Quinn

When others see me, they think of me as a great lawyer. They think of a great mother. They see me next to my husband, and they say, "She has to be amazing to support a man through his campaign for governor."

My husband, Biff, saw me as his tamed trophy wife. A creature of habit that couldn't stray from her planner. He thought I was predictable.

I was a great mom. I worked hard to have my career. In honesty, I resented my husband. When I was forced to stand beside him and smile, I felt empty.

I rented a loft to get away. I didn't have to be anything to anyone. At first, I wanted to be alone, but then I gave into the fantasy of a life that I could have had.

Puck and I were on and off through high school, but I had to leave him behind when I went to college. We had a lot in common; he was smarter than he led on. Our differences just made our relationship interesting. We didn't have to feel restrained by expectations and others' opinions. Together we were free, though we could only be in private. Sometimes we could talk for hours, but other days we both wanted to do a little more.

Puck thrusted his hard cock into my opening. He held me in place by my waist; his hands were rough and squeezing me tight. He moved to his own beat and it felt perfect.

"Yes, Puck, just like that." I moaned as I was bent over on the couch. I dropped my face into the pillows, feeling Puck hitting the right spot again and again. I felt the flames building inside of me and I was close to exploding.

Suddenly he pulled away.

I immediately missed the fullness. "No, do stop," I huffed. After realizing that he wasn't going to return, I straightened and sat on my knees.

Puck took it upon himself to get my phone; he couldn't ignore the ringing anymore. "It's Rachel." He passed the phone and flopped beside me. "She's going to keep calling until you answer."

I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. "Hello, Rachel." I shifted and tangled my feet together over Puck's femur. "What do you need?" I asked. I expected my friend to dance around the answer, but she surprisingly didn't.

She worried that she would be late to her wedding rehearsal because the rehearsals for her play were running long. "Can you call the caterers and make sure everything is set for the rehearsal dinner."

Rachel was taking the plunge into marriage. She wouldn't listen to me when I warned her of the cons of a legal union. She was doomed to learn them for herself.

I looked at Puck, wishing I could give him all my attention. "Why can't Mercedes do it?"

"She has a few more patients to see. Quinn please," she asked. She was rushing me to agree. "Thank you. I have to get back on stage. I'll see you soon."

Hanging up the phone, I had an epiphany. I thought about how every woman would get away from the struggles of their lives if they could- they deserve it. It was selfish of me to keep the loft to myself.

Puck investigated my focused eyes. "What are you thinking?"

I put my ideas to the side. I smirked, "That we have an hour." I took his hand and led him to the bad where we made love until we had to part.

Rachel

"This is so ugly!" Mercedes whined. She stared at the reflection of her pink, puffy and obnoxious dress.

I patted the pink fluff around Mercedes' hip. "No, no, it's cute."

"Cute like wearing the same sweater as your pet." She stomped and crossed her arms like a child. "Quinn, what the hell?"

I had been so swamped that I put a lot of responsibility on Quinn. I agreed to the venue, the flowers, and the seating arrangement. I had never seen that dress.

"The bridesmaids' dresses should be ugly so they don't outshine the bride."

"You'd wear an ugly dress for me?" I smiled, feeling flattered by Quinn's sacrifice.

"I'm the matron of honor. My dress is gorgeous."

"This dress should be burned," Mercedes announced. She marched into the bathroom to change.

"Quinn, you're not serious, are you?"

She laughed, "No. I'll give her the real one in the morning." Quinn could never resist the chance to work Mercedes; they were the closest. When Mercedes was finished, she sat us down. "Now that I have your attention, I want to tell you about the loft."

"This is your loft?" I asked. I rushed to the window to see the amazing view of the city.

Quinn corrected, "Our loft… if you want it." She smiled and toured us around. "This would be our sanctuary where we can get away from husbands, kids and work. You're free to do whatever you want."

"Whatever?" Only Mercedes saw Quinn's ulterior motive. She pointed between me and her. "We're not like that." She noticed the confusion on my face and explained it to me.

The loft would be our private place to have affairs. We could act on any fantasy, and all the secrets would stay within four walls. With three people splitting the rent, there would be less proof that we were doing wrong by our husbands.

"Just think about it," Quinn argued. "Rachel, you're getting married tomorrow. One day soon, you're going to realize that it's not easy to keep a man happy."

Mercedes challenged, "How would I explain to my husband the hundreds of dollars coming out of my bank account every month?"

"Tell him you bought shoes, got your hair done, saving for-" She rethought the question. "Why does he have your accounts?"

"Because he's my husband." She wasn't pleased with the look she was getting from her friend. "Whatever you're thinking, just say it," she dared.

"He's controlling, and you give him too much access. You're wearing a wedding ring, not shackles." Quinn had given the same speech many times, always to Mercedes' face. "When we were in school, all you talked about was being a singer. You were so close, but then you married Tank. He knew people would have worshipped you. He could let you have a music career that was more successful than his. He made you stop."

"Tank can't make me do anything." She was starting to boil. "I want to help people, so I became a doctor."

"And you see patients out of your house. That's right where he wants you."

"Your husband isn't perfect either."

Quinn was quick to admit, "I know. He's far from it." She had her own list about her husband. "But I'm not done with Tank."

The few times Mercedes criticized her husband, I was there to listen; she never told me anything to make me hate Tank the way Quinn did. She was strong for everyone because she was soft at heart. She'd hold in a lot of her problems, but as her friends, it was easy to see that something was keeping her from being as happy as she used to be.

I attempted to redirect by announcing, "I'm getting married tomorrow. Tonight should be about me." I plugged my phone into the speaker in the corner and turned the music up. I stepped between the two; I was a mouse that was trying to avoid being trampled on. "Let's enjoy the music and- Mercedes, please don't go." I chased after her until she slammed the door in my face. I turned and glared at Quinn.

She fell onto the couch. Somehow, she could pretend like she wasn't wrong. She put honesty over our friend's feelings.

I stopped in front of her and asked, "Why do you always do this? She loves him, and nothing you say will change that." When I heard a knock on the door, I rushed to it. "This is Mercedes. I want you to apologize."

There were two officers.

My eyes grew at the sight. I immediately assumed that they were there because of the noise. "I am so sorry. I will turn the music down," I offered, but was stopped.

The tall blond and brunette we're not police officers. They were dressed in a costume. They were strippers that were hired to make my bachelorette party even more uncomfortable.

Mercedes

I tapped my stack of papers against my desk, relieved to be one step closer to the end. I was running my office alone. I was up to my neck with notes, patient journals and billing forms. The last thing I needed was my husband to distract me.

"Hey," his soft voice called from the door. Tank shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled into my office. "I wasn't expecting you home this early."

"I have work to finish."

He breathed, stopping at the end of my desk. "I picked up Rachel and Puck's wedding gift. You won't have to worry about stopping for it in the morning." When he knew I was mad with him, he'd start to do things that I asked him to do days before or things I didn't ask him to do at all. "I'm packed, and a car will be here soon. Did you think I would leave without saying that I was sorry?"

Tank and I moved from LA to New York because I wanted to be closer to my friends. After being licensed by the state, I was back to work, but Tank's job was still in California. He could write his music at home and take a few meetings over the phone, but he had to fly across the country to record or discuss the big issues with his album. He was making a sacrifice for me, and sometimes he wanted me to feel bad for it.

Arguing had become a ugly habit of our relationship. We always fought over the same things. We could go for hours, and volume wasn't a concern. When we'd finally quiet down, we were in the same room, acting like the other wasn't there. Soon, we would apologize and wait for the next blow up.

He kneeled and spun my chair. He wanted to look into my eyes, but I turned my head. "I was stupid and petty. I shouldn't have even started the fight this morning."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say that you forgive me and mean it."

After fighting with patients over their wellbeing, after fighting with friends over my marriage, after fighting with the parking meter guy outside of a coffee shop that got my order wrong, I wish I could come home to a husband that would cuddle me and make the world fade. I rarely got that because he was across the country or we were mad with each other. Out of all the fighting I had to do, he was the only one that could drive a dagger through my heart.

"You actually hurt me. What you said-"

"I know. I know," he interrupted. "It was wrong. I regretted it as soon as I said it. I'm sorry for that too."

I shook my head. I couldn't accept that apology as easily as the others. "Apologies don't mean a thing if you don't fix it." I wanted to be mad, but I was tired of fighting. "It's good that you know, but I think you need to be alone to think of how you'll never say that again."

My husband looked at me with sad eyes. With his ride outside, he whispered to me, "I love you." He leaned forward and rested his lips against my forehead before leaving.

I'm glad to share a new story. I had an Idea, but after watching The Loft, my idea was made more solid. Theres no murder. Thank you for reading.