Man, oh, man, you're my best friend, I'll scream it to the nothingness
There ain't nothing that I need
Well, hot and heavy pumpkin pie, chocolate candy Jesus Christ
Ain't nothing please me more than you
Home, let me come home
Home is wherever I'm with you
—Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros: Home
•••
January 20th, 2016
The first night Quinn stayed with the Berrys after Rachel came home from the hospital, she heard Rachel cry in the confines of her bedroom. She had intended to say good night to her wife but she heard the sound of jagged breathing, her sobs becoming louder, deep, racking cries. But she did nothing except sit outside Rachel's bedroom door, every sob took Rachel further away from her and she didn't know how to make it stop. The next morning Rachel acted as if it never happened, and if Quinn hadn't been there to witness it, she would have thought it never happened. Rachel cried every night after that at 4:14 a.m., after what Quinn supposed was a nightmare. Quinn never knew how to bring it up, how could she when Rachel refused to be alone with her? She wanted to make peace with her wife so she could pull her back to land. Rachel was too far adrift; if she was to fall apart, Quinn's life would too be shattered. What she hadn't expected was that the idea of peace meant ignoring their problems.
Then the words came: "I've been selfish and wanting you here with me... Love isn't selfish. It's kind and gentle and bursting of life."
She was selfish. She wasn't gentle or kind. Their relationship was no longer bursting of life.
Quinn froze, those words sounded heavy, a deadening load. She was certain that Rachel was going to leave her. At the same time, hearing it made her feel light, weightless. She experienced a moment of relief; and, for an instant, that flashed by so quickly she barely registered it. There was a humming in her ear that was, she was sure of it, the sound of the universe spinning around and around, ready to fling both of them off into an orbit, one in which they either surrendered finally to each other or were forever flung apart.
Quinn thought about it then: divorce. It seemed to her the voice came from somewhere outside of herself, a woman's voice from a distance. She did not recognize it as within her own thoughts.
She hardly reflected on anything else Rachel had said.
She experienced a moment of panic, almost vertigo. Quinn was convinced she was going to die—the beat of her own heart seemed so tenuous, so irregular, her breath short, strained. Slowly, very slowly, she took in her surroundings. They occupied a strange world now in which the guest bedroom had been somehow set adrift from the real world. Again, she experienced a wave of weariness, a numbing heaviness to her neck and shoulders, to her very bones. This, finally, was love. This was its shape and essence, once the lust and ecstasy and danger and adventure had gone. Love, at its core, was negotiation, compromise, the surrender of two individuals to the messy, banal, domestic realities of sharing a life together.
"Quinn?"
She was wrong to have thought that all the accommodations, negotiations and challenges in their marriage had been met. Of course, there was accident, illness, tragedy; all that and more were still to come. Neither of those scared her. It was the thought that she wouldn't be with Rachel when she accepted her first Tony, she wouldn't be with Rachel when she signed a recording contract, she wouldn't be with Rachel to see her name in lights around the world; that scared her—to not be mentioned in Rachel's acceptance speech, to not hold Rachel's hand when she signed the contract, to not be standing beside her wife when the world finally sees Rachel through her eyes: a beautiful, invigorating, talented five-foot-two human being.
"I want a divorce." Quinn said, her mouth dry. She hated the word. Whoever invented divorce should be shot.
You're doing this for Rachel. Rachel doesn't need you right now, what she needs is to find herself again—is the voice of malice inside Quinn's head, drowning out all other voices. She clenched her jaw. She heard also—a sound from the real world—the clenching of her teeth. Quinn looked down and watched the way Rachel was stroking her open palms and she thought that small flames might flare out from her palm to the tips of Rachel's fingers, she felt such a burning love for the woman in front of her.
"We need a divorce. I can't do this. I can't live like this." The fury inside of her roared, the voice grew louder, more vicious. Her body crushed with a rattling sigh. Quinn rose, stained all over with her blood and weighed down by unbelieving eyes.
Rachel rubbed her eyes, smearing the salty tears across her face. "But I—I thought we were going to work things—"
"No. I can't. I don't want this."
"You couldn't have changed your mind in the span of five minutes. I must have said something to upset you. I didn't mean to." Rachel's expression was quizzical, unsmiling.
Quinn didn't answer straight away, just looked down at the floor, wishing and praying it would open up and suck her whole. She felt bereft, drained of energy. "You wanted this."
"Not a divorce. Possibly a temporary separation but—"
"You were thinking of divorce, you just didn't have the guts to say it."
"That's not true," Rachel tried to reach out to Quinn but she retreated further away. "It doesn't have to end like this."
"Why do you care?" Her eyes burned. A violent pang of sickness stabbed her. She longed for sweet kisses and warm nights, bright mornings and tender hugs. Something in Rachel's face shattered. Her every muscle coiled tight. "You said it yourself, you never thought how hard this was for me. Why do you care now?"
Rachel searched Quinn for signs of emotion, any emotion. She took great care not to disturb her, remaining still in her spot like a ten year old girl who had been naughty and was sent to sit in the corner thinking about what she had done. She didn't try to breathe too loud, afraid she might bring on some further chastisement. "I care about you, you know I do. I know I haven't made things easy, but I've been trying extremely hard..." She trailed off, lost for words.
Rachel couldn't know it, Quinn said to herself, but there was a war going on in her head. It was as if there was two of her. One wanted to scream and say all sorts of vicious things to push Rachel away in order for her to fulfill her dreams and not have the burden of being married to someone whom she doesn't remember falling in love with. Then the second part of her, the softer, loving part wanted to break down and cry, fall to her knees and beg Rachel to never leave her. Yes, the separation is fine, anything is better than a divorce.
The viciousness won. Her blood boiled inside her veins.
This wasn't Rachel's life. She stopped listening to music, she stopped singing, she stopped watching Funny Girl and reading Barbra Streisand's biography every night. And Quinn knew it was because of her and her stubborn ways and the method she took to force herself back into Rachel's life. What Rachel needed first and foremost was music and singing and applause, and then, then Quinn can have her Rachel back. The voice sneered in her mind, Rachel doesn't need you. Not yet.
"Quinn, I don't know what to say..."
"Forget it," she sank down against the wall, forcing herself to remain there. "It's over." She fisted her hands to stop herself from shaking. It was a powerful thing she had just said. Over.
Rachel slumped her shoulders. The silence of heartbreak was there, somewhere underneath the tension waiting to be released. Their gaze met, memories of the past few weeks sizzling between them. For a moment it felt like they were two people in a world where pain and loss didn't exist, away from the real world. Grief and hunger burned at the back of Quinn's eyes. She was the first to break eye contact, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. Jesus, how bipolar was she? Maybe she was suffering from a mental illness. Schizophrenia? That would explain the voice in her head. She was suffocating again, her breath stifled as if the valves of her heart weren't closing and the blood was rushing back into her lungs. Leave, the voice said, get up and get out of the house. But she couldn't move her legs, and when she was finally able to force her eyes open, her heart stopped working.
Rachel had her face in her hands, her body shook with quiet, discreet tears. Quinn imagined that the love Rachel felt for her is so powerful that her heart was scalded with the overload of pain. She imagined that Rachel couldn't stand the thought of losing her, but the truth begins to dawn: It's finished.
Finished. Finished meant as if there was nothing more that the world could offer them.
Rachel sniffled, wiped at her tears and locked her eyes onto Quinn's. "I'm sorry I couldn't love you the way you wanted me to. I wish I could. I wish I could love you the way you loved me."
There it was again, Quinn thought. Loved. She didn't correct her this time.
She closed her eyes as tightly as she could as if by shutting out the image she could make everything go away, make it not have happened. She wanted to shut out the voice of that jeering, arrogant, hateful sneer: get up and leave, say it and leave. Quinn went cold, realizing she was about to change things, enter into unfamiliar and dangerous territory. She shivered, and counted to fifteen. She'd count to fifteen and hold her breath. Then she'd say it, that word. That horrible word. She started to count. One, two...
Rachel looked at her with those same, sad eyes. "I hope that you'll be happy. I meant it when I said I wanted you to be happy,"
Eight, nine, ten...
"I'm sorry I put all this on you. I'm sorry for everything. I wish I could make this better, Quinn. Please believe that," Rachel's voice was in a panic.
Thirteen, fourteen.
It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. I love you. I will always love you.
Fifteen. The words rushed out. "Goodbye, Rachel."
The word slapped hard. It was the ugliest word and it did not have the privilege to be used in conjunction with Rachel's name.
Abruptly, she moved towards Rachel and pressed their lips together, kissing her hard with desperation. No chaste kiss of friendship, no sweetly romantic farewell. She kissed Rachel like a lover, deeply and thoroughly until she felt Rachel's body tremble.
Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion but also in an instant. Was this what was meant by relativity, quantum physics, all those ideas and calculations that were so hard to get your head around? It all seemed to happen so deliberately, as if the world's movements were all rehearsed and preordained, that it would be impossible to stop any of it. First, she heard knocks on the door and Santana and Brittany stood in the doorway. There were happy smiles when they witnessed the scene, but when Quinn broke the kiss they gasped in shock, witnessing her swollen, tear stained eyes. Then she began to run, her feet as light as air as she ran through the living room ignoring Hiram and Leroy's pleas, passed into the street and into the world.
Until she was sitting in a bar with Santana and Puck beside her, time ceased to be what she knew it was; it became impossible to comprehend. Time was both compressed and infinite, impossible to follow. Santana must have caught up to her, she must have wept in her best friend's arms in the middle of the street, must have struggled with her when she wanted Quinn to go home, or had Santana led her along an easier path into this bar to meet Puck? All she knew was that there was the street, the struggle, the confusion from her friends, the multiple questions, and then they were sitting in the corner of the bar, Santana had her arm around Quinn. She was still distraught, still weeping, holding her friend tighter than she had ever before. Quinn's sobs now came intermittently, with deep, shuddering breaths. Puck handed her a napkin and Quinn blew her nose and downed the remaining glass of whiskey in front of her.
She wiped her eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, surprised her. It was firm and controlled. "I'm alright now." She brushed her hand across her mouth.
"You don't have to do this, Quinn," Puck said and poured her another glass of whiskey when she slid her empty glass toward him. "You can get through this together. You don't need to get a divorce."
Her voice started to shake. Fearful that she might start crying again she quickly downed the whiskey. It assisted with her monologue and steadied her. "There's no way it could work."
"Yes, it can," Santana snatched the bottle out of Quinn's hand when she was about to pour herself a glass. "What good is a divorce going to do? You love her, nothing else matters."
"Her happiness matters."
"What about yours?"
"I don't care about me!" She snapped, taking the bottle back from Santana. "If she's happy that's all that matters." Then regrettably she said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you." Santana shrugged like it hadn't affected her and waited for Quinn to continue. "She doesn't sing anymore, nor does she play any of her Broadway records. I miss her voice, I miss her smile and the way her eyes shine when she hits those notes because she knows she's that amazing."
"It's not because of you," Santana said.
"It is because of me. I've been so focused on getting her to remember our past that that's all she's been doing lately. Her dads told me that while I was away she went through photo album after album and read letter after letter, even to the point that she didn't leave her room. I couldn't handle hearing it."
Santana smiled at her sympathetically. "It just means that she's trying."
"I want her to focus on Broadway and New York, that's her dream. Do you know how close she was to finally getting recognized by the world before the accident?" Quinn held up her thumb and index finger, making a gap of two inches. "This close. Andrew Lloyd Webber was watching her the last night she performed Avenue Q and went backstage to meet her personally, offering her the lead in Evita."
"I have no idea who that is," Puck said quietly, but Quinn heard him.
"He's the musical composer for Evita," she answered. "Then after the accident she was so focused on me she stopped caring about her dreams."
"Did she know?" Santana asked.
Quinn nodded. "Her dads told her. I never asked her why but she just didn't seem to have given it much thought. From what they told me she was elated to have been offered the role, but dismissed it to concentrate on our relationship." Quinn pushed her glass aside and drank whiskey from the bottle instead. She drank constantly but did not feel drunk. "I can't watch her do that to herself."
Santana was the first to blink, to look away. "I still think you're making the biggest mistake of your life." She mumbled and Quinn believed her. It still hurt to hear it.
"It's only been a bit over two months, Quinn," Puck said. "You don't know that Rachel's going to continue to be the way she is. In a few weeks' time she would settle into the routine and maybe start singing again."
Quinn sniggered. "The Rachel Berry I knew would have begun singing the moment she learnt that her vocal chords and range was no longer as strong as it used to be. She would have practiced all day and night if she had to."
Santana sighed heavily and downed the remaining quarter of whiskey in one gulp. "What kind of best friend am I if I didn't get drunk with you?"
Puck got up to the bar and a few minutes later came back with a bottle of vodka and some lemon. A larger bottle this time. The Whiskey had been half the size. She breathed a sigh of relief and drank with her two friends until her anger dived back into the deep, straight under the waves, down to the depths. At times she smiled serenely at the jokes they told but it was void of any emotions. The live band played her favorite songs and it did nothing to lift her mood. She wondered if she'd ever be able to feel again.
Every time she thought of Rachel she'd count and see how long it would take for Rachel to dissipate toward the back of her mind. Brittany was at home with her and she refrained from asking Santana how Rachel was doing. This time she hit her longest number, twenty; breathing heavily, struggling to reach the magical number when she thought of Rachel no more, of her beauty and perfect profile. Twenty-five. She wanted to give up, go home, go back to Rachel. She took another shot and listened to Puck's drunken musings. When she reached thirty it felt as if no time had passed at all. She sucked deeply and the tepid warm air went into her lungs, her chest began to hurt. She refused to panic. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three.
Finn waltzed through the entrance. She might have been heavily intoxicated, but she could recognize his oafish natural appearance in any state. Quinn stood up so fast her head spun and she realized how much she had been drinking. For one moment she seemed uncertain, lost her composure and reached a hand to the back of the chair to steady herself. She straightened and looked directly at Finn who was laughing and tipping his drink towards the group of people he had come with. Quinn didn't think he had any friends.
"Q, what's wrong?" Puck asked standing up and tilting his head back and forth in hopes of recognizing anything familiar. He had had too much to drink by this point.
Santana, however, saw Finn the moment she stood up and swung back to look at Quinn. "Hey, it's alright. Finn doesn't know about you and Rachel, he's not gonna do anything."
Quinn loved Santana, she really did, but sometimes the girl's denseness irritated her. She would never admit it. Well, she had to Rachel several times. Fuck, there she appeared again. Time to count. One, two, three, four—Finn turned and saw her, first he was surprised, then scared and then smiled. He smiled at her. He looked from her to Santana to Puck, and his eyes rested back onto Quinn. Through the drunken madness that was happening inside her head and the blurriness in her eyes, she could see him walking towards them, his mouth was now opened and amazed.
"Hey guys," his voice cut through the blaring cheers and chatter. "How are you?"
"What are you doing here, Hudson?" Santana's voice sliced through.
"I hang out here sometimes," she had never heard him sound like this before, almost delirious. "How's Rachel?"
Quinn couldn't speak. She could not breathe. She fisted her shirt at the spot where her heart was and willed her body to stop shaking.
"Is she doing better since this afternoon?" His voice was triumphant.
"You saw her today?" Puck asked standing in front of Quinn.
"I've been seeing her for the past few days."
"Dude, not cool," Puck pushed him backwards and Finn stumbled. "You don't get to go near Rachel after what you did in high school."
Finn's next words lacerated Quinn. "Hey man, she forgave me."
"She remembered?" Quinn raised her voice so he could hear her and he nodded. No, she refused to believe it. She refused to believe that Rachel was that gullible and careless to forgive just like that. Four years they had not seen each other and Rachel had made no attempts to contact him. No, she wouldn't believe it. "You're lying. She wouldn't have remembered that and not anything else."
They were now facing each other like warriors in a video game. She felt Santana's hand on her arm ready to hold her back. "Like I said, Quinn, if she can't remember anything about you, maybe it's a sign." Finn said smuggly.
When the punch came it struck Finn like fire, made him stumble back onto the wall and a few people screamed. Quinn's eyes were dry and furious. Santana and Puck grabbed her back when she raised her hand again. Her hand stung, but it didn't really hurt, the actual violence was nothing. What hurt were his words. They would never go away.
•••
January 21st, 2016
On awakening the next morning, Quinn found that she had begun once again to feel. Her eyes opened and alert, she didn't know how long she had been sleeping for. She knew the time was 4:05 a.m. even though there was no clock beside her to tell her so. She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to prevent herself from coming apart at the seams. She was devastated and sickened at the pounding she felt in her heart. A flood of visions resurfaced—memories of Rachel that made her heart ache with such contradictory feelings, her chestnut hair, her impish smile and wide eyes that glimmered. Finn appeared in her mind and she was suddenly gripped with an unforgiving jealously; she was enraged. She waited for the sun to rise, all the time thinking of ways to murder Finn Hudson and get away with it.
When the sun began its ascent she stumbled to the bathroom, stripped and showered. The sharp bursts of cold water were a soothing delight and she let the water hit her face as she arched her neck and stared straight up to the showerhead. As she turned off the tap she was startled to hear what she thought was her mother's loud antics. She stepped out into the bedroom, with a towel wrapped around her and sure enough, Judy was standing with her arms on her hips and her eyes were flaring dangerously at Quinn.
"Lucy Quinn Fabray! How could you?!"
The full name, this wasn't good. She had just showered and washed the dirt off her, she didn't want to feel dirty again. She feared that if she didn't make the effort to pretend to listen to her mother, the woman was going to do worse than call her by her full name.
"What are thinking? A divorce? What is the matter with you?"
"Mom, please don't. My head hurts," Quinn didn't want any more confessions or apologies or revelations.
"Good, serves you right for drinking like a maniac," she caught the scorn in Judy's voice. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when Leroy called me last night to tell me what happened? And then I tried calling your cell and it was turned off only to find out at one in the morning that you punched Finn and passed out on Santana's bed."
Quinn didn't answer her, she was recalling the night and the images blended together like a thirty second movie. Judy was glaring at her, coiled, alive and ready to strike again. Quinn bit her lip; her impulse when Rachel appeared in her mind was to cry. Thankfully, this time the tears lasted a short moment. She had to forgo the risk of an unknown, most likely impossible, most probably unobtainable, alternative happiness. In this way, Rachel's happiness would be secured; she knew that for a fact. She couldn't take the risk, Rachel always came first. And anyway, she scolded to herself, only the young and deluded would think that Rachel was ever going to get her memories back.
"Oh, Quinn..." Judy guided Quinn toward the bed and they both sat down. She kissed her daughter's cheek and squeezed her knee. "You don't need a divorce. You can do this. You were so determined a few weeks ago."
"Things change, mom, people change, situations change. Just like that," she clicked her fingers. "I can't watch her give up her dreams for me."
"She doesn't have to,"
"It's better this way, please just leave it. I don't want to argue with you, I'm exhausted, mom."
The bedroom door was pushed slightly opened and Quinn thanked the heavens for sending Brittany to save her from the frightening torture of the lecture Judy was no doubt preparing. Brittany wheeled Quinn's luggage into the room, she looked tired, her lips were trembling. Gone was the cheerful Brittany she long knew since childhood. The Brittany standing before her had a darkening feature that rose on her face.
Her eyes swept around the room and then took in Quinn's appearance. Her face was white, glazed with shock, but she said nothing except, "I bought your stuff over for you. We're having breakfast downstairs, you should join us. Santana made her famous bacon and eggs."
Judy kissed Quinn on the forehead and said, "I'll let you get dressed."
They left the room together and she was left alone once again. All her nightmares were coming to pass. Every one.
Rachel. She lost her.
She pulled herself upright, stood swaying a moment. Her stomach a mass of fire. Joints on her fingers grating like they'd been filled with hot sand. They were swollen and bruised. She must have punched Finn extremely hard. She had been worse after the accident, this time it was only her hand. At least her feet could still carry her. The process of putting on her bra and underwear, t-shirt and jeans seemed like a journey. She had to stop a few times to steady herself and when she picked herself up everything became unbearable, she stumbled on nonetheless and walked down the stairs to see four pairs of sad eyes quickly being averted elsewhere. She hated it.
Puck pulled out a chair for her and Brittany bought her a cup of coffee and Santana placed a dish of bacon in front of her and Judy examined her hand. Quinn could feel the rage banking, she didn't want to feel pitied, but shut her mind from it. In the frozen agony over Rachel, Quinn felt a sliver of regret for the way she spoke to Judy. She had been there for Quinn the day she came out to her and supported her relationship with Rachel from the very beginning. Time and time again Judy had talked some sense into her whenever she and Rachel had an argument over the difficulties of being in a long distance relationship. If it weren't for her mother, there was no doubt her relationship with Rachel would have ended sooner. Much sooner.
"Any plans for the rest of the day, Quinn?" The sound was distant, she couldn't be sure who said it.
She bit back her tongue to stop from asking about Rachel. How was she doing? Did she sleep at all? Does she miss me? Did she have a nightmare again? She bit down so hard she could slightly taste the bitterness of blood. All she could focus on was the fury that was rising within her, spade by patient spade of dark grave-earth. It unfolded itself, stretched, yawned as if it had been asleep for so long. Then it settled down and Quinn heard herself say,
"I'm going back to New York to find a divorce lawyer."
•••
September 24th, 2011
Quinn couldn't begin to describe the way her lungs jolted into motion the moment she saw Rachel sitting at the bus stop. She sucked in a breath and nearly jumped on her feet to race up and wrap the tiny girl in her arms. A tumble of incoherent endearments were running through her mind, all the things she wished were clever enough to properly say. Rachel looked a little startled, her lips opened in surprise, her dark eyes wide and Quinn felt her breath go again, her entire system rushing about insanely, bouncing off the inside of her skin. Her future, although impossible to predict, she knew Rachel would be in it. She would be in it forever.
Rachel bit her lip and smiled at her softly, and without another thought she picked up her speed and sat beside her on the bench, feeling almost relieved. Rachel shifted over to give her some room and she caught the faint scent of daisies and felt dizzy. Those full lips of hers curved sensuously, and Quinn had the sudden urge to lean in and nibble them. They hadn't spoken since yesterday after Rachel had serenaded her in glee, because according to Rachel—"I believe it's beneficial to our newly formed romantic relationship to not talk to each other until tomorrow as this will signify the beginning of a new era"—and Quinn fought every nerve and muscle in her body to refrain from calling or sending her a text.
All night, Rachel was her only thought, her singular obsession.
She stole a quick glance at the girl next to her, her gaze locking on those lips. They were pink and lush. Just like Rachel. Quinn had never thought about kissing a woman before, let alone the thought of kissing Rachel Berry, but the image wouldn't stop flashing through her mind. Kissing Rachel would be tender and silky. Hot. Perfect. Utterly perfect.
Quinn's heart hammered at the sound of Rachel's voice. "We should play a game,"
"Okay...?" She arched her eyebrow. "What kind?"
"A question game I created—"
"Just now?"
"—known as The Berry-Fabray Question game."
"Why does your name have to go first?"
"Because I created it."
Shifting to the side, Quinn allowed herself to take in the rest of Rachel. The way she saw Rachel now compared to a few weeks ago still surprised her. The girl had somehow transformed herself to look like a heavenly cherub, a perfect creation. Her eyes were like gemstones, glittering at the bottom of the deep blue sea. Or perhaps, that was just the way Quinn now saw her.
Quinn fought to keep her expression neutral, to keep from scowling. "That doesn't seem fair. If you had given me notice I would've come up with a game myself."
There was a sizzling pause, a suspended moment between the escalating tension where Quinn was one hundred percent sure she wanted to take Rachel right there and then. Rachel was challenging her in the most sexiest way possible. "What game would you have come up with, Quinn?"
"It's called the Fabray-Berry Question game."
Frowning, Rachel stomped her foot and pouted. The unexpected action praised shock within Quinn. Her heart actually skipped a beat.
"You're mean," Rachel's cheeks flushed, a flash of amusement played on the corner of her lips when she turned away from Quinn. Her back and shoulders were stiff.
Quinn shivered when she placed her hand on top of Rachel's, she tried to halt the new flicker of an unknown sensation within her. "We're gonna argue about this until the cows come home. Let's just call it the Faberry Question game."
An unreadable emotion glimmered in those chocolate eyes, and Quinn wondered what Rachel was feeling. Admiration? She wished. Doubt? Spot on. "I don't like it."
"What's wrong with Faberry?"
"The Fa comes first. Why can't it be Quinchel? Oh, wait," her cheeks rose in color and she mumbled to herself. "Quinn also comes before Rachel. Berray just sounds bizarre. Rachquinn doesn't sound pleasing either. This is unfair. You have a better name than me."
Quinn laughed, she just couldn't help herself. An unwanted wave of need and desire crested inside her, growing hotter. It didn't help that Rachel was so utterly adorable. Without a thought she squeezed Rachel's hand and wriggled closer, craving deeper contact.
"Just ask me a question, Berry," she couldn't have elevated a calm, cool, mask if her life depended on it. "What I meant is, Rachel, this is going nowhere. So let's play the game." She immediately relaxed when Rachel smiled. She had a desire to always see Rachel smile like that.
"Alright, I'll go first," Rachel said confidently. "Why did you want to accompany me to the book depository so early in the morning?"
"What?" Quinn was strangely amused.
"You texted me at approximately six-seventeen this morning asking what I was doing and I replied stating that I was currently at the bus station and you said you wanted to meet me."
"You're going to the library?" She interrupted before Rachel could finish. "That's why you're up so early? I didn't even know libraries opened up this early."
"I've missed two busses waiting for you and you're avoiding my question."
Stunned, Quinn blinked several times. This was Rachel Berry in all her glory. And wasn't that a funny realization? A year ago she would not have thought she'd be sitting at a bus stop, holding Rachel Berry's hand and thinking to herself, My god, if you keep talking to me like that I'm going to rip off your clothes and demand I be taken right here. "Why did you say book depository instead of library?"
"I believe it's not my duty to answer your question as you have yet to answer mine,"
She gently brushed aside wisps of hair sticking on Rachel's temples. "I missed you."
Rachel's eyelids fluttered open and she stilled completely, suddenly realizing that Quinn was right in front of her. "I missed you, too."
The bus chose that moment to screech to a halt only a few feet in front of them. The door swung open and the driver eyed them curiously, probably wondering why two girls were awake so early in the morning. Her head still whirled at hearing Rachel's declaration that she missed her, she felt the heat of Rachel's clasped hand against hers and sucked in a breath. Her desire for this girl increased as each second ticked by, her daisy scent wafted her.
"I have to borrow some books," Rachel said and Quinn was bought back to reality. "I answered your question. My turn again."
"Oh, no you don't," Quinn argued. "That wasn't my question. My question was why do you call it the book depository."
"It is the book depository,"
"It's a library." Quinn made sure to emphasize the word.
"You say to–may–to, I say to–mah–to. It's the same."
"I don't say to–may–to, and it's not the same thing. You don't deposit the books, you take the books. If you want to call it something else, it should be the book withdrawal."
Rachel sniggered and Quinn saw something tick in her jawline. "Withdrawal means you keep it, while—"
"I know the meaning of those words, Rach,"
Rachel ignored her. "Deposit means the book is being held until a convenient time for one to acquire it. Book withdrawal is a ridiculous name."
"And book depository isn't?"
"Must you judge me on my vocabulary?"
"I'm not judging you," she corrected and shifted to a more comfortable sitting position. "I was just curious. I mean, there are six syllables in book depository, while library only has three. If you had said library instead, you'd be saving three syllables to say something else."
"And you have wasted many syllables in trying to justify the reason why I should be saying library, when you could tell me how unique and amazing I am instead."
The muscles in Quinn's back jumped at the sight of Rachel's teasing grin. How is it that she made everything seem so sexy? Her entire face bloomed red—in embarrassment at the thought. She studied Rachel's hand that was now intertwined beneath hers, her breath suspended. Rachel's casual chatter the only thing that kept her from connecting their lips together.
"When we first spoke you said you were in Colorado. Was that a lie?" Quinn asked.
"No," she answered almost instantly. "That was true."
"But I heard from everyone that you were on a secluded trip in the wild with no technology,"
"Well, that was the intention. Daddy, though, couldn't handle not using his cellphone because he recently discovered the marvellousness that is the iPhone and he couldn't part with it," Rachel explained. "So we drove home to retrieve our gadgets and went up to my grandmother's cabin in Colorado instead."
Funny, Quinn thought suddenly, they had both spent time with their grandmothers during the summer. Another question popped into her head and she asked, "Why didn't you tell anyone you had a tumblr?"
Rachel shrugged and stared out the window. "It was my own, I guess. The kids at school already write vicious things on my MySpace, I didn't want them to do the same with my tumblr."
Quinn convulsed and she thought she was going to vomit, she internally gagged a few times and then her body went numb. What she did feel was Rachel's hand stroking along her arm and it was an astonishing peace, an awareness of the complex structure of light and sound. "I'm so sorry I ever did that to you."
"I forgive you, Quinn." She said.
The words, when it finally reached her ears, was the sound of clarity and an understanding. It sounded like Christmas morning.
They continued with the game as the bus took off heading north. It was a bright fall day and the foliage was in full glory. It was a day in which hope, a day in which to begin a new life. When the bus stopped, Rachel pulled Quinn up on her feet and they made their little trek through the quiet streets toward the book depository. Quinn silently laughed to herself. She was never going to get over that.
"What's wrong with the school library?" Quinn asked. They walked up the steps and she led Rachel through the large revolving doors. "It's convenient, closer, and there's no need to catch the bus."
"Have you ever browsed through the books at school?"
"Of course, I have,"
"Then you must be aware that they don't offer a wide variety of fiction that is satisfying enough to my taste,"
Oh, this was going to be fun. "Your taste?"
"Certainly." Rachel led them to the non-fiction and reference section and began scanning for her books. "The variety of books located at the school library is for immature, infantile high school citizens. I, however, am neither of those."
"And I'm one of those?" Quinn asked suspiciously.
"I said no such thing. Honestly, Quinn, if we are to date you have to listen to me."
She continued to watch Rachel run her finger along the side of the books. Rachel must have noticed because her cheeks tinged a light pink and when she picked out a book she slid it out of its slot in what Quinn found was the most provocative action she had ever seen thus far. Suddenly, she wanted Rachel to run that finger along her body. She cleared her throat and tried to control herself. "It still doesn't make sense why you're here so early."
"It's a lot more effort to come here in the afternoon, considering I have homework and glee and other extracurricular activities that need attention and in this way I'm able to achieve everything in one day."
Silence settled around them for a few minutes before a man appeared behind one of the book shelves like he had been guarding it. He strode stealthily toward them. He wore a black t-shirt, the same inky color as his chopped hair and form-fitting jeans. Simply standing beside Rachel, he exuded a masculine intensity that had Quinn's body going still, instantly on guard.
"Hey, Rachel. I found this for you." He handed her a notebook and she beamed. Quinn's eyes narrowed. She didn't like the way he said her name.
"Thank you, Luke. Where did you find it?"
Quinn didn't look thrilled that someone else had given Rachel something and made her eyes beam like that either.
"At the market the other day and I thought of you. You should read it next week."
Rachel smiled so proudly that the tension in Quinn's body instantly melted. Only for a few heart beats until she heard him say, "Who's your friend?"
Quinn hurriedly glanced down at their still joint hands. There was no way he could have not noticed it; he wanted a confirmation that he wasn't seeing things, a confirmation that they were friends. It made her feel queasy watching someone else trying to hit on her... girlfriend(?). Rachel definitely wasn't a friend, that was one thing she was sure of. You definitely don't hold your friend's hand and think about intimate and seductive things you wished you could do to her. Her throat began to tighten, her face screwed tightly, she bit down on her lower lip and glared at him.
"Quinn, this is Luke," Rachel introduced. "He works here."
"Nice to meet you," he said.
"Hey," Quinn said in as controlled a voice as possible. When she looked down at Rachel's soft eyes, the sight of it held her emotions into place. "What's that?" She gestured to the book in Rachel's hand.
She held it up for Quinn to read the title: Totem by Luke Davies. "It's a book of poetry. I read it every Thursday night to the elderly." Rachel stepped closer to her and she felt a headache coming on from the blood rush. "Well, not this particular book, that would bore them. But I read to them each week and since this week I had finished the previous book, Luke suggested I read poetry this time instead of a story."
"This was why you had to rush home yesterday after we talked at school." Rachel nodded and Quinn said, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You never asked," she smiled, her lips parted and her eyes alight. "The elderly love me here."
Not only was Rachel adorable, talented, delightful, energizing, heart-stoppingly beautiful, she had to be nice. No, nice wasn't the correct word. Gentle, gracious, friendly. She was the epitome of perfection. Like Quinn didn't have enough to deal with already.
"Well, I'll see you later." Luke broke the momentum and Quinn wanted to kick him.
Rachel smiled her gratitude at him and her face changed to warm baby doll, and when she turned back to Quinn there was a flirtatious glint in her eyes. They lingered on her for a moment and they were eyes she wanted to stare into forever. There was a part of herself that came alive, this part had been asleep, kept dormant, kept in storage on some back shelf of her heart. Rachel's lingering glint bought it out from the shadows. This one, was the only thought racing through her mind.
"We should get to school. The bus should be here any minute. I can't find the book I was searching for, anyway." Rachel put the notebook Luke had given her in her bag, breaking the contact of their fingers and Quinn didn't have the time to miss the contact because in what seemed like a millisecond, Rachel intertwined them again. "I have a good question," she asked as they made their way outside. "The first time we spoke on the internet, why did you tell me about Beth?"
Quinn retreated into her own thoughts, reaching back through time to find the memory, and then she shrugged. "You asked me to talk you about myself."
"Yes, but I meant your interests,"
"I guess," she paused. She hadn't realized she had done it. "I don't know. I felt like I could talk to you."
"Well, now you can tell me your interests."
"It's not your turn to ask the question."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Do you have a question, Quinn?" When Quinn didn't answer she said, "I thought not."
"You didn't even give me an appropriate amount of time to think."
Rachel looked at her watch as she said, "Fine. You have one minute."
"That's not an appropriate amount of time."
"I can think of lots of questions in one minute."
"You just want me to answer the question, don't you?"
"Yes, because you're not going to win this argument, Quinn, and it would save us—especially me—the breath and effort that I will no doubt put into it in order to win." There was that flirtatious glint again, and Quinn thought, oh hell, here we go again with the blood rush.
Quinn sighed and gave up. "Well, my favorite movie has to be Almost Famous, I also like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Umm, I like all types of music, I don't really think I have a favorite. I do like Edward Sharpe."
"You don't enjoy show tunes,"
"Will you just let me finish, woman?" Rachel looked as if she wanted to argue but settled for a pout instead. "I like to read. I like all types of food, especially bacon."
The bus came just as they arrived and from what she saw, the bus was filled. She let Rachel go through first and they wriggled through the crowd and stood in front of a kid who had his headphones in his ears and staring out the window. Rachel reached for the top bar to steady herself but she was too short that her arm was stretched straight. Quinn tried not to laugh but Rachel saw the amusement in her eyes. When the bus made its way through the neighborhood, Rachel stumbled backwards a few times because she couldn't hold on strong enough and when Quinn couldn't handle it anymore she looped her arm around the shorter girl's waist, helping her stand. Rachel's breath fanned her neck, her cheek. Everywhere her skin touched the smooth of Rachel's it acted as a live wire, singeing her, making her ache—not in pain, but in lust. She had trouble drawing in a breath, but when she did, she inhaled the lusciousness of Rachel's scent. Daisies.
She was floating. On a high.
"We're here." Rachel's voice seemed to drift from a dream, surreal and remote.
Rachel had emitted a kind of heat far different from anything she had ever encountered before. Quinn couldn't concentrate on anything except the warmth that had seeped into her, as soothing and gentle as a lullaby. Seconds passed. Maybe minutes. She didn't know, didn't care. Time had long since become immeasurable.
"Quinn, are you okay?"
She sucked in a breath and exhaled deeply. "Yeah?"
"Are you asking or answering?"
"Umm, what did you ask me?"
Rachel's face shimmered just beyond her consciousness. The events of the past few minutes played out. They got off the bus. Walked the short trek to the school. They were now at Rachel's locker. Is this what love felt like? Whisking from cloud to cloud?
"I asked if you're okay."
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
Rachel shrugged and retrieved her books. "You've been rather quiet since the bus."
She stood still trying to calm her racing heartbeat. She took in the rest of her surroundings, the chatter and laughter from students around them. The calmness that was lit inside of her was quickly extinguished by sparks of panic. "Rach, it's not because of what happened on the bus. I'm not ashamed of being with you in public. Please, don't think it's because of you."
Rachel closed her locker lightly and faced Quinn. "I know."
"Are you sure? Judging from your tone it's like you're annoyed at me."
"I am annoyed at you," she started walking and Quinn followed next to her, hands in her pockets to stop from touching Rachel. "I had to talk to myself because someone refused to talk to me. What did you think I was annoyed with?"
On a wave of relief her shoulders sagged. "Oh, nothing." However, Rachel smiled at her and she knew they were recalling the same memory.
Even the thought of having Rachel that close to her again made her sweat, the world buzzed. An electric current flowed through her whole body, and she was thrust into a new world: light seemed to dance all around her, brighter than she had ever known. Her body was singing, her mind alert, her heart racing, her mood joyous, ecstatic.
Rachel tugged her into their classroom and she was once again flown back to reality. She was about to make her way to her usual seat when Rachel's hand on her arm stopped her again. "Where are you going?"
She raised a curious eyebrow and pointed to her usual seat. "To sit down."
"Don't you want to sit next to me?"
She glanced around the room nervously. Slowly, the students were making their descent and eyed them suspiciously. "But you sit at the front,"
"Please," she whined and Quinn knew she was going to say yes no matter what her brain told her to. "You can't let me sit next to Bob, he smells."
"You've been sitting next to him since school started."
"Yes, that was before you came along."
Defeated, she slumped into the seat. Who was she kidding? She hadn't put up much of a battle. And then Rachel said, "You sit on the right side, Quinn."
"Are you kidding me?" She scowled. "First you want me to sit at the front and I do, now you tell me I have to sit on the right side. What is wrong with you?"
"That's my seat," she glared down at Quinn. "It's perfectly proportionate to the blackboard, the lighting and if there is ever to be a murder or an attack, it's the closest to the window. My safety's guaranteed because I'll be the first to escape."
"What about my safety?"
"Quinn," her voice was stern and Quinn's stomach instantly clenched. It wasn't fear, it was desire. Rachel looked so passionately intense when she's angry. "Move."
This time, Quinn held her position. "No." She took out her History book and pens and layered them neatly on the desk. Rachel's eyes flared a dark, hotness. "Look at it this way, Rach, if there's ever a murder or an attack, I'll be protected and therefore I can protect you."
She learnt one thing: sweet words and chivalrousness did not work on Rachel Berry when she was enraged. In fact, it had no effect on her. In spite of that, Rachel reluctantly fell to the seat beside her as the teacher walked in and sat as far away from Quinn as she could. Quinn only slid her chair closer until Rachel had no more space, and when Quinn lightly caressed her hand on Rachel's arm, the girl snatched it away. That, however, didn't stop her from touching Rachel whenever she had the chance.
"Alright, let's try a new era," Mrs. Oliver swung around to ask a girl sitting behind Quinn. "During the Renaissance, what would students your age be doing? Well? Any idea at all? Any guesses?"
Quinn wondered why she ever bothered to take this class. She turned around and saw Amy swallowing hard. With a weak smile she said, "Playing football?"
At the ensuing laughter, the teacher's face darkened. "Hardly!" She snapped, and the classroom quieted. "In those days, students your age would have mastered logic, mathematics, astronomy, philosophy and grammar. Football would be the last thing on—"
"Excuse me," everyone turned to stare at Rachel. Her quiet voice had stopped the teacher mid-range. "But you're wrong. Students in the Renaissance were encouraged to participate in games."
"What? What did you say?"
Rachel straightened herself up in her chair. "They were taught that a healthy body goes with a healthy mind. And they certainly played team sports, like cricket, tennis—and even football. But the most important thing they learnt were good manners and courtesy."
"Where did you read that?" The teacher snapped.
"Right here." Rachel pointed to the highlighted paragraph in her text book and Quinn watched the way the teacher's face slowly turned bright red and she was spluttering. "So, Mrs. Oliver, Amy was right."
Mrs. Oliver opened her mouth to say something but was saved by the bell. Everyone quickly gathered their books and belongings and Quinn heard Amy thank Rachel gratefully before she left the room. Quinn realized she forgot to add intelligent to the list of words that described Rachel Berry. Yeah, she was definitely the epitome of perfection. And she was Quinn's perfection.
•••
October 3rd, 2011
Quinn wondered whether she was kissable.
Of course, there wasn't exactly anyone she could ask. Her high school romances consisted of three boys, she silently counted them as she listened to her friends chatter amongst each other in the cafeteria. Finn, tall, good-natured, dubious. The only good thing to come out from dating Finn was that he raised her popularity. Puck, she did not find his masculine evasiveness endearing or masochistically romantic and when he got her pregnant it had broken her, led her to step into the shadows in annihilation. Even so, she couldn't deny the sensation of holding Beth in her arms for the first time, her cornflower light eyes, Quinn's hair, hair that curled like her's did at the end. Then there was Sam, he was attractive, virile and confident. They also looked pretty good together and she found that he was important for her popularity.
Finn, Puck, Sam. Three boys. The only thing they had in common was that they were all popular, tall, good-looking and she had kissed two of them by the time the second date rolled around (Puck doesn't count).
The pattern broke at Rachel. Therefore, she wondered whether she was kissable. Then again, she laughed to herself, she had been Head Cheerio, everyone wanted to kiss her.
Except maybe Rachel. Because the girl had yet to make any attempts to do just that.
They had been together for nine days. Or was it ten? No, it was definitely nine. She hoped so. If Rachel ever knew that she hadn't remembered how long they had been together for she wouldn't hear the end of it. They talked—a lot—each night before bed, usually ending with one or both falling asleep on the phone. They had grown accustomed to it; they needed to talk to each other in order for them to fall asleep. They agreed to take things slow but Quinn had never thought it would be this slow. She found herself staring more and more at Rachel's lips every day, and at times she just wanted to push her against a wall, a tree, the ground, the table, and just capture those curved, soft lips. Quinn even thought they were teasing her, saying, I know you want me, Quinn.
Rachel stretched her long legs under the table, eating at her personal space and she reverted from her daydream to the present. She sat across from Quinn, no part of their bodies touching. Still, Quinn felt the heat of her. Rachel constantly did something to her inner balance. Lately, it's just been constantly distracted. Quinn watched her lick her lower lip, her dark eyes met the hazel ones across from her for a long, hot, dark moment, the flirtatious glint was there once again and sound faded to silence and every nerve in Quinn's body came alive and she said, this one.
"Rachel, don't forget we're going shopping this afternoon." Kurt said and Rachel relaxed as she tore her eyes away from Quinn.
"What?" Rachel said, blinking those dark eyes at him. "Did we make plans?"
"Of course, we did," he bit on his carrot and eyed her suspiciously. Then he turned to look at Quinn and his mouth flew open. "Oh, if you're not free it's okay. We can do it another day."
She hated when Kurt looked at her with such knowing, as if all they did together was rip each other's clothes off and kissed into a delicious heat. At least someone thought that was all they did, because those kind of situations only happened in Quinn's mind.
Rachel was flipping through her daily planner and wasn't paying attention. "No, no, we did make plans. I wrote it right here," she slid the book across the table over to Mercedes—who was sitting beside Quinn—and added, in a not so subtle voice, "See, we have plans. So I'm sorry, Mercedes, but I won't be able to see you today."
Quinn rolled her eyes. She knew that Rachel's last sentence was directed at her because they had made plans and this was Rachel's way of telling her so. Kurt must have noticed as well because he too, rolled his eyes. Another easier, less obvious way would have been to send a text.
"Were we supposed to see each other today?" Mercedes asked, confused written over her face. "I don't remember making plans."
Rachel stretched across the table to grab her daily planner. "Well, never mind then. I shall call you when I'm done shopping."
"Huh?" She looked around the table and everyone shrugged. "You're going to call me? For what?"
Sue Sylvester's voice rumbled through the speakers, "Quinn Fabray, see me in my office. Now!"
On one hand Quinn felt relieved because it acted as a balm. She was extremely close to kicking Rachel under the table so that she would stop talking before she spilled any more details about their relationship. On the other hand, it was unexpected and frightening.
She sneaked one quick glance at Rachel who appeared to be as frightened as she was. Quinn reassured her with a soft smile and made her way from the cafeteria to Sue Sylvester's office. The short distance seemed substantially longer than it was supposed to. The noise and clamor of the cafeteria had fallen away; all that existed was the sound of her shoes tapping on the floor. She breathed in and out deeply before pushing the door open and was greeted by Becky, but she saw Sue doing slow walks on the elliptical through the glass door.
"Uh, hi Becky, Miss Sylvester wanted to see me?"
"Hold on," Becky pressed a button on her earpiece and said, "Coach, your twelve-thirty-five appointment is here."
Quinn had no idea she had an appointment.
"She said to sit down and wait."
Before Quinn could sit, Sue opened the glass door and ushered her in. They sat opposite each other, Sue in her chair as if she were high above everyone else, not because of any elegance or sophistication or style. She just had a powerful personality. "Let me cut straight to be point, Q."
Quinn was trembling in her position.
"My team is lacking. Do you see this," she threw Quinn a copy of Time magazine. There was a picture of Sue's smiling face on the cover. It was more like a sneer than anything. But that was not what made her gasp, it was the fact that Sue had obviously made this herself. It was a few pieces of paper stabled together to make it appear like a magazine. "I was on the cover of Time. Best coach in the country, it said. You can keep that, I have plenty." She took a sip from her health-shake and leaned her arms on the table. "I gave you a chance to come back on my team, Quinn, and you failed to achieve it. But I like you. I like your determination to win and to be the best, just like me, the only difference is I'm already the best. So here."
She handed a box over the table and Quinn opened it to see the Cheerio's uniform in plain sight. She slid her hand over the soft fabric. Her body tightened as a shock ran through her, "Coach, I never said I wanted to be back on the Cheerios."
"Ridiculous, Q! I heard from Jacob you wanted back on."
"I don't remember ever saying that. Brittany told me you wanted me back on, and I'm flattered but—" But what? Quinn thought. She hadn't thought about the Cheerios since Rachel came along.
"Who doesn't want to be on the Cheerios? It's the highest position in the school, it makes you the best."
I'd rather kiss my girlfriend(?) and then just like that, Rachel's lips teased her again. She pushed the thought deep, deep into the back of her mind.
"See you at practice this afternoon. Now, take your stench out of my office."
"I didn't—"
"Now," she pointed to the door with a stern look. "I have some daytime television to catch up on."
Sighing heavily, she went to her locker and twirled the combination and placed her books inside. She was stunned and somehow not. How like Sue Sylvester to do this, without a word of warning. She had been on the Cheerios, and then she wasn't and now she was back again. The electric hum of the school slowly dissipated as students made their way to their next classes, she drifted toward the bathroom and gingerly stepped into her uniform. It fit perfectly as it always had, a tingling softness ran through her body. She felt wonderful, like a movie star, older and sophisticated. This uniform did something to a girl. Then, instead of walking to her next class, she made her way to the auditorium where she knew Rachel would be.
Rachel was playing a few keys on the piano, then she would stop every few seconds to write down the note and what Quinn guessed, another lyric. Quinn stared, mesmerized at her back. Rachel's living presence beat against her skin like sunlight against closed eyelids. Quinn roused and forced herself to step closer, keeping her eyes down as she walked, feeling almost shy. But when she heard Rachel's hard in-drawn breath, she looked up quickly—and felt her heart go cold. Rachel was staring at her in wonder, yes, but it was not the wondering joy she was hoping for. There was something closer to shock.
"You don't like it," Quinn whispered, horrified at the stinging in those brown eyes.
Rachel recovered swiftly, as always, blinking and shaking her head. "No, no, you look wonderful. I just wasn't expecting this."
Quinn sat next to her so close their thighs were touching and she stopped breathing. God, Rachel made her stop breathing a lot. "Coach gave it to me. I'm back on the team,"
"I'm happy you're happy."
Her eyes moved over Rachel's face searching for any tell-tale signs of change. Was that tanned skin a little paler? Was her expression slightly remote? "Rach, nothing's going to change between us. I promise."
Rachel broke the gaze and ran her hand along the ivory keys, her voice a little more enthusiastic. "Don't you have class?"
Quinn shrugged like it was nothing. "Yeah, but I wanted to see you,"
"I don't condone truanting. Education is extremely important,"
"It's only one class, Rach. Calm down."
"Who knows what you would be missing out in that one hour."
"Oh yeah," Quinn rolled her eyes. "Fractions, variables, derivatives. I'm really gonna need all that in five years' time,"
"You'll need it for your finals."
Quinn ignored her and eyed the piano sheet in front of them. "Are you writing a new song?"
Rachel grunted at Quinn's lack of concern for her education, nonetheless answering her question. "Kind of. I was just bored."
"I know how to play a song."
Rachel beamed. "Play it?"
Quinn played the first five keys and grinned widely when she heard Rachel gasp. "That is not a song, Quinn."
"It is, too."
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star is a nursery rhyme."
"I can still play it."
"It doesn't count."
"You're just jealous you don't know how to play it."
Rachel crossed her arms and turned her head away. "You did that to provoke me."
Quinn spread her fingers over Rachel's thighs, her cheeks warmed to a shade of pink. Rachel's mouth was slightly opened in surprise but she didn't pull away. Good, she had Rachel's attention. It was time to kiss her. To preserve her sanity, she stopped her mind from concentrating on dangerous territory such as getting Rachel naked and having her on this piano. It was just a kiss, she had kissed plenty of people before. Okay, only three. And neither of them she wanted as much as she wanted Rachel at this moment. She was screwed. She had no experience at all in this department.
Rachel's daisy fragrance flowed from her, surrounding them as surely as trees, billowing sweetly in the wind. Quinn didn't feel the blood rush this time, she was slightly getting used to it. This was it. Those brown misty eyes held hers—she could not look away from them. They filled her vision as she leaned closer, and she noticed Rachel lifting her head. Quinn felt her own eyes half close, losing focus. She felt her head tilt forward, her lips part. Rachel's breath was warm, and then it got hot, much hotter and then—
Quinn whipped her head to the side. She felt as if she just pulled herself back from the edge of a precipice. Damn it, why did she not turn her phone off?
"Hello?" She answered grumpily. Rachel shifted away from her and she felt the loss of that warmth. "What do you want, Santana?"
"Whoa, hold up, grumpy pants. What's up your ass?"
Rachel gathered her things and Quinn was instantly sprung into a panic. "Rach, wait."
"What?" Came Santana's voice. "Who are you with?"
Rachel swung her backpack over her shoulder and Quinn stood up, she ignored Santana's screams on the phone and tried to grab onto Rachel's arm but the girl wriggled herself free and mouthed, I'll talk to you later, and disappeared behind the curtains like a puff of smoke.
She slumped herself onto the seat and held the phone against her ear. "...Avoiding me? Why aren't you talking? Stupid phone, what is wrong with this thing? Hey, are you there? Helloooo, Quinn? Quinn? Quinn?"
"God, I hate you right now." Quinn shut off her phone and continued on with the rest of the day, settling into a melancholy mood that only became worse with time.
I just want to add that this story will definitely, absolutely, 100% end with a happy ending. A lot of you have been quite worried so I just want to clarify that! Thanks for all the reviews!