A/N: If Quinn Fabray was a drug I'd be addicted. Another introspective glance at motives, choices, and shattered dreams.
A skirt that swishes gently can be as deadly as a loaded gun if you know how to use it. A tight ponytail, sharp eyes, a fierce wit and biting tone: all attributes any Queen Bee must possess, all attributes Quinn possesses, all things she wishes she could learn to live without. One day, she promises herself, one day I'll find my Prince Charming and I'll let my hair down and wear all the sundresses I want. Someday.
And she'll never tell anyone but she's had her wedding planned for years, all golden light and pristine crystal and elegance and sunshine. She deserves happiness, doesn't she? She deserves everything.
Her life goes according to plan until Sophomore year, when everything crashes down with a speed and efficiency that rivals every insult she's ever shot at those unlucky enough to deserve them. This Prince Charming is too good for her, too kind and nice and accepting. There's no fire, no passion, and call her a hopeless romantic (or don't, really) but she feels empty and she knows somewhere that I guess I love you too isn't good enough. She shifts her focus, finds someone a little more dangerous, and drops Finn without looking back.
There's something new coursing through her veins now, keeping momentum with the thick hot pound of blood as it rushes through her ears. This boy is anything but a prince, he's anything but charming, and every time her eyes flutter shut she can feel his smirk as it teases his lips. He doesn't act as if she's a bird, fragile and delicate and mysterious. He isn't afraid of breaking her, and maybe that's what she's always needed: someone who could stand up to her. He doesn't pull out her chair and he doesn't hold open her door. She finds him…interesting, at first, interesting and strange and different and a little bit terrifying. (She isn't scared, though. He's never scared her.) She's heard the stories, she isn't stupid; she won't let herself get involved with him before absolutely making sure that Ken Doll Boyfriend will never be the guy she dreams about.
Funnily enough, she isn't completely sure about anything until after their moment passes. She decides yes, I love him, I do, but he's gone now with some overweight Twilight freak, and she'd try to win him back but the creeping thoughts come back and what if I fail? She can't lose to that. She can't. So she goes with what's easy. Now that she's absolutely sure she doesn't want Finn, she needs him. She gets him.
And then.
Losing doesn't come naturally when your skirt swishes gently and your hair is tied up tight. "Once a Cheerio always a Cheerio," explains Santana on one of her rare almost-emotional days, and Quinn's never been so scared in her life.
Beth is gone. Puck is gone. Sam is gone. Hell, even Finn is unattainable. Quinn's never felt so worthless, so hated, so sad and lost and ostracized. No one cares, though. Not anymore. She lost her chance a long time ago, when a whispered I love you was the closest she could ever get to the real thing.
The bottom is a long way to fall from the top.
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