iii. you said you'd stand by me by the end of chapter three; but you were up to your old tricks by chapters four, five and six
It started with Quinn's body shaking. Her body emptying out every single thing that she had eaten that day. It was the fifth time she had retched in the last fifteen minutes and she was surprised that anything was even coming up. The taste of bile almost burned in her throat by time she rolls to the side of the toilet.
Rachel's standing at the door of the bathroom. Her hair messed up with sleep and her eyes red from exhaustion.
Inhale.
"I don't..." This was the third night in a row that Quinn had woken up only to spend the rest of the night sleeping on the floor of the bathroom. Yesterday, Rachel had mentioned that she hadn't been able to sleep.
Quinn hadn't either.
Exhale.
"I don't think I can do this anymore." Of course, her voice had that damn dramatic flare and Quinn hated her more for that in that moment than she did that she was leaving.
She knew she was going to leave.
No one wants to hitch their wagon to a dying horse, literally.
Inhale.
Quinn couldn't say anything, nothing but pull herself up quickly, bile and water that she had swallowed to get the taste out of her mouth splashing in the bowl. Tremors running along her spine.
Rachel was turning on her heel. And Quinn's stomach was still turning. It wasn't just side-effects from the chemo anymore.
OOO
"I always told you she was a bitch."
Exhale.
"You don't like any of my girlfriends." Quinn defended, her fingers playing along the handle of the door, she was staring out. The blur of the buildings far more interesting than that smug look that was planted firmly on Santana's face.
"Maybe if you didn't date such selfish cunts then I would actually like the girls you sleep with...oh, wait, you don't actually sleep with them." Santana's tone had Quinn's fingers tightening around the plastic handle. "Remind me, how long has it been since Rachel actually put out or went down on you?"
Muttering a few comments under her breath that Santana could tell included her name and a few creative thoughts on Quinn's parts. It didn't kill that overbearing "I told you, so" mood that Santana was emitting.
"Was it six or seven months?" Santana continued to prompt until Quinn was sighing and turning her attention to the smirking Latina in the driver's seat.
"Five. It's been five months." Quinn was basically whispering.
Even Santana faltered for a moment, "Wait...you found out you got cancer and she didn't even let her tongue slither sympathetically between your thighs?"
"San..."
Inhale.
"Like...what a bitch. Don't worry, now that you're free, we'll get you laid."
"Santana."
Exhale.
The strobe lights were making her head hurt. This probably wan't the best plan of Santana's that Quinn was bullied into. Her entire shift at work had been spent trying to edit an impossible piece and listening to Santana persuade her into coming to one of the bars they used to frequent when they had been in college.
Sometime in the last couple years, instead of questionable people in leather jackets and ripped jeans who had just an edge of danger, it had been overrun with hipsters and house music.
House music that caused her head ache.
"I'm going home." Quinn was leaning in, her voice leaving her as loud as she could manage but still a whisper to Santana.
"Wait, what?" Santana's eyes had been glued to a brunette's legs for the last half hour as she and Quinn leaned against the bar nursing beers.
Her eyes were hard and meeting Quinn's with that same look she had been sporting all evening that basically just was her trying to figure out what exactly her friend was made from to make her not want to have fun especially considering that the amount of time on earth Quinn had was far limited compared to San's.
Quinn's shoulders fell and she was leaning in a little closer to her friend. The spicy apple smell that was signature to the Latina was assaulting her senses even over the sweaty, beer smell of the club.
"It's just not happening...the whole hooking up thing...and I'm tired."
Quinn was always tired. It was a side-effect of the chemo.
All it took was the look on Quinn's face and even Santana softened.
"Fine." She hissed out, turning to put her bottle down hard on the counter.
"You don't have to leave..." Quinn replied.
Santana's fingers were interlocking with hers, lifting them above their heads and leading Quinn out without another word.
Inhale.
"How does it make you feel?"
"The cancer?"
Sam was shaking his head. Quinn still couldn't get over how young he was, or the way the light filtering into his office made his hair almost look white.
He hadn't appreciated it when she asked if he died it. He was nice. Dr. Evans only widened his eyes and asked what made her think that and spent the rest of the session touching his hair self-consciously.
"No, the break-up."
"Oh."
"Just oh?"
"We broke up." Quinn's eyes were on the ceiling. There was Enya or some new age crap playing in the background because Dr. Evans seemed to think it was a helpful calming tactic. He had stated which class or medical journal he had read it in the first session he had asked her to lay back on the soft and large couch, an unwanted hand meeting her shoulder to calm her.
She wasn't that calm around him. Not when she was asked to open up and talk her about her illness, her life - what was left of it anyway.
"And...that's it? You don't wanna tell me more about it?"
"There isn't really more to talk about, I kinda...knew it was coming."
OOOO
Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. It was coming out in clumps and Quinn was afraid to wear it down. Afraid to see it thinner and deader and her reflection was already scary enough.
The curves she had once hated, a few extra pounds on her hips and thighs...they were gone. Her eyes were looking sunken in. She had always been pale, silky ivory skin that she used to wish would tan...and now that it was taking a grey tint, she would do anything to have that healthy white back.
Another slam of suitcase against the hardwood flooring of her living room.
Inhale.
Santana was moving in. She figured Quinn needed someone. And she was sick of her landlord trying to touch her ass everytime he insisted to she hand deliver her rent.
If Quinn was honest, she'd say that she actually liked the thought of not being alone anymore. Ever since Rachel left it had gotten quiet around the house. Now there was really no chance of quiet, not with Santana and her loud reality shows and laughter. The music that wafted throughout the house even though Santana had only been there for an hour, she had managed to bogart the cd player to have 'moving music'.
"Q! Hurry the hell up in there, I can't make margaritas and unpack at the same time!" Santana's fist pounded on the bathroom door, "To the blender, Blondie!"
Exhale.
"So, you really haven't had sex in half a year?"
Santana's tan feet were propped up in her lap and Quinn was cautiously applying black nail liqueur to her toenails.
"I really haven't." Quinn answered, exasperatedly, this had to be the two hundredth time that Santana had asked that since she and Rachel broke up.
"That's really pathetic, Q, you realize that, right?"
"Stop fidgeting...and yeah, I know pathetic, you've made that point before."
"I could you know...help you with that."
"Your nails?" Quinn laughed, raising a brow, "We both know you always end up with the polish over everything and I'd rather not have a stain on my couch."
"No, not my nails." Santana was rolling her eyes, "The sex. I'd hate to think your last days on earth were spent with self-love."
Quinn's lips parted into a perfect 'O' as she started at her friend in surprised...right before the denial kicked in and she was shaking her head quickly to both sides. "No, no...we can't." Santana had been her best friend since the Latina pulled her hair on day three of kindergarten and called her Barbie. A few minutes later after Quinn had jerked on the long raven ponytail of Santana's they had decided instead of becoming enemies, it'd be better to just go build something together in the sandpit.
There had been times...when both girls had discovered in high school that Quinn's taste ran the gay way and Santana could go either way, which she had until college when an asshole humiliated her at a frat party and Santana vowed that she wouldn't touch another penis as long as she lived. Only Quinn knew how Santana had cried over that guy, how she had thought he had knocked her up and called her a 'lose slut who probably would never figure out who the baby daddy was'...it took a week, but it had been just an irregular cycle and Quinn had held her every night after.
But, Santana was her best friend...and sex was complicating.
"I know what you're thinking, but sex is sex." Santana was leaning forward, "I'm hot, you're hot...-" And dying, but Quinn was thinking what Santana couldn't say. "I got needs, you got needs."
San's feet were sliding off Quinn's lap and she was scooting closer towards the blonde.
"Just let me take care of you." A husky whisper that came as Santana's lips were pressing against the curve of Quinn's throat. Her breath warm on her skin, warm considering everything was colder when you got cancer, or so it seemed to Quinn.
Hazel irises locked onto almost black ones. Tan hands moving to cup pale shoulders before Santana moved to her knees and started to press Quinn back against the couch.
There was a little bit of panic in Quinn. She didn't want to ruin them. Their friendship...but it wasn't like she knew if she was going to live or die, so she moved fluidly with Santana's guiding. "...San..." She breathed, almost warningly.
Which only was responded with a shush from Santana's plump lips and Quinn was laying as comfortably as she could against the couch.
"Just...I can't take your-"
A slender finger was to her lips, stopping her words.
"I know." Santana whispered.
The problem with spinal cancer was that it wasn't always easy for her to be on her back, especially with pressure.
Soon, Quinn's thighs were being spread, Santana was settling as best as she could between them.
A talented tongue and fingers assaulting Quinn's senses. Her nerves narrowing their attention completely and fully to the head of dark hair, curses and sin between her legs. Quinn's breath short and gasping as her inner muscles tightened impossibly around the two invading fingers. So tight that when Santana brought it up later, because she was the kind of person that couldn't not bring it up would remark that Quinn was tighter than anyone she had ever been with. Quinn would blush as she had when she was spread out and wound up for the brunette.
It'd wear her out, three consecutive climaxes all thanks to a swirling tongue and curling fingers.
Santana would demand repayment the next morning when she climbed into Quinn's shower.
Inhale.
AN: Another chapter down, enjoy.
Reviews are love.
