Remember us

by gayfordiannaagron

The Vow—Faberry. It's different to the movie, but the premise is the same. Rachel and Quinn are married and a car accident causes Rachel to lose her memories.

10. Chapter 10

Thanks for all your comments. Happy reading!

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They don't know about the things we do
They don't know about the I love you's
But I bet you if they knew
They will just be jealous of us
They don't know about the up all nights
They don't know I've waited all my life
Just to find a love that feels this right

—One Direction: They Don't Know About Us

•••

January 7th, 2012

Rachel was a shocking driver, simultaneously sloppy and petrified (according to Quinn. Santana wouldn't dare get in the car with her), and for the first ten miles had been absent-mindedly driving with her father's spectacles instead of her sun-glasses. From her view, the traffic loomed menacingly out of nowhere like alien space cruisers (she had been so distracted she hadn't realized until eleven miles later). She drove urgently, One Direction's, They Don't Know About Us blaring through the speakers. She couldn't drive in silence, not today; the silence would only spoil her thoughts, her pure thoughts of happiness and contentment (so she told herself). For a long while, Quinn sung this song to her as a teasing reminder of the reason why their relationship had to be kept a secret (which wasn't exactly true, because the glee kids knew and from what Rachel gathered, no one seemed jealous).

She had to make frequent rest stops to stabilize her blood pressure and dab the perspiration from her top lip. The lipstick she wore was redder and more sultry than she had intended, and the small amount of powder she had applied to her cheeks now looked garish and absurd. Why, she wondered, do I always look like a child trying on her mother's make-up? She had also made the elementary mistake of getting her hair styled by Kurt in the morning, and it was still falling into an artful arrangement of heavy curls and flicks (a style Santana had called the Stepford Wife extravagance).

In the morning she rung Kurt's doorbell at 8:00 a.m. He opened the door in his pink silk pajamas and berated her for eight minutes. Something concerning normal people sleeping in until noon during Winter break and that it was an horrendous hour to be driving around Lima in the snow and that Rachel should leave him alone so he could get some sleep and then he stopped in the middle of a sentence she hadn't quite been paying much attention to and his eyes bulked out of their sockets and he said to her,

"Why aren't you with Quinn? Do you want to talk about it over ice cream?"

Her reply was, "Kurt, it's eight in the morning."

"It's never too early for ice cream."

The moment she told him she wished to receive a new hair style for this afternoon's lunch with Quinn and her mom, he instantly perked up and just like that (poof) he was wide awake, excited, energized, running around his house hysterically retrieving various hair supplies. She had hoped to discuss with him the correct manner of conducting herself to Quinn's mom, but she should have known better than to bring up styling before parenting.

Next, she went to visit Santana at 11:07 a.m. (her driving put her behind schedule by seven minutes). Santana berated her as well. Usually she would be fearful of Santana's outbursts and instantly scamper to Quinn for protection; today she was unaffected. She couldn't quite understand what Santana was saying most of the time so she focused on Santana's facial expressions until she had stopped shouting: fury, sleepiness, danger, annoyance. After seventeen minutes, Santana finally noticed she wasn't terrified and said,

"Do you want ice cream or something?"

"Why?"

"You look like you want ice cream."

"But I don't want ice cream."

"Then just say no."

"Oh okay. No, thank you."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Why are you here so early? You do know its Winter break, right? And why do you look like a Stepford wife?"

Rachel unconsciously ran her hands through her hair. "I'm having lunch with Quinn and her mom—"

"And you wanted to look old enough so that Judy won't call Quinn a pedophile."

"Santana!"

Santana chuckled, a strange abrupt sound that seemed to come from her throat. It could have been meant as a taunt or an insult. Rachel could never tell with Santana, she was always snappy and curt. She leaned against the door. "You want parenting advice? I ain't got any."

"What about Brittany's parents? You must have met them."

"I don't have parenting advice about how to win over parents. I don't need it, parents look at me and they love me."

Rachel was getting agitated, her lips pressed together. She had been standing on Santana's doorstep for twenty-three minutes with nothing close to an invite. Her body hurt, there was a numbness. She couldn't decipher whether the pain was from the cold or fear. Her body seemed to be separating into two; like a cartoon, where those bumbling coyotes or cats that had been wrung through a mangle.

"Listen, Berry," Santana looked dazed, a little perplexed. "Even if I did have advice for you, Brittany's parents are different to Quinn's. They have different views, they're easy going, bubbly. If it makes you feel any better, Quinn's mom's easier to please than her dad. She'll like you. Just be your annoying, irritating self."

At 12:01 p.m. Quinn called her (Rachel was very punctual) to ask where she was and when Rachel answered that she was in the car, Quinn yelled at her for being irresponsible and talking while driving, on top of her horrible driving she could've died and then grumbled I love you and hung up. She didn't have time to process why everyone felt the need to yell at her on this particular day, because the moment the thought crossed her mind she came to a jeering halt in front of Quinn's house (the tires screeched loudly).

She stepped out of the car and gazed up at the shimmering house, lightly covered in snow, the sun giving it a holy glow, and suddenly chance, accident, fate, will, they all made sense to her. And they made her scared. This was a milestone in their relationship, the prospect was both exciting and intimidating. Quinn's mom would like her, or not. Quinn will defy her mom's wishes and be with her, or not. That was the only one strand to the future, the one path out of all those myriad possibilities that she cared about.

The front door swung open and there stood Quinn, eyes alive and shining, she was clenching her right fist. All Rachel could think about was how to seduce her. "Rachel, are you going to come inside?"

Rachel shook her head furiously, abandoning all thoughts and concentrating solely on today. When she reached Quinn at the door, Quinn leaned in to kiss her but Rachel took a step back. Not because she didn't want to accept the kiss; the fact that Quinn's mother was in the house was rather daunting.

Quinn was a little (very) disappointed. "Rachel, I want a kiss."

"Your mom—"

"Is not here."

"Oh," Rachel's face brightened, only slightly. "I thought we were having lunch toget—"

"I meant she's not out here. She's in the kitchen. We're a hundred feet away and—"

"That's an absurd exaggeration—"

"—obstructed by two walls. Now, kiss me."

She kissed (pecked) Quinn on the lips. Rachel was very aware of the danger in Quinn's eyes and kissed (a real one this time) her again, soft and tender, and Quinn kissed her back with anticipation. She wrapped her arms around Quinn's neck, so grateful to be back in her warmth. They hadn't seen each other in four days (since the incident that Rachel has yet to accept happened). By way of discipline, Judy grounded Quinn for the remainder of the break and Rachel wasn't allowed over the house. Judy eventually relented and accepted Rachel's lunch invitation.

"What did you do to your hair?" Quinn asked.

"Oh, Kurt, he went a little overboard with—"

She put up her hand. "No need to explain."

"Do you like it?"

Quinn kissed the top of her head, then spoke into her hair. "I do. You look like a Stepford wife."

Rachel sighed irritably. Quinn noticed and asked, "What?"

"Santana said the same thing."

"You went to see Santana? You know she doesn't wake up until two. I'm surprised you're still alive."

The sound of the smoke alarm indicated that Judy was cooking, and with that they followed the burning butter down the hall into the kitchen. Rachel had lost count of how many times she's fantasized about this meeting. She knew approximately three months and fourteen days since pursuing their relationship, she would meet Judy at some point. Granted, her first encounter with Judy was pleasant. There were gentle smiles, she was polite and well-mannered, she helped Judy with the dishes, they engaged in light conversations before Judy excused herself and visited some friends. Quinn had teased her mercilessly regarding her behavior which led to an argument, and an hour of no physical activity as Quinn's punishment. Despite that, it had been a lovely evening with Judy Fabray and since then she has fantasized about their second meeting (the one in which they came out of the metaphorical closet). It would be wonderful. Judy would be enamored by Rachel's exhilaration and energy, she would be interested in Rachel's extracurricular activities, and she would say to Rachel, I give you permission to marry my daughter.

None of which happened while they sat in a triangle around the square table. There was no light, carefree conversations, Judy fidgeted a lot and every time Rachel tried to engage in a conversation with her she answered but never pressed on. Judy simply sat there, eating as little as possible, there was the same shock and puzzlement, however, Rachel also noticed a weary, resigned acceptance. It was moments like this that she had to remind herself that she was in love with Quinn, and she wants a future with Quinn. They have all this abundant love, this intense thing, and how very irresponsible it would be to throw it all away. In this bliss, in this love, in this confidence, Rachel couldn't doubt it was true.

When Quinn took the plates to the kitchen, Rachel was left alone with Judy and caught a brief tremble on the older woman's lips, a quick flicker of her eyes, a moment of uncertainty. Then, she broke the silence, "Quinn and I will be traveling to Cleveland next week to visit her sister. Has Quinn told you about Frannie? It's her birthday next week, there'll be a party." Judy took a sip of her wine.

"Yes, she's mentioned Frannie a few times." Rachel mimicked Judy and sipped from her glass of water, still trying to figure out whether she had been invited or just informed that a party was taking place.

"We'll be gone the whole weekend."

Still not sure. Was Judy inviting her, or absorbing in the pleasure of taking Quinn away from her for a weekend. "Quinn has mentioned that, yes."

"You're very welcome to come along." Judy finally said, reaching over for a napkin.

"Am I?"

"Absolutely," she said. Rachel watched Judy pour herself another glass of wine. "It's just, you won't know anyone there, that's all."

Clearly she was not invited. "I'll know Quinn." She said weakly.

"Yes, I suppose so."

Rachel let it pass and excused herself to the bathroom. She examined herself in the mirror. She had been hoping for understanding, but every time she tried to reach out, Judy dismissed her relationship with Quinn and changed the topic. Rachel had not been prepared to meet Judy, not under these circumstances, especially after the incident that she hasn't entirely processed. She made a mental note to research information entitled meeting the parent(s) and compile a PowerPoint presentation.

There was muffled shouting when she opened the door. Making her way toward the kitchen, she heard Quinn's voice, sharp and hard.

"You're not even giving her a chance. If you get to know her you'll know how wonderful and kind she is and she has—"

"I don't want to discuss this, Quinn."

"I'm in love with her."

"Yes, you've said that already."

Rachel had her back against the wall, she would not cry, she told herself. She wanted to turn the corner and tell Quinn that is was okay but she couldn't will her muscles to move.

"You're seventeen, Quinn, you don't know what love is." Judy glared at her.

"This isn't a phase." She replied indignantly, eyes snapping at her mother. "Mom, I'm going to marry Rachel."

That hurt in Rachel's chest, that was a bullet tearing her apart in slow motion; that hurt, that pain that she hoped would never go away, it was love. It was so strong it was like the force of the universe.

Judy spoke levelly. "You're going to go to college, meet new people. High school romances aren't something that lasts—"

"I'm asking for your understanding, mom, not your approval. We've been doing so well for the past few months, I want to be able to talk to you about everything. I'm still the same girl. Nothing about me has changed."

"When did you turn gay, Quinn?"

They were silent now. Rachel peeked around the corner to witness Quinn wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, and she suddenly felt a hot pang of shame.

Finally, she spoke in a quiet voice, "People don't turn gay."

"You were with Finn, and that Noah Pookermen—"

"Puckerman."

Quinn really had a bad habit of interrupting others, Rachel thought.

"—boy. You dated Sam. There has never been any indication that you're gay. Is this because of Santana?"

"No," she sniffed once, and looked up at Judy through smudged eyes. "I don't—know. Maybe it's always been there, probably always has. I just know that I love her."

Rachel held her breath, staring at the blank wall ahead. Quinn and Judy were arguing again, she counted to sixty-seconds. Tears stung in her eyes and she blinked them back. When she hit sixty, she walked out from the corner and Quinn was puzzled, then alarmed.

Quinn quickly came over to her, her arm around Rachel's shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"

Rachel smiled up at her, her face fearful, eyes full of love. She regarded Judy, "Mrs. Fabray, I would like to apologize for putting you in a difficult position due to the sudden change in Quinn's life, and having to come out to you the way that we did. I wish there could've been a better way for us to tell you. I know that Quinn cares about you very much and if it were possible we would've done things a lot differently. I'm very thankful that you have allowed me into your home again." She squeezed Quinn's hand. "I love Quinn, very much. I'm in love with her, and I hope that you will support us. We in no way intended to hurt you."

All three remained standing quietly, wondering what would happen next. Judy was the first to break eye contact, her eyes reddening, a tear drifted down her cheek. Quinn made a move to hug her but Judy waved her away, a tight smile playing on her lips. "I don't know how to take all this in. This is too much for one day."

Judy continued to regard them for a long while (particularly Quinn), wondering into some far off distance. Finally, she kissed Quinn on the cheek and patted Rachel awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'll be in my room if either of you girls need me. Leave your door open, Quinn."

Rachel could tell Quinn had a million other questions. "Mom?"

"I'm processing this. It's going to take some time."

That was all they hoped for.

Quinn turned to her once Judy was out of sight. "Do you want some ice cream?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that today?"

"You seem like you want some ice cream." She shrugged.

She followed Quinn to the kitchen bench and they stared at one another. Her face now full of excitement; her hazel eyes brightened like the morning sky on a clear summer's day, she was smiling from ear to ear. "What?" She asked with a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. "Would you like me to feed you?"

"You're cheery."

"Well, it was what we wanted, right?"

They smiled at each other. Then, as if the idea had suddenly occurred to her, Rachel quickly crossed the room in three long strides, took Quinn's face between her hands and kissed her. When they broke apart, Rachel looked at her intently. "Did you mean what you said?"

"About...?"

"Marrying me."

"Yes."

Rachel's stomach felt wobbly. Dozens of butterflies had suddenly burst their cocoons and beat their wings within her. And then she frowned, shook her head, pressing her face into Quinn's shoulder, making a noise that sounded like rage.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just..." She looked up at Quinn again. "I won't ever be able to get rid of you, will I?"

"I don't think you can."

It began to slowly dawn on her that the future was not a slowly straight linear path but a matrix of permutations and possibilities. She had always been fixated on glee and school, myspace videos, dance and vocal lessons, it made her blind to the truth. The future she had envisioned with Finn was nothing compared to what she now saw with Quinn. The world she had knew was splintering and everything began to make more sense. Finn was two-dimensional, it was flat: college, graduate, Broadway, awards, family. Quinn has become her top priority, she would give up her career for Quinn, and that filled her with ferocious excitement.

They had found the secret glue that held all things together.

•••

January 13th, 2012

It wasn't very often that Rachel Berry found herself suffering from boredom. So it was a surprise that just as she had answered a question on her biology homework she began etching doodles on the margins of the page; it was a doodle of Quinn's name with love hearts around it. She turned the page and tried to concentrate on the series of diagrams, charts and data detailing the frequency of respiratory illness in four generations of human twins. She had to evaluate both the genetic and environment factors of the inheritance of the disease (reading the question made her want to collapse on her bed).

Quinn was away with her mother in Cleveland. They agreed that it would be best for Rachel to not attend, it was a family gathering, after all. She and Quinn needed to put some distance between them for the sake of her mother. They were now one-hundred and twenty-eight miles apart. That thought alone almost gave her a heart attack the previous night and Quinn comforted her during her distress. She then went to bed early in the hope of being fresh-faced and quick-witted in the morning, but instead she was exhausted and nauseous with anxiety. Not one of her friends wanted to see her today, making excuse after excuse, Santana being the only outspoken one of them all: No, Berry, I will not have the pleasure of accompanying you to the movies and then cry about Quinn's absence from your life. She's coming back tomorrow. She's not dying.

Her eyes drifted upward to the list of rules pinned to the bulletin board. Judy was still coming to terms with Quinn's recent coming out of the metaphorical closet and their relationship, so it had been decided by all parties (mainly Judy) that it was best to set a list of ground rules. Not that Rachel nor Quinn was going to let anything as terrifying as getting caught by a parent in an uncompromising position happen ever again; that window was now closed, to never be spoken of. Nevertheless, Judy summoned Rachel and Quinn three days prior for an important meeting and compiled The Rules.

Number One: No displays of affection in the Fabray house. Whatever happens, there were to be no cuddles or hugs, no pecks or kisses; Quinn was to leave her bedroom door open at all times. "I don't see the point of cuddling anyway," Quinn had said. "Cuddling gives me a cramp." Not true. Quinn did not know the meaning of personal space. If anything, Rachel was the one with multiple cramps.

Judy nodded skeptically and added, "No flirting either. Rule Two."

"Well, I don't flirt, so..." Quinn said, and she proceeded to rub her foot against the side of Rachel's shin under the table.

"Seriously, Quinn, I see the way you smile at Rachel, winking at her, or those many times I've caught you staring at her legs. No funny business."

Quinn blushed heavily. "Am I not allowed to do anything regarding Rachel?"

"When I'm not home," Judy quickly recovered. "No, what I mean is, not in this house. I don't want to sit on the couch having to think, I wonder if Quinn and Rachel did anything on here. That reminds me, Rule Number Three. When we're all out together in public for a lovely dinner, you two are to be well behaved. I don't want to be a sitting duck while I watch the two of you in a lip lock."

"Mom, you think we're hormonal teenagers. None of this is going to happen."

"No, it isn't. Because it's a Rule."

Rule Number Four, at Quinn's insistence, was the no shorts or skirts clause. Rachel was no longer allowed to wear shorts and skirts to Quinn's house, physical modesty and discretion at all times. In retaliation, Rachel proposed Rule Number Five. Quinn was not allowed to antagonize her. More than often she has found herself wanting to push Quinn against any surface during their heated arguments. She has realized that it was a game Quinn invented for herself designed to expressly rile and infuriate Rachel to the point where she would pout and stomp her foot for Quinn's own amusement.

The next day, with The Rules in place, they lay in the Fabray living room, eating oranges, quietly reading, entirely happy in each other's silence.

Quinn cracked first, sighing and placing her book on her chest: Nabokov's Lolita, a gift from Rachel. A moment passed. She sighed again for effect.

"What's wrong?" Rachel said, without looking up from her book: The Fault in our Stars. She was highlighting memorable quotes from the book.

"I can't get into it."

"It's a masterpiece."

"Makes my head hurt."

"Would you rather I have gotten you something with pictures?"

"Ha, you're funny."

"Very Hungry Caterpillar or something—"

"I'm just finding it a bit dense. It's about a man basically talking about how sexually aroused he is all the time," she shuffled closer to Rachel until her face was inches from the other girl's. "Let's make-out."

Rachel's highlighter froze mid-air. "Quinn, your mom's here!"

"She's in her room," her hand was underneath the soft flesh of Rachel's sweater. "We'll hear if she comes out." She leaned in and kissed Rachel without permission. Rachel snaked her leg around Quinn, pulling her closer. One minute later, they heard footsteps down the hallway and Quinn swung back to her previous position. "Hi, Mom." She said not looking up from the book. Judy eyed Rachel's flushed face with a wary expression. They sat at opposite ends of the couch for the remainder of the day.

Today, Rachel was alone, and a part of her welcomed it. A little after noon, she went to prepare a nice, warm bubble bath when she heard the doorbell. She ignored it at first, taking off her robe and dipped one foot into the tub. The bell rang again (incessantly) and with a censored curse word, she stormed down the stairs only to find Quinn standing in front of her when she flung the door open.

Rachel mumbled something incoherent and Quinn connected their lips together. Rachel hesitated for a moment, ignoring the churn in the pit of her stomach, while Quinn pulled her closer around the waist. Quinn gripped onto her cozy, cotton bathrobe with her fists, stopping the kiss after another few seconds without putting any distance between them and, Rachel knew by the fire in her eyes that Quinn knew she was naked underneath.

"Are you dads home?"

"No, they're—"

Quinn kissed her again, hard this time—no gentleness at all—Rachel returned the kiss with the same anxiety. She made a sound in the back of her throat, raising her arms to tangle her fingers into Quinn's hair. Their breaths became uneven, releasing all their pent-up emotions and sexual frustration in this one kiss. She started to move her hips against Quinn's and it was like that was all Quinn needed because the next minute her bathrobe was loosened and Quinn's hands slid around her bare stomach, working its way upward to her breasts.

They stumbled backward until Rachel's back was against the wall, one of her legs around Quinn's hip. She buckled against it, Quinn holding her between the smooth wall and her heated body. She could feel the tremors in Quinn's muscles, from the force of having to hold back and the need to tear through Rachel, making her gasp.

When her willpower returned to her body, she pushed Quinn away lightly, their chests heaving, jaw set. Quinn mumbled a low curse word that Rachel wishes to not repeat.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, out of breath.

Quinn ran her hands through her hair. "Santana told me you've been calling her insanely all morning to hang out."

"I did not!" She said. "I called her once." When Quinn raised her eyebrow to question, Rachel said, "Okay, I rung her seven times before she answered."

"Rach, I was coming back tomorrow."

Rachel forced herself to meet Quinn's watchful gaze. "I've missed you."

Her breathing was still uneven, but Quinn kissed her anyway, biting gently on her lower lip. "We've only separated for six hours."

"What did your mom say? Does she know you're here? Oh god, is she outside?"

Realizing she had yet to explain the situation to Rachel, she let out an exasperated breath. "Brittany called my mom begging her to let me come home because she needed my help with a math problem."

"And your mom bought it?"

"Not quite. It took a lot of convincing but that's what Britt does best."

"Who's idea was this?"

"Santana's. She kept screaming at me for making the mistake of giving you her number and I had to come back to rectify the problem. The problem being you."

"I resent that, Quinn. You're supposed to be my girlfriend and support my—"

"Delirious behavior."

"—unbalanced mentality. I can't help it if I miss you and would like the company of my friends to fill the void."

The look Quinn gave her was a look of comfort and assurance. "I've missed you, too."

Rachel moved closer to Quinn again, drawn by her heat, and absurdly happy when Quinn slipped her arms to gather her in. "When do you have to go home?"

"My mom's coming back tonight. So we have—" She glanced at the clock on the wall. "—five hours."

"Plenty of time."

"For what?"

Rachel was already dragging Quinn to her bedroom.

In her bedroom, they kissed themselves into a white heat. It started slow, and within minutes she pushed Quinn onto the bed and straddled her, her soft weight pinning Quinn down. Quinn's hands cupped Rachel's breasts and a low guttural moan escaped from her lips, igniting a fire inside Quinn's body. She deserted Rachel's mouth for her neck and shoulder, but that wasn't enough and moved down to cover her breasts with her mouth.

"Quinn—" Quinn didn't stop and Rachel said through heavy breaths. "Is this really happening?"

Quinn lifted her head only slightly. "Do you want it to?"

"Yes, but—" She held Quinn's face between her hands and said, "I can't stop thinking about your mom."

"What?"

"No, not like that!"

Rachel sat back and took a deep breath. "That incident has traumatized me immensely."

Quinn bent to kiss her neck and bit it softly instead. "My mom's not here, Rach. We're alone. Your dads aren't going to be home for a while, right?"

"Right," she mumbled, her mouth pressed against Quinn's. "Let me lock the door just in case." She flung herself back, clambering over Quinn and padded to the door. When Rachel came back, she nudged Quinn over to the cool side of the bed. Quinn allowed her in, sliding one arm underneath Rachel's shoulders, kissing her neck speculatively. Rachel turned to look at her. "Now, what?"

"Now, we make-out."

"How long do we make out for?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do we kiss for thirty minutes, one hour, what?"

"I don't understand the question."

"What do we do after we kiss?"

Quinn was at the beginning stages of frustration. "Rachel, what is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry," she put her face in the crook of Quinn's neck. "I'm nervous."

Before Rachel could say anything else, Quinn captured her chin, all the while bringing her head down and closed her lips lightly against Rachel's, cold from the temperature, but as the kiss went on, warmer, much warmer. Rachel settled into the kiss, it was unexpected. Every one of her senses filled with discord, her body felt like it was plummeting and soaring at the same time, her lungs felt oxygen deprived. Quinn moved down to Rachel's breasts, and her body went still, then stiff, then arched in pure pleasure. This was incredible pleasure compared to what she felt the first time Quinn had done this. Instantly, she shook the thought out her head because she did not want to think about Judy Fabray and the incident that-shall-never-be-spoken-of-again.

With unsteady hands, Rachel helped Quinn take off her shirt, but when she went to remove Quinn's bra, Quinn stopped. "You're going to see me naked."

"Well—" She was at a loss for words. "Well—isn't that the point?"

"Yeah... It's just—"

"We're both going to see each other naked. You're staring at my bare breasts while you're speaking!"

Slowly, Quinn dragged in a breath, sat on her knees and began to contemplate internally. Rachel reached for Quinn's hand and Quinn said, "Let's just both take our clothes off."

"I thought that's what we were doing?"

"I meant take it all off at once and get into bed."

"Oh."

"We're going to be naked anyway. Why go through the awkward process of straining our bodies during the heat of the moment and just do it ourselves?"

They both got off the bed and darted their eyes anywhere except at each other. Rachel's conscience has wandered to this moment more times than she cared to admit, and she'd think about the candlelit dinner, rose petals and romantic movie. Not once has she imagined how nervous she would be. She wasn't exactly sure what to do. She had no experience in this department. What would be appropriate. How would things pan out. All she knew was that she felt tingly about touching Quinn.

"Should we—turn our backs and then—"

"Yeah." Quinn agreed.

They turned their backs to each other. Rachel loosened her bathrobe and it fell to the floor. She didn't have many layers to discard. She was naked in a flash. She peered over her shoulder to see Quinn's bare back and in her underwear. When they were ready, Rachel made a little prayer to the powers that be. Please be real. Please don't let this be a dream.

Quinn was beautiful, her body lithe and lean and lovely. Rachel's head was still spinning when Quinn wrapped her arms around her neck and squeezed Rachel to her chest. She grazed her fingers backwards and forwards across Quinn's breast, until the perfect pink nipple began to rise. Then she leaned forward and kissed Quinn. It was a fairytale kiss. She made a mental note to record this moment in her notebook in case she might forget it one day (doubtful).

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked.

Rachel was focused on Quinn's wet center touching her thigh she wasn't listening. Quinn kissed her again, their tongues wrapping around each other. Slowly, Quinn pushed on her shoulders, pressed her down on the bed. Goosebumps prickled her skin, and her nipples tightening in the cooler air. Quinn made a low sound and her jaw clenched.

"God, I hope no one barges through that door." Quinn said. Rachel stared at her, not sure what to say, and Quinn suddenly grinned, eyes crinkling in that sweet, almost girlish way. "Just joking. I do have a sense of humor, you know."

Rachel sucked in a low, shaky breath. Not a dream. This is happening. Quinn is gorgeous naked. Why is it not acceptable for Quinn to be naked all the time.

Quinn examined her again, her gaze probing as if checking to make sure Rachel hadn't changed her mind—and Quinn's care for her swept aside all her remaining doubts.

Quinn's breath, Quinn's lips, the smell of her—everything in Rachel's head was happening at a delirious high speed. From one second to another she had no idea what to do next. Wherever her hands roamed over Quinn's soft, smooth skin, her brain exploded in a fountain of color, at the same time she could feel her skin fluttering when it came in contact with Quinn's mouth—her ears, her neck, her shoulders, her stomach.

Rachel cupped Quinn's breast, and she began to melt, it was a delicious shock. She felt Quinn tighten above her, but when she opened her eyes, Quinn was staring at her, and she blushed from embarrassment and from heat and from wanting Quinn. She bent down to savor the taste of Quinn's breast in her mouth and forgot to be embarrassed, sighing against her soft flesh.

Instantly, Quinn jolted backwards and Rachel looked at her in shock. "What happened?"

"You bit too hard." Quinn giggled.

"Oh, sorry." Back to embarrassment again.

Their kisses were urgent now, but not as rough as before. Quinn's hands ran down the length of Rachel's body, making every nerve she had scream. Quinn slid her thigh between Rachel, they stared back at one another, hot, crazy and then Quinn kissed her again and slipped her tongue in Rachel's mouth as she slid her hand further down to touch the hotness between the other girl's legs. Rachel gasped and clutched at her waist, only to open her eyes in complete surprise when Quinn pulled her hand back.

"Why are you stopping?" Rachel said, forcing her vocal cords to work.

Quinn was gasping so hard Rachel thought she might be having an asthma attack. She tipped her head to the side trying to read Rachel's reaction. Rachel's mind raced back to the past few minutes and wondered whether there were other errors she had made besides biting Quinn a little too hard. When she was certain that was a one-time occurrence, she evened her voice to stop from scowling. "Quinn, are you just going to stare at me—"

"You're not—" She was having a hard time finding her words.

"I'm not, what?"

"You're not—wet."

This was the moment where, had she done her research, she would've been able to apprehend what Quinn was trying to tell her. "I don't—"

"Rachel," Quinn moved off of her and she was enveloped by the cold. "Is this not turning you on?"

"I am. It is!"

"Well, you're not wet and it's hard to, you know—"

Rachel's brain finally caught up. "Oh—Oh!"

"Took you long enough." Quinn said.

"What—what happens now?"

Quinn exhaled in frustration. "I don't have all the answers. It's not as though I go around having sex with women."

"Yeah, but, I mean—you've done it."

"Once, Rachel. And I was drunk," she snapped and then immediately regretted it. "Sorry. Frustrated."

"Are you wet?" Quinn gave a barely-there nod and Rachel said, "This doesn't have to be about me, Quinn. Maybe when we do it and you've—come—I'll—get wet—too." God, why was sex talk so difficult?

They laid back, their heat made the air seem thick. Quinn's back was slightly arched when Rachel rolled atop of her in one fluid motion. Quinn started to move against her thigh, she felt weak as the pleasure rose within her. Rachel murmured something that even she couldn't understand, moving to Quinn's breast once again, teasing until she can sense how close Quinn was to the edge. She pulled back and reclaimed Quinn's lips—a deep and devouring kiss. Rachel eased Quinn's legs further apart and touched her. Lightly, slowly at first, and when her breathing grew sharper, more ragged, and her hips rose urgently, Rachel slid her fingers inside of her. Quinn stiffened, rising against Rachel, digging her fingers into Rachel's arm as the other hand closed into a fist on the blankets.

Rachel wasn't sure how to do this. Her knowledge regarding female intercourse was about the same size as Finn's pea brain, and that's a cause for alarm. Quinn's eyes were closed, her breathing had become intermittent. Rachel moved her hand back and forth, and when she pushed harder, she felt Quinn everywhere from the tips of her fingers to behind her eyelids, Quinn's moans were music to her ears. She started off slow, resting her forearm on the side of Quinn's head, then her pace picked up when Quinn urged her to move faster. Rachel dropped her head to the crook of Quinn's neck. She kissed her ear, her tongue tracing its shape—

Her hand began to ache, her leg was beginning to cramp. Her hand slowed to uneven movements, Quinn was no longer breathing heavily, her moans had turned into what sounded like frustrated mumbling. She didn't know much (close to nil) about intercourse, but she knew enough to know that this wasn't ideal. Quinn regarded her wearily and Rachel shuffled her leg from under Quinn's urgently to stop the cramp that was making its ascend up her body. When Rachel moved her hand back to touch Quinn, it was a strange sensation. There was no heat, no warmth—Quinn was no longer wet. And then she thought, oh so this was what Quinn was referring to.

Reluctantly, like a mutual understanding, they both pulled away and Rachel collapsed beside Quinn on the bed, both staring blankly at the white ceiling. She couldn't comprehend what had happened. This wasn't part of the script. It all seemed so simple in theory. Foreplay, yes, did that. Kissing, biting, licking, touching, exploring. Arousal, yes, there was definitely arousal. Quinn was very aroused when Rachel touched her, she almost gave Rachel a head spin when she slid her fingers into Quinn and Quinn stiffened and the sweetest moan escaped her lips. Orgasm, no. Quinn did not have an orgasm. Rachel knew what an orgasm sounded like. She also knew what an orgasm felt like.

But now, despite the brash simplicity, nothing was as it seemed. Afterward they were supposed to hug each other and Quinn would say, I love you, that was amazing. They'll slowly calm down to catch their breaths and repeat it all over again.

What Rachel loved most about their relationship—besides Quinn—was their uncomplicated silence. One time after school, they had spent an entire night in silence while doing homework and watching a movie before Quinn fell asleep on her bed. How astonishing, she had thought. This was how it should be. It seemed it wasn't just love, but romance too.

This was now complicated silence. They continued to stare at the ceiling. There was a distance between them. Her mind was blank. She watched a fly on the ceiling. Then it flew away. Then she thought, I must shoo it out the window later. This happens to couples, she told herself. It's entirely normal.

"I should go." Quinn finally said.

Rachel felt a huge sense of relief, and then guilt realizing Quinn might have been able to sense it from her.

Quinn began putting on her clothes and in Rachel's head, this is what happened. She touched Quinn's bare back to get her attention, they laid back on the bed and snuggled close, muttering understanding and patience, they kissed again, said they loved one another and this won't affect their relationship, Quinn remained curled in Rachel's arms and they fell asleep.

Of course, this was all in her head. Her mind conjured the whole event and she watched it play out in slow motion.

"Rachel!"

Rachel snapped her head up to see Quinn at her bedroom door, completely dressed, her hand on the doorknob. She couldn't be certain of Quinn's expression. Maybe she was a little angry, maybe she was sad, maybe she didn't care. Damn Quinn Fabray and her guarded nature.

Rachel wrapped the comforter around her body and walked up to Quinn. "Um, call me?"

"Yeah."

They both leaned in to kiss one another only to bump their noses awkwardly together.

"Sorry." Rachel said, rubbing the tip of her nose. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Quinn's eagerness to leave Rachel's house was almost comical in its urgency.

•••

June 14th, 2016

June 11th.

Dear Rachel,

How are you? How is New York? How is the play coming along?

That was a lame start to a letter. Let me start again. Dear Rachel, I'm terribly sorry that it has taken me a week to get back to you. There have been so many interviews, promotions, meeting fans, photographers, I haven't had a proper chance to sit down and reply to you. I'm currently in Amsterdam, this will be my last stop. Then back to L.A for a final promotion at the L.A Film Festival and I'll have a week off. A whole week. Can you believe that? I can't remember the last time a whole week wasn't planned out for me.

Since your last email, I have decided to take your advice and drink that protein shake you suggested. I'm still alive, as you can tell, and it tastes alright. I wouldn't call it appetizing, but it has done wonders for my well-being. My stress levels have certainly lowered, and I think my stamina has increased. Sometimes I get the feeling it could be the placebo effect. But who knows? I have cut down on drinking coffee. Two cups a day now! The only downside is that now that I've been using so much energy during the day by 9pm all I want to do is crawl into bed and fall into a deep slumber. Maybe I'm just getting old? 23 isn't old, right? Why am I asking you. You're the oldest person I know.

I was joking, by the way. I know how hard it is for you to read my sarcasm through these emails. Seriously, Rachel, you need to adapt to these new social interactions. Every time I make a joke I can't add "just joking", it defeats the whole purpose of a joke. Oh and by the way is 'btw'. Please learn the correct abbreviations. Remind me to make you a list. It'll make sending you emails and texts a lot easier! Anyway, I can't believe I rambled on about the significance of how a joke should be established. I think your rambling is contagious. Again, joking. Please don't spend 14 lines yelling at me in your next email.

What was I saying? Oh right, I'm in Amsterdam. This city is beautiful. You will love it here. It's peaceful and quiet, it even smells like spring. I made a list of so many things I've wanted to do but the only thing I've done so far is visit the Anne Frank House. There are so many stairs. One floor had 14! I couldn't believe how unfit I was. Walking up 7 I was already out of breath. I took photos for you. You won't remember but there was a time you were reading The Fault in our Stars and in the book Hazel visited the Anne Frank House and you mentioned it many, many times afterward how you would love to visit Amsterdam. Of course, now that you've landed the lead in the revival you probably want to see it more than anything.

Rachel turned her script down as Gary Nutkin entered, skinny and anxious, and it was time for the pre-show pep-talk from the director. He stood in the doorway, cleared his throat, the top button of his black shirt fastened tight. A man who's personal style icon was George Orwell. She didn't know what to make of it as George Orwell died over five decades ago and there's a man still worshiping him.

"Great crowd so far, everyone! I heard tickets have all been sold out. This is a great turn out considering!" Though considering what he didn't exactly say, perhaps because he was distracted by Andrea performing pelvic rolls in a polka-dot all-in-one. "Let's give them one hell of a show! Let's knock them dead."

"I'd like to knock them dead." Growled Sid, watching Andrea while picking at pastry crumps. "Cricket bat with little nails in it."

"Stay positive, Sid, will you please?" Implored Andrea on a long, controlled breath.

Gary continued. "Remember, keep it fresh, stay connected, keep it lively, say the lines like it's the first time and most importantly of all, don't let the audience intimidate or goad you in any way. Interaction is great. Retaliation is not. Fifteen minutes till show time!"

Sid began his nightly warm-up now, a murmured incantation of relax-relax-relax-I-can-do-this. Beyond him sat Ian in his suit and tie looking forlorn, hands jammed in his pockets, head lolling back, meditating or trying to prepare himself for the moment the SS Officers beat through the closet doors and capture them (he always had to prepare in advance). To Rachel's left, Andrea sang songs from Les Misérables in a light, flat tone. Rachel turned back to her reflection in the mirror, plumped up in the long, vintage dress, a 1930's classic.

The word had gotten through the entertainment realm that Rachel Berry was making a Broadway comeback in the Diary of Anna Frank. It wasn't an easy success, the month had been a series of vocal lessons, acting lessons, auditions, bad choices, abandoned projects. There was the Evita audition in which the director said her vocal range was mediocre, was no longer pleasing or excessive as it used to be. This led to ice cream at four in the morning and whimpering into Kurt's shoulder until she fell asleep. There was the alternative club night performance that no one had gone to and the next day she appeared on the sixteenth page: Rachel Barbra Berry strip club entertainer? Not likely. It wasn't even a strip club. At her very, very lowest ebb, she had taken a job singing in a bar which lasted one night because this one was a strip club (according to Noah who so happened to be in town).

Then Gary Nutkin phoned, and up until then she had been calling him The Skinny Russian Man because she didn't know his name. He was the intermediary for Avenue Q, they had dinner and he mentioned they are in need of a new actress to fill the role of Anne Frank as the previously actress resigned due to a family matter. Production was in two weeks. Her success in Avenue Q did not guarantee her any complimentary passes and she auditioned for the role of Anne Frank four times before the casting directors made their final decision. She experienced first-hand the thrill of singing for a role she desired, the heart-ache of waiting for the call backs and the buoyancy of winning the role all in the span of a week.

She glanced over at Sid who was still chanting. Relax-relax-ralax-I-can-do-this. Five minutes until curtains. She pressed her hands against her ears, and asked herself some fundamental questions.

Why am I here? This is my dream.

Am I really making a difference? Yes, aspiring young actresses look up to me. I was in a motor-vehicle accident and am alive, making my comeback on Broadway.

Why can't Andrea put on some clothes? She is a harlot. Rachel, stop that. She's your friend.

What is that smell? No, idea.

Where do I want to be right now? With Quinn. In Amsterdam. In her arms.

Ah, so you saw that photo of me with Mark Morley. His hand was rather low on my waist, wasn't it? Do you fancy him, Rachel? Fancy. God, I sounded posh there for a second. He's just a co-star. It's ridiculous some of these stories that I read about myself. I had lunch with my director the other day discussing a possible sequel and he leaned in to kiss me goodbye on the cheek. Some paparazzo snapped it right the moment he pulled away, it seemed like he had pecked me on the lips and it got turned into a full blown story about me being a home wrecker, cheating on you and no longer a lesbian. I don't know where people get these ideas from. But I'm assuming you already know. You have been in the public eye more than me, and have been prepared for these moments since birth. At times I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with it. I like what I do, acting gives me such a rush. It's being in the public eye that's frightening. I wonder what my dad thought when he read that? Any guesses? Probably glad that I'm no longer gay. Assuming he even saw it.

Let me assure you for the 50 billionth time, there are no nude scenes. Sex, yes, but it's not R-rated. It's all mild. Besides, I only have two. I don't even know why you're asking. You've seen me naked. Not that you remember, that's one good thing that came out from your memory lost. Too soon? Lol (laugh out loud, Rachel. Learn these). Candy, she plays Thea, she has 4 and one of them is a foursome with me. I divulged into that because, let's be honest, when will I ever get to have a foursome in real life? Lol. Again, joking. Puck will be loving the movie. He has been begging me to introduce him to Candy. I can sense his excitement as I write this. I haven't had the heart to tell him that she doesn't bat for his team.

Candy is exactly what her name sounds like. She's very beautiful and spiritual and even though you won't approve of the word, she's a complete bitch. Worse than Santana. She's very keen on you. Every time she knows I'm in listening distance she'll say to someone, "have you read that article on Rachel Berry? She's absolutely talented and so beautiful". And every time we're together she'll ask about you, your memories and our relationship and she even had the nerve to say, "if you're no longer together may I have her number". Bitch. Sorry. Actually, I'm not. I am not introducing you to her btw. I can see you now, giving her that look where you clench your jaw and play with your lips and ask about her career. Am I ranting? I think I'm ranting. You really are contagious.

Applause! Applause like she has never heard, rebounding off the walls inside the Music Box Theatre. Yes, there were a few technical difficulties involving lighting, sound, and set change cues. The stage manager somehow lost his prompt book, containing all the cues, technical notes, and other information pertinent to the show. And it's hard to imagine a more forgiving audience, but the show was a triumph. As predicted, Rachel Berry shone in her performance, leaving Andrea Dawson grinding her teeth as Rachel soaked up the largest round of applause. It's the largest imaginable triumph and Rachel's heart is beating in her chest and she can't stop grinning and she holds the hands of her cast as they bow and bow again. She feels the elation of doing something well, and she has finally understood what it means to live in hope.

Rachel retrieved to her dressing room to quickly change to prepare for interviews and fans waiting outside. As soon as she entered the room she could smell the flowers. The vast bouquet of red roses sitting on the table and she opened the small card. "Apologies for not being there. Hope it all goes well tonight, you're going to be wonderful. Much love, Q." That's all. Rachel read it twice, looked up at the clock and fumbled for her phone,

"One new voice message. Hey Rach, its Quinn, obviously. I'm getting on the plane. I hope you got my flowers, sorry I couldn't be there. What time will you be home? There'll probably be a party afterwards, wouldn't there? So I'm guessing late? Anyway, I'll see you soon. Don't get too drunk. Bye."

From the door she could hear loud chattering and cheers from her cast and crew congratulating one another on a grand opening night. Rachel was still in a frantic high and walked around the room several times to calm her shaky hands before dialing Quinn's number, and somewhere ten-thousand feet in the air Quinn's voicemail picked up. "This is Quinn. You know what to do."

She tried to remain as calm as possible. "Hi, you! You're probably still on the plane, or landed, most likely on the plane otherwise you would've advised me of your landing. First of all, thank you for the flowers. They're really beautiful, you shouldn't have. But mainly—the show was amazing, Quinn! I was amazing—" Do not sound conceited, Rachel. Do not. She added a laugh. Too fake. "—Everyone was amazing. It was just amazing! I can't wait to see you. It's been too long. Way, way, way too long." She hesitated: don't say 'way'. If you say 'way' too often it sounds like you're desperate. She continued, "Um ,yeah, so I'll be at the party, I shouldn't be too long. You should come, I'd love to introduce you to everyone." She sensed that her message has lost its sentiment (if it had any to begin with) and decides to bring it to a close. "I'll see you soon, Quinn—" She quickly added, "I miss you" before she could change her mind.

I did hear about Mercedes and Sam. Bets on how long it'll take for them to get back together? We probably shouldn't. I'm such a bad friend haha. You don't understand, Rachel. I've been to country after country with the same people for the past month! I'm so tired of the same questions, interviews that are on at ungodly hours. Who the hell is still awake at 2am?! I need a new scenery. See new people. Anyway, back to Mercedes and Sam. Yeah it's sad to see it end. It probably won't end for long, it was probably just some argument that got out of hand and once they've had time apart they'll cool down. What else has been happening? I need more gossip. No, I shouldn't say that. But they're our friends so it's ok, isn't it?

Tell me more about the play, rehearsals, what you've been doing. You can't possibly have spent the past few days rehearsing? Do you not have a life, Rachel? Let me answer that question: No. Lol. I'm sorry, it's 1am right now and I've been on youtube watching 'when animals attack'. People are stupid sometimes. It's like they see a tiger in the desert and think, oh hey I'm going to go near it and pat it and then we'll become friends and I can keep it as a pet. If you're going to go near a tiger, expect to get eaten. And then they go on tv and say things like, it came out of nowhere and chased after me. How can tigers come out of nowhere and people not see it? They see it and they go near it, that's what it is. Stupidity. Makes for great entertainment though.

So, I should probably end it here. This feels like the longest I've ever written to you. I've been avoiding answering your question, as you can tell. But now that I've come to an end I have no choice, right? Unless we discuss this when I see you. To be honest Rach, I don't know if we should get the divorce. It's been filed and the court date has been set and I made the mistake of asking my dad for help, but... a part of me feels as though it's the right thing to do. We can't be friends and be married...? I'll see you in a few days, anyway. We'll talk. Take care, ok. And sorry again I won't be there for opening night.

I miss you.

Quinn.

At the party afterwards, Rachel was gathered around her friends, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. She has spent most of the night drinking wine and soaking up praise. "Fabulous show, Rachel. Big enough to go international!" Someone said, somewhat unrealistically. Others walk by to congratulate her, but they didn't linger long enough, just a pat on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek. She could spot Andrea in the distance looking bored and bad tempered. She continued to drink steadily to pass the time, but the wine was stale in her mouth and nothing lifted the sense of dullness and creeping fatigue.

"Having fun, Rachel?" Ian was beside her now, leaning a little too close.

"Yeah, it's great."

"You seem distracted."

She glanced at her watch. 11:24. Good enough to go home. "I might head home. I'm kind of tired now."

"Really, it's not even twelve yet."

"I'm meeting someone. I should probably go." She lifted her bag and was almost out the door when he held onto her wrist,

"I'll take you home."

"Ian, it's perfectly fine."

"Rachel, I'm not going to let you go home alone." Before she could stop him, he rushed over to say goodbye to a few of his friends and met her at the door.

They walked down the pathway, the sound of her heels tapping on the pavement. With every tap it sounded as though it was saying Quinn. She was irritated by Ian's presence, she wanted to have this moment to make a list of topics she and Quinn could talk about, things they could do. After the wedding Quinn flew back to L.A. and they have been emailing each other a few times a week for a month. Quinn was her escape when she didn't get the part in Evita, Quinn encouraged her to continue with auditions, Quinn despised the fact that she performed in the alternative night club, Quinn sent Noah Puckerman to talk to sense into her when she obtained the job at the strip club.

"So, you and Quinn Fabray." Ian said.

She couldn't distinguish whether it was a question or a statement. "Yes, Quinn Fabray and I."

"Still together?"

"Um, yeah..."

"She's hot."

"Very."

"I heard she's doing a movie in L.A."

"Uh huh."

"You guys aren't into threesomes and stuff, are you? Rachel?"

Rachel wasn't listening. She had halted dead on the pavement, gazing before her as blindly as a statue. Ian followed her eyes and Quinn was walking toward them, elegant in her summer dress and her hair in a bun. Quinn's smile was wide, eyes shimmering; Rachel's expression mimicked hers exactly.

Rachel couldn't say who moved first. But Quinn's arms were round her waist, and her face pressed hard against the crook of Quinn's neck. She could feel Quinn breathing in her scent as if she were trying to convince herself that Rachel was real. Her arms gathering the smaller girl in tighter.

Ian cleared his throat. Rachel giggled at Quinn's annoyed groan at the interruption. "Ian, this is Quinn. Quinn, Ian. He's Peter in the play."

He held out his hand, smirking. "Nice to finally meet you, Quinn. I've heard so much about you."

Quinn shook his hand and had to pull it away from his grasp when he held on for too long. "Yeah, you too. And I'm gay, so drop the smirk."

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked joyfully, like a child on sugar.

"I wanted to see you."

"I thought we were meeting at home?"

"I got tired of waiting."

"I was just heading home."

Quinn's fingers began stirring the strands of Rachel's hair. "Let's go somewhere else."

Remembering that Ian was beside them, Rachel turned to him. "Thanks for walking me, Ian. You should go back to the party. It's still early."

They turned away from him and walked arm in arm. Rachel couldn't remember the last time she's ever felt better in her life. The city lights glittered above them. The moon behind them cast a faint tangerine aura around Quinn. Rachel thought she looked angelic. "Where are we going, Quinn?"

Quinn stood at the edge of the foot path and hailed a cab. "To the beach."

Rachel gave herself over to all those extraordinary feelings when Quinn continued to hold her hand in the cab. They watched the city lights dazzling before them, both content to sit in silence. There have been moments in the past thirty days where she's felt a swirling in her head gathering force. That swirling was from thoughts about Quinn. It was always about Quinn. She would feel nervous electricity from reading Quinn's emails. Just the simple notion of reading Quinn's words was enough to put her into a state of delirium beyond pleasant. She'd find herself smiling, so astonished by the mere fact there was now twenty days until she would see Quinn again, then ten, five, and one. Rachel knew she was beginning to feel it, but she didn't want to say anything. Her heart was full of hope. It was a good starting point.

Quinn paid the cab driver and they headed along the bay past the half-built houses of the town as it spread itself along the coast. As they walked and talked, Rachel silently reminded herself to be sensible. She had quite a few drinks at the party. Recklessness, spontaneity didn't really suit her, she couldn't carry it off, the results were never what she hoped for.

They had left the town behind, and Quinn took her hand to support her as she stumbled woozily over the dry dunes, still warm from the day's sun. They walked towards the sea to where the sand was wet and firm and Rachel noticed that Quinn was still holding her hand.

"A bit drunk there, Rach."

"Where are we going?" She asked, nothing the slur in her voice.

"Let's go for a swim."

"You're insane."

"Come on, Rach, it'll be fun."

"I'll drown."

"You won't. Look, it's beautiful." The sea was very calm and clear like some wonderful aquarium; if you scooped it up it would glow in your hands. Quinn was already pulling her dress off over her head. "It'll sober you up."

"But I haven't got my swimming cost—" A realization dawned. "Are you serious right now, Quinn?"

"Why not?"

"People could see us!"

Quinn was now in her bra and underwear and Rachel had to look away. "No one's here. It's past midnight."

"I'm not going in there." She huffed defiantly.

"You're going to regret it." Quinn was naked. And for a second Rachel thought she had died and gone to heaven. She made a little prayer to the powers that be. Please be real. Please don't let this be a dream. The prayer felt eerily familiar.

"You're going to leave me here all alone while you skinny-dip?"

"Come with me!" Quinn's back was to her now, walking toward the water.

"Quinn!"

She watched Quinn fall forward into the surf and Rachel stood, swaying woozily, feeling solitary and absurd. Wasn't this an experience that you were meant to crave? Why couldn't she be more spontaneous and reckless? She was drunk, after all. If she was too scared to swim without a costume how could she ever be expected to make love to her co-stars in future roles? Before the thought had finished, she reached down, grabbed the hem of her dress and in a single movement it peeled over her head. She ran naked, laughing and screaming towards the water's edge.

Rachel arrived, gasping, splashing towards Quinn, suddenly aware of the sea's translucent. "So this is it then?"

"What?"

"Skinny-dipping!"

"What do you think?"

"What am I meant to do now, just goof around or splash you or what?" Rachel cupped her hand, threw water lightly at Quinn's face.

Before Quinn could splash her back the current caught Rachel and pushed her towards Quinn, who stood with her feet braced against the sea-bed. Quinn caught her, their legs interlacing like clasped fingers, bodies touching then held apart again, like dancers.

"That's a very soulful face," Rachel said, to break the silence. "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh—nothing." Under the water, Quinn's hands found her waist and held on. "However, I do want to do this." Grinning expectantly, Quinn lifted Rachel in her arms and in one quick motion threw her into the water.

Rachel bounced back up, laughing, shaking the water from her hair. "You think you're so funny, Quinn."

Quinn was walking backwards away from her. "I think I'm very funny, actually."

Rachel caught up to her and, oblivious to her own nakedness, she bounced up out of the water and with all her weight pushed Quinn's head down the water and held it there for five seconds. Quinn jerked up instantly, her hair falling out from its bun, she was laughing a rigid ha ha ha.

"Oh, and that's funny?" She said eventually, pinching the water from her nose.

"You laughed so it must have been funny." Rachel added.

They continued like that for a little longer. Rachel would dive under the water and find ways to splash Quinn, or she'd dive as if she were diving into another world away from the heat. They swam a little and spent ten minutes floating on their backs staring at the startling sky above. Rachel's fingers would aimlessly brush against Quinn's.

The route home took them along the harbor front. "I'm sober now and exhausted. Are we going home? What's the time?"

Quinn checked her watch. "It's two."

"In the morning?"

"No, Rachel, it's two in the afternoon and we're walking under the stars." She answered sarcastically.

"Shut up, Quinn."

They headed into town, and coming up a narrow road where the cab driver had first dropped them off, Rachel was about to hail another cab when Quinn stopped her. "Let's just stay in one of those hotels for the night." She nodded toward the closest in the distance.

"But we haven't got any clothes, toothbrushes, towels."

"Hotels provide that, don't they?"

"Not toothbrushes."

"The front desk will bring us one."

"Clothes?"

Quinn shrugged like it was no big deal. "Sleep naked."

Rachel regarded her carefully and then said, "If I'm not mistaken, I think that you're trying to get me naked."

"Correction, Rachel, I've already gotten you naked. Several times as a matter of fact." Quinn winked and dragged Rachel across the road, making their way toward the hotel.

Rachel mumbled a quiet, "It's so unfair that out of all memories I had to lose the memory of Quinn writhing beneath me."

They paid for their room and when Rachel saw it was a queen-size bed she looked into Quinn's eyes for that flicker. Her stomach started to fill with butterflies and she knew without a doubt what was going to happen. What she thought was, I can't wait to be naked in bed with Quinn. How she felt was, nauseous (just a little), and extremely nervous (like having sex for the first time). She acted casual, as though catching random suggestions from the air.

"You can take the bed and I'll—"

"Take the floor?" Quinn finished, giggling lightly.

Rachel scanned her eyes around for a couch, but there was only a table, a chair and the television. "If you're uncomfortable with sleeping on the bed together I can take the floor."

"We've done it before." Quinn answered. "Besides, it's not like you've got anything I haven't seen."

"Bed it is then."

They showered (not together), stripped and hopped into bed, their backs parallel, Rachel relishing the sensation of the cold white sheets against tender skin. She was so full of benevolence. Was this what it felt like? Love. She felt like she had won the lottery. And considering she had already fallen in love with Quinn once, falling again would mean she was going to win it twice.

"Today was a great day." She said.

"Yeah," Quinn agreed. "Listen, Rach, let's just talk about the divorce and get it out of the way."

"Okay."

She turned to face Quinn, her face in profile, staring petulantly at the ceiling. She nudged Quinn's foot with hers. "Just tell me what you're thinking." Quinn sniffed and she took her hand beneath the sheet, squeezed it hard until Quinn turned her head to look at Rachel. "We should be honest with each other."

"We should get the divorce." She mumbled.

The sweet dam had burst, the Dam of Relief which had them tumbling together and would now expand into separation. They had put off the conversation for far too long, but hearing Quinn actually say the words didn't prepare Rachel for all the emotions it elicited.

"Oh."

"Rachel," Quinn turned her body. "We can't be friends and be married."

"I know."

"If this gets to court, it's going to be really expensive, Rach. We're still paying off medical bills. We should settle it personally."

"I know."

"What are you feeling?"

Numb. Sadness. Relief. She didn't know which to choose from. "I don't know. You're right." She nodded vigorously, convincing herself in the process.

Her heart beat picked up a little as she thought it: I have to let Quinn go. That was the next step in their new-found friendship. They could stay and pick up the marriage where it left of, the only problem being Rachel had no memories of how, when, or where it began. The flashes were all little snippets of moments like tiny pieces of puzzle spread everywhere. She had to connect them together but she didn't know where to start. It was better to be honest than to pretend.

"I'll sign the papers and send it back to your dad." She said softly, wondering if Quinn had heard.

Quinn didn't say anything for a long time. She continued to stare at Rachel who was staring at the ceiling. Just as Rachel thought she had fallen asleep, Quinn said, "We'll still keep in contact like we are now. I'll always be here for you. No more disappearing, I promise."

Rachel smiled affectionately, choosing to not ruin today and putting everything behind her. She shuffled close enough to plant a soft kiss on Quinn's lips. "Good night, Quinn."

"Good night, Rachel."

They lay like that, facing one another. Quinn was the first to close her eyes and Rachel watched as the weariness overcame her, sleep creeping through her veins like anesthetic. Rachel's stomach was doing somersaults by now, just watching Quinn sleep. It was so simple. She breathed in the smell of Quinn's hair, the exact texture of her skin. Her hand memorized Quinn's cheek, her throat, the fall of her hair.

"Quinn?"

Quinn was snoring lightly. Rachel said in a whisper, "I'm falling in love with you."

Like she said, her heart was full of hope. It was a good starting point.

•••

June 26th, 2016

Dear diary,

Today—

Really, Rachel, dear diary. The isn't The Vampire Diaries and you're doing a voice over. She crossed it out and started again.

Hello.

Four days ago, Quinn moved out. The apartment has lost its meaning. During the three years we've acquired so many things it was hard to determine who would get what. Of course, I don't remember most of it so I suggested that Quinn take whatever she wished. She left the apartment for me to save me having to look for a new one, it was the least I could do, probably my greatest contribution to the whole deal. She's so sweet it gives me cavities. I'm so confused.

Oh, before I forget. We had sex. And then she left. I'm very confused as you can probably tell.

It wasn't yet ten o'clock when Rachel came face to face with Russell Fabray in his conference room. Quinn had yet to arrive. Her fathers, Kurt and her lawyer, Timothy were beside her. She didn't want a lawyer, it seemed too personal. She and Quinn had spent days discussing the best way to deal with the situation and save their friendship. They had come to an agreement and though they didn't want to have to go through Russell and Timothy, it was the only way to have it finalized. They couldn't meet in a courtroom (too many spectators). They couldn't meet anywhere near the theatre Rachel's play was located. They couldn't meet anywhere with a lot of crowds. Russell was the only person Quinn trusted enough to keep the details of their divorce out of prying ears and the media, and strangely enough, Rachel did too. He proved it when he made Timothy sign a confidentially agreement.

While sitting across from him, she felt the beginning stages of the forlorn, dissolute air that seemed to attach itself to any situation when you knew something was coming to an end. There was no color anywhere around the room and the little there was on the landscapes on the walls, it was draining away, as if to conform with a monochrome future.

Her fathers squeezed her hand, smiling reassuringly. She glanced over at Russell. He wore another face; tight, arrogant, tense, as if the day was a challenge he was preparing to take on. She wondered then if she had ever met Russell while she and Quinn were together. What did he think of her? Did he berate Quinn endlessly about the "sin" she was committing? Did he ever make conversations with her? It was another series of questions she'll never have the answers to.

The doors opened and Quinn finally arrived, breathless, apologetic, complaining about the traffic. Russell fixed her with a vicious glare. She ignored him and turned to Rachel's fathers, who greeted her warmly.

"It's great to see you again, Quinn." Hiram said.

She kissed Kurt on the cheek, shook Timothy's hand in a gentle greeting and sat two seats away from Russell.

"Let's get started." Russell said sullenly. He began flipping through papers.

So it began. It was out of her hands. She was trying to concentrate on the conversation but her pulse was racing and she couldn't concentrate on anything except after today it would be over. For good? She didn't know. On the outside she was trying to remain calm. She glanced over at Quinn a few times to read her expression but she was guarded, she knew Quinn well enough to know when there was a barrier for her emotions. They talked about assets, certain possessions like the television, appliances, things they purchased together. The two lawyers used their mathematical brains to calculate the amount to be split between Rachel and Quinn depending on the length of time they had been married (which wasn't a lot considering they were only married for six months), but Rachel earned a lot more than Quinn during those six months so her split was a little more. This didn't make Russell too happy, she heard the scowl in his voice when Quinn agreed and told him to let it go.

"Quinn used her income to pay for the medical bills." Russell argued.

"Yes, but Rachel was in no state to be managing it on her own." Timothy replied.

"Quinn did the right thing by her wife."

"She was also the one to file for divorce."

It went on and it got more vicious. There were lulls and it would charge up again. Rachel couldn't remember the next five minutes of the conversation. Her mind delved somewhere deep within her to find comfort and she repeated a poem over and over again: It is so easy for me to love you that it frightens me. I've never been good at anything. But I've never wanted anything so much as I want to hold you every waking minute. And every night while I sleep. The question has ceased to be, How do I love you? and has become, How would I ever stop?

In the end they reached a conclusion of sorts. The argument had gone on for too long. Rachel thought it was over until she heard Quinn say,

"Rachel can have the apartment."

That hadn't been part of their agreement. The agreement was to split everything, or as much as could be split, and they would both move out, find a different place. Her body tightened as a shock of naked, electric disappointment ran through her. "Quinn, we agreed."

When Quinn finally looked at her for the first time, Rachel saw the conviction; Quinn decided this long before they had agreed to anything, possibly even before the papers were filed. She knew that the conversation they will eventually have did not belong in this overheated, crammed, ugly conference room.

Russell leaned forward to try and read Quinn's face. There was not a trace of arrogance there, no sneer; he looked ashamed. It was clear that he had long given up any interest in or passion for this case. "Suit yourself, Quinn."

I had lunch with my dads and Kurt afterward. Quinn went somewhere and promised me she would call later during the day. They were just as surprised with the outcome as I was. I wish Quinn had led me in on her secret, but then, what could I have done? When Quinn Fabray sets her mind to something there would be no changing it.

I watched the way they ate, listened to the conversations idly, adding my own thoughts and not remembering what I said afterwards. Sometimes I wonder if losing five years of my life also meant losing my short term memory. Is that possible? I'd say something and I'd forget it. I'd drift off when others were having conversations. To be fair, many of these incidents occur when I'm in the presence of Quinn or thinking about Quinn. So it's probably just Quinn herself. She's dangerous that Quinn Fabray. She squeezes my heart (theoretically, of course), sometimes it beats so fast I can hardly contain it and I feel a headache coming on, other times it slows down and my breathing slows along with it. When I'm with her, I'm suspended in time, content.

Now that she's not here it's a sad feeling. Sad. Three letters with such a strong meaning. I don't think I felt sad when I woke from my coma. I was happy to be alive. I was happy I had friends, people who cared for me. Even Santana has been like a breath of fresh air. Note to self: Do not ever show Santana this entry. Back to what I was saying. When Quinn left about three months ago, it was the anxiety of no longer having her in my life that scared me. We were married and we were trying. I shouldn't be too hard on her, I don't know what it was like for her to wake up and have your wife not remember anything about the years you spent together. I'm so thankful that we've gotten through the hump in the road and can now be civil with each other. Although I don't know how civil we can be now? We promised that we would salvage this friendship. How do you behave around someone that you know you're falling in love with? And how does Quinn feel about all this? I haven't had the courage to tell her. I'm trying to give her space that I know she needs and deserves, but it's hard when all I want to do is talk to her and be near her. I can feel her pulling away sometimes, when I smile a little too brightly, probably with the adorable twinkle in my eyes like the adorable person that I am. Quinn smiles at me for a second and her guard is up, as though she's afraid to get too close and have her heart shattered again.

So, it's sad that feeling sad is so rare. It's sad too, that feeling happy is so frightening. It only means wanting to feel happier. The only way to do that was to be with Quinn. And in the end I only caused her pain. I guess it's better to feel sad?

The first thing Rachel did when she entered the apartment was pick up her phone and sat cross-legged on the kitchen table, under the poster of Funny Girl. The table was her favorite piece of furniture, it was wide and capable of allowing her to spread the newspaper across it in the morning and enough space for stationary to be sprawled alongside. She also loves it because Quinn had told her that they chose it together when they walked passed a yard sale. It was exciting hearing Quinn tell her stories of the domestic side to their relationship.

Make the call, she told herself. Don't be such a coward, Rachel. Her fingers flicked across the touchpad, then abruptly it rung and her internal organs almost jumped out of her skin.

"Hello?" Rachel said. Pulse racing once again.

"Rachel?" It wasn't Quinn.

"Shelby?"

"Yes. Hi, how are you?"

"I'm—good. Why—"

"Oh," Shelby's voice dropped a few octaves. "I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to call you. Your fathers have told me about the accident, but I've been in Jamaica for the past few months—"

"Jamaica? What are you doing over there?"

"I've gotten a job offer. You don't remember... I'm sorry about your memories. They also told me to give you some space and one thing led to another and I just haven't had the time."

"It's okay."

Rachel tried to be social, like you usually do when you talk to the woman who gave birth to you. Shelby seemed genuinely interested in her health and her life and career. Then Shelby was saying, It was really good to hear your voice, I can't wait to see you in the play. When do you come back, Rachel heard herself asking, and Shelby said, In a few weeks, I'll call you and we can catch up. They said goodbye and suddenly they've caught up on each other's lives. A fifteen minute conversation. That was all it took.

The knock on the door made her jump. Then another knock came three seconds later. Followed by more knocking. She opened the door intended to yell at the impatient individual, but it died in her throat when Quinn leaned against the door frame and smiled that huge, lazy smile. She held up a bottle of champagne and pushed passed Rachel. Rachel's heart skipped a beat. Her head was saying, Oh god, it's Quinn, act normal, act normal. She could feel her whole face flush red. Falling in love with Quinn Fabray was extremely dangerous.

"Why did you knock?" Rachel asked, watching Quinn take out two glasses and pouring the champagne.

"This is your place now." She threw her set of keys on the kitchen table. It flew across the wood and fell to the floor.

Rachel wasn't sure whether she should read into that. Quinn handed her a glass and their fingertips brushed and her body did a little dance. "Quinn, you know—"

"Let's call it a truce, Rachel." Quinn stumbled backwards while looking for a chair.

"Are you drunk?"

"Not as drunk as I would like to be." She gave up on the chair and went to the couch instead.

"Quinn, if this is about today—"

Quinn held up her hand. Her voice was cold and distant. "I don't want to talk about today. Let's just drink." She leaned back and turned on the television.

They both stared straight ahead while sitting on the couch. Quinn drank most of the champagne and refused to meet her eye. She was aware of Quinn's bitterness, she was aware of Quinn's contempt. She could hear Quinn huffing and sighing loudly from time to time. She saw the look of sorrow in Quinn's eyes when the decision was made and the papers were sighed. Rachel felt squashed, hopeless. Everything else was a blur. There was nothing but the hum of the television and the awkward silence between them. They both knew it was over. But still, Rachel hoped for a miracle.

"Let's play a game, Quinn."

"What game?"

"The Berry-Fabray question game."

Quinn said nothing. Her eyebrows rose then lowered again, her features contorted as though trying to find a way to cry and smile at the same time.

"Why did you give me the apartment?" Rachel asked.

"Because I can." She walked over to the window, her back towards Rachel.

"That wasn't the agreement."

"I was being nice. Just take it, will you?"

"Where are you going to stay?"

"I'll find some place. I do have money."

"That's not what I was referring to. You have more memories here than I do, you should be the one to stay here."

"Rachel, I don't want to talk about this." Quinn mumbled at the window pane.

Rachel was standing now. "You never want to talk about anything when it gets too emotional. Am I supposed to just sit around and wait until you're ready?"

"Yes! That's how a conversation works. When two people want to discuss it."

"Why are you sulking? You said to me you wanted the divorce. We talked about this for two weeks and not once did you stop it!"

"I wanted you to stop it. I wanted you to tell me you didn't want the divorce!" Still, Quinn didn't turn away from the window and Rachel was getting tired of talking to the back of her perfect, blonde head.

"Quinn, look at me."

She did so, petulantly, her arms crossed high over her chest, and Rachel couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" Quinn asked, indignantly.

"I didn't stop it because I agree with you."

"So you're happy that we got the divorce?"

"No, I want to give us a proper chance."

Quinn said nothing for a moment, then turned back to the window.

More conciliatory, Rachel said, "We can pretend all we want, Quinn, the point of the matter is, it would never last. We're still recovering emotionally. You're dealing with your wife losing five years of her life and trying to put the pieces back together. You're going to get frustrated with me when I don't remember something. I'm trying to take it one day at a time, starting all over again."

There was a spark in Quinn's eyes when she turned back around to face Rachel, a look of dark satisfaction. She closed the gap between them and kissed Rachel—hard, aggressive; her anger and grief and love in every stroke of her tongue along Rachel's, willing the other girl to feel it. Quinn moaned loudly, pushing Rachel backwards toward their bedroom, straddled her hips, running her hand along the bottom of Rachel's dress. It wasn't long before they were both naked, Rachel sat up to push Quinn onto her back, that earned a yelp of surprise from Quinn, but it soon turned into a moan when Rachel bit down on her neck.

Rachel's questions turned into moans, her thoughts turned into sparks of acuteness. Quinn's hands moved with merciless intensity, her kisses overwhelmed Rachel in a haze of pleasure. She wasn't able to appreciate or question the memory of the two of them staring at each other's naked bodies for the first time in Rachel's bedroom. Quinn's fingers were in her, the aching impact of release stretched and elongated, swelling outward, and then dissolved on a shiver as she cried out sharply, curling against Quinn. Quinn followed within seconds, head back, tendons straining, a low grown squeezed from her throat.

They fell asleep intertwined like the roots of a tree. There was no space left between them. When Rachel woke, Quinn's eyes were already opened, and her mouth curved in a smile that made Rachel shiver with pleasure.

She glanced at the clock on the bedside table to see 7:37 blinking back at her. At first she thought it was morning, but one brief peek at the window told her the sun was setting. "What does this mean?" Rachel asked the all-important question.

"I don't know." And she knew it was the most honest thing Quinn's ever said to her.

Somehow, that gave Rachel the confidence to finally say it, "Quinn, I lo—"

The knock at the door stopped the words from tumbling out. It wasn't a knock, it was a piercing rapt, almost deafening. She wrapped the comforter around her and stormed down the hall, ready to yell for the interruption but once again, it died in her throat at Finn's appearance. He was holding a bundle of flowers, smiling childishly. He was clean shaven, and she caught the hint of peppery spice in the fragrance. He stood back from the door, looking at her up and down.

"Rach, who is it?" Quinn appeared from the hallway in nothing but an oversize t-shirt. Finn's smile faded.

Rachel could sense the scale of the catastrophe that was looming. Her body temperature fluctuated wildly. Her veins felt like they were going to burst. Everything was uncoordinated and her body went limp. It was like a message, a coming together of circumstances—that slide into darkness.

Oh, I forgot to mention Finn came to visit me. I probably should have done that earlier. Seeing Finn was familiar. His eyes expressed a momentary confusion at seeing us together, but he smiled nonetheless and handed me the flowers. He congratulated me on my play and gave me a piece of paper with his address on it. He was going to be in New York for a few days.

How do I describe this? Now I felt like I was balancing on the edge of a cliff in a thick fog. I have no clear notion of what lay in front; my arms and legs were all flailing. I no longer knew what I thought about Quinn and me. Finn's presence brought back the sensation of an unfinished love. It's true that I haven't thought about him in weeks, we've texted a few times, but with the wedding, and my play and trying to get my life together, we didn't have time to have a proper conversation. On top of that, Quinn was in my life a lot of the time, and I was/am trying to adjust to her being in my life.

This is my conclusion. I do love Quinn. I am in love with her. But I am also in love with Finn.

Something was beginning to give for Quinn. A seismograph in New York feels the distant rumbling of a profound rupture in the earth's crust a thousand kilometers away, beneath the ocean floor. In the same way, through all the distance that's been laid between them, Rachel was registering a flutter of discontent. God only knows what that flutter was like inside of Quinn. A deafening upheavel, Rachel supposed. She was sure she loved Quinn, but it seemed that no matter how hard she tried, the loss of her memories will always affect them in the worse possible ways.

"Are you still in love with him?" Quinn let out a breath, she was leaning against the wall in jeans and a red t-shirt. She looked vivid and vital against the white paint.

"Yes." Rachel said softly. "But I—I'm also in love with you."

Quinn dropped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "I've waited five months to hear you say that."

For a long moment Rachel didn't say anything, not trusting herself to do so without betraying the tears just below the surface of her chin. She wanted to go to Quinn and hold her—just hold her—but she didn't move from the bed.

A sudden tightness came over Quinn's face, and she opened her eyes to meet Rachel's with a piercing intensity. "I'm going to get all my things out tomorrow. We shouldn't see each other for a while."

"What are you trying to say, Quinn?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "All I know is that I'm feeling like I shouldn't be around anybody right now, not even you."

A chill stole over her. "It's a lot easier for you to be alone and push people away, isn't it?"

A muscle in Quinn's jaw flexed. "You're still in love with him, Rachel! How do you expect me to deal with it?"

"Like a normal human being! You said you weren't going to disappear—"

"That was before I found out you still loved—"

"Oh, so that's it, Quinn, you're going to run away again? Why did you come back in the first place? Why did you make a toast that day at Brittana's wedding to be friends and for the future? Why even bother coming back if all you're going to do is leave?"

Quinn said nothing. Rachel figured she had found her Achilles heel. Rachel pushed herself off the bed, and as she walked toward Quinn, a look of unease crossed her face.

"I love you, Quinn." She moved even closer, brushing their bodies together. "I know that now. I didn't know it five months ago. I want you to stay and try to understand from my perspective, then we can figure this out together."

I came home four days ago and found the apartment close to empty. Quinn left a box of memories on the bed. It had my diaries, letters and poems I had written to her, photo albums. I thought the pile I had in my room in Lima was a lot, but this was extreme. Sixteen year old me must have been crazy. I must have just been crazy about Quinn. I didn't know where she got it from, I've searched the apartment high and low many times. She must have kept it in storage somewhere. She did leave me a note though: You have to decide.

Here's the thing that frustrates me and no one seems to want to understand from my perspective. The first time I woke up from the coma I thought it was 2010, therefore, I am sixteen. The last memory I had it was Christmas and Finn and I had broken up because I kissed Noah. Quinn wasn't in my life back then, she was an acquaintance. I was jealous of her beauty and elegance and the fact she could have anyone she wanted but chose Finn time and time again. No one seems to understand that it was 2010 when I fell asleep, and woke up Christmas of 2015. It's like being kept frozen for years and waking up to a future where there are robots and blade runners and hovering cars. Not only that, but it's like life continued on without you having any knowledge of doing so. My life forwarded five years. How do you adjust to that? And to hear that you're married to your mortal enemy who has teased and ridiculed you for years? It's a lot to take in. I can't just forget all my previous feelings, I can't just let it all go as much as I want to and I really do. I want to forget about my past and 2010, I want to remember the times I spent with Quinn and how in love I was with her. I've seen the photos. I've read the letters and my diary entries. I want that back.

Then there's Finn. So sweet and so kind. His boyish charm. To me, it's not 2016, it's 2011. I have difficulty distinguishing between the two. I have to carry a calendar everywhere I go just to remind myself what year it is. I hate that no one understands. I hate that Quinn thinks it's so easy to just fall out of love with someone. Yes, I love her but it doesn't mean that Finn isn't important to me. The last thing I remember was him being my whole life. Something happened to make me fall out of love with him, why did I fall out of love with him? Why does everyone hate him? What was so bad that happened? Nothing in my diary entries states anything regarding this situation. I've made it my personal mission to find the sole reason, maybe then I can finally move on.

I've asked myself so many questions in the past few days. How do I do this? How do I choose? Who is best for me? Who am I compatible with? Who will look best beside me when I walk down the red carpet? Who would I like to thank when I win my EGOT? I made a list of pros and cons regarding both Quinn and Finn, and Finn had a lot more pros than Quinn. When those questions did nothing to soothe my worries, I asked myself: Who would I give up my career for.

I didn't realize my lips were silently shaping the name even before I had finished writing the question.

Quinn Fabray.

---

So, their first time was shocking. But not everyone's first time is great, right?

Note: Poem is not mine.