A/N: Hi there. I took some time off from writing for obvious reasons. The news about Naya broke my heart, and I really had to take a step back from everything for a bit there. I won't dive into it, but it was tough, and I know so many of us are still feeling it. She meant the world to me, playing and truly embodying the first lesbian character I ever saw on television, and was such a huge part of my journey with accepting myself and my own identity. I know she will always live on through her family, through her friends, and through us, the fans, who will always keep her spirit alive in whatever form we can.
That being said, here is Day 25 for this challenge. I can't promise when the rest of the chapters will come, mostly because I'm still coming to terms with everything that happened and trying to make peace with it, but I hope this can bring a little light to your lives in these dark times. Thanks.
Day 25: Gazing Into Each Other's Eyes
You look into her eyes, and all you can see is regret. Shining, nearly blinding regret. You can see it in her eyes as she apologizes, and it's masked by a layer of fear as she says she understands if you want to beat her up.
You wonder how you became this person, this monster who people are afraid of. When you were younger, you were the one being pushed and pulled and teased; somehow, you have now become the aggressor. You don't know exactly when or where or how it happened, but it happened.
I'm not mad at you, you tell her, and it's true. You have no reason to be mad at her. All she did was what you were too scared to do yourself.
It's funny how people are still scared of you when you are the biggest coward you know. How you invented this persona that makes people tremble in fear, you haven't the slightest clue. You held off telling your parents about your pregnancy for as long as possible because you were scared of how they'd react. You joined Glee Club because you were afraid that Finn would leave you. You didn't tell Finn about Puck because it scared you; he scared you.
And now?
Now, here is Rachel, terrified of you and the idea that you might hurt her, inflict physical harm on her, all because she did something you were too much of a coward to do.
She sits down next to you, and you can't bear to look at her again, too afraid of what you might see. She says that she acted selfishly, that she wanted Finn to be with her instead of you, and you can't help but notice the irony of it all. You and Rachel bickered over him, argued over him, fought and cheated and lied just for the chance to be with him.
And now neither of us have him, you whisper forlornly.
You wonder whether it was worth it. All of the fighting, stress, pain you caused people. You have hurt so many people, and you admit this to Rachel as she stares at you, her eyes unwavering, shooting lasers into the side of your face, and you can't help but turn to meet her gaze once more.
You ask her to leave, and she nods with understanding though you can see the disappointment reflected in her eyes. You can't bring yourself to placate her, not now, so you watch as she walks away, and you hope that you never have to see that same fear in her eyes again.
Except you do. A year and some months later, you look into her eyes, and you see fear. And it breaks your heart.
You have just done something you swore to yourself you'd never do. You hit her.
Even when you were at your meanest, in your lowest moments, you never physically harmed anyone. You never threw slushies, never pushed or shoved or hit anyone. And then, five seconds ago, you slapped her, completely unprovoked.
In hitting this girl, you've hit a new low.
You apologize instantly, tears coming to your eyes, as she stands there in shock. You turn away from her, unable to look into her eyes any longer and see the surprise and fear that lies within them. She moves to the sink to inspect the damage, you assume, and you feel the need to apologize again. She hadn't done anything, really, and you took your anger and frustration out on her for no good reason.
(You're reminded of your dad's outbursts of anger, and your heart breaks even more. Maybe you really are a monster, just like he was.)
You join her at the sinks, trying to salvage whatever is left of your makeup after the night's events. She says something about appreciating the drama of the slap, and you want to laugh, but the sound gets caught in your throat. Instead, you turn around, leaning back against the sink behind you, trying to find words to say that aren't another apology.
I know you think it's hard to be you, Rachel, you say, and you realize it's one of the few times you've called her by her name, to her face. It's unnerving, so you brush it off and continue, But at least you don't have to be terrified all the time.
What are you so scared of?, She asks, and the answer is far too convoluted and complex to even begin to explain. You tell her you're scared of the future, which is true, mostly because you are scared of loss. You know what it's like to lose everything, to have the floor ripped out from right under your feet, with no warning, and the future holds the possibility of you losing everything again.
She looks deep into your eyes as she tells you, You're a very pretty girl, Quinn, the prettiest girl I've ever met, but…
Here she pauses, waiting for you to return her gaze. When you do, you see the depths of her brown eyes, the sincerity boiling up, over, and out of them, her gaze so genuine that you almost believe her when she says, You're a lot more than that.
This time when you look into her eyes, you see awe. It's a bit unnerving; you've never seen such pure admiration in those eyes. At least, not directed at you. So when she looks at you like you've hung the fucking moon in the sky, you're taken aback.
You've come to see her, to thank her for keeping you from making such a poor decision. You had been lost in your own head, overwhelmed with everything from your skank phase to the return of Shelby (and Beth ) to Puck then sleeping with Shelby, the woman who adopted their child, and you'd lost your way a bit. Funny enough, the one person who had been able to get through to you was Rachel.
Then again, it's always her.
For whatever reason, she has always been there in your worst moments. And, for whatever other reason, she is always there, saying the exact thing you need to hear. Reassuring you at prom. Checking on you when you were a skank. Convincing you not to tell Figgins about Puck and Shelby. And you always, always take her seriously.
It both frightens and excites you.
A smile lights up her face as she processes your words, and she ducks her head, her cheeks flushing. There is no fear, no disappointment, no regret in her eyes when she looks up at you and says, We're kind of friends, huh?
You can't help but smile back and shrug. Kind of, you say coyly; you know that whatever this thing is that exists between you and her has always been more than friendship.
Her smile widens, and she sits down in the seat next to you. You ask her what she thinks about Yale because she's kind of your friend, and friends talk about these sorts of things. It's more of a courtesy than anything at this point since you have already applied, early action, and are just awaiting the decision at this point, but it's worth it to see the awe in her eyes when you tell her that you want to go there.
Your grades are superb, a 4.0 unweighted GPA since freshman year, even higher when weighted, your extracurriculars are noteworthy, including a national cheerleading title, and your personal essay, well, you don't mean to brag, but you're certain it will stand out among all of the other applicants. Unless there's another person that dealt with what you dealt with during your sophomore year, you are sure that you will be remembered by the admissions officers.
She looks at you with so much admiration you feel like you might explode. You're a lot better than you know, Rachel tells you, and, for the first time, you're starting to believe it.
By now, the admiration in her gaze no longer surprises you. You still get a momentary feeling of shock, every time she looks at you like that, but it doesn't come as the surprise that it used to. You know how lucky you are that you've changed enough to become her friend, to see fondness in her eyes rather than fear, affection rather than abhorrence.
You tell her this, and that awed expression returns to her face, along with a shy smile, as she says how weird it is to hear you call her a friend.
That's what you are now. Friends. Not enemies, not rivals, not frenemies, not kind of friends. Actual, real friends. The kind that tell each other important news, like getting into Yale, and talk to each other about important decisions, like whether or not to get engaged. The kind that hug, the kind that hold hands occasionally, the kind that you can't believe you've actually gotten the chance to have, especially when it's her.
She's been a constant in your high school career, whether you've liked it or not. And, despite the longing and aching in your chest whenever you see her with her boyfriend, you are friends.
The kind that make promises to keep in touch, apparently.
The train tickets had been a sleepy, spur-of-the-moment decision one night a few weeks ago. You know Rachel is going to end up in New York, one way or another, and the thought of losing this girl from your life when the two of you are at your closest is unbearable. You don't want to carry any anchors from your past into your future, but she isn't an anchor; she's a life saver, one that you are not planning on forgetting about any time soon.
You hand her the envelope and explain, A Metro North pass from New York to New Haven. I got one for me into New York. You wait for her to look back up at you before you say, You know, everybody keeps talking about staying in touch, and I want to make sure that we do.
Her expression is one of pure amazement. She smiles and thanks you, wrapping her arms around you for a hug. You wrap your arms around her back effortlessly, as if you've been doing it your entire life, and you find yourself wishing it could be like this for the rest of yours.
Unfortunately, you draw yourself back to reality, never letting yourself dwell on those thoughts, at least not in her presence. You give her your support for her engagement, even though a part of your soul dies as you do, because he makes her happy, and that's all you want for her: happiness. The kind that you know you will never be able to give her. And, if the grin on her face and the pounding in your chest are any indication, you're not sure if you'll ever truly make peace with that.
She looks at you with pride in her eyes, and it's a sight you'll never tire of.
It's Thanksgiving, your first year of college, and you're in New York, visiting her, staying at her apartment that she shares with Kurt. Santana is here, too, just for the holiday, and you find yourself surrounded by so much love it fills your heart with joy.
You miss your mom dearly, especially not being with her for the holiday, but you know she's with your sister in Baltimore, seeing her grandkids, and you talked earlier that day, and she is doing great. And you're doing great. Amazing, really.
College has been everything you ever wanted it to be. You love your classes, getting to study topics in which you have always been interested in but never afforded the opportunities to study. You have made friends, in a variety of classes and clubs, ones that have no prior expectations of you, which is something you are so, so grateful for. You are learning more about yourself every day, growing more comfortable with the person you are meant to be, and you're sharing this new version of yourself with others, too; it is freeing.
Today, you are sitting with Rachel in the living room, Kurt and Santana out at the store at your request, because you wanted a moment alone with her to tell her something. Something important.
The words spill from your mouth before you can even process what you're saying.
I'm gay, you whisper into the silence.
Her eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of shock and pride, and they glaze over with a sudden onset of tears that match your own. She scoots over and pulls you into a hug. She holds you tight, tighter than she's ever held you before, and you hug her back, letting your tears fall onto her shoulder and down her back. It's a precious moment, and you try your best to remember the feeling of her arms around you, her head against yours, her breath hitting your neck, her scent overwhelming your senses.
Thank you for telling me, she murmurs into your ear, her voice sending chills down your spine. I am so proud of you.
Then, you're crying harder, faster, the tears pouring from your eyes as she holds you even tighter, which you weren't even aware was possible at this point. She's crying now, too, and you know something has shifted between you two. The air is heavier, the feeling of her skin against yours is warm, hotter to the touch than it used to be, but the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, and you can breathe a little easier, and you know it's worth it.
A few months later, she'll look at you with love in her eyes as she kisses you for the first time, both of your eyes fluttering shut at the contact, a rush of tenderness flowing through you, and you're comforted by the thought of never seeing anything but love in her eyes ever again.