TRIGGER WARNING: Depictions of self harm. Please read with caution.

I use my teeth to open the bright pink toothbrush holder and spit the plastic onto the floor. It flutters and lands in the mess of cardboard and wrappers that I've already made around me. The toothbrush holder is the last piece of the bathroom, so I put it on the corner of the sink and step back to capture the full effect.

My dads did a really good job at picking out the decorations, especially if you consider that I wasn't there with them when they bought any of it. The lime green Sherpa rug in front of the shower, the bright pink toilet seat cover, the vase full of light pink carnations on the toilet tank cover… it's all pretty perfect and color coordinated. It's precisely the kind of thing that I would like.

So why is it that when I stand near the door and look at the way everything ties together, it doesn't feel like me at all?

Aren't these toddler colors? Isn't this the kind of bathroom you'd expect from a five-year-old? Was he right when he said that I would never grow up? Maybe I should have let my roommate decorate the bathroom after all, but I thought I was being nice by offering since she's buying the curtains and the vacuum, but maybe not.

Anyway, I have a lot more to do today and practically no time to do it, so I kneel down on the floor and start to clean my mess. At first, I use the side of my hand to sweep the little pieces of styrofoam into my open palm, but the floor is tile and tile is super hard to clean.

If I were home, I would just leave the little white pieces caught in the caulking for the next time I decide to actually use a broom to sweep, but my roommate's gonna be here soon and I don't want her first impression of me to be that I'm a slob. So I use my fingernails to pluck the pieces out.

I hate tiled floors. Things always get stuck between the tiles and they never get truly clean, it seems. Trust me, I speak from experience.

I try not to think about it anymore since it's in the past and I've put it behind me, but every time I see a tile floor, it's like the gears in my head start to shift and I literally can't help thinking about it…

It felt like I was dragging a fingernail across my skin; a smooth, filed, polished fingernail. It felt like a fingernail because it didn't hurt at first. Adrenaline was pumping through my body like it replaced blood, and it felt like I was floating. I traced one single line straight down and bit my lip. A lush crimson river ran straight down and tickled when it collected in the bend of my elbow. I held it in front of my face to get a good look because I couldn't believe I had actually gone through with it.

I was on my knees next because I felt weak once the adrenaline went away, and the blood started to drop onto the floor. I'd never seen blood quite that color before — so dark that it looked purple. It started to freak me out a little, so I grabbed the scrub brush from the cabinet underneath the sink and scrubbed until my shoulders ached. The tears free-falling like rivers from my cheeks made it nearly impossible for me to see, but I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until I couldn't scrub anymore.

I thought about what my dads would think if they walked in at that moment and saw me, on the floor with a cut oozing on my wrist, feverishly trying to get rid of the evidence of a crime I had committed. Their worlds were already falling apart and little pieces of them both chipped away each week when they met with the lawyers. Everything they had ever wanted for me was already shattered. They took every open possibility to tell me that I was the one good thing that came from their marriage, and I thought about how they'd move heaven and earth just to make sure I was happy. It would destroy whatever pieces they had left if they walked in and saw me like this.

How could I be so selfish? I had worked so hard to prove him wrong; prove to him that I'm more than just an self-centered, egotistical little brat, and maybe it was time for me to start believing that he was right. Maybe I would never grow up. Maybe I would never stop being so selfish.

It was entirely fitting that no matter how hard I scrubbed with the one hand that wasn't riddled with excruciating pain, I couldn't get the little cracks between the tiles completely clean.

"What are you doing?" The sound of my dad's voice is enough to make me jump, and it shakes me back into reality.

"I'm putting the rug down, Hiram. If that's okay with you, of course." Daddy responded, tone laced full of heavy sarcasm. "I forgot I have to ask you permission before I do things."

"Why are you putting it there?! It needs to go here."

I took a deep breath and counted to five before I released it. I forget where I learned that from, but it works. I'm not totally calm when I walk back into my room, but I am a little more prepared to deal with one of their infamous arguments after counting to five. I guess asking them to go one day without screaming at each other is impossible anymore because when I walk in, it's like I landed in the middle of World War III.

"Why would it go there?! It needs to go in front of the door so when she takes off her shoes, she's not tracking mud all through the place. It snows a lot here in New York. Way more than it snows in Lima." Daddy turns his back to ignore him and continues rolling the rug out in front of the door.

"No, no, no! You're doing it all wrong! It's supposed to go in front of her bed so when she gets up in the middle of the night, she doesn't step down onto a cold floor!" Dad stomps over to him and snatches the rug away. "Just move!"

"It makes more sense to have it by the door!"

"No, LeeeRoy. It does not! Think about her room back at home, she has a rug by her bed! Not by the door!"

"It's not home and it's not just a bedroom! This is her home! It's like an apartment for her and we have a welcome mat by our door, don't we?"

"And it's pointless! It doesn't do —"

"It keeps people from getting mud in the house!"

"You are so —"

"GUYS!" I stand in the middle of them with my eyes closed and hands balled up into fists. I hate it when they get like this. Who argues over rug placement?!

I can feel that my face is red, feel the irritation washing over me in place of any other emotion. The room falls to deafening silence when both of them concede their respective battles. They hang their heads like kindergarteners about to be scolded for bad behavior and neither one of them has the courage to pick their heads up and face me when they know that today was supposed to be the ONE day where they buried the hatchet.

"Not today, okay?" I look at both of them even though they're not looking at me. "It's supposed to be a happy day. It's my freshman year move-in day. I only have one chance to move into college for the first time. Can we just not taint this memory with fighting? Please?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Dad nods just one time and presses his lips to the side of my head. "We're sorry."

"You're right, honey. This is your special day." Daddy combs his fingers through my ponytail and smiles like everything is fine now. "I think we're both just a little on edge having to leave you here."

"I'll be fine, I promise." I duck from between them and stand at the head of my bedroom with my hands on my hips. "...Daddy, I do kind of want it by my bed instead of the door." I don't want to upset one by siding with the other, but it's my room. It should be the way I want it, right? "But maybe we can go to Target and get a rug for the door before you guys get back on the road."

"You're right, gorgeous," Daddy nods gently in my direction. "We can always just get another one."

"Alright, so what's next?" I tug my left sleeve down to make sure my wrist is completely covered, then head over to my suitcases. "I think we should do clothes next. I'm gonna let my roommate have the dresser. I'm taking the wardrobe closet because I —"

In my back pocket, my cell phone vibrates and it takes me by surprise at first… then it fills me with overwhelming dread. Part of me wants to ignore it and pretend like I don't feel it shaking against my butt because I still have a lot of work to do and only a few hours left with my dads to do it. But on the other hand… I already know that it's him who's calling and since it's him…

I really can't ignore it.

"Hold on," I mumble to my dads and slide my phone out of my pocket.

I'm used to the way my fingers always tremble before I answer his calls, and it's fairly normal for the room to feel like it's spinning. The phone buzzes and buzzes and buzzes in my hand and I just stare at it, my mind completely blank. I forgot how to tap the green "answer" button, my brain forgot how to control my hands. My thumb trembles, the room spins and my stomach aches.

The only thing worse than answering is not answering, though. All I need is the idea — the brief, fleeting thought — of what happens if I don't answer the phone. That's all I need to drag my mind back to consciousness and control of my body.

"I'll be right back." I squeeze my phone to make sure it's real, then head for the hallway.

"Rachel," Dad stands up and nudges his glasses to the middle of his nose. "Come on, put the phone away. We really have to finish this."

"I'll just be one second, I swear," I speak so fast that I stumble over basic words and power-walk to the door so that the phone doesn't stop ringing before I answer it.

The only thing worse than answering is not answering and the only thing worse than not answering is making him call back. It's been two hours since the last time he called, so I should have been expecting another call, but I wasn't. My stupid fault. I should have been better mentally prepared.

"Hey," I breathe into the phone, trying to sound calm but busy. "I was just about to call you!"

"Yeah, I'm sure you were." His voice feels like icicles melting down my back; it gives me goosebumps and makes the hairs on my neck stand up. "I told you to call me back at 1:30 on the dot. It's like two now, or something. So what the hell?"

"I told you I was getting ready to call." I have to lean against the wall to support myself because suddenly, my knees are very weak. He's angry, I can tell. "I had to finish putting my bathroom together."

"So you couldn't have picked up the phone to text and tell me that?"

"I know, I should have texted. I'm sorry." I sigh into the phone because sometimes if I sound genuine enough, he lets me off the hook. "I just have a lot of important things going on today and I don't really have time to talk. It's been nonstop since we got here, I —"

"So… more important than me, that's what you're saying?" I can tell by the way he sounds that he is biting his lip and biting his lip makes my blood run cold. Something always comes after he bites his lip… I'm so glad that he's still in Ohio and not right next to me if he's biting his lip. "You're saying that I'm not important?"

"No, Finn, you can't twist my words like that. I didn't say that, I said —"

"Yeah, whatever, you're saying I'm not important." He sighs the way I did and I can't tell if he's mocking me or if he's trying to relay his frustration. Either way, my mouth is dry. "What's your address?"

"Huh?"

"Huh?" He's definitely mocking me this time. "Dude, don't play dumb. It's totally not cute on you. I asked what your address is."

"It's… um…" I keep the phone pressed to my ear and glance at the gold numbers to the left of my door. "950 Parkview Avenue. Chaplin Hall, room 105."

"Why'd you hesitate?"

"Because I'm still getting used to not saying 241 Birch Hill Road." Can't he just leave me alone for once? Can't he just stop analyzing every word I say and how I say them? "Look, it's already been a really hard day for me and I —"

"I know." He cuts me off and speaks curtly, but I can hear just a glimmer of solemnity in his voice, so maybe it's going to be okay. "Sorry I freaked out on you. I just get nervous when you don't call me. I'm worried about you, you know? Being up there by yourself. People get robbed in New York."

"People get robbed in Lima, too. And in Akron, and in Los Angeles and in Pittsburgh, in Philadelphia… you know, people —"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I'm not, I'm just saying." He's quiet for a moment which allows me to hear inside of my room, and it sounds like Dad and Daddy are going at it again. "I'm being careful, I promise. I have pepper spray and one of those.. rape whistles or whatever, I don't know." I laugh a little just to test the waters and see if it's okay to laugh. He laughs too, so I can relax. It makes me sad to hear him laugh. It makes me remember that we used to laugh all the time. "I've gotta go, okay? My dads are all over me with this whole unpacking thing."

"Alright. I love you, you know?"

"I know."

I close my eyes for a few seconds and try my hardest to search my brain for the right words to string together. I have to say it back. If I don't… I don't really want to know what will happen if I don't say it back.

"I love you too."

I do know that he loves me. I don't doubt that he does. I just don't know if love is supposed to feel like this. I've felt love once, and it wasn't anything like this. Granted, I was only a fresh eight-years-old and by all logic, I didn't know a thing about love, but I know that I felt it. I know it did.

He wasn't always this way either. He used to open the doors for me and walk on the outside of the sidewalk. There was one time when he even held the umbrella over my head while he got drenched. He used to send me texts that said "good morning" and "goodnight," and he used to leave random roses in my locker for no good reason. That was when things were nice. That was when loving him was easy.

"Bye," I whisper to him before hanging up and that's when the guilt finally washes over me. How can I tell him that I love him when I'm not even sure I mean it anymore? Doesn't that make me a liar?

I feel terrible, but I do allow myself to feel proud at the same time. It was hard, but I managed to make it through yet another phone call with him and that's always something worth celebrating. It's always great whenever I —

"Hey!" Someone's voice snakes into the air from behind me and footsteps follow. I take my hand off the knob of the door and turn in her direction. "Is this your room?"

Why does she want to know? Forget it, it doesn't matter. I'd tell her anything she wants to know; anything at all. Hell, I'd tell her what color my underwear are if she asked.

"Y-Yeah," I babble, slightly anxious. Even though I'm full of nerves, I still stick my hand out for her to shake. "I'm Rachel. Rachel Berry."

"I know who you are," she giggles and I'm a goner. Her smile eats her face and she flashes two rows of perfectly aligned, sparkling white teeth. "I used to watch your videos on YouTube sometimes. You're UBER talented. I'm Dani, by the way. I think we're neighbors."

Her voice sounds the way running your fingers across velvet feels. It's smooth and it feels good on your ears. Her hair probably feels good, too. It's dirty blonde with streaks of light brown and it's so shiny that I wonder what conditioner she uses. I bet she smells good. Even her hand is soft when I shake it. I wish I could rewind time and meet her again for the second time, just so I can touch her hand again. I wish I could — No. Stop, stop, stop.

"You used to watch me on YouTube?" One of my eyebrows elevates slightly. "You think I'm good? I mean, you've actually… heard me sing?"

"Totally!" She adjusts the guitar case she has slung over her shoulder and nods. Her pretty eyes take me back. They make me think of someone.

My mind is totally clear now, thoughts of Dani practically vanquished. I get like that sometimes. I get all these intrusive thoughts, mostly about other girls, and I always have to tell myself to stop thinking about them like that. I've gotten pretty good at it, actually — all I have to do is remind myself that I'm straight and I have a boyfriend that I actually like having sex with most of the time. Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me and tries to make me think that I could actually be romantic with a girl, but I know that it's just a hoax because I've only ever actually kissed one girl in my life and I was eight.

I'm probably only having those kinds of thoughts about Dani because Dani looks a lot like the girl that I kissed. She has blonde hair like her, really pretty skin, she's a little on the thicker side.

"My roommate from last year, Kurt?" Dani continues. "He's like a huge show choir buff and he made me watch your high school's performance at nationals last year. I saw you sing Celine Dion and I was totally blown. We should jam together sometime… if you're into that sorta thing."

"Jam…" I smile when the word passes my lips and my brain turns to mush. There's something about pretty girls that makes me act like an idiot. "For sure. We should jam sometime."

"You got it," Dani giggles again. I'm not an expert at reading people, but I think she actually likes me and isn't just trying to be polite. "You should come eat with me and my friends down at the cafeteria later if you're not busy. Around 5:30?"

"5:30," I nod. "I'll be there."

"Sweet. We sit by the soda vendors. You'll see us." She heads for the door right next to mine and disappears inside.

I just made a friend on my first day…

Maybe college isn't going to be so bad after all.

Just a few notes and disclaimers ;;

1. This story in NO WAY reflects my views of Finn Hudson as a character. I actually didn't mind Finn in the show. I liked him to a certain extent and he was on my list of favorite characters. I know Finn is not completely like the way I am going to portray him in this story. Just keep in mind that it is a totally alternate universe story.

2. Even if this story doesn't start out with Rachel and Quinn being the romantic couple does NOT mean that they won't be. This is a FABERRY story. Any other couple is just a pit stop on the journey to Faberry. This is Rachel and Quinn. Not Rachel and Dani, not Rachel and Finn, not Rachel and whoever. This is RACHEL AND QUINN. Please don't be put off by the other pairings Rachel is with on the journey to Faberry.

3. Since this is my first time trying something science fiction, please don't hesitate to ask me a question if there's something I didn't explain properly. I mapped the story out and I think I'll do a pretty good job at explaining how things work in Quinn's society, but if there's any gray area just let me know.

4. And finally, just a quick heads up: I never said that the little girl Rachel kissed in the prologue was Quinn. Quinn's not human in this story.