I hope they go to bed soon, because I'm really thirsty and I have to pee.
I don't usually skip days when it comes to showering but after Rachel left, I just really didn't want to come back out of my room, so I nixed the shower for tonight and decided to put my pajamas on and go to bed early instead. I haven't been in bed by nine since the week I came back from treatment, and I haven't been ready to fall asleep before ten since I was actually inside the center.
I didn't walk Rachel down the steps and out the door when she left, I just walked her to the top of the staircase and watched from a distance as she closed the front door behind herself. She wasn't kicked out or anything like that, but we both decided that she should probably leave and though we didn't talk about it, we felt each other's embarrassment oozing from our pores.
She left about an hour ago and I've been laying in my bed since then with a dry throat and a full bladder, because I haven't heard Mr. and Mrs. Jones come upstairs and settle in for bed yet, and I've been listening for that. I've been bouncing back and forth between my Facebook, my Snapchat and my Instagram, and there's really nothing to keep me entertained on any of them.
I don't know how much Mrs. Jones saw, but I know she saw something because the way she looked at me was like she just heard me speak another language. Our eyes met and her eyebrows raised and she lost her grip on the laundry basket she was holding for a split second before catching it again. She looked at me for several seconds, just standing there trying to make sense of what she might have walked in on, and I held her gaze for a moment until it was too painful to keep doing it. When my eyes dropped away from hers, I scooted away from Rachel a little bit and that's when Mrs. Jones just backed out of my room and closed the door. Rachel took one look at me and stood up so fast that she stumbled, and I followed her to the steps to tell her goodbye.
My strategy is to avoid them as much as possible and for as long as possible, which is a bad idea, I know. If I were telling Bailey that I plan to avoid the Joneses, she'd give me some big long lecture about how avoidance is wrong and how it's just a deflection technique and she'd be encouraging me to approach them and start a conversation about what just happened tonight, but I'm not afraid to admit that I am too weak for that. I'm strong about many things but when it comes to talking to Mrs. Jones about that, it's just not something I'm able to do. I know avoiding them and putting this conversation off is wrong, but I just haven't figured out what I should say yet.
What do you say when the person you admire the most in the world suddenly finds out one of your secrets? And the secret is so big that you know for a fact it would change the way they look at you. The secret is so raw and integral to who you are as a person that you know it would completely alter their opinion on who you are as a person. The secret is so fresh that you're still figuring out how to cope with it yourself.
Mrs. Jones now knows the most embarrassing and humiliating and shameful thing about me. She saw me kissing Rachel — I know she did — but more than that, she saw me take my hand from between her legs. And that's not something I can easily explain away.
She can tell me to get out of her house because of this, and I don't think I would blame her. She's already taking in a depressed, traumatized, bipolar maniac of a teenager. And if that's not enough, that teenager is also a mother. Being gay is just adding the cherry on top of my disaster and if she decides that being gay isn't something she's willing to tolerate on top of everything else, then I can't say that I'll blame her.
I could just sneak out while they're sleeping tonight. I could pack up all my clothes and shove them into my duffle bag again. I could leave the phone they bought me on my bed and leave a note saying thank you for everything they've done for me. My credit card should be enough to rent me a room for at least a month, as long as I make it a pretty cheap hotel. Before that month is up, I could apply for a few jobs around here and also for an apartment. And if all of that falls through then I still have my car. I can stay in my car for a while too.
I tap the icon to open up my Facebook for the thousandth time tonight, and pull down to refresh my feed. Santana added to her story, so I tap on it to watch it and apparently she and Brittany went to Breadstix tonight because she posted a picture of Brittany from across the table and said "soulmate" with a bunch of heart emojis. I think it's funny how most people will look at that and think they're the best of friends but to people like me, we'll know Santana is serious.
"Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll leave before they get the chance to kick me out. Tonight, while they're sleeping, I'll just head out. I'll make it quick and painless for everybody involved.
When I see that nothing new is happening on Facebook, I switch over to Instagram and see the same picture of Tina and Mike posing on a pumpkin farm that I "liked" an hour ago. There's nothing new there either, so I linger on my home screen for a moment and try to figure out where to go next.
I wonder if Mercedes knows anything…
I open up my messages app and draft one out to her, sending it pretty quickly before I have the chance to overthink and not send it at all.
iMessage
Thursday, November 7
9:51 p.m.
ME: has your mom said anything to you?
I start scrolling through the "search and discover" tab of Instagram, and I'm elbow deep, drooling over this picture of Angelina Jolie and Gal Gadot on this page that morphs celebrity pictures together. Aside from Rachel, I think an Angelina Jolie/Gal Gadot hybrid is my dream woman. I haven't allowed myself the proper opportunity to actually drool over girls. Every time a thought about finding a girl attractive creeps into my head, I swat it away and knock it down and try to pretend like I didn't just think what I actually thought. Because thinking about girls in the way I actually want to think about them still feels wrong to me and I wonder if there's any amount of therapy or medication that is ever going to change it.
I'm zooming into the picture to focus on the lips when my phone vibrates with a text from Mercedes.
New iMessage
Thursday, November 7
9:54 p.m.
MERCEDES: No and u need to stop worrying n go to sleep. I told u my mom aint like that and she probably aint mad but she aint said nothing to me about anything
ME: yeah but how would you know for sure when you've never been gay yourself to know how your mom would react?
ME: she walked in on me about to fingerbang rachel i'm pretty sure she's mad.
ME: what should i say if she asks me about it?
ME: i'm pretty sure i can kiss my phone and my car goodbye again lol.
And just as I'm about to type out something else to send to Mercedes, I hear two knocks on my door, so soft that I almost completely miss them.
Oh god, it's time. It's time to face the music. I should've known she was going to want to talk about it tonight. I should have known that she wasn't just going to go to sleep tonight and forget all about it. Now I'm going to have to look her in the eye when she kicks me out. Great. Just great.
"Come in," I say, really unsure if I should be giving her permission to come inside or if I should be pretending that I'm sleep instead.
She's already dressed for bed when she softly pads into my room and cracks the door. Her nightgown is dark purple with little bees all over it and her slippers used to be white before Whitney and Bobby played tug of war with them last week. When she sits down on the bed beside me and folds her leg underneath herself, the scarf on her head unravels and instead of fixing it, she just takes it off and lays it across her lap. She smells like the Ivory soap she and Mr. Jones use in their bathroom.
"We need to talk, Kiddo," she hesitated before she started speaking, which makes my stomach drop. It's like the hesitation before you get really bad news. I want to look her in the eye and be respectful because she warrants that. She deserves at least that from me. But I can't. I can't look her in the eye. I just look down at my feet instead. "You don't gotta talk. You can just listen."
I keep my head down as I sigh, wanting to say something — wanting to apologize — but not quite having the words to do so. She puts a very gentle, soft hand in the middle of my back and I feel her fingers drum along my spine twice before she takes them away.
"S'that why you and your momma had that fight? S'that why you went and got up out that house?" She asks and I nod, taking full advantage of the fact that she said I don't have to talk. "'Cedes know?" I nod again, slower this time, not sure if I'll get Mercedes into any trouble by admitting that. "Everybody else at school know?" I shake my head.
She sighs and I'm pretty sure that this is it. This is the moment when she rips the band-aid off and tells me that I can't live inside of her house as long as I'm gay. This is the part where she bans me and Rachel from seeing each other and tells me that if she catches us together again, she's going to send me to a conversion camp. This is the moment when my good luck finally runs out.
After she sighs, she puts her fingertips on my forehead at the crown of my hairline, then slides them back and through the knotted pieces I left out of my messy bun. "You're just as pretty as you wanna be, QuinnQuinn."
Pretty…? You just called me pretty…? So you're not about to completely destroy me by telling me how much you hated what you saw and you're not about to kick me out of your house and tell me that you expected more from me and never want to see my face or Rachel's face again and —
"I'm sorry I ain't knock," she circles my face with the tips of her fingers then stops at my chin to pick my head up. "You deserve and earned your privacy in this house and I was wrong for just barging up in here like that. I shoulda knocked first." You've got to be kidding me... is she seriously apologizing to me? For not knocking? What planet did this woman come from? Because I'm convinced that she isn't real… "You know you ain't allowed up in this house alone with that girl no more though, right?"
"Yes ma'am," I whisper, mostly because I'm still in shock over the way she just apologized to me, but also because I feel like it's a little disrespectful to talk to her before she's done speaking. Just one single tear starts rolling down my cheek, but I wipe it away before it splashes onto my quilt. I'm not even sure why I'm crying at this point, but I am.
"If Rachel wanna come over here from now on, she's more than welcome to come over here and see you. But me or Jared gotta be home. Alright?" Her voice is firm, authoritative. All I can do is nod. "And don't you close no more doors when you up here alone with her. I ain't gonna come up here and police what you two do in this room when you're alone but don't you think about shuttin' that door."
"I won't."
"I ain't running no brothel. I ain't gonna sit here and say don't have sex 'cause I know you a teen and the hormones is crazy right now and I can't stop you from having sex. You gon do it whenever you can and wherever you can and I can't stop that. But you ain't gonna do it in my house. I ain't allowing that." She starts putting her hair scarf back on, but she never stops talking when she does. "Same rules that apply to 'Cedes when her lil boyfriend is over here is the same rules that apply to you when your lil girlfriend is over here. I want y'all's hands where I can see them at all times, no closed doors in this house, Rachel gotta speak to us whenever she walk up in here, you gotta ask me permission before she come over and I needs to know where you gonna be at if you decide to go on a date somewhere."
She's literally acting like she just caught me with a boy… I mean yeah okay, there are a lot of rules to follow and guidelines to abide by, but she is literally treating me like she just caught me with a boy and not a girl. Does she really not care…? Does she really think of me and Rachel's relationship the way she thinks of Mercedes and Sam's? Is it seriously not a problem that I'm gay…?
"Yes ma'am," I finally talk a little clearer and a little louder, but my voice still sounds weird because I'm in a permanent state of shock. I can't believe these people… I can't believe that I'm so lucky to have stumbled upon these people… I don't deserve this… I don't deserve them….
"Invite her to dinner sometime this weekend," she stands up from my bed and stretches now. "I want her to come over here and eat with us so I can get a good look at her. Make sure she's alright for you."
"Okay. I'll let her know and then I'll let you know which day we decide on."
"Mmkay," she heads for the door and turns around one last time before leaving. "I love you, sugar. Get some sleep. We'll talk about that other thing some other time. Mmkay?"
"Okay."
When she leaves and shuts the door behind herself, I know that I am officially in the clear. And I can't freaking believe it. Oh my god. She doesn't care! She doesn't care! I can bring Rachel over freely! I don't have to hide her or make excuses or try to explain why I'm sitting so close to her or looking at her a certain way! She knows and she accepts it! She accepts me! This it totally unreal! I can have a girlfriend! I can have a girlfriend the way most teenagers have boyfriends! She can come over my house and I can tell my parents that I'm going on a date and I don't have to lie and sneak! Oh my god! I have to tell Rachel. I have to tell Rachel, this is crazy!
iMessage
Thursday, November 7
10:29 p.m.
ME: we're in the clear.
10:30 p.m.
RACHEL: What do you mean?
ME: with my parents.
ME: *mercedes' parents
ME: we're in the clear. i just talked to her mom and she doesn't care!
RACHEL: You're kidding…
ME: nope! haha! she just put rules in place for when you're over.
ME: they want to meet you officially and have dinner with you like they made sam do when him and mercedes first got together.
RACHEL: Omg…
RACHEL: I was just going to continue seeing you anyway but knowing that we don't have to be secretive about it is amazeballs!
ME: i know! i was so shocked.
RACHEL: My dads kinda want to meet you too but I was waiting for the right time.
ME: ok so you can have dinner here tomorrow and then maybe i can have dinner with your dads saturday?
RACHEL: Well tomorrow it will have to be before you stay over my house.
RACHEL: Did you ask about that?
ME: no but i think it will be okay. i think i'll be allowed. mercedes' mom will probably just want to make sure your dads are home and we aren't alone in the house.
RACHEL: Okay that's fine but just make sure you ask. You HAVE to sleep over tomorrow. It's a must. I'm dying for you to.
ME: i don't think it will be a problem.
ME: so dinner here tomorrow night at 6? then after we'll just go back to your house?
RACHEL: Sounds good. What about on Saturday?
ME: we'll have to figure out a time bc i have therapy at four then i'm watching beth until 1030 when shelby gets home.
RACHEL: Maybe Sunday or Monday then?
ME: sunday will probably be best.
RACHEL: Okay so dinner with your parents tomorrow then mine on Sunday?
ME: sounds like a plan.
RACHEL: Okay I'm heading to bed now, love.
RACHEL: Goodnight and I love you.
ME: goodnight & i love you too babe.
RACHEL: Night Babe :) :) :)
I laugh out loud when I see her last text message to me, then lock my phone. Tonight is the first night in a very long time where I'm going to bed happy. And maybe I'm moving a little quickly and jumping to conclusions and setting myself up for disappointment, but I really think that I have a chance now. I'm in a house where I am loved, celebrated and accepted. I am in a house that feels like home. And me and Rachel are communicating a whole lot better. And I have a good relationship with Beth and Shelby. And I didn't cry over Puck raping me today. And I haven't felt like throwing up in a while. And I'm… I'm happy.
I'm happy and full of hope.
After I put my phone onto the charger, I roll out of bed and head for the door so I can finally trudge down the hallway to go pee. I've been holding it for at least two hours now and since everything seems to be in the clear, I can finally go. I tiptoe past the giant pillow that Whitney and Bobby use as a bed, only being quiet because they're both sleeping with their paws in the air.
The way the house is set up, I have to walk past the stairs to get to me and Mercedes' bathroom. And I wish I didn't have to do that, because then I'm drawn to the two voices I hear downstairs, tangled up in the midst of what sounds like an argument. I feel wrong for eavesdropping and I know that I should just go to the bathroom, ignore it and then go back to bed.
But I can't. Not whenever I know the reason they're arguing is because of me…
So even though I know I probably shouldn't, I sit down at the top of the steps and rest my head against the railing, eyes closed as I listen and take in the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Jones yelling at each other for the first time since I've known them.
"I still say we go after him," Mrs. Jones sounds really, really angry. And anger sounds wrong when it comes from her. It feels… unnatural for her or something. "What good are we if we don't? Answer me that, Jared. I mean really answer me that. What kinda parents is we if we let it go?"
"I'm not saying that you're wrong. I'm just saying that it should be up to Quinn what she wants to do. We shouldn't do nothing behind her back. You see how long it took for her to even tell us. She been through enough and don't need to go through nothing else." Mr. Jones' voice is calm and steadying but it's still condescending at the same time and I find that weird coming from him.
"Well I'm telling you now, that child ain't gonna agree to press charges and that's that. I know that lil girl. I know her almost as well as I know 'Cedes and I know that she ain't gonna say we can press charges. So while you all up in my face talkin' 'bout letting her make her own decisions about it, I already know her decision. And her decision is wrong."
"She ain't wrong if she don't wanna relive that shit, 'Trice! That don't make her wrong! That makes her human! That makes her someone who don't wanna keep going through their darkest days!"
"Well I ain't about to have her walking around that school looking at him! I ain't about to have my baby walking around school looking at the bastard who raped her. Nuh uh," Just by the way she says that, I can tell she's shaking her head. "Something gotta give 'cause that ain't happening. Not to my baby. Imma pull her up outta that school before I let that happen."
"And take her away from all her friends and activities. That ain't what's best for her neither."
"Then what is best for her? Since you sitting here tellin' me what is and what ain't best for her, you must know. So tell me, Jared. What's best for her? How do we handle the situation? 'Cause it really ain't best for her to keep lookin' that boy in his eye every day. How she ever 'posed to get better if she gotta do all that?"
"I mean…" Mr. Jones sighs and I hear the chair slide across the floor so he must have sat down. "I can handle it the old fashioned way if I need to. I'll make sure he ain't never coming back to McKinley."
"Fuck's sake, be reasonable, Jared."
"I don't know how you expect me to react, Tricey. I just found out someone hurt one of my girls in the worst way, how you want me to react to that?"
Wow… he would beat someone up…? For me…? I keep my head against the railing and my eyes closed, but I bring my hand up and rest it against my heart as tears creep out.
"I just don't know why this shit wasn't taken care of back when it happened," another chair scrapes across the floor so I think she sat down too. "Why is it a year later and ain't nothing been done about it?"
"Well she probably ain't tell her momma about it when it happened," Mr. Jones replied. "You know how quiet and private she can be sometimes. She probably ain't tell nobody."
"Nah, that's bullshit too. That's bullshit because I woulda known. Any mother woulda known."
"Patrice —"
"You ain't changing my mind on this, Jared. So don't even try. It all boils back down to that piece of shit that baby gotta call a mother. There ain't no way in hell she shouldn't have known. When you a mother, you 'posed to learn all that shit about your baby. You 'posed to know when something is wrong with your baby. 'Cedes can't even skip a period without me knowing 'cause Imma notice when I ain't buying her tampons. Ain't no way she gonna come up in this house after being raped and I ain't knowing about it. Should be the same for her. I don't care how private and how quiet that baby is. She was raped and her momma ain't even know because the bitch ain't a mom. She ain't a mom. She a egg donor. She don't get to take no credit for the way that baby upstairs turned out."
"All's I'm saying is that you're being a little hard on Judy and —"
"Well she's hard on Quinn!" I hear a loud thud so I think she might have banged her fist off the table. "Somebody gotta hold that woman responsible for the shit she do and her baby is too sweet to realize it so I'm gonna. The lord blessed her with the most beautiful lil girl. She smart, she beautiful, she thoughtful. She all of that. And you gonna decide to have nothing to do with her all because she kissing some little girls every now and again? Piss on that."
I've never heard anyone talk about me that way…
"Ain't no reason why she shouldn't have known. She was raped, Jared. She wasn't hit by her boyfriend or cheated on by her girlfriend or failed a test. It wasn't some bruise she coulda just put makeup on or some lie she coulda told or some paper she coulda hid. She was raped. Held down and raped. And she got pregnant because of it. And you mean to tell me Judy just ain't know? Judy ain't know? And when she did find out, she ain't press no charges or make no changes to the baby's schedule or nothing? She knew. The bitch knew. She just turned a blind eye to it."
"But what if she didn't?"
"She did. I ain't convinced my Quinn didn't show it. She can't hide no shit like that. If she was with us back then, I'd know right after it happened because I know she cried. I know she cried when she got home or withdrew from shit. I know she did. And there ain't no way I woulda let her mental health get as bad as it did, neither. I'd have took her ass straight to therapy the second she gave that baby up for adoption because no sixteen-year-old can do that. Let alone a sixteen-year-old that had a baby from rape. I'd like to go over there to that fancy ass mansion and beat the hell outta that woman. She failed my baby so miserably. No wonder she so messed up!"
"Just calm down, honey. We gotta think this through rationally."
"I ain't calming down. Not when it comes to that woman treating my daughter the way she do. And unlike her, I WILL be calling the doctor up tomorrow. I want her checked. I want her checked for STDs, for anything that motherfucker coulda gave her."
"That was probably already done. She was pregnant, Tricey. 'Member that."
"Well I'm definitely gonna call up to that school and get some of her classes switched if she got any with that motherfucker. I don't want her seeing him anymore. And if I find out that Glee club teacher knew about all this and ain't do nothing to protect her from continuing to see him? Imma fuck him up too. I'm tired of this shit. I'm tired of every adult in my baby's life failing her. That shit ends today. No more of it."
And for some reason, that really sticks with me because I never thought of it that way and she is so very right about it.
Every adult in my life has failed me in some way.
I wipe my tears with my t-shirt and finally get up off the steps so I can use the bathroom and go to sleep for the night. They really do love me. I mean, they ACTUALLY love me. How did I get so lucky? How did I end up here with these two people? Against all odds?
Every adult in my life has failed me…
Every adult except for them.