sit here and listen to Mercedes say anything bad about her. "She's probably pissed about it and she will be pissed about it from now until regionals, but it doesn't change the fact that the solo is yours."
Still hand in hand, the both of us look up at the ceiling and just relax in the quiet. Silence is still never awkward between us and we know how to just enjoy each other's company. Sometimes I wonder what Mercedes is thinking, then other times I think I already know. She can look at me a certain way in Glee club and I know that she's thinking how much Santana is getting on her nerves. She can smile at me a certain way and I know that it means that she saw Sugar almost fall down the steps the same way I did. It's the little things like that, things that make me realize me and Mercedes are on the same wavelength and one soul sharing two bodies. But other times — times like this — I'm completely clueless as to what's going on in her mind.
"...You and Rachel okay?" She finally asks and now that she says it, I guess I did sort of see that coming. I knew that it was burning her up to not know, I knew that she was desperately waiting to ask. "You guys just haven't really been talking lately and she's been hanging out with Kurt again and —"
"We had a fight." God, that felt good to say out loud again. I thought I released all that tension and pent up energy when I told Shelby about it yesterday but telling Mercedes was like letting go of a breath I didn't know that I was holding in. "Yesterday at Shelby's. We had a huge fight, actually."
"About what?"
"Everything, basically. You know she ignored me that whole week I was grounded. Which, fine, I get it. I was grounded, we couldn't talk anyway. But she kept ignoring me in school and Glee club when we could talk and I felt… abandoned? I guess? I dunno. But I told her about it and how I was feeling and how I didn't think that we were together anymore because she was ignoring the hell out of my text messages and stuff and she just… blew up. She called me crazy and jealous and told me that I worry too much and that my problems exhaust her and that she is tired of dealing with me and —"
"Wait, back up, back up," Mercedes sits up. "She called you exhausting? And said that she's tired of dealing with you?"
"In a nutshell, yeah. And she said I'm abusive — emotionally and mentally and stuff — and honestly it all just hurt. It hurt like hell. I felt like she was just sick of me and just tolerating me or something. Like Mercedes, the things she said were honestly just SO mean. I mean, I said some mean things too and I get it, sometimes I am wrong. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. I did get pissed off at her for spending all her time with Kurt even though I was grounded but like… I'm a jealous person. Okay? That's just who I am and I'm trying to change it, I'm trying to fix it, I'm working on it, but she just keeps picking it out. She dwells on it and dwells on it and every time we argue it's because she's telling me how much she hates that characteristic about me when I can't help it. It's just who I am. So it's like she doesn't like who I am as a person and I don't know what to say about that. Especially when she knows I'm literally going to therapy two days a week, on medication, just got out of a mental hospital, trying to fix it. I just don't understand why she has to constantly say it. I already know it's something about me that she hates. She doesn't have to keep saying it."
"I don't understand why she gets so mad at you for basically wanting all her time when she's the same way." She lies down on the pillows again. "I mean, I get it. It is super annoying when someone makes you feel guilty for hanging out with your friends. Shane used to do that to me and it drove me to insanity, so I get where she's coming from, but it seems a little hypocritical because she used to trip big time when Finn even looked at someone else."
"Mercedes, thank you! I said the same thing! And she keeps saying that she's changed and stuff she realizes that controlling people and manipulating people and being jealous isn't love, which is great! It's great! If she changed and she has saw the error in her ways, great! I'm glad! But don't act like you don't understand where I'm coming from. Don't act like you haven't been in my shoes. How would you feel if Sam ignored your for an entire week — I mean STRAIGHT UP IGNORED YOU — and hung out with Rory and Finn and Puck and stuff? And then when you're like 'hey honey I'm sad that you ignored me' he BLOWS UP?"
Mercedes starts to laugh, which makes me laugh too and I'm glad that I can find a little bit of humor in the situation when in reality, everything still hurts.
"I'd be pretty pissed," she admits, still laughing.
"Right? And she ASKED ME. She asked me how I felt! She asked me to share my feelings with her! So I did and she ripped me a new butthole and insulted my entire character. Like geez… and I'm the one who ended up apologizing! She didn't even apologize!"
"Getting an apology out of Rachel Berry and getting her to see that she is wrong is a feat that nobody has ever and will ever accomplish, so lower your expectations on that."
"Yeah, I think I should."
"You know what I think?" She sits up again and faces me so that I don't have to pick my head up and see her. I'm looking her in her eyes but I can also see up her nose and while it's not the most attractive angle in the world, I can't help but notice that she has really pretty skin. Seriously. There's not a blemish, a pimple or a blackhead in sight. "I think you and Rachel are just too much alike to get along all the time."
"Oh no," I shake my head and sit up straight so she can tell how serious I am. "I am nothing like Rachel. I am not that stubborn, my ego is not that big, I do not act holier than thou, I —"
"Quinn, you made a list calling everybody in Glee club ugly except for yourself. And then you went on to call yourself a hoe when you just barely lost your virginity."
"Listen, that was a really rough time in my life and —"
"You used to insist that you — a skinny little blonde thing with the perfect body — were a minority because you were pregnant."
"In my defense, I was raised by a family full of bigots and I didn't know the difference."
"You were a ruthless bitch, Quinn. Ruthless. You threatened Coach Sylvester just for a page in the yearbook! You threatened a teacher!"
"In my defense, it was for the good of the club!"
"You called drew nude pictures of Rachel on the bathroom wall…"
"In my defense, I was a closeted lesbian with a crush."
"...Then proceeded to call her everything from Ru Paul to a troll that lives under the bridge."
"In my defense…. I…." I swallow a laugh and push my hair back as I put my head down and mumble, "I actually don't have a defense for that. That was just plain mean."
The two of us bust out into serious side-splitting laughter and it's not long before I feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes and I can't remember the last time I cried because I was laughing. I actually sort of forgot that I could cry from anything other than sadness and misery and frustration. Man, I never thought I'd see the day where I could look back on the person I used to be and laugh at her… I sure do feel guilty for all the people I've hurt and especially Rachel. But I can safely say that I'm not that person anymore… and it feels really good to know that she's gone. Maybe I am a new Quinn Fabray after all.
"But seriously girl," Mercedes' laughter eases up as she puts her hand on my leg. "Even though I kind of don't recognize you as the same girl you were back then, I think you and Rachel are more alike than you think. Rachel can be every bit as sneaky and conniving and underhanded as you can be. And it sounds like your fight came from a place a love and two personalities just clashing."
"...We had sex." Oh god, that felt good too. It feels so good to just let it all out. I've been walking around with this weight in my chest, thinking that I'd never work up enough nerve to tell her about it and now it's out and I feel so, so, so good.
"You… you what?" She looks at me like she's looking at someone who just admitted that they robbed a bank. There's shock and worry and eagerness and anticipation all in her face. It's all those emotions mixed up and plastered on. "You and Rachel?! WHEN?!"
"Sectionals."
"WHAT?!"
"Oh come on, Mercedes. You already knew. I know you did. The two of us were in a bedroom alone together, what did you think we were gonna do?!"
"I… I don't know! Not that! What?! You and Rachel?! You did the nasty nasty? With Rachel?! Quinn, wait. Swear. Say swear. Say swear you're not lying. Swear. Swear on Beth. You're lying. I know you are."
"I swear on my daughter that I am not lying. We did. We had sex the night before we went to chocolate world. She couldn't sleep so I got in the bed with her thinking that we were just going to hold hands until she fell asleep but one thing led to another and then we just did it," I shrug. "It just happened."
"Okay, then what? You don't get to just tell me you had sex with Rachel and then not give me any details."
"It… it was private! It was super private and I don't really want to disrespect Rachel like that, like she probably doesn't want anyone to know," I look down and pull at a loose strand of thread on my quilt. I can literally feel my cheeks flushing. "It was something between us."
"Oh screw that, you're spilling!" She springs up off my bed and closes my door. "Now, before I string you up and beat it outta you. I can guarantee Rachel told Kurt. She tells him everything. And it's not like I'm gonna tell her you told me. Come on, Quinn. Spill. You gotta. I'm your best friend. I need details. Dirty ones. Raunchy ones."
"It wasn't like that! There aren't any dirty details to give." Smiling, I look down and hide my face. It's so weird to talk about Rachel like this… I just want to respect her. God. But it is Mercedes… it's Mercedes. And I really have been dying to give someone details and talk about it. Oh god… here goes nothing… "...I was super nervous about it. I mean, I didn't think I was when it was happening but then it was really happening and I was so nervous."
"Go on."
"She was so understanding. I really didn't know what I was doing. And Mercedes, she smelled so good. I mean, the only thing I really have to compare it to was when I was with Puck and I just remember that he smelled like sweat and onions. So like… when I was… you know… down there, I just… I don't know, she just smelled so good. And she was so soft. All I kept doing was rubbing her legs because she was so freaking soft. And I didn't know what I was doing but she was so super nice about it. Like, I guess I… I guess I was going too fast because… because I was just thinking about what would feel good for me, you know?"
"You're not making any sense. Just use your words, I don't care how bad it sounds." She kicks her feet up like she's settling in for a bedtime story.
"Okay, so. I didn't know what I was doing, so I was just thinking that I have one, too. You know? I have a vagina too and I know what feels good for me so maybe it would be the same for her. But I guess I was going too fast. When I was… like… rubbing her… you know..." God this is so horrible. I can't do this.
"Her clit," Mercedes says so bluntly and matter of factly that it feels wrong to even listen to it.
"Ahh!" I clamp my hands over my ears and shut my eyes. She didn't have to say it! She knew what I meant! That is such a dirty word!
I slowly take my hands away from my ears and take a deep breath. I'm blushing so hard and smiling through this whole thing and I just… I'm not a prude, okay? I know things. I know what things are called and how to say them and use them in a sentence and stuff but it feels so wrong to say it about Rachel! I respect her and I love her and it was private and I want to tell Mercedes these things, it's good that she's pushing me to talk about it and I'm actually liking telling her about it but that word… why did she have to use that word?! Aaah!
"Yeah, that. So I guess I was going too fast or maybe my thumb wasn't wet enough or something I don't know, but I guess it wasn't good, so then instead of making a big deal out of it and like pushing me away or something, she was so nice. She just made my thumb go the way she wanted it to go, like in a circle instead of up and down, and then I noticed that when she got… like… wetter, I guess?"
"Yeah, wetter," she shrugs.
"It was easier then. It wasn't so dry. Like don't get me wrong, she was already. Because we were kissing and I know that her neck really turns her on so I was kissing her there and already touching her through her underwear so she was already. But it was easier when it got more intense because my thumb wasn't so dry."
"So was that it? Is that all you did? You didn't, like, go down on her or anything?"
"No, I did," I find that it's easier to talk about it if I'm not looking at her directly in the eyes so I keep looking at my quilt and pulling that thread. "That was easier, actually. It felt like something activated in me and I just knew what to do when it came to that. I wasn't the greatest at the whole… fingering, but I knew what I was doing when it came to that. I just did what I was doing with my fingers, but with my tongue. And it was like…" I sigh. "Mercedes, it was magical."
"Magical? I have never once had sex that was magical, I'm gonna need you to explain that one."
"It just was. I was still nervous when I was doing it. I was just worried that I wasn't making her feel good and stuff and worried that I was doing bad. So I kept looking up at her. I didn't like, take my mouth away or anything, I just looked up with my eyes. And her eyes were closed and her hands were on her chest and like she didn't know what to grab onto and she looked… I just remember thinking that she looked beautiful," I shake my head, smiling at the memory. "And it made me want to go crazy or something. It was like suddenly I knew exactly what to do to make her react. I knew where to put my tongue and where to lick and when I should suck. And then I started, like, curling them? My fingers, I mean. And then it all just exploded. It felt like magic, honestly it did. To look at her and know that I did that. It was magic. And I knew that I loved her because I just… didn't care? I didn't care if she did it to me next or not, all I cared about was that she felt good. I knew she did because her face was in the pillow because she was being super loud. I'm honestly not sure how Santana and Brittany didn't hear."
"They were probably busy doing their own thing," she mumbles. "So it didn't go both ways? It was just you doing it to her?"
"I freaked out when she did it to me at first."
"Freaked out?"
"Yeah," I pull my knees up into my chest because this is about to be even harder to talk about than that was, but it has to be talked about. The only way I'll get better is if I talk about it and stop keeping it in. "She was going to do it first. She initiated the whole thing, she pushed me down and got on top of me and then she started to go down on me and I wanted it. I wanted her to do it. But then she started actually doing it and I just… freaked out. It felt like Puck was touching me and it felt like she was ripping my underwear like he did and I just got scared. I got so scared that I just like, pulled her up. And then I went first instead of her. She did do it, though. Eventually I got out of my head enough for her to do it and she was so much better than me. I mean she immediately just dug right in. And I thought it would bother me if she kissed me right after she did that, but it didn't. I didn't really care."
"Wow," she whispers. "...It sounds like it was super, super passionate."
"It was. It was more like lovemaking and less like sex. I mean in hindsight, I wish I had done more. I was so nervous that I didn't do much, but now I wish I hadn't been so nice and proper about it. I wish I had gone to town on her because I see her now and I look at her and I'm like… 'damn, I'd bang the shit out of you.' But I didn't when I had the chance."
Suddenly, like he's right on cue or something, Mr. Jones starts knocking on the door and makes me and Mercedes jump since it was otherwise quiet in the room.
"Mercedes? Quinn?" his voice booms through the door.
"Yeah, dad?" Mercedes turns to face the door, still clutching her chest from how hard she jumped.
"Come on down and get some dinner."
Me and Mercedes hop down off the bed together, both still recovering from being scared like that. I'm just about to grab the door handle to open it when she grabs my hand. She grabs my hand and makes me look back at her and as soon as I do, she gives me a very light but protective hug. It lasts all of two seconds before she pulls away and says:
"You okay, Quinn?
"Hmm?" I wrinkle my brow, super confused. "I'm fine, why?"
"I mean with the whole… freaking out during sex thing. I know it happened a while ago back at sectionals and you're probs to over it now, but are you? Okay?"
"Yeah," I nod. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"You study for that English test you got tomorrow, 'Cedes?" Mrs. Jones asks her as she scoops helpings of macaroni and cheese onto both our plates. It's not the frozen Stouffer's macaroni that you pop in the microwave like I'm used to. It's real and it's homemade with crispy edges and bubbly cheese on top. It looks absolutely delicious and I want to eat the entire pan myself.
"Yeah, I looked over the study guide," Mercedes hands me a can of Canada Dry and sits down with her can of Pepsi. "I think I'm ready for it."
"What about you?" She asks me next, doling out scoops of green beans next. "You got that chemistry test tomorrow, how you studying?"
I didn't even know she knew I have a chemistry test tomorrow. My mom never kept up on things like that…
"My teacher gave us a practice test to do for homework tonight and it was a breeze." I crack open my can of soda and move my elbows so she can put a piece of fish on my plate.
"You want one piece of fish or two?"
"One's fine to start with."
"What about you, 'Cedes? One or two?"
"One's good," Mercedes says as she stabs some macaroni with her fork.
"Quintessential, if there's ever anything you don't like about dinner, just tell us." Mr. Jones scoots his chair in and starts to eat too. "You don't gotta eat nothing you don't like. If you don't like Tilapia, you don't gotta eat it. If you don't like baked macaroni, you don't gotta eat it. If you don't like green beans, you don't gotta eat it. Just let us know what you like and don't like, kay?"
"Why don't you start tellin' us what you likes to eat and don't likes to eat?" Mrs. Jones chimes in.
"This is fine," I start with the macaroni too. "I'm really not that picky. I like everything you make."
"Well imma cut up some of them potatoes and make some home fries for breakfast in the morning. You like your eggs scrambled or flat? You like waffles or pancakes?" She asks.
"Either or," I shrug.
"Child, if you don't just tell us what you like and don't like!" Mr. Jones starts laughing and shaking his head at me. "I'm starting to think you and 'Cedes really are sisters with all this damn indecisiveness between you."
"He's right," Mrs. Jones blows on a piece of her fish. "But we done had sixteen years with 'Cedes to figure out what she like and what she don't like. We tryna learn about you now. What do you eat?"
"She doesn't like turkey," Mercedes speaks up, going for a second helping of macaroni and cheese. "She likes the kind you get at the deli but not the kind at thanksgiving. She thinks it's too dry. And it's the opposite with ham. She likes the kind you get for Christmas dinner but not the kind you get from the deli."
"Okay, that's a start," Mr. Jones chews. "Chicken? Steak? Seafood? Pork chops?"
"I don't like oysters and I don't like caviar but everything else is fine," I go for more macaroni and cheese too. "And I don't like cooked carrots."
"Well it's a good thing you ain't gotta worry about no caviar over here," Mr. Jones starts laughing again. "Ain't no caviar in the budget over here."
"You like carrots with your roast, baby?" Mrs. Jones asks me. "You know, with the pot roast? The way I make my roast, I cut em all up along with some potatoes and bake it with the carrots and potatoes around it."
"I've never had it that way," I admit. "My mom wasn't a very good cook. It was mostly the same few things over and over and sometimes they didn't taste that great. She makes really good Italian sometimes. Like her homemade red sauce is pretty okay, but that's about it. Everything came out of a box or the freezer."
"We gonna fatten you up girl," Mr. Jones nudges me with his foot underneath the table. Please don't fatten me up. I'll throw up every day from now until the day I die. It's bad enough everything your wife makes is delicious. Don't say you're gonna fatten me up. "Don't you worry."
"Anyway," Mrs. Jones squirts more ketchup onto her plate. "How's that babysittin' going? That baby getting to know you? That woman being nice to you?"
"Yeah," I nod my head. "Shelby's great. She's really sweet and she works with me a lot on doing things with Beth. She was really sick yesterday that's why she cancelled today, but she was so cute. Maybe Shelby will let me bring her over sometime to see you. I keep meaning to take pictures, but I —"
"Don't you worry bout no pictures, baby. You enjoy your little girl when you got her. We'll see her someday, don't worry bout it."
"She is really cute though," Mercedes says. "She looks exactly like Quinn."
"I bet she does." Mrs. Jones gives herself and her husband both more green beans. "What about your mama? You talk to your mama lately?"
"No actually," I put my fork down and stop eating because she kinda caught me off guard. It's been a while since I really sat down and thought about Mom. To be honest, I kind of forgot that she existed a little bit… "She hasn't reached out or said anything to me." I pick my fork back up and bully a green bean across my plate. "But I was thinking about texting her sometime this weekend and seeing how things are going for her," I lie.
"Quincy, look," Mr. Jones leans a little closer to me like he really wants me to listen to what he's about to tell me. "That ain't your job. If you wanna reach out to your mom then it's totally up to you. You know me and 'Trice will support you either way. But it ain't your job to reach out to her. She's the adult. You're the child in this situation and it's not your responsibility to reach out and mend the relationship."
"Yeah dad, but —" I close my mouth just as quickly as I opened it because I really didn't mean to slip up like that. I called him dad… that's not my place. I just WAY overstepped. I'd better clean it up before they can say anything about me crossing a line. "I just mean that — I mean, what I'm trying to say is that — my mom… sometimes she just doesn't know what to say."
They both just look at me for a moment, stunned to silence. I'm not sure if maybe they're being so quiet because of how I just slipped up and called Mr. Jones "dad", or if they're being quiet because they don't know what to say themselves. Either way, I managed to turn a nice dinner into a big awkward encounter and now I don't have much of an appetite anymore. I keep pushing the green bean around my plate, hoping that one of them will notice and excuse me from the table.
No such luck, though.
"So," Mrs. Jones starts before she takes a sip of her drink. "You get them picture forms back from school yet?"
"Oh crap, yeah," Mercedes pushes her chair out from the table and hurries to go get hers, and I just sit here at the table, still wishing I had never said what I said.
"Why you still sitting here?" She asks me. "You think you special? Go get that picture form, I said. I'm tryna order them pictures tonight so I can give you the money tomorrow."
"Oh, I didn't…" I scoot out from the table too. "I didn't know you, I'm… I'm sorry, I'll be right back."
I head for the steps just like Mercedes, because I left the order forms upstairs in my bookbag and I honestly forgot about them because Mom never orders pictures from the school. I think the only time she ordered school pictures was my freshman year when I got Cheerios pictures taken and even then, she ordered one at best. She and dad have one photographer that we go to and he's the one who has done all the pictures we have in the house. Dad always thought the school pictures were cheap and not up to the quality he wanted.
I jog back down the steps with my order form and hand it to Mrs. Jones before I sit back down.
"Your hair look good, 'Cedes," she tilts her head to the side as she examines Mercedes' picture. "I told you it was gonna look better if I bumped the ends of it."
"Yeah, yeah, that's the last time I let you straighten my hair." Mercedes rolls her eyes as her mom passes it to her dad and I get a little glimpse of them too. She does look really pretty. Her hair is down and it's straight with little curls at the end and she's wearing her favorite lime green shirt with the zebra print vest over it and her makeup looks really pretty and her teeth are so straight and white.
"Aww, look at you!" Mrs. Jones exclaims as she examines mine next. She has the widest smile on her face and for some reason, I'm a little uncomfortable with her looking at my picture. "Just as pretty as you wanna be, look at you. Why you ain't show no teeth?"
"I dunno," I'm smiling and blushing again for the billionth time tonight. "I look so horrible."
"Oh stop it, you do not!"
She passes the picture to Mr. Jones and starts jotting down her order for Mercedes'. I really hate my school picture. I remember that day vividly. It was the third week of school and I was still adjusting to seeing Rachel in the hallways and I totally forgot that it was picture day. I had on one of my least favorite dresses, the white one with the dark purple cubes all over it and I had a dark purple cardigan on to go over it. And then my hair had one of my trademark braids in the front and the rest was down and curled and I just look gross, okay? I definitely could have touched up my makeup. My forehead is so shiny.
"Now I got pictures of both my girls," Mrs. Jones opens her purse to put the money for them in both our envelopes.
And I don't know what it is about her saying that, but something inside of me just… feels different. It's like as soon as she says that, I feel everything inside of me just stop. I feel like I can breathe again. I feel like I don't have to keep planning my next move. I feel like I can release the tension in my shoulders and relax. I feel like maybe… maybe I don't have to run anymore. She wants to hang me up on her wall. She loves me and wants to hang me up on her wall. They both do. This is where I'm meant to be.
I don't have to run anymore, I don't have to fight anymore, I don't have to be tired anymore, I don't have to be everything at one time. These people know me and they love me and I can stay. I can honestly, honestly stay here. I can settle down right here in this kitchen with three people who love me enough to have me hanging on their wall…
"So, I'd like to tell everyone something," I clear my throat and speak up. I think it's time for them to know. I think it's time for them to have every piece of my complicated puzzle. And if they love me the way I think they do… I think that telling them will be okay. "Mostly just you, Mr. and Mrs. Jones."
The two of them put their forks down and look at me and again, I'd feel a lot better if I wasn't looking them in the eye, but I don't want them to think that I'm lying or that what I'm saying isn't to be taken seriously. I need them to trust me and believe in everything that I say. So as uncomfortable as it is, I keep my head up and look right into their eyes. It's another one of those moments where me and Mercedes are on the same wavelength. She knows exactly what I'm about to do, and she holds my hand. Plain as day, right on top of the table. I think her doing that lets her parents know that this is something serious, but her holding my hand is more than that to me. Her holding my hand gives me strength.
"So last June… after I had my baby, I um… I got really… like… depressed? I wasn't eating and I wasn't sleeping and I was just really sad all the time and stuff and so finally, I just… I took too many sleeping pills, and that's why I'm still going to therapy and stuff." Mrs. Jones' eyes never leave me for one second, even when they fill up with tears. Mr. Jones keeps his fist clenched over his mouth. He doesn't look at me but I understand it. I don't think I'd be able to look at me if I was telling myself this stuff, either. "And the doctor I saw last week, she um… she put me on medicine. And one of the pills was for PTSD and…"
My throat closes up and my voice cracks, but I'm not going to cry. I am NOT going to cry. Not over this. Not anymore. I'm done crying over it. I'm done letting it define me and make me upset. I'm putting it behind me. Starting today. Mercedes knows what I'm about to say next, so she squeezes my hand even harder. I can do this. I can tell them. No more running from it. Time to face it.
"...And the reason I have PTSD is because the father of my baby…" I swallow a lump in my throat. My eyes want to cry so bad but I'm not letting them. I'm stronger than this. I'm done letting this make me so upset. No more tears will be shed over this. No more. "...well he raped me. He raped me and I'm still figuring out how to deal with that."
Finally, Mrs. Jones' eyes fall and she stops looking at me and the second she does, I see tears drip down onto the table. Still, neither one of them say anything to me. And Bailey said that's normal. She said sometimes people just don't know what to say when they hear something like that and it's normal. It doesn't mean that they don't care and it doesn't mean that they don't believe you, it just means that they don't know what to say when they hear that such a horrible thing happened so such a beautiful girl.
And you know what? It was horrible. What happened to me was horrible. It was horrible the way Puck purposely got me drunk. It was horrible the way he kept trying even when I told him over and over again that I really didn't want to. It was horrible when he put himself inside of me, knowing that I wasn't 100% on board with it. It was horrible the way he ignored my tears while I was crying. And it was horrible when he held my hands up over my head and pinned me down. It was a terrible thing that happened to me; a disgusting, terrible thing.
But it happened. It happened and I can't change it. All I can change is the way I go forward and the way I let it affect me. What happened to me doesn't define who I am as a person and one little tragedy doesn't have to decide the destination for my life. It doesn't have to color the way I look at things and it doesn't have to change my perception of love. I'm not a victim of rape. It's not something that happened to me and killed me and claimed me as something that it changed forever. I'm not someone who is going to crumble because of it. I'm not a victim. I'm a survivor and that's the end of it. What happened to me doesn't make me less worthy of love. What happened to me doesn't make me dirty or ruined. What happened to me might stick with me for the rest of my life, but I got my strength from it and I won't let it knock me down. Not anymore. I got my strength from it, I got my beautiful baby girl from it and that's all I'm willing to think about from here on out.
I forgive Puck. I forgive him for what he did to me, not because I'm giving him a pass but because I'm tired of hating him and being angry all the time and the only way to move past it is to forgive him. Bailey once told me that hating someone is like drinking poison and expecting them to die and I don't think I want to drink poison anymore. I want to live. I'm forgiving Puck because I deserve peace and I deserve to live.
"So —" Mrs. Jones finally starts to speak through her tears, but then someone starts knocking on the front door and I'm kind of glad that they did because I don't know if I'll be able to stay strong with Mrs. Jones crying. It's hard to see a pillar of strength crying like that.
"I'll go get it," Mercedes finally lets go of my hand and gets up.
"I'll help you," I get up as well, for no reason other than just needing to get away from the table. That was a very tough thing for me to do, but I do feel lighter for doing it. I'm no longer carrying around this big, heavy secret that I'm keeping from the Joneses.
Mercedes turns on the porch light before unlocking and opening the door, and I move barking Whitney and tail-wagging Bobby away from the door so they don't scare whoever it is that's on the porch. Whitney Houston Jones and Bobby Brown Jones are two Blue Nose Pitbulls and they're both pretty big, so they can be really intimidating if you're not used to them. Really, they're both very sweet dogs. They wouldn't hurt a fly, honest. But if you're not used to having dogs around, they can be a little bit scary.
As soon as Mercedes opens the door and we find out who it is, my heart stops beating. I have to fight the urge to smile because as far as I know, we're still not speaking and I don't want to be the first one to crack, but I can't help it. My god, I missed her. I missed her so much.
"Hey Rach," Mercedes steps aside and lets her into the house.
I missed you! I missed you so much and you're here! You're here and you look so beautiful! That color against your skin and the way your hair is all down your back… I missed you so much, beautiful. I'm not strong enough to hate you anymore. I missed you so much. Way too much to be mad anymore.
"Hey," her voice is very low and I can instantly tell that she's upset. I hope nothing happened. She's usually so chipper and talking so loud, but she's so quiet that I almost didn't hear her speak. I hope nobody did anything to her.
She takes her shoes off at the door and her jacket as well and I can't stop looking at her. The way her bright red lace dress just hugs her body and the color against her caramel colored skin with her dark brown hair… I'm melting. I'm literally putty. I'm putty in her hands and even though she doesn't look at me as she follows Mercedes to the kitchen, I'm practically drooling as I follow the both of them.
"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Jones," she waves to greet both of them. Then finally, she turns to me. And I have to practically pick my jaw up off the door when she does. So beautiful… "I actually came to see Quinn," she says. "Can we go somewhere to talk? Privately?"
She sits with her legs crossed up towards the top of my bed, just inches away from my pillows. I still near the bottom, inches away from the footboard. She has her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap, I have my legs crossed and my hands folded in my lap.
It's taking everything in me not to dive across the bed and kiss her. I want to hold her face in my arms, steady as my tongue explores the mouth that it's been missing for the past week. I want to make her lie down on my pillows and tremble with anticipation as I peel every inch of that red lace dress off her skin. It's taking everything in me not to part her legs and show her just how much I was holding back the first and last time we had each other. God, I want to hear her moaning my name. I want to hear her moaning my name and feel her pulling my hair as she tells me how much she missed me too.
But we just sit in silence instead of having super hot "I missed you" sex.
I keep my head down even when I see her move from the corner of my eye. She picks up her phone, I think. She picks up her phone and her thumbs fly across the screen and it's in that moment I realize that we still have a lot to work on if we're going to make this work, because my instant thought is that she's probably texting Kurt or Finn and I'm a little annoyed. Just let me fuck you and then you can go home. I don't think I'm ready to stop being mad yet, but I do want to have sex with you, so.
I must be getting ready to come on my period. There's no way my hormones are this crazy.
She puts her phone back down and folds her hands in her lap again and no sooner than she does that does my phone light up and vibrate next to me.
New iMessage
Thursday, November 7
7:49 p.m.
RACHEL: As you know, it's really hard for me to admit when I'm wrong and after speaking with my therapist extensively for two and a half hours today, I have come to the conclusion that I do, indeed, owe you an apology. Sorry.
7:50 p.m.
ME: if that's the best apology you've got, then wow.
ME: takes a therapist to tell you that you said some really messed up shit to me. nice.
RACHEL: Come on.
RACHEL: Stop it.
RACHEL: I'm saying sorry.
ME: yeah but you can't even tell me what you're saying sorry for.
RACHEL: Does it really matter?
ME: wow, rachel. wow. get out of my room.
More silence falls between us and I'm honestly shaking. If she didn't look so hot in that dress and I'd I didn't want to jump her bones as bad as I do, I'd grab her by her hair and drag her out of here myself.
7:57 p.m.
RACHEL: I'm sorry for everything I said. Alright?
ME: personally, i'm sorry that i made you feel g
Before I even finish that stupid sentence that I was about to send, I lock my phone and throw it down on the bed and turn to her because this is it. I'm tired of this back and forth through text messages. We're not going to get anything solved unless we talk. We're not hiding behind phones. So I take her phone and toss it right where mine is at.
"No," I turn so I'm facing her completely. "It's not alright. I need to know that you know exactly what you did to hurt me. I need you to know that you don't get to say a bunch of hurtful things to me and then patch a band-aid on it by giving a generic apology — an apology you're only giving me because your therapist told you to."
She hangs her head and says nothing, which really sets me off. How can she be so stubborn?! How can she be so pigheaded?! How is her ego so big that she can't even apologize to me the right, meaningful way?!
"Look, I know I have things I need to work on," I start apologizing first since it seems like nothing is going to come out of her mouth. "I am everything you said I am. I'm selfish, I'm jealous and sometimes a little controlling. These are all things that I have to work on and I thank you for putting up with me. I really do. I thank you. Because I know it's not easy and I know it's exhausting and everything you said it was. I KNOW I'm a shit person, Rachel. I know. But I am TRYING. I really am trying my best and all I'm hearing out of you is that you don't like me. You don't like who I am as a person, you don't like who I am as a girlfriend and you don't —"
"I never said any of that," she whispers.
"You did, though! When you keep badgering me about this part of me that you hate? That right there is telling me that you don't like me for who I am as a person. I'm trying to change it because you are worth more to me than any of that, but I don't need to keep hearing it. I don't need to keep hearing it, okay?"
"I'm sorry for everything that I said," she talks a little louder but still doesn't turn to face me. "I mean it. I'm sorry for everything that I said. But I need you to know that it wasn't like that, okay? It wasn't like that. I ignored you all week and didn't talk to you because I didn't want to get you into trouble. I love you being here, Quinn. I love this for you. And I thought that if you saw me and talked to me and texted me and stuff, I thought that you would get in trouble and I didn't want that. Being here makes you happy and I couldn't do anything to get in the way of that."
"But then you —"
"I know, I got wrapped up in Kurt. I did. I got so wrapped up in him that I started to forget about you and that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted to forget about you for that week because I had to stay away from you and I knew that it was going to be the hardest thing I've ever had to do. So I kept myself busy with Kurt. And I was so busy with him that I just forgot about you and I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I hurt you and I'm so sorry if I pushed you away but you don't understand…" She starts crying and her voice raises an entire pitch. "You don't understand."
"What don't I understand? Whatever I don't understand about you Rachel, I want to understand." I pick her hand up and hold it inside of mine. "Make me understand."
"You won't," she pulls her hand away from mine and shakes her head. "You won't ever understand. You'll never understand what it's like to walk around so scared all the time."
"Scared? Scared of what?"
"Scared that this is all just some stupid, elaborate hoax. Scared that this is just an attempt at humiliating me and knowing that if it is, then I don't know if I'll get through it this time because I really love you!"
"Rachel, what —"
"I'm talking about you, Quinn! I'm talking about you! And how you could possibly be interested in someone like me. If this is just a joke… if this is just some prank between you and Santana to humiliate me and break my heart so you can laugh about it later then please, consider the job done. Every day I fall more in love with you and I get SO scared that it might be the day you pull the rug out from under me. Scared that you will see me for who I am. A loser that is annoying and insufferable with a big ego and big voice. One day this whole charade is going to fall apart and I'm going to need my friends when it does. I'm going to need Kurt because this is all just a joke but my feelings for you are real. They're real and you're going to break my heart and I'm just trying to prepare myself for when that happens, okay?"
"Rachel…" I hold her hand and scoot closer to her. "That is NEVER going to happen." I put my hands on her cheeks and pick her head up. "Look at me. Look." Her eyes are wet and her jaw is still trembling but she's looking at me. "I promise you. That is never going to happen. Ever. The way I feel about you is real. There's no charade, no joke, no hoax. This is real. I'm all in with you. I am ALL IN with you, Rachel Berry."
"Do you have a thing for Santana?" She sniffs and whimpers when she asks that which makes me feel like absolute garbage. The Santana thing must have really bothered her and I feel horrible for being the one to do that to her.
"No," I shake my head firmly. "Not at all. The only person I have any sort of 'thing' for is you. Okay?"
"I'm sorry I said that loving you is exhausting," she sniffs again and I notice that her tears are finally slowing down. I wipe underneath her eyes with my thumbs. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that having all these feelings for you all the time is just… it's just so… tiring to feel this much for one person."
"And I'm sorry for telling you that you don't love me enough." I finally take my hands away from her face, but I hold her hands with them next. "I promise I'm going to try to be better for you. I won't be perfect, but I will be better."
"I'll be better too," she wipes her face one last time and looks down, the last official step to pulling herself together. "I'll be more understanding and listening to you better." She clears her throat. "...What did you and Santana do?"
"It's not important," I mumble, seriously hoping that she just drops it because I don't want to hurt her with any details.
"Please, Quinn. I want to know."
"At Puck's party, she saw Brittany making out with a guy. She was drunk, crying and I was on an acid trip. She kissed me because she needed something to take the pain away, I guess. So she kissed me and I kissed back and she put her hands up my dress. It was a five minute thing, maybe even less. It meant absolutely nothing to either one of us."
"So how did you kiss her? Was it… with tongue? Or… no?" She looks at me like she's cringing; ready for the answers but not really knowing what to expect. I don't want to tell her that it was with tongue because I feel like it might hurt her if I do, so I just improvise…
"I can show you better than I can tell you…"
And she looks at me with raised eyebrows next, like she's challenging me or something. It's not long before both of us are tilting our heads and leaning in slowly. Our lips touch ever so lightly — they just brush up against each other — then I pull away. And she grins.
"It was like that?" She asks, voice thick and sultry.
"Yeah," I nod, noses touching.
"So it wasn't like this?" She opens her mouth and kisses me with tongue this time and I have to clench my hands into fists to stop myself from jumping all over her. Mercedes and her parents are downstairs. We can't do anything now. But god, she is so irresistible…
"Maybe a little like this…" I whisper when I pull away and move down to her neck.
"Yeah?" Her breath catches in her throat as her fingers curl through my hair.
"And a little of this…" I keep kissing her neck, even as I walk my fingers past her knee and toward her inner thigh. She parts her legs for me and I'm really into it. Like, super into it…
"Quinn, you got any laundry that —"
...So into it that I'm probably more mad than scared and embarrassed when my door suddenly flies open and I have to pull my hand out of her underwear and stop kissing her faster than the speed of light.
Mrs. Jones doesn't cross the threshold to get into my room when she opens the door, standing there carrying a laundry basket. And I want to say that she didn't see anything. I want to say that me and Rachel pulled away from each other fast enough for her to have not seen a thing.
But the look on her face tells a different story.