July 6th, 2016
Rachel's mission to successfully uncover the truth behind everyone's hatred for Finn has all but failed miserably—until now.
She has tried the remain patient approach, whereby she'd ask her friends the all-important question: What happened in high school with Finn. They would act confident and casual as though they have been waiting for her to ask them this question since the fall-out of her memories. But as to giving her an answer? They refused and she couldn't comprehend why. She noticed the way they licked their lips, and the way their voice would come out croaky or high-pitched a few times when avoiding answering the question. Not only that, but every one of her friends reacted the same way to the point she recognized the action immediately and knew as soon as they uttered—Oh Rachel, what are you talking about?—she was not going to get her answer.
Next, she tried the manipulating approach, whereby she uses her immense acting skills and the horrific loss of her memories to her advantage. However, it proved to be a disadvantage. Her friends were extremely nervous and weren't doing a decent job of hiding their emotions either. It was as though they held a secret meeting and practiced their emotions till each and every one was identical to the next. They would act frantically and create jokes which were not worth retelling, or remembering.
Her patience was running out, as it often does when one tries to accomplish an important mission that does not seem to be garnishing any results.
"Rachel, you can't keep us here all night." Kurt said from his position on the far end of the couch.
"Yeah, Rachel, we have to work as well." Mercedes agreed.
"Berry, come on. This is ridiculous!" Santana paced around the living room. Stomping more like it.
"I have a gig in two hours," Puck swung his guitar on his back. "I need to leave now."
"Rachel, we've been here for three hours. Lord Tubbington needs his nightly cuddles before he can go to sleep." Brittany reasoned.
The scene wasn't unpleasant but it wasn't relaxed either. Rachel was sitting in front of the door on a chair, legs and arms crossed. Her five friends on one end of the living room, twiddling their thumbs, mumbling curse words and annoyance on their faces. They looked at her like she was a piece of meat in a cage, waiting to pounce once the bars were lifted. They all just wanted to get back to their lives: Rachel to rehearsing for her play; Kurt to designing his new project for Louis Vuitton; Mercedes to her recording and song writing; Santana to preparing for her mid-terms and whatever else she does in her spare time; Puck to serenading women in clubs; Brittany to Lord Tubbington. Rachel wanted an answer to which her friends have continued to avoid. She could not fathom why, even in a time like this.
"It's been eight days," Rachel began. "I have interrogated every one of you, that includes Tina and Mike and Artie—"
"Who were smart enough to see pass your manipulation." Santana said with a groan.
"Nevertheless, you are all here, and have been for hours. I don't understand why you can't tell me what I want to hear and this will all be over?"
"You're acting like we're on Law & Order." Santana snapped.
Mercedes said in a calmer manner, "Rachel, we can't tell you because we promised Quinn we wouldn't."
"And I have called Quinn several times today. She's not answering her phone!"
Kurt threw the magazine he had been reading onto the coffee table. "That's it, Rachel. I need to get out of here. It's almost nine, and Blaine is about to call the police regarding my disappearance."
The conversation sped up for a few minutes, and they were all arguing at once. Probably only Brittany was genuinely emotionally controlled during this whole fiasco, as opposed to edgy, like the rest of them. Puck was rummaging through Rachel's liquor cabinet and poured himself a large glass of whiskey. Agitation was evident. Rachel remained in her position, watching the entire process play out.
When the knock on the door came, the shouting stopped and Rachel was relieved to see Quinn. She walked right in, dropped her bag on the table and swiftly made her way over to Puck and gulped down the remaining whiskey in his glass. She had hoped that Quinn's appearance would lift away the dimness and the chill, but it only seemed to escalate it.
"Finally, where the hell have you been?" Santana said to Quinn.
"Working." She answered softly, glaring at Rachel.
"Well, we all have better things. Rachel is your problem, Quinn." Santana recoiled once the words left her lips, but didn't apologize. "Fuck, I have a mid-term to study for. I'm out of here."
"Me too!" Mercedes exclaimed, jumping up, straightening her clothes.
Brittany followed Santana out the door, not before throwing her arms around Rachel and squeezing her in a tight hug. Kurt and Mercedes kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye. Puck shook her hand limply and stared at her for a few seconds, then took her around the waist. She was surprised. It seemed like it was a 'good luck' hug rather than 'goodbye'. Once the door was closed, Rachel stood staring at Quinn from across the room. She was afraid what Quinn thought of her, where her sympathies lay. She dreaded the argument ahead.
Quinn walked to the couch and sat with her arms crossed. "You had no right to hold them hostage, Rachel."
"I was not holding them hostage. It was only a few hours."
Quinn hesitated for a moment. "You were being selfish. It's a weekday, Rach, they have a life to get back to."
Rachel had her hands on her hips, her expression unamused. "Please, Quinn, you're making it seem as though I had trapped them in here for days."
"Rachel." Quinn just said her name. There was an urgency and a potency to it.
She remained calm, but she could feel the tremor of sweat in her hands. "I want to know, Quinn. I want to know what happened. Then I want to know why you told our friends to not say anything to me."
Quinn groaned at the statement and rubbed her temples, seemingly unable to formulate a response.
Rachel resumed her position on the chair in front of the door. "You're not leaving until you tell me."
•••
January 29th, 2012
Length: 16 days.
Attempts: 9 times.
Rachel stared blankly at the piece of paper in her hands. She bit her bottom lip warily and with slow strokes of her pen, she scribbled,
Orgasms: 0.
She looked up when Brittany entered the empty classroom. Her face expressed uncomplicated adoration and pleasure. She pulled out a chair and sat across from Rachel, the pile of magazines on the table between them. Playboy, Penthouse, Ralph, and Lesbiana. Rachel glanced at them nervously, then around the room self-consciously to make sure that they were indeed alone, and then back at Brittany who did not seem affected. Brittany grabbed one of the magazines and began flicking through them. She opened to a page where an anatomically ludicrous woman was writhing on a kitchen floor, naked, disinfectants and cleaning agents scattered around her. Rachel expressed a giggle and covered her mouth instantly.
"Are you ready?" Brittany asked.
"No."
"I bet Quinn is hot naked."
She opened her mouth in agreement but all that escaped was a tiny squeak.
Brittany pushed the magazine titled, Lesbiana toward Rachel. "Have a flip through it, Rach. How will you learn if you don't know the female body parts?"
"I know about them. I just—"
"Can't give Quinn an orgasm?"
She sighed heavily and rested her forehead on the table. "I haven't a clue why we can't achieve orgasm. Nine times have all ended in failure."
Brittany ran her hands along the length of Rachel's forearm. "You just need a little practice."
"Nine times? How much practice do we need?" Her voice was muffled.
"Come on, Rach, flip through the magazine. I imported that from Brazil for you."
She felt extremely uncomfortable while flipping through Lesbiana. She had to hold the magazine to her face in order to hide the flush that was bound to make her look like a tomato. Brittany was humming quietly to herself and she'd say, Ooh Santana would like that; Oh, that looks so amazing if Santana did that to me; I have to show Santana this. Rachel could not get herself to linger on a page of the naked women kissing other women, or doing things she wished she was doing to Quinn, for more than five seconds. It wasn't horrifying; she felt she was betraying Quinn in some way.
She dropped the magazine on the table and looked at Brittany. "This is really uncomfortable."
Brittany did the same. "It's just sex, Rachel."
"If it's just sex then why is it so difficult for Quinn and myself to have orgasms?"
"Maybe you're not doing it right."
"Isn't that why you're here? To teach me how to do it right?"
"Oh, is that what you meant? I didn't know you were into that." Brittany grinned and without warning, she took off her letterman jacket, and before she could attempt to take off her Cheerios top, Rachel said,
"No, Brittany, that's not what I meant at all."
"I can't teach you if I don't show you, Rachel."
"Can't you—explain it to me?"
Brittany pondered this for a moment. "I was so close to tasting your berry."
"My what?"
"You know, what you taste like. I think you taste like raspberries. I think Quinn tastes like bacon because—"
At the mention of Quinn's name, Rachel asked, "You didn't tell Quinn that we're having this conversation, did you?"
"Of course not." Brittany said. Rachel let out a sigh of relief and Brittany said, "I told Santana though."
She didn't question it further. Attempting something like this was bound to hit her like a boomerang once it returned. Quinn didn't need to know about this right now, and when she does, her anger would dissolve the instant Rachel gives her an orgasm she will never forget. Yes, she thought, I will have loopy Quinn under control.
Rachel returned her attention to Brittany. "I'm not quite understanding what you're referring to when you say taste."
"Oh, Rachel, I have a lot to teach you, young Skywalker."
"What's a Skywalker?"
Brittany's face paled, her mouth in a perfect O. "After this sex education I'm going to educate you on Star Wars. Now," she motioned for Rachel to begin writing. "What you want to do is, get Quinn as wet as possible—"
"Yes, I have achieved that. What I—nay—we can't seem to achieve is orgasmic release."
Leaning back on the chair, Brittany said, "Have you tasted her Lady Hulk?"
"Her what?!"
"Lady Hulk."
"Is that another sex reference because I am unfamiliar with that term."
"When I taste Santana's Lady Hulk, she screams and shouts a lot and she comes very hard."
Rachel was starting to catch on. "You mean—her, you know, lady parts?"
"Yeah, but I call it Lady Hulk because she turns into the Hulk of Orgasms."
"Right." She began scribbling taste Quinn's lady parts. "Slight problem though," she said, "Quinn and I aren't quite at that stage yet. How do I achieve the orgasmic release with my fingers?"
Brittany nodded in understanding, staring at the empty desk behind Rachel and then meeting her gaze. She reached into her bag for a sharpener and a pencil, holding it up between them and inserting the pencil in the hole. "You have to start slow—"
"Brittany, I don't need the visual."
"How will you know how slow or fast to go if I don't show you? How deep you have to push—"
Rachel was beginning to feel the blood rushing to her face. "Um, okay..." She gave Brittany her undivided attention.
Brittany straightened in her position, the pencil and sharpener still between them. "Okay, so," she slowly slid the pencil into the hole of the sharpener. "Slowly..." She takes it out. "Very slow, but not too deep because Quinn's walls need to adjust to your fingers."
"Not too deep." Rachel writes.
"No, writing, Rachel. Watch." Brittany motions the pencil in and out of the hole at a slow pace. "Continue to do so when you feel Quinn getting frustrated. There are a few ways you can tell. Her hips will buck upwards to meet your fingers, her breathing will hitch, and then..." The pencil is moving fasting now. Rachel's eyes are fixated. As disturbing as it is she can't look away. "You move faster, deeper, push in as deep as you can. Quinn, at this point, will be moaning really loud, she'll be screaming your name."
That's a sound I want to hear for the rest of my life. Her eyes still fixated on Brittany's hands moving backwards and forwards. She heard the tiny crack of the pencil led breaking.
"Oops," Brittany stopped to examine the tip. "That's not supposed to happen. If you break your fingers then you're doing something wrong. Or you've got nails and you've broken a nail. That's a huge problem because then the nail will be in Quinn, make sure your nails are short—" her eyes moved down to Rachel's fingers, admiring her short nails. "Yours are perfect."
Rachel does the same. "What's next?"
"Well, you continue to slide your fingers in and out of Quinn, kiss her on the mouth, her neck, all that stuff and she'll be coming on—"
They both looked up when the door flew open and Quinn walked in with Santana. Quinn's face was scrunched up, her eyes wary. Santana on the other hand had bright eyes and seemed extremely enthusiastic. Brittany rushed to her and Santana lifted the taller girl in her arms, but in doing so almost stumbled back, she had to support herself on the frame of the door. It was an act reserved for two people who had not seen each other in a month.
"Coming on my what?" Rachel asked desperately.
"Your fingers, Rachel." Brittany finished.
"What the hell are you two talking about?" Quinn asked.
She finally registered Quinn and Santana's presence. Shock and guilt kicked in, she stood so quick the table tipped over, spilling the magazines around her feet. Sheets of centerfold slid out, Miss January 2011's naked body flopping beside Playboy's 2010 picture of an olive-skinned woman with tattoos on her forearm and a blonde between her legs. Further mortified, she knelt and began stacking the magazines haphazardly on the now straightened table in a pile.
"What are you doing?" Quinn asked, eyeing the pile of magazines in front of Rachel.
"Looking at porn, Berry?" Santana laughed.
"I was not!" She retorted.
Brittany said, "I'm showing Rachel how to give Quinn an orgasm."
Santana almost burst out laughing, completely gleeful. "You have got to be kidding me? This needs to be blogged immediately!"
"It has come to my attention that the school only provides heterosexual intercourse education and I am merely interested in expanding my knowledge on sexual education and since the school does not provide an adequate form of education, i.e (she really did say i dot e), homosexual intercourse, I am quite simply asking Brittany to educate me." In her head it sounded intelligent and effectively phrased. In reality, all anyone heard was the word education repeatedly. Nerves. That's what they do to her vocabulary.
Santana was busy typing on her phone and nodded in agreement. "Uh huh. Berry. Crazy. There, it's now on my tumblr." She held up her phone. "All my followers will know Berry is my crazy friend."
Rachel frowned. "Friend?"
The realisation hit and Santana took a step back, a loud chuckle. "Fiend. I meant fiend. You're my crazy fiend!"
"You said friend." Brittany corrected. "I heard because I'm right next to you."
"I did not. I said fiend."
"Quinn, did you hear Santana say friend?" Brittany slapped her palm on Quinn's shoulder, startling her. "Oh, Quinn's still in shock mode from finding out Rachel was learning about orgasms. We should go, Santana, Quinn is a time bomb now."
"Yeah, good luck dismantling her, Berry." Santana hoisted her bag onto her shoulder.
"Hey, you can't leave me." Rachel stepped towards them. "Quinn is—"
"Quinn is gay." Santana finished. She and Brittany were out the door and Rachel stood stock still in the arch of the door frame. She turned around slowly,
"Um, Quinn?"
The subject of their sex life has remained largely unspoken, and now there seems to be no way to avoid it. Nine times they've taken it to the next level, but it never got any further than the next next level—the level of the orgasms. The subject sits there in the middle of the room like a pink elephant. It's there when they're doing homework, it's there every time they have sex and don't achieve the level. It keeps her awake at night. Sometimes it seems she can chart her life by what she worries about at three in the morning. Once it was maintaining her GPA, then for too long it was boys, then Broadway slash career, then, how to establish a romantic relationship with Quinn. Now it has come to, how to consummate with Quinn.
Rachel closed the door and stepped further into the room. Quinn's back was facing her. "Quinn? I'm sorry..."
Quinn turned around and she felt a buzzing in her head. Quinn was about to speak, but she stopped herself. Rachel saw that she was tense and she wished there was something she could say to eradicate her anger. It was at that moment she decided to get rid of her filter. The filter that reminded her to think before she spoke.
"Our sex life is in jeopardy. I'm not enjoying it and I know that you're not either. I want to enjoy an orgasm, Quinn. A proper one. With your fingers in me. Each time we don't it's frustrating and I can't sleep at night, nor do I wish to take care of it myself because it'll feel like I'm betraying you."
Quinn didn't reply. It was like an advertisement: her girlfriend, in a Cheerios uniform, the perfect cheerleader, in the middle of an empty classroom with the sun's rays eliciting her beauty.
Rachel reached up to touch Quinn's hair. "Can you say something, please?"
"You are so embarrassing." She mumbled, her voice hoarse and dry.
Rachel's body gradually relaxed. She had expected Quinn to shout. "Oh good, you're not mad."
"I am mad, Rachel."
She jinxed it. The bomb is now exploding.
Quinn continued. "Are you crazy? Actually, you're insane. Absolutely insane. I've never met anyone as insane as you. God, you do my head in."
I'd like to do you, she thought and shook it out of her head immediately.
It was as though Quinn had read her thoughts. "Don't even think about it, Rachel. I'm so mad at you and you're thinking about sex."
"We've been trying and it's been a failure—"
"People don't try to have sex. People try to have babies."
"Either way, whatever we're doing isn't sex and I was seeking advice from a friend."
"A friend who's also dating Santana who has the biggest mouth in the entire school!"
"Santana won't say anything. She's kept our relationship a secret."
"That's not going to stop her from making fun of me for the rest of my life."
"Oh, it's about you, Quinn? Your ego is at stake and that's all that matters—"
"Damn it, Rachel—"
With no more warning than that, Quinn jerked Rachel into the hardness of her body, their lips instantly slanting together. Quinn's tongue was in her mouth, deep and probing. Rachel moaned at the pleasure of it, at the heady flavor of Quinn, and sank deeper into her embrace. She didn't protest, though she knew she should have. She tangled her tongue around Quinn's, her hands running through soft, blonde hair. Quinn's arms wrapped around her, her palms splayed out over Rachel's back and dipped lower... and lower... sliding under her skirt. Rachel spread her legs for better contact. Even through Quinn's clothing, she could feel the other girl's arousal.
Rachel had wanted to do this the moment Quinn entered the classroom; Quinn was intoxicating, creating a kind of aphrodisiac. With hands still underneath her skirt, Quinn lifted her onto the table. She wrapped her legs around Quinn's waist, tongue meeting tongue. Her nipples pebbled, and she rubbed them against Quinn's chest, wishing they were naked already, wishing Quinn was inside her. Quinn reached up to palm one of her breasts, tracing her fingertips around the nipple.
"You drive me crazy." Quinn whispered huskily along the column of her neck.
Rachel didn't comment. She was incapable of speech. All she could think about was stripping Quinn naked and taking her right there in the classroom. Multiple times.
"It's that mouth of yours," she continued. She nipped at Rachel's jaw, ran her teeth along Rachel's earlobe. "I hate it. I should hate it."
As Rachel panted, she forced herself to find her voice. "Do you like my mouth better when it tells you to kiss me again?" She said rawly. "When it tells you to take off your clothes because I want to do explicit activities to your body?"
Quinn groaned, but instead of stripping her, she whipped away. Rachel's legs dropped, dangling above the table. "I hate—"
"Hate is a strong word, Quinn. Try love."
"This isn't the place." Quinn growled, tangling a hand through her hair.
Several seconds passed before she found her equilibrium. When she did, she resented Quinn's ability to stop what she'd started when she herself would have so eagerly gone the rest of the way. She huffed indignantly. "Fine. We'll continue this on the weekend."
Quinn remained silent for a long while, studying her face. Obviously she had said something wrong. "I meant—at home. Your home."
Dear Jesus, if you allow Quinn and I to finally consummate I will convert to Christianity—was the last coherent sentence she said for the rest of the day.
For the remainder, she uttered words such as, God and Quinn and Please and Harder and Yes and More, in-between a lot of heavy breaths and moans.
•••
February 5th, 2012
Rachel grazed her hands over Quinn's hips and the tops of her thighs, and Quinn gripped headboard when Rachel's tongue touched her sensitive flesh. Her breathing escalated to gasps and she struggled to keep her hips steady; it thrust forward involuntarily to increase the contact with Rachel's very proficient tongue. Rachel opened her eyes and was met with Quinn's probing gaze, and then Quinn's head fell back when Rachel's tongue darted forward again and again, it was slow, steady and firm. Rachel had lost count of how many times Quinn has moaned and cried out her name.
When Rachel could feel Quinn's pleasure building, she stopped and looked up, only to laugh when the other girl grunted her disappointment, but then gasped anew when Rachel resumed caressing her with her tongue, spearing it before pulling it out again. Quinn's body had another automatic response to this and widened her thighs, one leg over Rachel's shoulder.
Quinn thrashed her head back and forth and her whole body writhed underneath Rachel's attention. It was quite amazing how much movement she could manage, while being bound beneath Rachel's hands do tightly. Her thighs began to clinch and Rachel could sense the hot tingling that began in the pit of Quinn's stomach, causing her breathing to almost hyperventilate, and in an instant, Quinn was at the brink of insanity.
Quinn fell breathless back onto the bed, and she looked at Rachel in shock and whimpered without meaning to. All Rachel could do was lay next to her, wiping her hair away from her face, kiss her cheeks, her nose and blush when Quinn pulled her into an embrace.
"Ready for round two?" Quinn smirked.
"You have got to be kidding me, Quinn! We have school in an hour and I'm still recovering from yesterday. Have I not worn you out enough?"
"Obviously, not."
"Let me catch my breath for a minute."
Something new she has discovered about Quinn Fabray: she has the stamina of a fourteen year old boy. Sometimes she has trouble distinguishing whether Quinn was a he or a she, and then Quinn would be naked and writhing beneath her and all thoughts were out the window.
They haven't stopped in seven days. Seven days of heaven. No, heavenly pleasure. Seven days of hearing Quinn endlessly moan and breathe out her name. There were moments when Quinn was gentle with her, and rough too, in a playful way that she liked. Waking up to a naked Quinn Fabray has become one of the highlights of her days. They didn't necessarily wake up together in the mornings (Judy did not allow Quinn to sleep over), usually in the afternoon once they've copulated each other's bodies till the point of exhaustion; it often led to falling asleep tangled together. And she says copulate in the most conventional sense because their intimacy was no longer lovemaking, but a carnal act of desperate want and need. Also, love.
"You know," Rachel said, finally able to talk. "We could really give Brittany and Santana a run for their money with the way we're going."
Quinn moved over her, the heat of Quinn's body blanketing over her own. Her fingers playing with Rachel's desire, making her squirm and arch her hips. Quinn bent, her mouth brushing over Rachel's, and whispered, "You're mine."
A sharp thrill shot through her at the Quinn's husky words, and it stunned her that such a primitive possessiveness could arouse her. Quinn murmured something else but Rachel couldn't make out the words, and then she moved to Rachel's breasts, kissing and teasing the nipple until she nearly came from the pleasure of that alone.
"Quinn, please." She whispered.
Sensing how close she was to the edge, Quinn pulled back and kissed her mouth—a deep and devouring kiss. Her mouth still over Rachel's, she slipped her hand lower, eased her legs further apart, and touched her. Slowly, she dipped her finger into Rachel, all the while bucking her hips, matching the rhythm. Rachel gasped for breath when Quinn continued to touch the sensitive spot, causing the waves to radiate into larger and larger circles until they encompassed her entire body. Suddenly at once, Quinn's rhythm changed, from slow, teasing strokes to fast and forceful. Quinn resumed kissing her lips, eyelids, neck, every part of her body within the blonde's reach. They moved their bodies in rhythm with each other, anything to bring an end to the exquisite agony.
Spent, Quinn slumped against her, the heated dampness of her perspiration-sheened skin filling Rachel's senses.
The door to her room flew open without warning. Quinn fumbled with the comforter to cover their bodies, and in the process slipped over to the side of the bed, hitting her head on the bedside table, as Rachel covered herself by pulling the sheet up to her neck.
"Oh my god!" Hiram proclaimed as he shut the door instantly.
Quinn had no time to be embarrassed as she threw on her clothes. Rachel could see the distress on her features. "Why does this keep happening?"
"Rachel, downstairs, now!" Hiram yelled through the door.
"Are you okay?" Rachel whispered, indicating to the hit on Quinn's head.
"Rachel!" Hiram repeated.
"Coming, dad. I shall see you downstairs."
"Quinn also!"
"Okay!"
"You have five minutes."
"But I need to shower."
"You better shower quickly then. I'm timing you."
After what she deemed as the quickest shower of her short life—three whole minutes—she found Quinn completely dressed in her Cheerios uniform, hair in a pony-tail, sitting on the edge of her bed, twiddling her thumbs. Rachel had made the mistake of showering with an untested bottle of Body Shop strawberry gel and was painfully aware of smelling like a fruit yoghurt. She badly wanted to go and rinse it off, but didn't dare to disobey her fathers, nor did she want to leave Quinn alone with them. The girl was stricken with embarrassment.
Rachel crossed the room and reached under her bed for a discarded sock. She pecked Quinn lightly on the cheek out of habit. "We should go."
Quinn perched uneasily on the bedpost, speaking in a strained, chipper tone as she watched Rachel pull on her socks. "I'm not looking forward to hearing about a new set of rules being put in place."
"We had fun while it lasted." She teased.
Quinn laughed, a low morning growl that caught at the back of her throat, and there was something so gratifying about her smile, the two deep parentheses in the corners of her mouth, the way she kept her lips tightly closed as if holding something back. "Why aren't you worried?"
She gave Quinn her most amiable smile. "Well, it's now seven-thirty and there'll be no time for—" She made quotation marks with her index and middle fingers on each hand. "—the talk. Assuming my fathers don't want us to be late for school, this conversation will be postponed until this afternoon and thus will guarantee me quality time to prepare my argument."
"Argument for what?"
"Why we are perfect for each other."
"They're going to make you stop seeing me?"
"No, but we have to be prepared for every possible scenario."
They reached the top of the staircase, bags in hand, and Rachel said, "Tell me you love me."
"Kinda not feeling it right now." Quinn said.
"Quinn!"
"I love you." Quinn said, brightening a little.
Quinn's eyes flickered towards her, and Rachel thought she might very easily lean across and kiss her, then take her back into her bedroom, lock the door and never return to civilization. That's what Rachel really wanted to do, that's all she'd want to do for the rest of her life. But it was too late now. It was time to face her parents.
A minute later, they reached the bottom of the stairs, her fathers sitting with stern expressions and their arms folded. Rachel could feel the enthusiasm she had possessed all morning starting to slip away. "Fathers, if I may—"
"No, you may not," Leroy interjected. He directed his question to Quinn, "How did you sneak in without waking us up?"
"She sneaked through my window this morning." Rachel said.
"How did you climb up?" Leroy asked.
"She climbed up the tree." Rachel said.
"Does your mom know you're here, Quinn?"
"No, she does not and we wish that you support us by not telling her know." Again, it was Rachel.
Leroy said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have gotten my daughter and her girlfriend mixed up because my daughter seems to be speaking when the question isn't directed at her."
"We must leave for school. You don't want us to be tardy, do you? I thrive on punctuality." Rachel said.
"You can be late for one day." Leroy said.
"That's blasphemy." She said, stomping her foot. "When have you known me to be tardy?"
"Today," Hiram interrupted, standing from the kitchen table. "I know you're trying to postpone this conversation, Rachel. It's going to happen—"
"It can happen this afternoon." She reached for Quinn's hand. "We bid you farewell."
"Rachel." Hiram called out.
Quinn was being pulled out the door and only managed a quick wave and a tiny smile. Rachel was privately mortified at the rate in which parental love evaporates, to be replaced by small parental dislike. Last night, the three Berrys had spent a quiet evening in front of the television, and now they were like strangers in a bus queue. She had never disobeyed them before. Perhaps that one time she allowed the glee kids to drink at her house, to which they have yet to find out, and what they don't know won't hurt them.
"I'm in so much trouble." Rachel said, closing the car door.
"You didn't have to rush out of there like that." Quinn's hand was trembling, she was finding it difficult to put the key in the ignition.
Rachel was starting to wonder whether they were cursed. First Quinn's mom, now her dads. What's next, the entire school? No, Rachel, do not think such things. There was such a rush of blood to her throbbing temples. Despite the incident, she wasn't looking forward to the conversation she was bound to have with her fathers after school. Nevertheless, the devastation was behind them and she concentrated on the day ahead.
She watched Quinn drive silently, she seemed transported, elsewhere, another. A slight grin on her face. "What are you grinning about?"
Quinn glanced at her for a second. "I think we're cursed."
"At least this way we won't have to have the awkward conversation of sitting down and coming out to them."
"Instead they caught us in the act and we have no choice but to come out."
"It could've been worse."
"Like what?"
"Seeing me to down on you. We're lucky they only saw above our waists."
Quinn bit on her bottom lip before saying, "Good point."
Making their way to school, Rachel contemplated a few things. Everything had changed so rapidly since she embarked on a relationship with Quinn it was hard to believe it was real. At any given moment she has no idea what's going to happen. This should mean nothing comes as a surprise, and yet everything that's happened was unexpected. She feels lightness and hysteria, a giddiness that seems boundless. Their love was infinite. All that she knew was this world of bliss, the world of never wanting this feeling to end. They were, as people say, as one.
"I love you." Rachel said suddenly, when Quinn pulled up to the school.
Quinn leaned over the gearshift and kissed her. "Did you do something wrong?"
"No. Why?"
"No reason," she shrugged. "That was just random."
"Am I not allow to tell you I love you?"
"Not with that attitude I won't accept it."
Rachel stuck her tongue out and opened the door. "You're really not funny, Quinn."
Quinn followed suit. "I think I'm very funny, actually."
When they stepped into the school a remarkable change occurred. They walked down the hall in a curious vacuum. It was no longer rare that Rachel was seen with Quinn, even Santana or Brittany for that matter, everyone ignored it most days. All hell broke loose today. Everyone was staring at them, some eyes slid away furtively, others stared for long periods, muttering to whomever was in talking distance, or some suddenly became very busy doing something that required their backs to Rachel and Quinn. But one thing had remained constant in their peers: the whispers. Rachel couldn't catch most of the muttered words, but there were distinct words such as homo and unbelievable.
Quinn must have noticed it too, because once they reached her locker and she retrieved her books, she slammed it shut and glanced around, her eyes dangerous and alert. Rachel gazed around in awe, while the surging crowd edged nearer. She had become used to attention, everyone ridiculed her clothing, her enormous talent, but it has never been anything like this. Air was rushing in and out of her windpipe. A hundred pair of eyes were on them now, the sensation was thrilling; for a moment it was thrilling, and then the moment passed and she was terrified. Their hostile noises were gathering force, drowning out all other thoughts.
A jock passed by, taking in Quinn's flinching eyes and he hissed, "I didn't know you were gay for Berry, Fabray."
Then someone else said, "The Cheerio is a lesbo."
Someone else said, "Wasn't being pregnant enough, now you have to be a lesbian too."
Another voice, "I give you both permission to make-out like this in my bedroom."
Rachel caught a hold of the piece of paper he threw in her face. Now, she had to get out of here. Something terrible was about to happen. There was a cramping sensation low in her abdomen and a throbbing in her head like some maniac was twisting a dial in her brain. She could hardly run, like in dreams where your limbs won't move. This has to be a dream, she repeated. That's the only plausible explanation.
Quinn grasped Rachel's arm in a parrot claw, pulling her down the hall and they vanished into the bathroom. Quinn kicked down all the stalls to make sure they were alone. Her rage evident in those kicks. Rachel's head and neck throbbed; even her teeth seemed to ring, if that made any sense at all. Her eyes scanned across the paper once more and nothing she saw made any sense: there was a title, LESBIANS, a photo of Quinn and herself kissing, a very intimate embrace. If she remembered correctly, this occurred a week ago when she had asked Brittany for help with sex education and Quinn had stumbled into the room, leading to a very heated kissing session.
How?—Rachel thought. Why?—She couldn't take her eyes away from the photo. I'm imagining this.
She blinked to clear her vision but it wouldn't stop: the image was still there, precise and unclouded. She wandered through the glare circling her brain—Santana? No, Santana wouldn't do this. She promised. Brittany? No, Brittany was incapable of such malice. She didn't know how to turn on a computer, she wouldn't know how to use PhotoShop, let alone type. That led back to Santana. Why would Santana do such a thing. Santana had called her a friend. And Rachel had hardly seen her in a week, so she couldn't have done anything to have agitated Santana enough to do something like this.
Small drops of water splattered on her hand and she looked across to see Quinn cup water into her hands and splashing it on her face. Rachel saw it, something in Quinn had turned, she'd lost control, and Rachel was now engulfed in pure unmitigated terror.
"Quinn?"
Quinn's eyes flickered. They remained unreadable. "Santana."
"She wouldn't. She promised."
"Promises mean shit to her, Rachel. I knew this was going to happen."
Rachel felt like she was sliding down a hill. "Quinn, please calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down! I'm going to kill her when I get my hands on her." Quinn wasn't raising her voice, but the rage was still visible in her eyes.
"You're being unreasonable right now."
"Why are you on her side? She just outed us to the whole school."
"There's no evidence."
"She's the only one that knows, Rachel. Stop being so naïve."
There was a pause. Rachel wanted to cry. Not so much for being outed, but for fear. Fear of what—she didn't know yet. Every thought struck her with unbearable force, pushing her to the edge of sickness. This is too extreme, she thought.
They heard descending footsteps and both turned to look at the door. Santana and Brittany rushed through. Rachel sensed a hurry in their step, an eagerness to get on with this day.
Quinn was the first to move toward them, but Rachel stopped her just as quickly, noticing the desire in her eyes to hit Santana was almost irresistible. "Quinn, don't."
Quinn said through clenched teeth. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Santana remained in her position, head slightly cocked to examine Quinn. "You think I did it?"
"You're the only one who knows."
Santana's smile was now patronizing. "You need to get this through your head, Tubbers. It's been five fucking months since you two started getting your disgusting mack on. Why the fuck would I wait five months to out you when I could've done it from the beginning?"
"Because that's you, Santana. You wait until your enemy's vulnerable and then you strike. You fight like a coward."
Rage held Santana hostage. "I kicked your ass once, Q, I can do it again."
"You two need to stop arguing!" Brittany's quietness erupted into white rage. "Quinn, Santana didn't do it. We came to find you to make sure that you're both okay."
"What happened?" Rachel heard herself asking.
"I don't know. We came into school this morning and there was that poster everywhere. The glee kids took down most of it but I guess some are still flying around. Coach wasn't too happy, she's looking for you, Quinn."
"This is what I get for caring," Santana said grimly. "And if you haven't noticed—" Her eyes burned into Quinn. "I'm not straight as a pole either. I wouldn't out you without outing myself."
Santana turned and walked away, her pony-tail moving like liquid under the lights. A wistful smile tugged at the corner of Brittany's mouth and she said, "We'll see you in glee."
Quinn picked up her bag, the color had left her face. They both stared, speechless. Quinn looked as if she might faint. "Um," Rachel began, but stopped not knowing what else to say.
"We should get to class. I'll see you later." And then she was gone. And Rachel was standing staring at herself in the mirror. The tears still hadn't come.
The remainder of the day took on a melancholy weight. There were certain aspects she remembered: In biology she had a pleasant and straightforward conversation with Mr. Abbott regarding the process one's body has to go through in order to survive in the wild, and the correct nutritional foods. "Are you planning on living in the wild, Rachel?" He had joked. "No, sir, I was merely wondering." She answered and gathered her books and left. The conversations she had with her friends were ostentatiously light-hearted and don't mention the significance of the day, but the subtext is always the same: "I'm fine." Kurt was over-emotional: "But are you really, sweetheart? I mean, really? Do you want to come over after school for ice cream?" Irritated, Rachel reassured him, then quickly and politely escaped. Her dads called her at some point, reminding her that she is to be home straight away after school. The students were surprisingly very quiet. They glared at her just the same, except now it was devoid of viciousness and judgement. There's a general sense, as in the school day, that the worst of the storm has passed.
When the day was over, Rachel saw Quinn at her locker, but she didn't run to Quinn as she usually does. For the first time that day she feels a rush of despair and loneliness. The day seemed like a day for grieving, like she had been walking on a frozen river; that danger that she will plunge through if she isn't careful. Now, seeing Quinn out of her Cheerios uniform, she hears the ice crack beneath her, and so intense and panicking is the sensation that she has to stand for a moment, press her hands to her face and catch her breath.
She glanced across at Quinn, currently making her way toward Rachel. "Hey." There was concern in Quinn's voice.
"Why aren't you in your uniform?"
"I got slushied."
"Oh." That was something Rachel had expected, and unexpectedly she didn't receive one. "I haven't seen you all day."
"I've been hiding."
"Are you okay?"
Quinn shrugged.
"It's pretty bad."
"Yeah," Quinn leaned against the row of lockers. "Pretty bad."
"Are you still on the team?"
"Yeah, Sylvester wasn't too please, though."
They stood in silence. Rachel's heart beat loud in her ear. She thought about hugging Quinn, and was stricken by a painful, grinding sense that Quinn had gone away and left her to fend for herself. It was strange what was happening, her muscles her tense, limb by limb, and her stomach contorted in a terrible knot.
Quinn cleared her throat and Rachel braced herself. "Rachel, I—I can't anymore."
Rachel didn't say anything. She held her posture, breaths coming and going in light gasps so Quinn wouldn't be able to hear, while every strand of her body quivered.
"I'm sorry," Quinn said. "Today, all this pressure, the looks, and judgement. I can't."
"You're breaking up with me?" Rachel couldn't recognize her own voice.
"I'm so sorry."
In Quinn's eyes, Rachel saw the damage that was now apparent, like broken glass underwater—obvious, once you knew what to look for. Quinn squeezed her hand, then released it just as quickly, the determination fell from her, leaving a sick, painful look.
"Rachel, I'm sorry." She repeated. Quinn's expression had clarified. There was something she wanted to say, something pushing out from behind her eyes. "Everything escalated today. All these horrible looks and whispers, I felt like I was pregnant, but worse. I'm not ready to come out to the whole school. My mom and your dads, that's different, that's personal. I like to keep my personal life to myself, and now it's everywhere."
Rachel stared at her. The words before them, so gigantic. There seemed no way of approaching it. "Why do you care so much about what people think?"
Anguish and incredulity mingling on her face. "I don't—"
"Then why are you doing this?"
"I don't want people knowing my business—our business. The whole school knows we made-out in room twenty-nine. Do you know what they're calling it? The lesbian infested room."
"So what, Quinn?" Rachel said, disoriented. "Just because they see one picture of us doesn't mean they'll get to see anymore."
"How do you know that? We were careful. We thought there was no one watching us and look at what happened. It's everywhere."
Rachel shook her head. She felt horror, not so much at Quinn breaking up with her, but at Quinn's inability to put Rachel before her reputation. "It's a school, not national television. You're not even going to see any of these people in a couple of months and the ones that you will see aren't going to care."
"I care!"
"You care about your reputation more than you care about me."
"That's not what I'm talking about." Quinn cried, sounding short of breath. Rachel waited for further argument, but it was clear Quinn had nothing left to say.
"You said you loved me." She said bitterly.
"Rachel," Quinn pleaded. "I do lo—I do. This is just too much."
Rachel didn't miss the way Quinn stopped herself from saying love. She put her hand to her chest, trying to still the violent kicking of her heart. She felt no more urgency, because she now knew—Quinn didn't want to be with her. She was almost afraid to have the conversation end, of Quinn no longer being with her.
"I'm sorry." And then she was gone. Rachel watched as she ran down the hall, out the front doors and her silhouette grew smaller and smaller until she disappeared. Yet, the tears still hadn't come.
Rachel dragged her feet making her way to glee, one foot in the past, one in the present. She felt brittle and dusty, she was close to tears but she couldn't cry. There are times love would seem to be the only word capable of describing the frightening physics of this momentum. There is desolation and then there is each other. It occurred to her that every step she took was moving her away from Quinn.
She stopped in front of the piece of paper which had outed them as a couple, or rather, lesbians, hanging on the wall. This was the first she had seen that was on the wall, the glee kids must have missed one. Her eyes racked over it once again on the words and the images. She searched her mind for questions, even answers, but her mind was empty.
Angrily, she reached up to rip it from its spot. She flicked her eyes over it again, and then turned the page. A watermark of a star located in the corner stared back at her. Stars were a metaphor for her being a star. It was her metaphor. It was exactly like the customized papers she had at home, located in the exact location, exactly the same size. She felt light-headed and suddenly cold. It was like a dream. She found herself rummaging through her locker for one of her customized papers to ensure they were one and the same. Then she ran into the choir room. She heard Finn's laughter and she felt rage running through her.
She was silent when Mr. Schue addressed her. "Rachel? Are you okay?"
"Just tired. It's been a long day."
"If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me."
Rachel could not make sense of her emotions. The fury at Finn, the guilt. It felt toxic, she had to try hard to get clean air into her lungs. The day that had started off so perfectly, was spoilt, soiled. She hated herself and she hated Finn.
"Where's Quinn?" Brittany asked when Rachel sat beside her.
"She went home."
Rachel was deliberately silent for the remainder of the lesson, her face hard, but no one seemed to notice. The tears were starting to form. Her eyes moistened and she pinched her palms, determined not to cry. Finn was looking at her with his dopey grin, when he noticed the glare in her eyes he paled, then a deep rose shade, a blush that seeped down to his neck. He let out a weak whistle at something Puck said, like a frightened bird. She wanted to slap him.
Mr. Shue finally ended the lesson. "See you tomorrow everyone."
Rachel stopped in the middle of Finn's path making his way out. Finn looked down at her, his smile was gone. "What's wrong, Rach?"
She couldn't speak. He came up and placed an arm around her shoulder. She punched it away.
"What's wrong with you?"
"It was you. You did this!" She threw the now scrunched up paper in his face and it ricocheted off his brainless head and fell to the floor.
Everyone around them stopped their chatter, or whatever they were doing and listened. Santana picked up the paper and examined it. "How do you know it was him?"
"There's a star on the right hand corner. I have a sheaf specifically custom made."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Rach." Finn said.
"It was you. Why would you do this?" She had no doubt about it. He was guilty and he was gutless. He'd lied to her. "You have been the only one who's used my paper. The only one I've given it to!"
"How do you know it wasn't Quinn? She's been in your room."
"Quinn was the victim of this, you idiot!" Rachel screamed. "If you were going to do something as horrible as this at least use plain paper!"
"Dude," Puck said. "Is this true? Are you dumb enough to go and do something like this?"
Finn's face was distraught, panicked. "I—" He glanced around, not daring to catch anyone's eyes. "It wasn't me."
Rachel slapped him then. Her hand swung so hard and fast she didn't even blink. The slap was like a hammer cracking all over his face. Then there's a gap in what she remembers, because it's like coming out of a deep sleep. Finn stumbled back and she went straight for him again. Puck leapt up to restrain her but she shook his hand away. Finn said, "Rachel, calm down I didn't—" and Santana was pushing him away from her when he got closer. Finn was shouting his pleas and asking her to listen but she refused to acknowledge him. When she spoke her voice did not tremble, however, there was no mistaking the fury.
"I hate you right now, Finn! I can't believe you would sabotage my relationship with Quinn. We trusted you to keep this to yourself. I don't want anything to do with you anymore. We're only associated through glee and I'll be civil with you for the sake of glee but that's where I'm drawing the line."
Puck went to say something to her but she had already turned on her heels and walking away from the scene. She was trembling as she made her way down the hall. She had shamed him, she'd seen it in his eyes. She had humiliated him. Good. That was exactly what he deserved. Her mind was still coming to terms that it was Finn; her first friend, her first boyfriend, her first love. She confided and trusted him, and he betrayed her in the worse possible way. She was glad that she didn't cry. She would never forgive him.
When she reached the bus station, she became aware of how tired she was becoming, of how much energy that had taken out of her. It was like the oxygen had been sucked out of the air by a nuclear blast. She was gasping, heaving; she felt she was being strangled. Her adrenalin stocks had been depleted in about thirty seconds. And now, with Kurt somehow by her side, she collapsed in his arms and the tears finally came.
That fear she was worried about earlier; it was the fear of Quinn leaving her.
•••
July 6th, 2016
Rachel made a prickling sound. She wondered whether she might be sick. She felt herself getting sick. "Finn wouldn't do that."
Quinn fell silent. They were propped on opposite ends of the room; Rachel leaning against the front door and Quinn stood beside the couch, she was watching Rachel sort of goggle-eyed. As Quinn recalled how Finn had outed them to the whole school, the whole thing felt unreal. Rachel was terrified but riveted too, in the grip of something bigger than herself. She felt herself reaching for that time, that calm, sweet place in the future where you laugh at mishaps that so often happened during high school. She knew as soon as she thought it, it was a lost cause. Four years down the track and she hadn't made peace with Finn. Not one of her friends had.
Though Quinn's eyes were wet, she didn't cry. Lifting the story out of herself seemed to require all the energy she had. "It's the truth."
"Why would he do something like that?"
Quinn shrugged, she was worn out. "Jealousy. Who knows what went through his pea brain."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Rachel asked.
"What difference would it have made?" Quinn sat on the couch now, her arms folded.
"What do you mean? It makes all the difference."
"I've just told you the story. What difference has it made? Do you feel any different for him?"
In vain, Rachel tried to push her way clear, but her own thoughts seemed faint beside the vast finality of Finn's act. It whirled like a vortex, dragging every part of her, irresistibly toward itself, swallowing her whole. She couldn't breathe. Finn's absence was suddenly fresh to her as if she'd watched him take a photo of them in that room, a rage of jealousy (or whatever emotion he felt in order to do what he did), turned on his computer, uploaded the image and created that poster, printing out tens of copies. Yet in all this time Quinn had been telling her the story, the reality of Finn's act hadn't really touched her. It was cloaked in a gauze, a terrific flash of light that left in its wake a soft orb.
She glanced up at the clock on the wall, 11:28. "I need to talk to him."
"Rachel, are you insane? It's almost midnight."
"I need to hear it from him."
"I'm telling you the truth. Do you honestly think I would make this up? Do you think all of us would disconnect him from our lives for no reason?"
Rachel opened her eyes and stared out the window. The empty sky made a buzzing noise. The very air seemed full of panic, a tingling whiteness. "I want to know why he did it."
"He's an idiot, that's why!"
"I don't believe he's capable of this."
Quinn took a deep breath, falling into a trance-like state as she felt the reality of the situation. "Rachel. Stay with me."
Those words hurt more than Rachel could have expected. The tears began to fall now, but she couldn't speak. Finally, reluctantly, she looked away and walked out the door. She was feeling dizzy from the act alone.
She hauled her muscles along the pavement, carrying her bag clumsily, past the jeering women, past men who wore resemblance to fathers of her childhood friends, finally bursting from the side street onto a wide boulevard where cars and buses drove merrily past and heat shook the air into streamers. Each time she relaxed the world promptly collapsed into shaking particles; a herculean effort was required just to assemble it sufficiently to walk through, foot after foot. When she reached the curb, she had no idea what to do, which signal she was waiting for, everything a gnash of colors and lights and roaring sound. She stood a long time until she sensed a pause around her like held breath and then she was crossing an intersection and she saw the large hotel building she recognized as the one Finn was staying at.
She made her way across the pebbled area, then she stumbled against something hard, a metal garbage can she suspected, and she entered the building, pressed the floor number on the elevator. Just waiting for it was such agony; a terrible force had gathered behind her like tons of water ready to explode through a narrow pipe. She watched the numbers change rapidly—6, 7, 8, 14, 17, 22—she tried to think of Quinn but what filled her mind was the horrible mistake she was making, the mistake of a lifetime.
Finn broke into a wide grin when he saw her. She was surprised he was still in jeans and a t-shirt. She approached him and he embraced her warmly. He smelt of metal and cars, of a life without her. She didn't feel that slip into happiness, the relief of falling into someone's arms.
"I'm sorry to show up here so late." She said apologetically.
"It's okay," he shrugged good-naturedly. "I wasn't doing anything, anyway. Do you want a drink?"
"Water."
Finn poured her a glass of water. "Here you go." He eyed her suspiciously. "Is everything okay?"
She remained silent. She felt overwhelming pity and despair for him. He was interacting with such puzzlement. "Rachel?"
"Did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"In high school, senior year. You made that poster and hung it all over the school that Quinn and I were a couple. You saw us kissing and you took a photo, then you went home and made it yourself, on my paper, no less." Rachel felt her reserve break, split apart.
Finn ignored her but he was blushing. He was ashamed. She watched him flicker his eyes around the room. "Rachel, it wasn't—"
"Just answer the question, Finn. Was it you or not?"
"Yes. I did it."
Sitting there, with the world drifting around them, she understood what kind of life she would've had with Finn. They wouldn't rise up into the sky like she'd always hoped, the real thing was existing day by day, pay the rent, read the paper. Her career would come first—there was no question about it. To only exist. It felt like a revelation.
He reached for her hand. "Rachel, I'm sorry. I know it means nothing now, I was a stupid kid back then."
"Why?"
"I love you. I tried to explain it in high school but you wouldn't listen to me. We were civil for glee's sake and I approached you whenever I could but Quinn was always there and you always went back to her."
"It was about Quinn?" She gave a humorless laugh.
"No, it was about making you realize Quinn isn't the one for you."
"Finn, it's been years. Why haven't you moved on?"
He shrugged and took his hand away. "I can't. I've tried to. I see you on television and newspapers and I'm reminded of what I lost."
"You never loved me. You loved the idea of me. The idea of me always being there and putting your dreams before mine."
"That's not true," he argued. He turned away, shaking his head. "I would've supported you no matter what."
Rachel opened her mouth to speak but found that she could not; her own astonishment silenced her. Finn began, "It was a stupid thing to do and I regret it—"
"Regret the moment you hung it on the walls or when I figured out that it was you?" Rachel's ears were ringing. She looked at him straight in the eyes, he was now engulfed by a wild surge of anger.
"Why can't you forgive me?" He cried. "Quinn has done worse things to you and you've forgiven her for everything. You go back to her every time. What does she do, Rachel? What does she say to you?" In his voice, Rachel heard the unspeakable weight of the guilt and jealousy he's been holding onto for the past few years.
Rachel shook her head. Some door had opened in her mind, a shaft of light she could move toward. "I never thought you'd be capable of anything like this, Finn. With Quinn, I knew there was always more to the façades she hid behind. The things she did weren't harmless to say the least, but she knew when to not cross the line. Under her ice-queen persona, she had a heart; it was just waiting for the right person to bring out that side to her. But you. You weren't capable of hurting a fly. I don't understand why couldn't just be happy for us."
"Was what I did so horrible that you still can't forgive me?"
"I have Finn." And only speaking these words did the simple truth affect her, the weight of her debt to Finn, her gratitude in making her realize what she wanted. "I have forgiven you. It's not so much that, it's the fact that you knew all along and didn't tell me. Instead you tried to act like it didn't happen at all." She was speaking as much to herself as to Finn. "Maybe we could've had a chance at reconciliation if you had done the right thing from the beginning."
Finn said nothing. She went home.
Thoughts flew in and out of her head as she walked home. Looking at it closely, things weren't that great between Quinn and herself, but there are cuddles, a certain comfortable feeling in the coolness, light smiles, admissions of affection. And there's some laughter into the bargain, along with the touching. Still that intimacy. On the odd occasion, like this one for example, taking the time to examine the degree of their relationship, nothing, it seems, has changed. The same awful struggling for her memories, the scars growing daily over a new incident, something she did wrong, something she did right but can't seem to remember. It was like a constant battle for survival. Her heart swells.
Rachel was shocked to find Quinn perched on the couch when she walked in. She had expected Quinn to have gone home. Rachel grudgingly explained to her the outcome of her conversation with Finn. The truth came so effortlessly, bringing with it such a bolt of delight that she wondered why she had never went straight to the source from the beginning.
"I'm glad it worked out." Quinn said flatly.
"I want to be with you, Quinn. I know what I want now."
All at once, Quinn's defiance crumbled. Her body seemed to fold inward, and she stared at Rachel, speechless with anger and that chilly fear she didn't want to look at head on. Quinn made her way towards Rachel standing at the kitchen table. She took in a sharp, short breath. "I don't know if I want to do this anymore."
Body tensed, Rachel said quietly, "What do you mean?"
"Us, Rachel. I don't want us anymore." The quiet words were full of grief—but something about her response didn't feel right. Before Rachel had a chance to examine it more closely, Quinn grabbed her arm. "I'm not in love with you."
"I'm sorry?"
Quinn gave her a long, measuring look. "I'm not in love with this version of you. I miss—" Her voice began to crack. "I miss the woman I got in the car with the morning of November twenty-fourth. I miss the way you hopped down the sidewalk smiling adorably toward me. I miss the fact that it took you five hours to pack for a weekend trip. I'm in love with her."
Every cell in her body was sending a message to her brain that she was missing something. Quinn was making her read between the lines. Her heart was pounding, a steady thump-thump-thump.
"I can't be with you. I don't know how to deal with this side of you. Not anymore."
Rachel didn't respond. Quinn gently took her hand, willing Rachel to look at her. Rachel finally faced her with moist eyes. After a long silence, Quinn brushed the tears from her cheeks with her fingers, a look of tenderness on her face. Her voice caught as she saw what Quinn's eyes were telling her. "You're in love with twenty-two year old Rachel."
The tears were beginning to fall for Quinn. "For weeks I've done my research, I've read everything possible on retrograde amnesia. There's two of you inside that body right now. Your sixteen year-old self is dominate because your twenty-two year-old self is hibernating. You have these moments where I think you've grown, like that time at Santana's wedding and we were together in the maze. I look at you and I feel so much love my heart hurts. And then you do something childish and selfish, like today. Holding our friends hostage to get what you want, calling me forty times. I told you I was working. Then you run off to Finn and come back to me like it's so easy for me to just fall back into your arms," Quinn wiped her eyes and frowned. When she spoke again, her voice was raspy,
"We're not kids anymore, Rach. I have a plane to catch in five hours and I'm here baby-sitting you. We all grew out of that selfishness we possessed in high school. We learnt to live our lives apart. I can't come running to you every time you have a problem and need me. I can't put my life on hold for you, not this way, anyway. I love you but it doesn't mean you can take advantage of that."
Without speaking, Rachel continued to stare at Quinn for a long time, reliving the moments they spent together and the memory flashes she's had over the past few weeks. Her throat began to tighten, and when she finally does speak, it's shaky, "You stayed with me all those years when we were in high school, working through our issues—"
"Only because our mentality were the same. You were a brat, a diva, you were selfish, but I dealt with it because I was just as selfish and childish as you were. We both didn't know any better. But this, Rachel?" She raised her voice. "This is ridiculous. I don't know how to deal with that anymore. I haven't dealt with it in so long."
"You don't understand," Rachel began. "Waking up and losing five—"
Quinn shook her head to stop Rachel from talking. "I understand all of it," she said weakly. "Maybe at first I didn't, but after doing research I get it. You see Finn and all these old feelings return and you love him like you did in high school, your mentality is stuck in that year. It's not just that, Rachel, it's everything else. I took all my things out a week ago and you continued to call about every problem. You called to complain about our friends. Everything just escalated today.
"I don't want to push you to grow up, you need to do that on your own. But I'm so scared. It's not so much the memories, we can make new ones. It's the age difference. When will you be twenty-two again? When will your brain finally catch up to your body? And what if it takes five years? By then I'll be twenty-eight and we'll have another problem. It's a constant ship of problems one on top of another. I don't belong with sixteen year-old Rachel. That girl belongs with seventeen year-old Quinn. And she's not here anymore."
There was a feeling in the air of hopelessness. Yet even now, in the midst of hopelessness, Rachel wanted more; she was two people, one despairing, waiting to emerge and reclaim her body. Then there was the other, greedy and selfish, overjoyed in the presence of Quinn like a child eating candy.
"I love you." Rachel said without strength.
Quinn was watching her with a slightly crazy look, at the same time she seemed attentive to something else, or someone else. "I doubt that, Rachel. I mean, do you love me as your sixteen year-old self and you feel admired by me? The feeling is new and exciting and I'm older and wiser, or do you love me, love me? Someone you want to spend the rest of your life with?"
Rachel's mind took in Quinn's words, her body gradually gave into the feelings. "I love you. Not Quinn of the past, not Quinn of my memories. I love Quinn of the present."
They stared at each other with the feelings inside of them rolling like ocean waves. Rachel's eyes dart around the room, then up to the ceiling, then back at Quinn, and Quinn's gaze warms her, her mind drifting free.
Quinn managed a tight smile. "And then you go and say something like that and I have faith that this is just temporary and our life right now is temporary and you're still in there."
"I am, Quinn, I mean—your Rachel is."
"I miss her."
When Quinn's lips meet hers, it's a strange tingling sensation she's never felt before. Quinn's not only kissing her, but pulling something within her, deeper than her mouth or throat—from within her heart as if calling for her Rachel Berry, the one she has grown to love. Rachel allowed herself to slip away as their tongues meet and the warmth in her body rises. She becomes a mighty ship in churning waters, strong and fearless, and Quinn is her sails. For that moment, the world is full of wonder.
"I should go." Quinn said, breaking away. "I'm going to Canada tomorrow."
"For what?"
"Interviews," she said drily. "I'm so sick of interviews."
"That's what you get for being a movie star."
"I'm not that big yet."
"Can we still keep in touch? I promise to not bother you regarding every minuscule problem."
Quinn chuckled. "No more disappearing."
There was a change, but not necessarily a change in making decisions to rekindle their relationship. It was a moment when things subtly shifted, when they began to accept that they were devoted to each other, when the point came to not be bitter with the memory loss and the tilt in their lives, but how to adjust to it.
Thank you for your reviews and all that stuff. You're all awesome :)