Chapter Eighteen
"Faster, Quinn!" Tom screamed through the wind blowing into his face, whipping his neck scarf in every direction.
Pressing her foot down on the acceleration, Tom's 1966 Ford Thunderbird hit an easy eighty before Quinn felt the adrenaline didn't quite outweigh the fear that, despite the empty highway, a cop might just find themselves behind them.
Falling heavily back into the passenger seat, she could see Tom out of the corner of her eye as he threw his head back in a carefree laugh.
Her own laugh bubbled in her chest, she didn't know if it was because her glasses were actually rose-tinted or if it was because she was genuinely happy after months of shitty jobs, people and apartments. The last place she'd stayed at she was pretty sure the landlord was one argument with his mother away from Norman Bates, so when she decided to treat herself to a coffee on her break from waitressing in the restaurant across the street, she couldn't believe her luck when she was met with familiar, dulcet tones.
"Quinn?"
"Tom?"
"Gorg! How are you?" He asked as he swept her up in a hug.
Tightening her hold on him, she laughed, "How long have you got?"
"All the time in the world for you," he said into her hair.
He wasn't lying as it turned out, because after that Tom became a fixture in her life.
He introduced her to a whole new world, from the art to the artist, but what she loved the most was the nightlife he was a part of. The drag bars, the queens, kings, everything in-between and beyond. Tom had taken to performing when he wasn't too busy studying and if he was backstage, so was Quinn. She'd accidentally become his assistant of sorts, spending more time with Tom than she did anybody else.
It was through Tom she picked up the intricacies of sewing. Sewing of all things, she'd go on to wonder why. But she loved it. She loved being able to take unconventional materials and create something beautiful. Everything was tangible, the accomplishment in her hands when the garment was complete and ready for Tom to try.
It was cathartic, the rhythm of the sewing machine, the motion of her wrist and she took up a hem. Her mind could completely lose itself in the world of creating. She had helped Tina with costumes for Glee club competitions before, so she knew the basics, but now she knew how to really make things. Whenever she felt herself falling down the rabbit hole of negative thoughts she picked up a needle and practised her threading. Or picked up a notebook and sketched out a new idea.
Being away from Lima had taken that weight off of her chest that she'd be stuck there forever, but the hollowness still ate at her. Was it Beth? She drew her thumb over the name on her wrist. Was is Santana? She pulled out her phone and shot Santana a text asking how college was. It was depressing to scroll back up into their earlier conversations, so as soon as she sent the message she quickly tucked her phone into her back pocket.
She didn't have the words to explain it, when she felt her thoughts begin to spiral it was always a fight to pull herself out of them. Sometimes she lost. Before moving, it felt like she always lost. And there was the guilt that she had hurt Santana. With hindsight, she could see that the way she dealt with things weren't the best, that they were unfair. But she tried to push through the dread that had been building all the way up to that stupid gas station.
It had taken everything not to stop sooner.
To just drive back to Lima like they'd intended to do, but like magnets, no matter how much she forced herself to accept that they were going back, the negative emotions connected to home and the negative mindset that seemed to dominate everything Quinn thought about repelled her mentally and physically from finishing the return trip.
Her biggest regret wasn't staying, it was that Santana was caught in the crossfire of the fight within herself.
Quinn learning more about fashion helped Tom too, the fabric design he learned at college could be practised with Quinn and if she didn't get it, he probably didn't either. And it was back to the drawing board.
After pretty much living with him already, Tom finally told her to move out of her place and into his, paid for by his parents and bigger than all of her past apartments put together.
"Q?" His voice called from the bathroom one warm afternoon.
"Huh?" Quinn acknowledged from her spot on the floor, patterns strewn around her, a thread between her teeth.
"Fancy a drive?" He asked, head popping around the door.
"Yeah, I'll just finish this and I'm good to go."
"Perfect."
When Tom had pulled around the corner in the classic, green Thunderbird with the roof down and music blaring Quinn took a double-take.
"Where did this come from?"
"You like?" Tom grinned, turning the music down.
"Are you going to tell me where you got this from or would you have to kill me if you did?"
"You know me well. Get in, loser."
"This is crazy, it's not the one from the film is it?"
Tom laughed, "No, don't worry. I didn't infiltrate a movie lot. It's my grandpa's, he's letting me borrow it," Tom looked at her pointedly.
"Borrow," she repeated, a dubious look shot his way as she climbed into the passenger seat. "Right."
Turning the music back up until it was obnoxiously loud, he gave her a wink and pulled out into the street, "Let's go, Louise."
Tom drove until they met the open road, a mischievous glint in his eye as he sped up. His maniacal laughter ringing in her ears as they blasted down the road.
Quinn should have been scared, but she wasn't.
"Stand up," Tom told her.
Her hair was already windswept, but as she loosened her belt to grip the edge of the windshield and pull herself up, her hair blew straight back and her glasses pressed against her face.
It took her breath away, the way the road went on forever, the speed with which everything passed them, the copious amount of air hitting her face.
"I just want to scream," she laughed as she glanced back down at Tom who was white-knuckling the steering wheel.
"Then scream!"
Lifting her arms into the air and filling her lungs, Quinn leant back into the wind and let out a scream that resounded deep in her chest. The physical embodiment of freedom, the resistance against the wind being nothing compared to the struggle of every day, the vibration in her chest nothing more than the release of everything that held her back.
Sitting back down, she slumped against the seat.
"How was that?"
"Good," she said simply, closing her eyes as the sun beat down on her.
On the drive back Tom let her take the wheel and that's how she found herself joyriding for the first time in her life.
Sure, Santana was a speed demon, but Quinn had never dared break the limit for fear of the repercussions. It never failed to amuse her what she used to take risks on and what she didn't. She'd take molly, but wouldn't speed. Fuck, she'd probably taken speed at some point. Who knows what Puck brought to those shitty parties he used to throw. Could've been baby powder mixed with crushed rock salt for all they knew.
The thought was enough to have her laughing, eyes on the road, but lost in memories of a life she wanted to forget.
"Smile," Tom said from where he sat, camera aimed in her direction. She posed as he took one, two, then flipped the camera to capture them both.
Photography was another thing she'd picked up. During Tom's shows, she liked to capture the way the dresses moved on him, the way they fell against his body. Her pictures varied, people, places, but she liked to capture the nightlife that had become her whole life. She liked to capture other queens and kings, couples kissing, hugging, smiling. Drunk, high, happy. The environment was addictive, intoxicating.
"Careful with that," she said as Tom almost dropped the camera.
"Whoops," he smiled, tucking it safely back in her bag.
Tom had a show later that night and the venue, knowing she usually went with him, offered to pay her if she took photos for their promos. Breaking her camera now would not have been ideal. The reminder made her buzz with excitement, she was going to be paid for something she enjoyed doing, it was kind of crazy.
Sure, Tom paid her for materials when she made him something, but Tom was her friend. This was something she could add to a portfolio. A portfolio? She was starting to think like a real businesswoman. Her father would be proud of her. For the first time, that is.
"Want a lil somethin'-somethin'?" Tom offered from his seat in front of the mirror in the tiny back room of the club.
"Can't, I'm working tonight."
"Oh-em-gee. My little Quinn, all grown up."
"Hush," she reprimanded, fixing the lens on her camera before focusing it on Tom's reflection as he dragged his keys closer to himself from the far side of the make-up table.
Catching eyes he picked them up and gave her a playful look, "Nothing incriminating, please."
Dropping the camera, she shook her head, "Never."
Once the keys were tossed aside, she pulled it back up and snapped a picture of him applying eyeliner.
"Could you pass me my bag?"
"Oh, yeah," she said, handing it over as she stood to make her way out front. "I'll catch you later. Got money to make," she said with a wink and blew a kiss that he pretended to catch.
"See ya, bitch."
The club was dark, lit only by colourful strobes and mirrors that reflected the lights and was still filling up, the air already thick and warm.
Making her way to the bar, she greeted the owner who'd hired her.
"Hey, Quinn," Dee smiled, wiping down the side.
"Hey," Quinn smiled back.
"You ready?"
"Born ready," she joked.
Dee had to know Quinn and Tom were still underage, but the club wasn't some big, fancy place, it was a dive and it lay low. What mattered was that Tom could put on a show. So Dee never asked outright. And even if she did, they always brought their fakes just in case.
As the crowd inside swelled, Quinn slipped into it. Armed with her camera, she captured people dancing, in the moment, having a good time. Sometimes people would come up to her and ask if she'd take their picture, she always said yes. That's what she thought the tap on her shoulder was for.
Glancing over she was met with a more than welcome, friendly face.
"I thought it was you," Mercedes laughed as she pulled Quinn into a hug.
"'Cedes!" Quinn hugged her back. They'd only spoken a few times since Mercedes had moved, but life had run away with them. Their schedules had never aligned, until now, it seemed.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm working," Quinn held up her camera.
"No way, I didn't know you were into photography."
Quinn shrugged, she didn't know what to say. "My friend is going to be on any minute now, do you want a drink? I could do with a break."
"Sure, let's go."
Sat at the far end of the bar, where it was only a little bit quieter, the girls huddled close as they caught up.
"Yeah, some of the dancers brought me here. Super nice guys."
"That's so good to hear, honestly."
"What about you?"
"I've been okay," Mercedes gave her that look. "It has. I promise."
"Have you spoken to Santana?"
"Not recently, I mean we text but we don't talk if that makes sense."
"Yeah," Mercedes reached out for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
"I wish thing were different, but," Quinn shrugged, "they're not. I made my bed."
"You were so good together, Quinn. What happened?"
Yeah, what happened, Quinn?
"And welcome to the stage," a voice overhead rang out, saving Quinn from the conversation, "Polly Darton."
Shooting to her feet, Quinn took her opportunity to completely avoid the question and cheer on Tom as he strode onto the stage as Polly.
Turning back to Mercedes with, "I'll be right back," she weaved herself deeper into the club to set herself up at the lip of the stage as Polly took the mic and began her set.
That was the first of the few run-ins Quinn and Mercedes had, it was always a little stilted before they settled into familiarity. She supposed that the way she left it with everyone had soured things.
Or maybe it was all in her head.
She wouldn't put it past herself.
The overthinking was reduced to barely being able to think at all as a whirlwind of small gigs, waitressing, and creating garments saw the days and weeks pass quickly.
On one of her rare nights in, she took some time to relax before she went to bed. She had to be up early the next morning for work, and despite the open shifts leading to her developing a very deep hatred for those on the close, she preferred those shifts to working all hours of the day.
"Hey, Quinn, you in here?" Tom knocked at her bedroom door.
Laying her front, book lain open in front of her, feet kicking in the air, Quinn lifted her head, "Come in."
Opening the door, Tom popped his head around before he stepped in.
Quinn rolled her eyes, "I wouldn't have asked you in if I wasn't decent."
"Hey, don't hate on me. Who knows what kind of freak you could be?"
"Tom!" She said, reaching back to toss one of her pillows at him.
"Sorry, sorry," he placated, hands raised.
"What's up anyway?"
"Well, that's the thing."
"Go on."
"We're going to have to move out."
Quinn's legs dropped against the bed. "Why what's happened?"
"I dropped out of college and my parents are pissed," he admitted as he sat next to her on her bed.
"You dropped out? When?"
"Like two weeks ago. I don't know how they found out but they did and now they want me to go back home."
"Tom you can't leave," Quinn sat up, to pull Tom into a hug. Quinn thought the shaking of his shoulder were from tears as she consoled, "Oh, Tom. We'll figure something out."
His snort was jarring, his following cackle even more so.
Leaning away, Quinn looked at him, concerned.
"Ha! Gotcha!"
Realisation settled on Quinn's features, "You dick," she said with a smack to his shoulder. "I thought you were upset."
"No, but I am going away. My sister's getting married, so I'm going home to celebrate and then I'll come back. I wanted to let you know."
"You have a sister?"
"Unfortunately," he sighed, "I hate her, to be honest. But my mom would be devastated if I didn't go, so I will. But I have a proposal of my own," he said with a wiggle of his brows, very proud of himself.
"Naturally."
"You should come with me," he said as though it was the greatest thing ever.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I mean everyone in my family is a real snooze-fest, you'd be doing me a great service. I could die of boredom if not."
"I mean..."
"Quinn, please. It's one week of your life."
She supposed she could ask for some very big favours and get somebody to cover her whilst she was away.
"Fine, okay."
"Yay," he said with a small clap and peck to her cheek, which she made a point of wiping. "We leave this weekend, so get your glad rags ready, my dearest, most darling girl."
"That's three days," Quinn stated, suddenly aware of her very limited wardrobe since moving without thinking to keep some of her worldly possessions. "I don't have anything to wear."
Tom looked at her as if she'd grown another head, "Quinn, you make clothes."
"Oh," she said dumbly. "But wait, I don't make them for myself."
"Well get working, girly," Tom said over his shoulder as he swanned out the door, only to come back not a second later. "Just kidding, we'll go shopping. You'll be fulfilling a wish of mine."
"And what's that?"
"I can be your sugar daddy," he teased. "Sans the sugar, of course," he added, shooting her a grin as he left again, closing the door behind him.
Three days, one flight, and a drive to Tom's parent's beach house in Miami later, Quinn found herself sat on the beach with Tom at sunset, taking in the waves and watching people jog along the shoreline.
"I liked that picture you took of us," Tom said.
"I'm getting better, I think."
"Oh totally, you're a quick study for sure."
"Aw, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Quinn joked.
After a short silence, Tom turned to her once more, "Want to go skinny dipping?"
Quinn looked down the beach and saw that the closest people to her were a group that looked like ants from where they were and after a moment, nodded.
Stripping bare, the pair ran into the sea with squeals as the small waves broke over their legs.
"It's freezing," Quinn laughed through chattering teeth.
"You'll warm up, don't worry," Tom laughed too, wading back to a shallow part that was still deep enough to float on his back.
Quinn followed, body acclimating to the salty water as she watched the sun slowly slide behind the horizon. The soft orange haze left in its wake too beautiful not to take a picture of.
Making her way back to the beach, her heart dropped as she saw the water lapping at their clothes and bags.
"Fuck," she said through her teeth, picking up her pace to pull them out of the water. "Tom," she called back, "our clothes are soaked."
"Set them on those rocks," he shouted back, form silhouetted by the lowering sun.
Grabbing their things, Quinn trudged to the rocks further up the beach, worried that the water had broken her camera. Luckily, it had only just escaped the worst of it, but her clothes were sodden.
Shaking out the creases, she didn't think to check her pockets, as her phone came flying out her pocket and met the rocks.
"You're kidding me," she muttered, snatching her phone up to see that is was not only wet, but cracked. Feeling herself grow hot with frustration, she quietly seethed as she set it down on the sand and continued to lay out her wet clothes.
By the time she'd done that the sun had already gone down.
Typical.
Back at the beach house, she was met with laughter as she put her phone in some rice.
"Is it going to repair the screen too?" Tom said from his perch on the kitchen counter.
Already pissed off, sunburnt, and tired from their journey, Quinn set her glare on him, daring him to carry on.
"This has everything on it, Tom."
"If it's the numbers, stick the SIM in mine."
Quinn listened to his advice and pried the destroyed card out of the waterlogged cell phone.
"On second thought, how about we get you a new one."
Clenching her jaw, Quinn slammed the SIM card down on the counter and left the kitchen to go take a shower to calm down. The warm water did little to settle her, but at least it washed the salt from her skin.
Her week in Miami was spent worrying over her promise. How was she meant to contact Santana? She didn't have her number memorised. Hell, she only memorised her own number last year and she'd had the same one since she was thirteen.
She had to find a way to fix it.
...
"We should just go to New York," Tom suggested, head hanging over the side of the bed as he watched Quinn pack.
"I can't do that, that's crazy."
"How?"
"Because that's an insane thing to do to give somebody your new number."
"But this isn't just somebody."
"Said every stalker ever."
Tom didn't understand Quinn. He loved the girl, don't get him wrong, but by the gods, she was a strange one.
"Why are you so afraid of New York?" He tossed out, hoping his casual tone would abate how the loaded question was.
"What?" She stopped packing to look up at him.
"When you told me why you didn't go before I could understand it, you didn't want to be the oil spill of suck in a sea of everyone else's successes. It's only natural and maybe you needed a little direction that wasn't somebody else's. But don't you see?" He continued, hefting himself up to sit properly on the bed. "You are a success. Look at what you've done since moving to LA, Quinn. You're a bona fide artist. You have the talent and the chops to back it," at the sight of Quinn's glassy eyes Tom tried to lighten her spirits. "Not so much your early stuff," he pulled a face to emphasise the point, making Quinn choke a laugh, "but shit, you're good and you have potential."
"Thanks," she said softly.
"So it begs the question, now that we're what, five, six months down the line, what are you scared of?"
Quinn dipped her head and shrugged.
"You're good enough for her, I hope you know that." At her slightest of head shake, Tom slipped off the bed to kneel before her and take her by the shoulders, "You are. And she thought that too."
"Not anymore," Quinn whispered.
"You have some making up to do, so what? You decided to stay and she had no choice but to let you. But now you have to let her decide whether she wants to be friends with you again," he said, pulling her in for a hug, despite the awkwardness of having a suitcase between them.
"We're friends," Quinn protested.
"Oh, yeah. Completely forgot over all the talking you do," his words dripped with sarcasm. "You know what I mean, friends how you used to be. Best friends, no?"
"Yeah," she murmured pathetically against his shoulder.
"Well then, let's just fucking doing it."
"What about college?"
That hadn't occurred to him. He didn't actually want to be kicked out.
"Spring break is upon us," he raised his eyebrows in question. "How about we make a surprise appearance in a month's time?"
"A month?"
"Four weeks sound any better? Quinn, I don't have a lot to work with here, please."
"Okay, I was just asking," she mumbled, pulling the case's lid over to zip closed.
He loved it when a plan came together.
