Author's note: I am SO SORRY this took so long to get out to you all! Finals completely took over my life and then I had terrible writer's block. So bad. So many apologies. But this chapter came out better than expected, so I hope you like it! Thank you SO SO much to everyone who's reviewed. And even those that haven't. All the views mean a lot to me as well. I had an idea for the next chapter, so hopefully that'll be out by next weeeeeek...? The next few days are busy. But I'll do my best for before the weekend. :D
...
Quinn lay in bed that night, her mind racing.
She had made out with Rachel Berry for almost two hours that afternoon.
That was the longest she'd ever made out with anyone.
That was the only time she'd ever wanted to make out with someone for that long. Or wanted to make out with at all.
That was probably an important distinction, you idiot, she berated herself silently before groaning and violently flipping over onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow.
Alright. Despite being wildly out of control of the situation, what did you know about it?, Quinn thought to herself frantically.
So she was attracted to Rachel. That wasn't really news - she was pretty sure that had been established when they were ten, even if she didn't really know what the feeling was at the time.
Then there was the fact that she and Rachel weren't friends anymore. They were barely even acquaintances anymore, after what had happened two year previously.
Which was Quinn's fault.
But not really. Rachel had wanted to be with that infantile little brat back then. She didn't even want to be with Quinn.
Even as she formulated the thought, Quinn knew it was a lie.
In the back of her mind, Quinn knew that if she'd been willing to be openly friendly to Rachel, just friendly and nothing else, she would've broken up with Tucker on the spot. She knew it by the way Rachel used looked at her when she thought no one could see, or by the way she always touched Quinn just a little bit more than necessary when they were together. By how when they bought dresses together for their first real dance in sixth grade (Quinn lied and told Santana and Brittany that she went with her mom…she then had her mother drive her and Rachel to the mall two towns over so they wouldn't bump into the two cheerleaders. Rachel didn't ask questions), Rachel's mouth had fallen open slightly and her eyes had widened just a little bit more than necessary before catching herself and quietly telling Quinn she looked simply beautiful.
It wasn't like she hadn't tried to ignore it. Maybe if she'd been able to, none of this would've had to happen. But like all things regarding Rachel, Quinn didn't usually get what she wanted.
She couldn't ignore the way she felt when she caught Rachel looking at her that way. When she wanted Rachel's touch to linger a little bit longer, or the way her face got hot when Rachel had stared at her in her dress and she had to run into the dressing room to hide it.
How she burst into silent tears behind the curtain and had to quickly clear her throat to tell Rachel when she asked that she'd be out in a second when the feelings didn't go away. Back in middle school she still didn't understand what it meant – back then it was terrifying.
But now she did.
She was freaking head over heels in love with Rachel Berry, and there was no way in hell that was going away any time soon.
So much for a relaxing summer break.
...
Rachel had arrived home after her afternoon with Quinn and promptly threw up in the bathroom.
How was this happening?
Although she managed to walk calmly away from Quinn and her backyard with only a slightly wavering smile on her face, as soon as she was out of sight she fled. Her trip home was similar to a certain afternoon in third grade after receiving a similar kiss from a blond girl.
Except this time, her best friend wasn't there to stop her from panicking as she lay on her bed, worn out from the afternoon and being sick in the bathroom for the last ten minutes.
Because she didn't have a best friend anymore.
Quinn had abandoned her years ago.
Rachel promptly slapped herself in the face with a pillow at this realization. She'd worked so hard for so long to get Quinn out of her mind. Not that it had worked, but she'd at least gotten used to the fact that Quinn was no longer a part of her life.
And now what had happened?
Quinn Fabray had grabbed her and pulled her into some bushes to make out.
Even in her head it sounded insane.
Rachel sat up with a start. What if she had made it all up? What if she'd wanted it so badly that she'd imagined it all? What if she was just perpetually insane? Everything, the pool, Quinn's backyard, Quinn's lips…had been complete figments of her imagination created out of a pure need to be with the girl who'd captured her heart years ago…
But she remembered Quinn's hands on her waist. Quinn's fingers in her hair. The way her eyebrow quirked up when Rachel kissed just the right spot on her neck.
Nope. It was definitely not in her head.
And it had been amazing.
But that wasn't the problem. Of course she and Quinn had chemistry – Rachel scoffed at herself, she'd known that for years – but Quinn wasn't about to do anything about that.
Except that she just had.
Why did the one person who she needed to understand more than anyone have to be the most difficult one to figure out?
After considering eating the entire carton of Ben and Jerry's ice cream in her freezer and then probably feeling more nauseous than before, Rachel reconsidered her options. Instead of wallowing in self pity, she decided, she was going to find out if this time was different.
Maybe this time, Quinn Fabray wouldn't be such a idiot about the girl she was in love with.
...
Bbbbbuzzzz.
The unexpected text the next morning made Quinn yelp and knock her phone of the bedside table when she made a grab for it. She'd been laying in bed for the better part of the day thinking about - no surprise - Rachel.
"Quinnie, dear, are you alright?" her mother asked as she was passing the room. "Speaking of which…it's almost noon, were you planning on getting up today at all…?"
"Yes, Mom, I'll be down in a few minutes," Quinn grumbled, halfway off her bed with her arm underneath it searching for her phone. Where the heck did that stupid thing…
Quinn jerked up and smacked her head on the table when the phone suddenly started ringing a few inches from her face.
"WHAT Puckerman," she growled into the phone, rubbing her head and falling back against the pillows.
"Jeez, chill girl, I was just calling to ask if you were still planning on coming tonight. Santana stopped by your house yesterday afternoon on her way home from Brittany's, but you weren't home, and Finn said he tried to call yesterday but you didn't pick up. People were starting to wonder if you were dead," Puck commented.
"No, of course I'm not de– she WHAT?" Quinn sat up with a start before wincing and leaning back again at the shooting pain in her head.
"She…what? Santana went by your house... have you been drinking?" Puck replied, suddenly sounding suspicious. "Without me?"
"No, you moron! Did… did she…see…anything out of the ordinary…?" Quinn tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible. Please dear god tell me you can't see those bushes from my front door.
"Well, now that you mention it, she did say she saw your Mom in her room through that window she always keeps partway open…..wait. Nevermind, that was me," he corrected himself with what sounded like a smirk behind his words.
"Puck. You're a creep. Yes, I'll see you tonight, alright?" Quinn replied with a sigh as she made a mental note to remind her mother to close the blinds more carefully.
"Alright, later." He hung up with a click that hung in the silence, as Quinn once again began to get lost in her thoughts.
Oh, right, the text.
Quinn flipped open her phone, expecting to see an annoyed message from Santana.
Instead, a number she'd long ago erased from her phone but that had been permanently ingrained into her memory hovered in front of her face.
Busy tonight?
Oh, shit.
Quinn cursed every god she could think of as her foot got caught in the sheets in her frantic attempt to get out of bed while simultaneously calling Puck back to say she was terribly sorry (hah) but would not be attending the party that night.
Why?
Because she was pretty sure she had a date with the hottest girl in the world.
...
(sorry for errors! I do my best but un beta'd.)