"Mercedes?" The only male nurse in the entire building that I've seen so far opens up the door and pokes his head around the corner as he holds a stack of papers that probably has Mercedes' name on them.
I watch from the corner of my eye as Mercedes takes a deep breath and stands up from where she was sitting beside her mom. She doesn't seem nervous as she leaves her coat on her mom's lap, and she acts like it's the most normal thing as she locks her phone and slips it into the side pocket of her sweatpants. If Mercedes can do it then I can do it.
The nurse starts asking her how she's feeling today and how she's doing and if this is her first visit to the office, and I don't hear any of Mercedes' responses before the door closes behind her. My heart starts to ache a little and my stomach feels like it's being shaken and that same energy radiates down into my leg. My hand is rested flat on my kneecap and my feet are planted firmly on the floor. But I can't get my leg to stop shaking so hard that my chair is starting to move.
I already know what they're going to do to me. They're going to tell me to lie down, put my arms over my head so they can touch my chest. Then scoot my butt to the edge of the table so they can look down there. I've done this before, I've done all of this before. It's no big deal. It's just a check up. Just a check up. Nobody's going to tell me horrible news, nobody is looking to check and see if my cervix or whatever is dilated because I'm not pregnant this time. I'm not pregnant. I'm just here like normal seventeen-year-olds. I'm just here so they can check me out. Not pregnant. Not pregnant. Not pregnant. Just normal.
"You good?" Mom looks up from the copy of the Ebony magazine she was reading.
Ever since I sat down after signing myself in, my head has been in the same position. It's been geared towards the floor, staring at the stain in the light pink carpet and concentrating on it so hard that it moves when I stare too long. I haven't looked up once, haven't even checked my phone. But I don't need to raise my head to know that she's looking at the way my leg won't stop shaking. Stop shaking, you look like a psycho. You look like a flat out psychopath. Stop shaking.
"Quinn," she closes her magazine and shifts her position in the chair so she's facing me. "You alright?"
She puts her hand on top of mine resting on my kneecap. My eyes flicker over to look at them. Our hands, hers on top of mine. Her long fingernails painted a bold shade of dark red, her knuckles thin and slender like real feminine fingers.
"Uh-huh," I nod my head because something about her touching me just makes me feel like everything is going to be okay.
She keeps her hand on top of mine but opens her magazine back up and continues to read and I don't know how she does it, but somehow this woman knows me better than my own mother. My own mother would push it. She'd turn to me and ask me to really dive in and tell her how I'm feeling right now. She wouldn't hold my hand, she would just demand me to stop shaking my leg and demand me to tell her why I'm acting so "weird." But not her. Not Mrs. Jones. Somehow she knows that just holding my hand is exactly what I need. Somehow she knows that asking me further questions just wouldn't be great right now.
It's going to be okay. I already know what they're going to do to me. They're going to tell me to lie down and put my arms over my head so they can touch my chest. Then they're going to tell me to scoot my butt to the edge of the table so they can look down there. They're not going to tell me that I'm pregnant. They're just here to make sure everything is okay.
With my head still down, my eyes flicker over to the door. It's not that far away and when they call me back, I could run if I need to… it won't take very long to get to the door and if I sprint as hard as Coach Sylvester used to make me run at Cheerios practice, they won't be able to catch me and drag me back. I can make a run for it.
I can totally make a run for it…
"It might just be a little cold," he says. I think he's gay. I I had to guess, I would say that he's gay.
"How's your father? I haven't seen him in a month of Sundays. Not since we switched churches."
His voice is about as chirpy and annoying as the bird who sits outside your window at five in the morning and sings you a song. It's the kind of annoying that runs deep enough for you to want to get out of your bed, grab a shotgun, and shut the damn bird up once and for all.
"He's okay. He's still hanging around and stuff. He just got his twenty year bonus with the company, so he's… you know. Happy."
"Still a cheerleader?" He asks. Down below, he moves one swift time and I suddenly feel EVERYTHING. My legs lock up and my body tenses and my stomach starts to hurt. He moves his hands some more and I hear a series of clicks and I don't feel so good…
"Y-Yeah," I look up at the light fixture above my head and swallow when it becomes all blurry with my tears. I wonder if he can do this whole exam without actually being down there. I don't like this at all. I wonder if he can take this out of me. "Head cheerleader, actually."
"That's exciting!" I see him grab a cotton swab and he lied to me. He told me that he's good. So good that I won't even feel him poking around inside of my body but I feel everything. I feel it all.
Get out of me! Take that thing out of me, get the cotton swab away from me! Get out of my body! I don't want you in me, I don't… I don't consent to having your fingers and your medical devices and whatever else you want to put inside of me. I don't consent to it, get out of me, get off, get off, get out, get off…
"I just need you to relax a little bit honey," he taps my kneecaps to get me to relax and open them up a little more for him but no. Okay? No. I'm saying no. Please listen to me. I'm saying no. "Legs open."
"Kay." I say it and I feel like I'm listening to him and I'm relaxing and I'm opening my legs for him and whatever else he needs me to do, but he keeps tapping my knees. He keeps tapping me. So maybe I'm not as open as I need to be.
God, I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out. I have to let the man do his job. Couldn't I have had a girl? Why didn't I say yes to having a female chaperone in the room? They asked, why didn't I say yes? I'm so stupid. God, I'm stupid. But he's not doing anything. He's just doing his job and he's probably gay and he's probably not interested in me and he's not trying to hurt me. My god, I'm really freaking out.
"Will I get it today?" I ask.
"Get what?" He puts one of the cotton swabs he used on me inside this tube.
"The birth control? Will I get that today? I kinda need it today, it's kind of important." Like, really important. I need it today, dude.
"After I complete the exam, we will sit and discuss viable birth control options for you, honey. Don't worry."
"I need the thing. The thing that goes inside, I mean. I need that." I glance over at the posters of the female reproductive system and suddenly I feel like I'm in health class. "No pills, no ring or whatever that's called, no shot. I need the thing that goes inside and stays inside for years."
"We can discuss IUDs if that's what you want. There's a few different kids and —" He's suddenly interrupted by a series of knocks on the door. He doesn't get the chance to tell whoever it is to come in before the door swings open. A female nurse pokes her head around the corner and the doctor wheels his stool over to her. She covers her mouth with a file folder and whispers something to him after looking at me. Then he looks at me too. And I don't know how, but I can automatically sense that something is extremely wrong.
"Thank you, Megan," he mumbles under his breath, then she closes the door behind herself. He wheels himself back over to my exam table and I'm a little confused because he starts to take his gloves off. "Okay, all done," he grins at me. "You can go ahead and sit up."
I take my feet out of the stirrups and sit up slowly. For some reason, I thought there was more to this whole thing. I thought he had to do a little more than what he just did and it doesn't really feel like the exam is supposed to be over.
"So um," he tosses his gloves in the garbage can and starts washing his hands. "I don't think we'll be looking into birth control options for you today, Quinn."
"...Why?" I ask but I'm pretty sure I already know why. I already know… I've been queasy all week, my back is sore, my Cheerios skirt doesn't fit the same way it used to, and I'm always tired. But I thought maybe… I don't know, I guess I thought that maybe the birth control would change something…
"Well, it looks like you're about four to six weeks pregnant."
"...Please don't tell my dad."
Back when I was still in Pennsylvania, I talked to Jessica about that moment rather extensively. She didn't like that I kept calling myself stupid, but I'd rather call a spade a spade. Back then, I really was stupid.
I guess maybe I didn't actually think that getting birth control would change anything. Deep down, I knew that I was pregnant about three weeks after Puck raped me. Everything on my body just started changing and my period never came. I convinced myself that maybe it was due to the fact that I'd been stressing. After Puck raped me, I stopped sleeping. Because every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was him hovering over me with his sweat dripping down on me. I didn't eat either, and not just because I'm a bad bulimic, mostly because nothing seemed appetizing anymore. I walked around like a tired, hungry, restless zombie. And I convinced myself that my period was late because of that, but deep down, I really knew.
I wanted the thing that goes inside of you and stays inside of you for years. And I guess a part of me thought that the sooner I got the birth control, the better it would be at preventing me from getting pregnant. I didn't want pills because Mom would find birth control pills when she checked my room for condom wrappers when she cleaned it. I didn't want the shot because I heard the shot makes you fat. I needed the IUD and I needed it fast if I was going to stop myself from getting pregnant. It never occurred to me that birth control can't stop anything if you're already pregnant, and that was the part of me that was stupid.
Jessica said that trauma makes you do a lot of things that are out of your character, and I guess she meant that thinking birth control could reverse a pregnancy was part of that. In hindsight, I did say and do a lot of stupid things after Puck raped me. In all honesty, I don't know how I got through the first four months of being pregnant without killing Beth. I never ate for her, I hardly ever slept. It took me four months to get those giant vitamins filled at the pharmacy. I'm surprised she turned out as healthy and cute as she did because I was a wreck. It's amazing how I can look back at myself and look back at the things I did when I was suffering and know that I was suffering now. Back then, it seemed like it was the end of the world. Now looking back, it feels like just a minor speed bump…
"Lucy?" A female nurse opens the same door that Mercedes just disappeared behind and calls out for me next.
This is it. Oh god, this is it. You can do this, Quinn. You can do this.
When I stand up, Mrs. Jones takes her hand off my kneecap and closes the magazine so she can watch me. I leave my coat on her lap just like Mercedes and since my leg can't tremble anymore because I'm standing on it, my hand takes it upon itself to start shaking.
I already know what they're going to do to me. They're going to make me lie down and put my arms over my head so they can touch my chest. Then they're going to make me scoot my butt to the edge of the table so they can look down there. It's okay. I can do this. I can do this. ...Can't I?
Both my hands are shaking so bad that I feel like I'm having a seizure. I've never really had a seizure before so I don't really know what it feels like, but Frannie used to have them all the time when she was little and her fever would get too high. She's not epileptic or anything, my mom had her checked. But epilepsy does run in my mom's family I guess so every time Frannie's fevers got really high her body coped by having a seizure. I've only ever seen her have three of them and I know what they look like. They look exactly how I'm feeling. Shaky and jerky with no control over your movements. My hands are shaking and I feel like my head is too, but I don't know if it is or if I'm just really dizzy.
My cheeks get really warm and wet all of sudden and I didn't even realize I'd started to cry until after the tears fell. My eyes never burned to warn me and my jaw never trembled. The tears just fell randomly and I think I'm falling apart. I think I'm falling apart…
I don't think I can do this. I don't think I can lie there and have them stick something inside of me. I don't want anything inside of me. I don't want to do this. Do I have to do this?
"Sweetheart, it's okay if you're a little nervous," the nurse holds the door open for me and I'm silently thanking god that nobody else is in this waiting room with us. "I promise we'll make this as quick and painless as possible."
"I want my mom," the words roll out of my mouth the same way slobber rolls off Beth's lips sometimes. I didn't even realize I was saying them until they were already out, drooling out and dripping onto the carpet. "I want my mom, can my mom come? Please? I want my mom."
"Is your mom here?" She looks behind me into the waiting room and she looks a bit perplexed, probably because she's looking for a blonde woman instead of the black woman I was just sitting next to. Honestly…? I didn't know I was talking about Mrs. Jones either. I thought maybe when I said that I wanted my mom, I might have been talking about Judy Fabray but the moment I said it, I realized that the only mother I was talking about was Patrice Jones and I really want her right now.
"Is it cool if I come back with her?" Mrs. Jones stands up with both me and Mercedes' coats draped over her arms. "I know you guys got rules about this stuff but if she need me then I wanna come back."
"Of course," the nurse nods. "You can come back with her if that's what she wants. Come on."
"Thank you," Mom wraps her arms around me and walks down the hall that the nurse leads us down. "And can she have a female doctor, please? We'll wait long as we need to, she just gotta have a woman check her out if that's possible."
"Certainly."
November 21
Sometimes I feel like I take five steps forward and ten steps back. I know Bailey always says that slipping up and having episodes every once in a while doesn't erase the progress that I make, but sometimes I really feel like it does. I don't mean for this to sound all depressing and sad because I'm not. I'm not depressed and sad. I'm just wondering if I'm ever going to really be over the hell that was my life last year.
Yesterday wasn't so bad in hindsight, but I wish that I could do normal things without constantly being reminded of something that went wrong.
Mercedes came out of the gynecologist yesterday with birth control pills, and she acts like nothing happened to her. It seems like having a stranger looking at her private parts and fondling her boobs is just the most normal thing. She went to the pharmacy, picked up her pills, and went on about her day. I asked her how it was and she said that the girl who did her exam was funny and made her comfortable and that's really all she said about it. She didn't tense up or cry. She did what most normal people would do. She had her checkup, answered a bunch of questions about her sex life, got her contraception, and went on about her day.
Why can't I do that? Isn't therapy supposed to make me normal again? I go to therapy every single week and take my medicine the way I'm supposed to, most of the time. But I'm still just a basket case and if that is the case then why am I going to therapy and taking pills?
I cried the whole time.
I thought I was okay because when I sat down on the exam table and answered questions about my sex life, I wasn't crying. The nurse asked me if I had sex before and I told her yes. She asked how long ago and I told her a year. She asked me how my childbirth went and I told her it was barbaric. She asked me if I was in a relationship with a girl because I put that I was gay on my questionnaire and she didn't seem judgmental when I told her that I am. I even laughed when she asked me if Rachel had been STD tested because the idea seemed absolutely insane. Rachel… with an STD… yeah right.
My point is that I thought I was okay. I answered all the questions honestly and my blood pressure was fine. I'm five foot, five inches. And I weigh a hundred and twenty eight pounds. The nurse left the room and Mom sat there with me and kept telling me that everything was going to be okay and that she wouldn't leave me alone with anyone.
But then the doctor came in and she started touching my chest and that was when I started crying. She didn't hurt me or anything. She just slipped her hands up my gown and started feeling for anything out of the ordinary, but I couldn't help it. My face cracked and I started crying because it felt like Puck. I know it wasn't Puck, I swear I know that. And her hands were so much more gentle than his so I don't really know why I acted like that.
Mom told her that I was raped.
It was after she was done checking my boobs for lumps. I was crying and she got up from her chair so she could comfort me. The doctor went over to wash her hands and get the speculum or whatever it's called prepped and ready to go. Mom stood by my head, wiped my tears and leaned down to whisper to me. She told me that I needed to stop crying because I was safe and she was right there with me and nothing was going to happen. The doctor looked at me like she completely understood my reaction and I thought that maybe she had dealt with things like this before.
She came back over to me to start the internal part of my exam and then Mom whispered to her that she was sorry I was acting like this, but then explained to the doctor that I was raped last year and am still working through it. The doctor was super gentle with me after that but I still cried. Mom rubbed my face and made me look at her the whole time because she wanted me to forget what was going on down below but I couldn't.
I just kept thinking about how internal exams only ever happened while I was pregnant. And I just kept thinking about how being pregnant was not a happy time for me.
I don't have any STDs by the way. I am STD free and I apparently have no lasting trauma from being raped and having a baby. I am healthy as a horse down below and I don't have breast cancer.
And I feel like maybe me and Mom's relationship is a little bit stronger now because once you let someone see you get your boobs felt up and your crotch examined, nothing else will bond you quite as tightly.
It feels weird to call her mom now, but I can't think of any title that is more fitting.
I do still miss my real mom. I miss her a lot, actually. But I'm starting to wish that maybe I had been born into the Jones family.
It's starting to scare me knowing that I have to leave them someday, because they aren't my real parents.
No matter how much I wish they were.
I think Mr. Schue has officially lost his mind.
I don't know how, but somehow he found out what Vocal Adrenaline and Aural Intensity are singing for regionals and I think he's starting to doubt our song selections, but he doesn't want to change them at the last minute because we've been rehearsing these songs since the week after sectionals and if I do say so myself, we are actually killing it. Our opening number is so kick ass with Artie and Finn taking the leads but Kurt and Blaine also have featured parts and Mercedes has a run towards the end. Then as much as I hate to admit it, our second number is pure gold. Rachel and Finn are doing a duet and their voices sound utterly amazing together and I'm pretty sure the judges are going to eat it up. But then Mercedes has a solo at the very end and she is too good for words. I don't have any doubt that we're going to nail it and we're a shoo in for nationals, but I don't think Mr. Schue feels that way.
He's been running rehearsals like a drill sergeant ever since he found out that Vocal Adrenaline is doing a Katy Perry tribute and Aural Intensity is doing songs from Hamilton. I mean seriously, I've been sweating more at Glee club than I've ever sweat at Cheerios practice.
"But there are mountains…" Rachel is singing on stage with Finn and I'm pretty sure this is when we come out. I can't remember if Mr. Schue says we come out when Rachel says "mountains" or if we're supposed to wait until the chorus to come out…
I guess we go on "mountains", because on the other side of the stage, I see Brittany start walking out and Puck and Sam follow her. We're supposed to walk out with our heads down and our arms flat at our sides because we don't actually sing until the final chorus, so we have to just stand there while Rachel and Finn finish their verses but it's tough because we can't really grasp exactly when we're supposed to walk out. I think Brittany is wrong. I don't think we go on "mountains", but I don't want to be late and miss my mark because then Mr. Shue makes us sit out and watch the entire performance get ran through, so I go anyway. Even though I know Brittany is wrong. I put my head down and my arms too. And I walk out onto the stage as Rachel's still singing.
...And I can't say I'm surprised when Mr. Schue stops the music.
"Why are you guys not getting this?!" He screams at us even over Rachel, who was still singing when the music stopped. "Brittany, you're early! Every single time, you're early!"
Rachel whips around to look at us and I haven't talked to her much today so I really did miss her, but I have a feeling that she's about to say something that is going to make me want to choke her. "You guys don't come out at all while I'm singing. You wait until Finn and I get to the chorus and that's when —"
"I don't need a second teacher, Rachel," Mr. Schue snaps at her.
"I don't see why we can't come out a little earlier," Santana crosses her arms and speaks up. "I mean, how is it fair for us to stand behind stage for the entire song while we listen to the Berry and Hudson parade?"
"It'll take away the focus!" Rachel takes it upon herself to answer and I can feel it. I can feel that I'm going to have to defend her to Santana in a second and I really wish she'd just shut up. Everyone is on edge today because we were supposed to have been dismissed half an hour ago but Mr. Schue keeps making us run it until we get it right and everyone is irritated. Rachel needs to just stop today. "This is number is about me and Finn and nobody in the crowd will pay attention if we have a million people standing behind us saying and doing the wrong things."
"I'm sorry, what?" Santana steps down off the risers she was standing on and gets closer to Rachel. Oh no, I have to be prepared to stop a fight. I don't want Santana to kill her.
"I'm just saying, if you'd have watched the movie, you see that me and Finn's characters have been longing for each other and the love story is —"
"It's not the movie, Rachel," I mumble in a half-assed attempt to diffuse the conversation.
"But we're playing characters! Part of being in Glee club is knowing when to be in character and act out some of the parts you're playing and —"
"So you're saying we can't act now?" Mercedes steps in and I wish I had duct tape to tape Rachel's mouth shut. I get what she's saying but she's making this so hard on everyone. I hate when she gets like this. She gets all worked up when she thinks we're not giving her enough control and it drives me insane because everyone wants to crucify her and she doesn't know when to stop! Of course I'm going to defend her but god she makes it so hard.
"I'm saying that I can't carry this whole performance on my shoulders if people are distracted by what's in front of them. That's why you guys wait behind the curtain until I'm done singing." Rachel's tone is super snooty and rude and bossy and I can see the anger building up in Santana…
"Santana," I hold my hand up to stop her before she can even think about doing what I know she wants to do. "Don't."
"On second thought, Santana DO," Mercedes rolls her eyes at Rachel. "Please. Put us all out of our misery."
"Guys just leave her alone," I step between Rachel and the rest of them. "Seriously. We're gonna do the number how Mr. Schue wants us to do the number, okay? There's no need in fighting, we all want the same thing. We want to win."
"You can't keep defending her with that shitty attitude, Quinn," Mercedes comes after me next and I'm really not in the mood. "She insulted literally all of us."
Rachel throws her hands up, "If it's an insult to tell you that you're not pulling your own weight then —"
"RACHEL, STOP!" I put my hand on her chest and push her away. "Just stop!"
"Who died and made you queen?" Santana takes another step towards Rachel when I push her away and I don't think I can hold them both back… "You think that you're so much better than all of us and that —"
"Santana, don't put your own insecurities on me. It's not my fault you're never chosen for solos and —"
"TAKE FIVE, GUYS!" Mr. Schue yells so loud that I swear the floor shakes. "Go get a drink, go get your heads on straight, and don't come back until you're ready to go through this without a single mistake."
I'm so glad he made that argument go away. Really, I am so glad. Because I genuinely think that if they had kept going, Santana might have really hurt Rachel and then I was going to have to hurt Santana and then Mercedes would probably step in it because she doesn't let me fight, then Sam would have pulled her off and then Finn would have tried to break it up and then I would've punched Finn in the face because I've been wanting to do it ever since he called Rachel "babe" at sectionals and then Puck would have jumped in after Finn got hit and then I would have gone full crazy on Puck and it would've been a riot. So thank you, Mr. Schue.
"You okay?" I ask Rachel as we walk side-by-side to the steps that lead off the stage. I jog down the steps first, then wait for her at the bottom.
"I'm fine," she shrugs. "It's not my fault that nobody can handle the truth."
I pick up my pink and purple water bottle and suck on the spout to get a drink of my water that is still cold with ice cubes floating in it. After I take my sip, I hand it to her.
"Why do you have to call them all out, though? They're doing their best. Not their fault performing doesn't come as naturally to them as it comes to you."
She sucks on my water bottle for a second too, then hands it back to me. "So I'm supposed to just let everyone be mediocre? And give everyone a pat on the back for doing their best even when their best isn't good enough?"
"Well, you —"
"I just want to win regionals, Quinn. I want to win regionals and go to sectionals. It's my dream. And I'm sorry if I hurt feelings, but I can't hold back when I'm the only one on stage giving it a 110%."
"...The only one? You're the only one on stage trying?" Ouch.
"Don't be like this, Quinn. I just mean that I'm the only one who takes this seriously because this is going to be my career. Nobody else loves performing like me, nobody else —"
"No, I get it," I take a step away from her and nod my head. "I'm not a good enough backup to the Rachel Berry show."
"Quinn…" she reaches out and tries to grab onto my hand but I shrug her off. "Come on, Quinn…"
"I'm never going to be good enough for you, am I? Not a good enough backup dancer, not a good enough backup singer, not a good enough girlfriend, not a good enough lesbian… just not good enough. Not good enough for Rachel Berry."
"That is NOT what I said, you can't twist my words like that. Don't you dare twist my words like that."
She takes a step toward me to close the distance I put between us by stepping away. I don't step away from her this time because I don't want to fight with her and I know that she didn't mean it the way I took it, but it still hurt my feelings and I can't help that. "...I love you?" She tries that one out on me and puts her hand against my cheek.
"...I need a minute," I shrug away from her again and walk away so I can go to the hallway and cool off just a little.
Something about this disagreement feels different between us. All the other times we fought or fell out, it always felt like it was the end of the world and we were never going to recover from it. It always felt like I was going to lose my Rachel for good and like our relationship was over.
But this time, I feel like it's going to be okay. I feel like even though she said something that hurt my feelings and even though I was really annoyed with her and her constant need to crap all over everything that isn't 100% perfect, I know that later on tonight, I'll text her and everything will be fine. This won't make our relationship shatter.
"Hey," I mumble at Santana as I catch her near the water fountain taking a drink. I lean against it and wait for her to be done. "Sorry about Rachel. She can be a real… pain in the ass sometimes, I get it."
"It's fine," Santana sighs and wipes her mouth free of water droplets. "I mean I get it. I wouldn't let anyone threaten or get smart with Britt, so. You know."
"Speaking of Britt," I walk beside her as she starts to return back to the auditorium. "Are you and her going to winter formal?"
"Eh, I don't know," she shrugs. "That kinda stuff is lame. I'd rather save it all for prom. It's gonna be nothing but underclassmen and corny music playing in the gym."
"Well I was thinking…" I yank the door handle and hold it open for her. "If you and Britt wanted to go… like… together, or something, maybe we can make a group thing out of it?"
"A group thing?"
"Yeah," I nod. "Mercedes is gonna go with Sam and Tina is gonna go with Mike. I tried to get out of going and maybe just staying in and eating pizza, but Rachel kinda wants to go, so. If you and Brittany wanted to go too, we could make it a troop thing? If she's not gonna go with Artie, I mean."
"She broke up with him," Santana mumbles.
"What?! When?!"
"Couple days ago. He said something really messed up to her and she didn't like it. Plus she was starting to feel guilty about cheating on him all the time, so."
"So it's decided," I stop walking in front of her so she has to stop walking too. "You and Brittany are going to the winter formal with me and Rachel."
"I don't get a minute to think about this? You know, the thought of spending an entire night with unibrow doesn't exactly have me jumping for joy."
"Stop it," I nudge her with my elbow but give her a look to let her know that I'm serious. She can't call Rachel names in front of me. Not anymore. "I think you'll actually like her outside of Glee club. She a totally different person. And besides…" I sigh. "We can't be the only lesbian couple there, so. You're kinda stuck with going."
"Fine," she smiles at me and even though she's trying to hide it, I can tell that she is actually kind of excited about going. "I just have to think of a way to ask Brittany."
"What do you mean? Just go up to her and say 'hey, we're going to the formal with Quinn and Rachel.' It's not that hard."
"Well yeah, but it's gotta be like… special, you know? You only get one time to ask her to go to winter formal with you… gotta make it special."
"...So I should think of a special way to ask Rachel to go with me? Like a prom-posal… but for winter formal? A winter formal-posal?"
"Exactly. A winter formal-posal," she pats my shoulder. "You got it."
"I'd be such a terrible lesbian without you," I shake my head at myself and take my spot on the stage so we can wrap up rehearsing and I think I really meant that. Santana has helped me out so much since I've come out and accepted that I am gay.
First of all, she was my first girl kiss and that helped me not be terrible when I kissed Rachel for the first time. And she was my first sexual experience with another girl which really did help me ease up on freaking out every time Rachel touches me. She gave me advice on how to relax and be good at it when I had sex with Rachel. And she always encourages me to embrace my sexual urges when it comes to Rachel. And how she's advising me on how to be a good (but corny) girlfriend. I don't know what I would do without her, actually…
"Alright guys," Mr. Schue stands in front of us. "I gave it some thought and I think you're just tired for the day, so I'm gonna go ahead and dismiss you in a minute. We're gonna run through Mercedes' solo one last time and then you're done for the day. Go home, get some sleep, come back ready to work tomorrow."
Mercedes climbs back up on the stage and takes to the center because that's where she's supposed to stand for her solo. When we get home, I have to remember to apologize to her for Rachel too. I just know that sometimes it bothers her when Rachel says things because as much as she hates to admit it, she always feels like she's second fiddle to Rachel.
"Alright Mercedes, from the top," Mr. Schue presses the "play" button for her music.
I think Mercedes might feel like I'm choosing Rachel over her and I don't want her to feel that way. She's my best friend in the entire world and I really have no idea where I would he in this world if she wasn't my friend. I love her just like I love Frannie, maybe even more honestly. And I know it sucks that she and my girlfriend always compete for the number one spot, but I really don't want her to feel like I love her any less than I love Rachel because I don't. I may not love her in the same way that I love Rachel, but I certainly don't love her any less than I love Rachel…
Maybe on the way home today, I'll just stop at the Dairy Queen or Sweet Frog or something, just so me and her can have some quality time together. It's been a while since we've done something just the two of us, and I just want her to know that she hasn't been replaced in my heart and I think she's just as brilliant of a singer as Rachel. Yeah, that's what I'll do. While I'm driving home, I'll just make a detour and go get ice cream or frozen yogurt so me and Mercedes can hang out together.
"There's nothing I'm not —" I can tell when Mercedes goes to take her deep breath so she can hit the highest note of her solo that it's going to be bad. I can just tell by the way she took that breath that she's about to mess up. "W-WORT—" Her voice cracks the second she goes to hit the note and she stops, clearly embarrassed but mostly apologetic.
"Oh God," Mercedes sighs and buries her face in her hands, more frustrated than anything. "I'm sorry, can we go again?"
I know I'm supposed to stay in my spot because we're supposed to act like we would actually act on stage. If this were to happen on stage and Mercedes would mess up, I'm supposed to stay in my spot and keep singing without missing a beat, but I kind of want to run down to the center of the stage and hug her and tell her that she's amazing and she needs to get out of her head about this solo.
"I'm sorry, I just second guessed myself and then I went for it too late and then it all messed up," she sighs and clears her throat. "And plus I'm getting over a cold and —"
"It's fine Mercedes, we can start again," Mr. Schue goes over to the speaker system. "From the top?"
"Mr. Schue, she hasn't hit that note all week," Rachel says and I close my eyes and bury my face in my hands because I know something else is going to happen where I have to defend her and Rachel is starting to give me a real freaking headache. I wish she would just SHUT. UP.
"I'm getting over a cold, excuse me very much," Mercedes turns around so fast that I think if I don't run down there they're going to get into a fistfight. "I can hit that note in my sleep. I'm just not myself."
"You see Mr. Schue, this is what I mean. You need to reconsider who you're picking for solos. If she can't hit the note in rehearsal then —"
"ENOUGH!" Mr. Shue holds his hand up to her and again… thank god because I can't take the constant bickering with Rachel anymore. She argues with everyone and everyone argues with her and exhausting…
"Thank you, Mr. Schue," Mercedes turns her back to Rachel. "Listen, I'll go home tonight and drink tons of tea and eat a lot of Zicam and I'll be good as new tomorrow, I swear. I'll —"
"Everyone sit down," Mr. Shue points to the rows of seats in the audience and my stomach hurts because I know that whatever is happening next isn't going to be good… "I think Rachel's right."
No, Rachel's not right. Please don't do this… it will KILL Mercedes…
"I think we need to reconsider solos," he says. "So we're gonna settle this with a sing-off. Everyone will vote on who sings the song the best between Mercedes and Rachel before we leave today. And whoever wins… well, I just might consider giving them the solo for regionals instead."
Oh. Fucking. Shit.
When I pull my car onto the street and slow it to a stop, I don't even want to get out. I don't want to get out, I don't want to go inside and I don't want to see Mercedes. Hell, I don't even want anyone to see me.
Even though I know that they won't be able to look at me and tell that I just left the parking lot of Taco Bell where I ate eight hard shell tacos and washed them all down with three Mountain Dew Baja Blasts, I still feel like they'll be able to smell it on me. I feel like Mrs. Jones will be able to take one look at me and see the bloody vomit that I spewed into the parking lot, and Mr. Jones will be able to see the enamel worn completely off my teeth. Like I said earlier, five steps forward and ten backwards.
I know I shouldn't have thrown up like that but I couldn't help it. I left Glee club today and it was the worst day of my life. Mercedes was mad at me and yelling and Rachel was crying and I felt so caught in the middle. I didn't want to go to Taco Bell and order a bunch of food, I swear. But I didn't know what else to do…
I have to go inside, I know I do. But I don't want to. I don't want to see Mercedes. I don't want to look her in the eye and have her know that I couldn't say that she was better than Rachel today. I don't want to look her in the eye knowing that I didn't vote for her…
"Alright, the ballots are in. Soon as I read the results, you guys are free to go," Mr. Shue sits on the edge of the stage and goes through Mike's hat that we all dropped our votes inside after Mercedes and Rachel both sang the solo.
I didn't know what else to do. I listened to both of them sing and both of them are really great. The song doesn't really suit Rachel's voice as well as it suits Mercedes' voice, but Rachel made it her own. The song suits Mercedes' voice very well but she messed up on the high note because she's still getting over being sick… they were both really good. I tried to listen to my heart and vote for who I thought was better but I started to write Mercedes' name, then I thought about how much Rachel would hate me if I didn't vote for her, so then I erased it and started to write Rachel's name but then it felt wrong because I know Mercedes really wants this solo…
So then I did what will put me in the clear. I erased both of their names. And wrote down what my gut was telling me to write down instead…
"Rachel," Mr. Schue starts unfolding the slips of paper and reading. "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, Mercedes, Rachel, Rachel, Mercedes, Rachel, Rachel, Mercedes, Mercedes, Rachel, Rachel, Mercedes… and Quinn."
A couple people laugh when he reads my name off the last slip of paper and a couple people are confused, but I mostly feel relieved. I didn't vote for either one of them.
"Well," Rachel stands up and gathers her purse. "Now that that's settled and the solo belongs to its rightful owner, I shall see everyone at rehearsals tomorrow."
"You didn't vote for me…?" Mercedes turns toward me and I can see the anger all over her face. "You seriously didn't vote for me?"
"Mercedes…" I look away from her because I can't bear to look her in the eye knowing that I hurt her feelings. "...I… I didn't vote for Rachel, either."
"So you just decided to… what? Put your own name on the ballot and stab me in the back?"
"Mercedes, come on, you can't —"
"Wait, what?" Rachel stops walking and turns to me too. "That was you? I thought it was like, Brittany or something, putting your name on the ballot. You did that? You put your own name on the ballot? You didn't vote for me?"
"Guys, what did you want me to do?!"
"I thought you loved me…" Rachel shakes her head and I can see tears forming in her eyes. "I thought you… I thought you loved me."
"I thought you were my sister," Mercedes stands up. "I guess we all just have to deal with disappointment from Quinn Fabray."
Maybe Mercedes has calmed down a little bit. Maybe she's not still mad at me. Maybe when I turn the doorknob and go inside, everything will be alright and she won't be angry anymore. It's just a stupid solo. It doesn't really matter. It can't possibly tear apart a friendship and a relationship…
...Can it?
I push the door open and head inside. Whitney and Bobby both greet me as usual. I kick my shoes off beside the door and put the cup with the last little bit of my Baja Blast inside of it on the mantle. The TV is on and playing an episode of Divorce Court, but all I hear over the sound of the TV is the sound of someone crying. No, not crying. Bawling.
I round the corner to go into the living room to see what's going on and my heart feels like it's shattering inside of my chest.
Mom and Dad are both sitting on the couch, but neither one of them are really watching TV. Instead, they're both comforting Mercedes. And Mercedes is lying on the couch with her head in Mom's lap, getting her hair stroked. She's crying… I mean she's really crying… and I've never seen Mercedes cry before. Maybe once like last year or something, but never since then. She doesn't cry. Mercedes doesn't cry. Did I make her cry…?
"I wish I never gotten that stupid cold…" she snivels and hiccups. "I can hit that note in my sleep…"
"I know baby, I know," Mom rubs her cheek and I feel like I should just leave… "Shhhh."
As I back out of the living room, my foot steps on the floorboard that freaks and Mom and Dad finally notice me.
"Where you been at?" Dad asks. "Why didn't you call us and let us know you was gonna be late?"
"I'm sorry, I…" I whisper. "I forgot. I just took a drive on the way home to clear my mind and I forgot. I'm sorry."
"You're not an adult, Quinn. You don't make your own hours and your own rules. And there are rules in this house. We don't ask you for much, we just ask you to tell us where you're going to be at and when you're going to be home so we don't worry about you. You hear me?"
"Yes sir," I nod. "I'm sorry…" my own jaw trembles the way Mercedes' jaw is trembling on the couch and I finally start to cry. I didn't cry at Taco Bell and I didn't cry on the drive home at all. I didn't even cry when the tacos and the soda burned as it was coming back up my throat. But I'm crying now because I can't stand the thought that I made Mercedes cry too…
"Mercedes…?" I whisper her name through my tears. "Mercedes, I'm… I'm sorry…"
"Go away," she turns her head way from me and buries it in Mom's stomach. "That solo meant the world to me. You knew that!" Her voice is muffled but I can hear her pretty well. "It meant the world to me and now Rachel's going to get it like Rachel gets everything. She gets everything! She doesn't have to work for anything, it all just gets handed to her! I just wanted one chance… one chance to shine."
"I'm sorry!" I wipe my tears away but new ones just keep falling. "I didn't know what to do! I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings and I didn't think—"
"You're supposed to be my sister! You're my best friend, Quinn! My best friend and you're supposed to be my sister! I thought we were sisters but that's just not case, is it? You're the same old typical Quinn Fabray. Selfish and shallow. You only think about yourself and your relationship with Rachel and you don't care about anyone except yourself! You don't care about anyone! You say you've changed but you haven't! You're the same! You're the same and you're still horrible!"
"Now Mercedes, wait —" Mom tries to stop her but it's too late. It's way, way too late.
I turn around and run up the stairs, tears rolling down my face. I even slam my door behind me and rummage through my backpack for my journal because I really need to write…
November 21
Mercedes hates me. She thinks that I'm horrible and I'm not a changed person and I should have just voted for her. I should have voted for her like I originally wanted to. Rachel would have understood but Mercedes is hurt. I thought I was doing the right thing by not voting for either one of them but now they're both mad at me and what's the use?! Why do I even bother?! Why do I
"Quinn," Mr. Jones' voice is outside my door followed by two soft knocks. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," I close my journal and try my hardest to wipe the tears way even despite the fact that my soul is absolutely crushed knowing that my best friend hates me.
He comes inside and closes the door behind himself.
"You okay?" He sits down on my bed. "You gotta excuse 'Cedes. Sometimes she says things when she's mad and they're things she don't mean. Okay?"
"...She meant that though," I sniff. "And she's right. I am selfish and shallow and everything else she said about me. I am. It's just who I am."
"Now you wait a minute," he clears his throat. "You are a lot of things but selfish and shallow aren't any of them. I wouldn't allow nobody selfish or shallow to be up in my house. No way, no how."
"I just…" I sigh. "I didn't know who to vote for. It's my best friend and my girlfriend and they're both such amazing singers… who do I vote for? How to I choose which one to hurt?"
"Now listen to me," he stands up and puts his hands on my shoulders. "You did the right thing. I'm sorry that both the girls are upset with you, but you did the right thing. Okay? You did the RIGHT thing, kid. Don't worry about 'Cedes being angry and Rachel being angry. They'll get over it in time. But you did the right thing and nobody can tell you that you didn't."
"...Promise?"
"Cross my heart," he winks at me. "...I tell you what."
He heads for the door. "Go get your shoes and your coat. I gotta run down to the store for a few things and I think we can both use some time away from here, yes?"
"Yes."