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-DementedPanda
It's Friday night and Quinn walks in the dark hall of her dorm. It's almost 2 AM and most of the lights are off - following the dorm rules. She stumbles on the carpet nearing her room and almost falls to her knees. She automatically holds on to the wall, trying to regain herself. The effect of the amount of the alcohol she'd been consuming in the frat party she just attended, is making her really dizzy. It hasn't been a great day for her, she admits. Quinn forgot to do her assignment for the Criminal Justice class, and is late for her Health Law class, and the actual reason why she's feeling like shit is because the psychology professor she's been seeing cancelled their date, again, with an excuse that he had papers to grades. Bullshit. She knows he got to come home to his wife doing god knows what. Not sleeping together for three years, my ass.
Quinn enters her door room, after having quite a difficult time locating her room key in her purse and just finding the keyhole. She kicks her door shut, throws the keys, before dropping her body down on the bed. She feels like crying, but her sadness quickly turns to anger. Hating herself for continuing to put herself in all kinds of drama. She wipes her tears that are dangerously floating on the crests of her eyes and sits up. She sits in the dark and looks around. Sure, she can't really see her room with the lights off, but she can still see the outline of the things in her room.
Her bed is located exactly next to the door: A single bed that hasn't experienced any action, except Quinn and her own hands. On the left side of the bed, against the wall, is a medium sized desk with her laptop, books and papers on top of it. There are no windows in the 3x4 m2 dorm room, but at least there's a bathroom, so it's not a bad deal after all. She's lucky to get a private room instead the co-ed room. Her eyes catches a golden framed photo with the glee club's kids in it. Everyone looks so happy with the Nationals trophy standing in the middle. She can't even bother to put her family picture. What family? She still keeps a photo of her mom and her sister in the drawer though, almost like an abandoned trophy.
Quinn suddenly feels alone and the darkness is somehow too much, so she decides to turn on her laptop for a little light. Her eyes wouldn't be able to handle the room's light for now. She grabs her chair to prop herself up, clumsily sits down in front of her desk, and turns her laptop on. She stares at the screen blankly while it's starting up. Obviously, her intoxicated brain is working more slowly tonight. She continues to stare as her Skype logs on automatically. After another minute of staring at the screen, a name is catching her eyes. Stripper.. Quinn can't help but giggle at remembering what happened just three days ago with the whole "wrong call fiasco" thing. That girl got good ass.. among other things, her laugh is soon replaced by Quinn looking like a deer-caught-in-headlights as another image violates her head. One of Santana bending over. Quinn squirms in her chair, suddenly feeling really uncomfortable.
Before her brain even registers what she was doing, she clicks on "Stripper", types "Hi" and is pressing enter. Maybe it's the alcohol, it could be the loneliness too, or maybe it's just the anger she's feeling and she knows that Santana has always been a good bickering partner. Maybe that's it. She's looking for someone to have a fight with. She waits for a good couple of minutes for a reply but to no avail.
Santana on the other side is actually sitting on her desk too, bored out of her mind and just browsing the web, looking for something to do. Brittany decided to sleep an hour ago after trying to finish her homework with Santana's help. She's surprised to see a window on the bottom of her screen flashing with "Bitch" name on it. She clicks on it and read the message "Hi" from Quinn. Santana frowns, not believing what she's seeing and decides to just ignore the message. Well that was random. Not long after, she suddenly gets a call from Quinn and before she's able to do anything, there's Quinn's face - on her screen - staring at her. Damn automatic call.
"Ha. I knew you're there", Quinn slurs to the screen, giving Santana her best try at a squinted/angry eye, though it looks more like she's just got poked in the eye. The Latina could see that Quinn seems to be drunk. It's obvious from the way she's trying too hard to sit straight.
Santana smirks, "You caught me, Fabray. I'm just not in the mood talking with an alcoholic Barbie. What do you want?"
"I'm not alcoholic. I just happened to get back from a very prestigious student party, and just enjoyed several glasses of good wine."
"From the way you're swaying and slurring, looks like you just robbed a convenient store, head straight to their beverages fridge, slipped and then drowned on their several choices of cheap alcohol", Santana folds her hands to her chest, suddenly interested with what Quinn might do while she's out of her "I'm Miss Perfect" attitude. I got nothing better to do tonight anyway.
"Yeah, well you look quite beautiful tonight..", Quinn states.
Santana is taken aback with the nice and very unexpected comeback and is startled for a second before managing to reply with a "Thank you?"
"Who would wear make-up like that in this time of hour, seriously. Did you just got back from your pole dancing side job?", Quinn adds with a lopsided victorious smirk.
"Bitch!"
"Slut."
"….."
They both go silent for a second, before Quinn is unable to hold back her smile then blown into a fit giggles, which Santana can't help but reply with her own laughter.
"My God, we should grow up already. What's going on with you, Q? I know you're not the drinking type. Not after the whole wine cooler thing", Santana asks as she wipes the tears from the laughter.
Quinn sighs and just like that her foul mood returned. "I'm fine. Just wanted to have a little fun. I mean here I am, miles from home and all I do, everyday, is studying. A girl got to have a break once in a while", She slumps back on her chair, avoiding eye contact from Santana. Afraid that the other girl would see her lies.
"I don't believe you."
"Whatever", Quinn sways her hand clumsily to the screen. "What about you? How are you doing? Life must be going good for you. I mean, you're doing what you know well. Cheerleading scholarship, right?"
Santana wants to keep pushing for an answer, but instead she convinces herself that she doesn't really care. "Things are okay. I got Sue 2.0 as a coach and even more extra essay assignments. I didn't know college life is worse than High School. But nothing I can't handle", She says shrugging.
Her words result in another awkward silence, neither not knowing what to say. It's not like they were actual great friends in High School. It's all about keeping up with appearances. Even with a slow thinking process, Quinn starts to regret her spontaneous decision to call and Santana begins to get annoyed with her automatic answering call.
"And how about you and Brittany? You both doing okay with the long distance thing?", Quinn suddenly asks.
Santana shifts uncomfortably on her chair, hearing her girlfriend's name. Not because her sexuality has become the underlying subject, but the status of the relationship is and she's been having her own internal conflict about continuing the relationship. Though she will be damned talking about it with the drunk mess, she once called her partner in crime in Cheerios. Santana does not talk about feelings. Period.
"We're doing fine. I go back and forth from here to Lima every couple of weeks to see her and doing my laundry. So we're fine", Santana decides to answer as flat as possible, without realizing that her tone is giving away her feelings on the subject. They have been having a little problem with their quality time, actually. They both have very different schedules and Santana has "needs" which after some time, she has to admit, is getting difficult to just waive it and wait for every other week. She might sound shallow but she can't lie that her eyes had been wandering more freely and with particular intention lately. Not to mention the girls that had been throwing themselves at her when she went to parties.
Quinn raises her eyebrows, sensing Santana's grumpy response, "Okay. Did I just hit a nerve there?"
"You didn't. I told you we're fine. It's not your business anyway", this time it's Santana who dismisses the subject.
"Fine.", Quinn slurs her response.
"Fine.", Santana rolls her eyes.
There's another silent and horribly awkward moment. Quinn starts drumming her finger on the table, looking away from the screen but glances once in a while to look at Santana. She can't see a thing in the dark and that is making her even more pissed.
"Well.. This is awkward", Santana comments while clicking on her screen, starting to browse the internet again absent-mindedly.
"Yea, I shouldn't have called. I thought at least I can be fake-happy listening to you brag about your new college life. Turns out you're just as sad as you were in Lima. Still having problems with opening up, I see."
"Seriously, Quinn? I'm actually surprised you haven't started talking about how bad your love life is. Isn't that your expertise? Who are you cheating with now?"
Quinn is about to retort with a nasty insult before covering her mouth with both of her hands, trying to hold back the bile in the back of her throat.
"Ugh.. San.. I think I'm feeling sick", Quinn manages to mumble through the cracks of her fingers.
"Oh my God. Are you pregnant again?"
"No, I had half a bottle of vodka, you idi-", she says just as the nausea finally hits her hard, Quinn swiftly pulls out the trash bin from under her desk, and empties her stomach on the spot. Puking so gracefully into the bin, on cam, in front of Santana Lopez.
"Oh Hell No. Ew Quinn! You did not just do that on Skype. What is this?"
"I can't help it ok!", Quinn exclaims, still feeling nauseous and still trying to stop the dry heaving.
"Go clean yourself. You disgust me. You're just like your mother, Quinn. No surprise there", Santana says making a face.
Quinn tries to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand and covers her face, "That's funny, coming from the Porn Star who slept with half of the football team." She lifts up her head, trying to look at Santana as the laptop's light is somehow more painful for her eyes now.
"You know what, you're not even ssun!", Quinn says as she drops her head on top of the keyboard, feeling like the world is spinning around her.
Santana rolls her eyes again, "You mean fun, drunk-ass?"
"You're a lousy stripper."
"What?"
"...and still wearing clothes", Quinn continues mumbling as she feels more and more tired. She tries to keep her eyes open but everything around her is so dark. She closes her eyes and drifts off. Puke breath and all.
"Seriously, you need to go to the bathroom and wash your face..."
"Quinn...",
"…Quinn!?", Santana calls out, hoping to wake up the passed out blonde.
"Are you for real?"
Another silence.
"Quinn! Wake up, Slut", Santana curses, wishing she could just throw something at Quinn.
And that's when she hears Quinn softly snoring.
"You've got to be kidding me", Santana covers her face in disbelief.