AN: First fic, criticism welcomed and received, let me know what you want!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Title: August 28, 3:30 AM-Automatic Loveletter
Enjoy.
The blond ran out of the dimly lit corner store with a stolen bottle of Bacardi, a Middle Eastern man yelling angry threats at her, and a smirk on her pale face. Yeah, I'm the shi- oh fuck I hear the sirens…She picked up her pace and skidded right into a familiar, dark, alley and waited, catching her breath and allowing the signature noise of the police sirens to pass. Once they were gone, she walked over to a side door of the one of many decrepit, abandoned warehouses aligning the alleyway. She pressed her ear to the door and heard the well-known sounds of loud music and synthesized voices. She opened the bottle of rum and quickly swallowed the burning liquid. She grimaced as the hard liquor went down her throat causing an unpleasant reaction in her empty stomach. She took a few more large swigs, the bottle was near empty now, and tossed it somewhere into the alley before opening the door and heading towards the one place she could forget everything.
She was feeling almost everything now. The bass pounding. The sweaty bodies moving around her in a steady, rhythmic pace. She could see everything too; The lights, the colors; she swore she could see the music too. She ran her scarred and shaking hands through her layered, blond hair and let out an audible, but contented, sigh. She loved when she could feel things, even if it was only brought on by drugs she bought from the burnt out loser in the corner of the club. She hated being so damn numb when she used to know how to be almost happy.
She pulled out a blunt piece of broken looking glass from the sides of her tall, black boots, and saw that her bright hazel eyes seemed out of place with the smeared makeup and hallow, sunken, cheekbones. She figured she was disgusting, insignificant, an abomination, and just a plain nothing, at least that's what "daddy" told her. "It hasn't always been this way," she said to herself. "I used to be normal. I used to be loved, conditionally, but loved, I used to feel things, good things. And the one person that could probably make me feel again is-fuck, stop thinking about her, Quinn." She sighed again, although much less content, and tossed the piece of glass a safe distance from the crowd of people. She absentmindedly began to play with the circular, silver locket around her neck, closing her eyes and allowing the music and drugs to wash over her and make her feel.
Her self-hatred was obvious to anyone who chanced a look at her in the urban, warehouse scene. That didn't stop him though. He was a predator, a wolf, stalking his kill for the night. Her insecurities made her like a wounded animal, easy to catch and then a quick kill. He put on his practiced and perfected grin and sidled up behind her. Immediately, he felt the response. "This is going to be even easier than expected," he thought to himself as he felt her slim body begin to grind into him.
"Wait, someone wanna tell me why I'm doing this? I don't even like boys-wait, yes I do... who am I fucking kidding. I'm so pathetic, I can't even convince myself. And I really need to stop holding conversations in my head." She continued to try to elicit a reaction from her body that would mirror the man behind her's growing moans, which, by the way, were so not hot. She tried and she kept trying but her attempts were pointless. Her body was betraying her. She remembered, even in her drugged and drunken state, that the brain, body, and heart are all connected and if two out of the three don't agree with her choices, then it's out of her control. She continued to dance with the man as she felt his disgusting hands grope her beneath her shirt and ridiculously short skirt. Her mind drifted toward a certain brunette and almost instantly, her body began to react. She pictured that the brunette was behind her, holding her and whispering hotly into her ear. Then, she realized that the hands were too big, too rough, too desperate, not to mention the raging boner pressing into her ass. The man held a beer in front of her face and she accepted almost immediately, even though she had already polished most of a handle of rum off by herself. She gulped down half of the malt liquor, took a breath, and then took a few more eager sips, not thinking of the repercussions.
They continued to dance for about five minutes, to her dismay, and then she felt it. The effects of some sort of drug different to the MDMA she had taken earlier. Shit... Her mind began to fog over, time became irrelevant, her vision went hazy, she felt a rough hand pulling her away from the crowd, and then she blacked out completely.
She woke up the next morning with no recollection of where she was, how she had gotten there, and covered only in blood and a few remnants of her torn outfit barely covering her body. She sat up slowly, pressed her palm to her throbbing forehead, and looked around, realizing she was in an alley not far from her "favorite" club. There were gashes running up in between her legs. Most of the blood seemed to be coming from her lower half but there were a few small...scratch marks? covering her chest and back. She whimpered, absolutely terrified and the noise shocked herself out of her hazy state. Then the pain hit. The aching, throbbing pain in her center, the sore muscles, and her crushed spirit. She could remember nothing from the night before but judging by the state she was in, it was pretty obvious. This was the last straw; the world had successfully done everything to try to destroy Quinn Fabray.
So yeah, next chapter we'll learn about Rachel and what she's up too.