"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"
Chapter 5 - Out of the Fog and Into Mire
Thursday's practice was pretty routine in Quinn's book, despite the fiasco of the last practice. They learned a new Heart song and Puck even found a way to put an original twist on it. Rachel only had to run upstairs to talk to Dad once. Quinn got tons of compliments from both Puck and Rachel for her playing. It seemed like the way a typical practice should run. At the end of practice, while Rachel was fixing lemonades for herself and Quinn, she and Puck sat down at Rachel's keyboard and played a competitive rendition of "Heart and Soul." Quinn had never seen Puck look so much like a little boy. Pure joy was written all over his face and he finally didn't seem preoccupied with being 'cool.' When Rachel returned from the kitchen, Puck packed his equipment to leave, like usual, but promised a "Heart and Soul" rematch. Quinn decided she actually liked him.
When Puck left, she and Rachel found themselves on the basement couch sipping lemonades, like the closing of most practices.
"So." Rachel began, then stopped.
"So?" Quinn's brow knitted in confusion.
"Are you feeling better?" Quinn had been dreading this conversation when she arrived at Rachel's. What with the practice and the piano competition and the compliments, she had nearly forgotten that it could happen after practice ended.
"Yeah, thanks." She looked down, hoping that her lack of eye contact meant that the conversation was over.
"Was it the medicine?" No such luck. She'd have to explain.
"Yeah. The medicine." She could see Rachel fidgeting in her seat, getting herself worked up. She braced herself for a speech.
"I told you that medicine was no good. Something that does that to you can't be helpful, I don't care what it's for. What's it for anyway?"
"Doesn't matter. My mom and my doctor made me go off of it." Quinn took a glance at Rachel, who seemed relieved.
"You make it seem like you didn't want to go off of it."
Quinn didn't respond. She didn't want to have to explain just how badly she needed the medicine. She didn't want to have to explain how the medicine made her feel more like who she was supposed to be. She didn't want to have to explain who she was supposed to be. Rachel stared at her for a while before she realized that she wasn't going to get an answer.
"Why did you get so mad at me when I came into the bathroom?" Rachel's voice was small and concerned.
"I don't remember that," Quinn responded. Truth was, she remembered pieces. Truth was, she could answer that question whether she remembered the event or not.
"Well the shower was going and going and going and I was calling your name but you weren't responding. I figured out the lock on the door and came in and found you kind of face down in the shower and there was blood and then you kind of groggily looked over at me like you were waking up. I screamed. I couldn't help it but you made me so scared. When I screamed, you just looked over at me with this terrible look in your eyes and you yelled at me, 'Get out! Get out!' So I got out. And when you came out of the bathroom it was like you were a zombie. You just walked right past me and got into my bed and fell asleep so that I couldn't wake you." Quinn could see tears springing to her eyes. She thought back to all of the things she should have done differently. If only it had been different.
"I'm sorry," Quinn said as she felt Rachel's fingertips push their way into her sweaty palm.
"Quinn?" Rachel looked up at her inquisitively. "It scares me to say this, but..."
Rachel let a long pause hang in the air. Her eyes searched the room, looking anywhere but Quinn's. Quinn found herself looking longingly into Rachel's dark brown eyes, wishing for a specific ending to that sentence but unable to pin down exactly what she wanted her to say.
"It scares me to say it, but..." Rachel began again. Quinn felt her palm sweat more against Rachel's fingers.
"You're the closest friend I have." Quinn sighed heavily. It wasn't what she was looking for, but she wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for. She just felt a little empty, despite Rachel's major revelation. She knew that she should have felt more. She'd never had a friend say something like that to her.
"Mine, too," Quinn replied.
It was Rachel's turn to take a deep breath. Then, she smiled broader than any smile Quinn had seen since her NYADA audition.
"It's just," Rachel began with renewed confidence and zeal, "I feel like I can talk to you about anything. Anything, you know? Like if I'm having a bad day, or Puck's getting on my nerves, or the Glee Club kids are being jerks, I can tell you. Everyone else makes fun of me, but you never make fun of me."
"Well I haven't yet." Quinn interrupted.
The color dropped out of Rachel's face. Her mouth hung open from being caught midsentence and now from shock.
Quinn then gave a bright smile, brighter than any Rachel had ever seen. Even at the NYADA audtion.
"Just kidding, Rach, just kidding!"
...
Saturdays at Rachel's had become a routine, as well. Usually, Quinn got a little bit of alone time in the basement, wailing away on her drums. Since she'd decided to leave the kit at Rachel's, this was one of the few times that she got to practice on her own. She'd bought a small drum pad for practicing a little at home, but it was nothing compared to the feel of sitting behind her set.
The deafening booms of the bass drum and the high snap of the snare didn't fail to set her heart in motion and her brain on mute. Everything else went silent except for the rhythms she pounded out. She didn't have to think about keeping someone else's time or watching for visual cues from her bandmates. It was just her and her set.
Some Saturdays, she found Rachel sitting on the basement steps, staring down at her. It hadn't bothered her. Not usually. Rachel was quiet and she almost never knew that Rachel was watching until she'd stood up and decided to take a bathroom break or go get Rachel for a jam session.
This time, when she stood, her mind clicked back on. Her heart was still racing, blood pumping through her body. When she stood something felt different. It took a moment to place it. Something was wrong. She stood in place over her throne just waiting. Maybe her heart would slow in a moment. Maybe she wouldn't physically feel the blood flowing through her veins in a moment.
She looked down. Her sweats were bunched at her crotch. She reached down to adjust. To no avail. Her first erection without medication. Her first erection in almost five years. The second erection of her life.
A gasp echoed through the silent basement. Quinn snapped her head back over her shoulder. Rachel's body was quickly shuffling back up the stairs and into the kitchen above.
Quinn felt like crying. Or throwing up. She felt like kicking the whole drum set over and punching the raggedy basement couch so hard that her knuckles bled. She felt like finding a pair of scissors or a knife or anything to cut the dreaded thing off.
Her heart beat at triple - even quadruple - time. She was lost. There was nothing she could do any more. She paused at Rachel's basement outside door for a moment longer, pondering her options. She couldn't think of any. She'd leave her kit. She wouldn't talk to Rachel. And she'd pray that she could show up at school on Monday morning without the angry, disgusted glares of her classmates.
It should have only taken her five minutes to drive home but Quinn found herself taking every back route possible. Once she got home, she'd only have time to think. She didn't want to think. She drove until the gas indicator clicked on, then pulled into her mom's driveway and sank into her bed.
She'd offered up the first prayer of her adult life, simply:
Please God, no.
...
"Where are you?" Quinn had finally picked up her phone after Puck's eighth call on Tuesday afternoon.
It seemed that God had answered her prayers. Whatever she didn't want to happen - whatever that 'no' was for - worked in her favor. There were no disgusted faces. No one taunted her or called her names. In fact, it felt like any other day. Tuesday was the same. Still, she didn't want to see Rachel. Things wouldn't be the same with Rachel.
"Where are you?" Puck said again, angrily.
"Home. I don't feel good, Puck." Quinn put on that scratchy, gravelly voice she'd practiced a few times on her mother.
"You were in school today and you love playing too much to make up some bullshit like this. What the hell, Quinn?" She could feel Puck's anger through her phone. "I'm coming over. You better let me in or you're gonna get a rock through your window, got it?"
He didn't give Quinn a chance to answer.
Not five minutes later, her was pounding on her front door with a brick in his hand.
"Couldn't find a rock," he said as Quinn answered the door. He placed the brick back along the Fabray walkway and walked inside.
They sat on the living room couch, the television on mute and an uncomfortable silence filling the room for the moment. Just as Quinn was about to offer him a drink, he began.
"What the hell, Quinn? No bullshit, what's going on?" His voice had softened since the phone.
Quinn's face felt hot and her foot wore a spot in the carpet as she shook her leg uncontrollably. She couldn't tell him. Rachel obviously hadn't told him. There was no need to tell him. But still...
"I can't see her any more." Maybe that could get her out of it.
"Rachel? You're like her best friend." Puck's voice suddenly got angrier again. "Remember what I told you when we first started this band thing. Don't fuck with her, Quinn. She's too fragile. Don't be a dick. I don't care that you're a girl, I'll get my sister to kick your ass."
Quinn took a deep breath. "I'm...different. I can't explain it. I just know...I just can't see her any more. Sorry."
"First," he'd calmed down a little bit, but she could still feel an angry tinge in his voice, "you don't apologize to me, you apologize to her. Second, you're no different from anybody else. What, are you gay? Everybody's a little gay now, or a lot gay if you're like that Hummel kid. No one cares. Get over it. You're not special."
He looked at Quinn to see if she'd admit to being gay. No dice.
"Are you secretly a NARC? Are you like spying on us? Are you building a case against me? I got out of that stuff, I swear, so that can't be your excuse." He stopped and stared into the distance, heavy in concentration, "I did kinda think you looked a little bit older. But if I ask you if you're a cop, you have to tell me, right?"
He snapped his eyes back on her, checking to see if she'd admit to being a NARC. Nothing.
"What do you got like twelve toes or something? Look, I got a third nipple. It's not that big a deal. Sometimes girls ask me about it but it's cool, you'll be alright."
Quinn wanted to laugh, but he'd hit a little too close to home.
He scooted closer to her on the couch and put his arm around her. "Look, Rachel doesn't care. Believe me. She's the most kind, accepting person I've ever met. I should definitely know cause I've put her through more shit than maybe everyone else at McKinley and somehow she still lets me come to her house on Tuesdays and Thursdays and play in this awesome band with you. She's the greatest person I know and really, at the end of the day, she cares about her career, singing, Broadway, and her friends - long as they don't stand in the way of any of those other things." Quinn looked up and found Puck looking straight at her. "Go see her. She's upset and right now, you're standing in the way of all of those other things."
Quinn took another deep breath and nodded.
Puck had already tapped out of practice for the afternoon. They would have only had another fifteen minutes before he'd have to meet his standing Tuesday fuck buddy.
Rachel's Dad didn't seem to know anything different. He'd greeted Quinn at the door like an old friend, directing her to the basement steps.
Quinn could see Rachel's back from the top of the stairs. She took a deep breath and walked down.
Rachel didn't even turn around to look at her, so she took her usual post-practice seat next to her on the couch. It felt like hours before she'd worked up the courage to say something.
"I'm not like other people, Rachel."
"I don't see how that concerns me, Quinn," Rachel bit back, angrily.
"You're right." Quinn stood to go, anger seething inside. She hadn't felt angry like this since...she couldn't think of the last time she'd felt this kind of rage fuel up inside of her. Rachel was a selfish brat and Quinn wanted nothing to do with her narcissism.
"Stop. Wait. I'm sorry. I just...you hurt me so much by ignoring me. This has happened before. Someone likes me. They come to my house. We have a great time. Then, something happens. Something clicks in them and they realize how annoying I am, or how spoiled I am, or how talented I am. And then, suddenly, that person who I thought would be my first best friend is now my mortal enemy." Rachel looked hard into Quinn, anguish in her eyes.
"I'm not one of those people. I'm not dropping you. You're dropping me."
"What?" Rachel frowned. "I'm confused."
"I'm not like other people and you're dropping me."
"Do I get a say in this?" Rachel asked angrily.
Quinn couldn't respond.
"People don't tell me how I'm supposed to feel. No one ever has. So just tell me how you're not like other people so that I can know and we can keep being friends."
"Wait," Quinn felt her throb through her chest, "you don't know?"
"Know what?" Rachel said, a hint of anger still coming through.
"You didn't see?" Quinn replayed Saturday morning in her head. Maybe Rachel hadn't gasped. Maybe Rachel hadn't rushed up the stairs. Maybe it had all happened in her head.
"I'm..." Rachel began haltingly. Quinn could have sworn Rachel looked down at her lap. She felt a tingling. "I don't know what I saw. I saw something. I just...is that..."
Quinn cut her off before she could say anything. "You think we'll still be friends no matter what?"
"What are you a murderer or something? I mean, we're not going to be friends if you're going to prison. Unless you have a good reason. Do you have a good reason for killing someone, Quinn?"
"Calm down, Rachel. I didn't kill anyone. I..." Quinn's heart sped and her breaths came in short, loud gasps. She erupted into a coughing fit and stood, stumbling to the bathroom to rinse her face and wash her mouth out. Slowly, she sank down onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and covered her face in her hands. The blood rushed to her head as she dropped it between her knees and held her breath. She couldn't be sure how long she'd been in there before her breathing evened out and the rush of thoughts stilled in her mind. She decided for the first time in her life that she'd tell. She'd tell.
Quinn sat back down next to Rachel, who looked like she'd been sitting there for years, not twenty minutes. She glanced at Rachel's face and saw that the girl had pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at Quinn every other moment.
Quinn looked down at a spot on the floor and spoke quietly. "At first, the doctors said I was a girl. I stayed a girl in their eyes for a while. My mom had my name all picked out and everything. It'd be 'Quinn,' same as now. A few months down the road, there was a problem with the sonogram. Some defect. Dr. White was called in. At the time he was some sort of specialist in birth defects. He was supposed to take a look at me and then prescribe my mother something to fix me. Well, he took a look at me and had never seen anything like me before. I guess when he looked at it, it seemed like maybe I had a...a...you know."
"A...?" Rachel hadn't made the connection. Or, if she had, she couldn't voice it. Her brow was furrowed and Quinn could have sworn that she edged closer to the arm of the couch.
"A penis," Quinn whispered almost inaudibly. She refused to meet Rachel's eyes, or even look in her direction. She didn't want to see her reaction. She didn't want to see the look of horror on her face. She didn't want to see her get off the couch and demand her to drive home.
It felt like forever before the static cleared from her ears and she heard Rachel mumble. "Ok."
Rachel reached out seemingly to take Quinn's hand, but pulled back when it was halfway across the couch. Quinn only saw the hand pull away out of the corner of her eye.
"It's just...I don't...I don't know." Quinn ran her right hand through her hair and looked up at Rachel's sad eyes, then broke eye contact.
"I...I don't know what to say." Quinn imagined that had been a first in Rachel's life.
Quinn shook it off. She'd already started. Talking more couldn't hurt, she figured. "So, I had one. But it was really small. He couldn't tell for sure. He said there wasn't any other clear physical evidence about whether I was a boy or a girl. They ran a bunch of genetic tests to determine chromosomes, but all that revealed was that there were abnormalities."
"What did you parents think?" Rachel looked up in genuine concern this time. The words came out of her mouth as thought she had no control, as though it was a genuine thought that had popped into her mind. Her hand drifted across the couch to graze against Quinn's pinky finger.
"I don't know. We don't talk about it." Quinn felt the heat of Rachel's hand, but remained concentrated on the spot on the floor.
"Not even once? Like when you were younger and confused?" Rachel's brow was furrowed.
"I'm older and still confused," Quinn retorted quickly. "Anyway. We don't talk about it. Dr. White won't tell me what their reaction was, so it must have been bad."
"I'm sorry, go on. I didn't mean to bring them up." Rachel covered her hand in earnest now. Quinn's hand felt trapped in the warmth of Rachel's.
"When I was born, I came out and I didn't have a...a vagina. I had this really small nub thing. And...boys have...well...my testicles...they were undescended. So I didn't exactly look like a boy either."
"Like a Ken doll maybe?" Rachel smiled and rubbed her fingers against the back of Quinn's sweaty hand.
Quinn gave a slight smile and looked up at Rachel. "I guess."
"So what happened?" Rachel held her smile for a moment and Quinn felt a stirring inside of her.
"I was Quinn and my parents decided to raise me like a girl. I was a girl at the beginning, I was a girl in name, and there wasn't really conclusive evidence that I was definitely a boy. Dr. White told them that they could raise me however they best saw fit as parents. I think that's what he said."
"I see. So they raised you as Quinn the girl. Are you happy with that?"
"Well it got more complicated."
Rachel noticed Quinn break the eye contact again. "Want to take a break? You ok? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"It's ok. I've just never talked to anyone about this."
"Anyone?" Rachel was shocked. She couldn't imagine a life with so few sharing sessions. She'd been having almost daily "feeling frenzys" with her dads in their wallpapered breakfast nook before school since she was five years old.
"Just Dr. White. But my mom basically pays him to listen to me. I guess it's her way of washing away the sin of not loving your own child." Quinn was staring out down at the carpet again.
"Oh, Quinn." Rachel sat in silence for a while waiting for Quinn to break it. Finally, she realized Quinn wouldn't be the one. "You can tell me anything. You are a wonderful, kind, beautiful person Quinn Fabray."
Quinn shook her head for a while without saying a word. "You don't have to say those things to me Rachel."
"I know I don't. I say them because they're true and you need to hear them."
Quinn felt her stomach rattle up into her chest. Her palms got sweatier and she felt a flush creep over her face. "Thanks," she whispered, looking up into Rachel's eyes.
"Tell me more." Rachel seemed desperate.
"My dad left. Not right away. He stuck around for a while, coming in and out, but I guess he was too weirded out by it all."
"By...?"
"By not being sure he had a son or a daughter. By coming home to find his wife crying about the same thing. By changing my diaper or seeing me run around the house and being confronted by something that's disgusting."
"You're not disgusting. Please stop. You're not allowed to say those things in my presence." Rachel's brows were knitted and her hands gripped at Quinn's shoulders, forcing her eye contact. "Do you understand?"
Quinn was shocked by her aggression. She nodded.
"He left. And my mom shut down after that. I don't know what a mom is supposed to be like, but I know my mom is not a mom. Not sure that makes sense."
"Oh Quinn, I'm so sorry."
"So anyway, most of elementary school, I just had this little thing. I was pretty small. Just a couple inches. I never touched it..." Quinn stared down at her crotch before she noticed that it had drawn Rachel's attention, too. Quinn felt her cheeks heat up and cleared her throat nervously. Under Rachel's gaze, Quinn felt that stirring again.
"Never?"
"Well not really. I had to point it to go to the bathroom, but..."
"Oh." Rachel took a glance down again.
"At around the beginning of middle school, it started to get a little bigger. Just a little though. Like another inch or inch and a half. But I also started to get boobs. Little ones. Dr. White thought it was part of the hormones kicking in. Like a mix of boy and girl hormones."
Rachel's cheeks were red but she pushed ahead with her next question. "How big is it now?"
"Three inches," Quinn whispered, staring at the white carpeting below Rachel's bed.
It took a long time for Rachel to respond. In that time, thoughts raced through Quinn's mind. Why did she want to know? What size was the 'right' size? Had Rachel seen other penises? Would Rachel see mine?
"Ok." Rachel wasn't sure what else to say. She didn't want to say anything about Quinn using it for pleasure because that would make them both uncomfortable. She didn't want to compare it to what she'd heard the average penis size was for men, because she didn't want Quinn thinking that she thought of her as a man. So she just said, "ok."
"Dr. White said that the medicine's probably responsible for the growth in cup size on my chest. They aren't big, but I do look like a girl up top. The medicine also just kind of made sure that it didn't do anything, basically."
"Hmm." Rachel seemed to be replaying Quinn's last thoughts in her mind. "Hold on, what would it do exactly? Is it gonna dance a jig?"
They both laughed and Quinn felt relief that she could have this conversation with Rachel without her being completely weirded out.
"You know, what they do when you get into the teenage years. You know, Rachel."
Rachel sat for a moment, thinking. Her mouth dropped open as she realized.
"Does yours...?"
"Well not on the medicine."
"But that medicine was making you so sick, Quinn. I found you face down in the shower. You could have drowned."
"But they made me be who I wanted to be, too. I don't want this thing. I wish it would just disappear. It's not supposed to be there. It doesn't belong on my body." Quinn was the closest to tears that Rachel had seen all night.
"Oh, Quinn. Come here." Rachel was actually the one who scooted forward on the couch before pulling Quinn into an awkward, seated hug. Quinn felt Rachel combing her hair back and whispering "Shhh" in her ear.
When she felt the tears subside, Rachel's legs were touching her own. The warmth of her body made Quinn sweat more than she felt like she'd ever sweat on any soccer field.
"Would you rather be dead or live with this 'thing' as you call it?" Rachel whispered to her.
"Sometimes I don't know," Quinn replied, staring at Rachel with tears in her eyes.
"Quinn. Don't say that." They sat in silence for another spell. Their legs touching on the basement couch. Rachel's hands once again clasping Quinn's hand, fingers dancing across her palm and the back of her hand. It seemed to her like a few more blonde hairs had sprouted up on the back of her hand since going off the medicine.
"What's it like being off of it?" Rachel whispered, looking again up into Quinn's eyes.
Quinn felt another rush of perspiration and heat and trembling inside.
She cleared her throat and blinked back the tears. "I don't feel sick."
"That's good."
"Yeah, I guess." She didn't want to tell Rachel about the other side effects, but she could tell just by looking at the steady concentration on Rachel's face Quinn knew that's what she was thinking about. She was probably just looking for the exact polite words to ask the question.
"Does it...does it 'do things' now?" Rachel whispered. She was staring down at their hands, clasped together.
The room fell silent except for the whir of the overhead fan. Quinn looked up at the exact moment as Rachel and gave a short nod, before looking away. She expected for Rachel to quickly let go of her hands and escort her down to her car, but Rachel held on. Again, that steady look of concentration wrapped up her mind.
"Are you hungry?" Rachel asked, after what seemed like hours.
Quinn nodded, as their hands finally broke free and Quinn trailed after Rachel down into the kitchen. The rest of the afternoon was like any other afternoon. They ate a snack, did some homework, talked for a while about one of Rachel's various clubs, her forthcoming trip to NYADA for her callback, the band, Quinn's drum kit. By the time Quinn was driving home, it almost felt like the conversation hadn't even happened.
But then, she felt a stiffening in her shorts and the whole talk replayed itself in her mind. By the time she was back in her darkened room, she could practically feel the heat that Rachel had caused within her all over again. She wasn't sure how she'd had the self-control to keep the erection away during their conversation. Rachel was so close. She'd leaned over and hugged Quinn and all Quinn could feel was Rachel's breasts pushing against her own. The smell of Rachel's lotion filling her nostrils. A wisp of Rachel's hair ticking her neck.
Quinn willed it to go away, but thoughts of Rachel kept swelling it further. She pushed her hand beneath her shorts. She'd taken to wearing some of her old soccer shorts now that she was off of the medicine. At times like these, if she was wearing soccer shorts, it didn't feel so restraining. She estimated it had probably grown to about four and half or maybe five inches. If that were to happen at school, she'd be discovered right away.
It reacted to her touch, pulsing. Her hips jutted forward, pushing into her hand. She traced her forefinger and middle finger up the shaft and over the tip, noticing a small amount of fluid that she brushed on her thigh. She ran her fingers back and forth over the tip, feeling her hips press up a little each time.
Her mind went back to Rachel, squeezed up against her, their legs touching. Rachel's eyes looking into her own. She closed her eyes and tried to blink Rachel back. She knew that thinking about Rachel right now was wrong. It was shameful and inappropriate. Rachel's face popped back up as she used her thumb and two fingers to form a ring around her shaft, pulling up. As her fingers pushed down, her hips jutted back up.
She knew that she should feel ashamed. She knew this wasn't right. She knew that even if touching herself was ok (which it wasn't), thinking about Rachel while she did it was a cardinal sin. But it felt too good. She'd lost control. This was why she took the medicine. So she'd never lose control to bodily urges. Here she was, without the medicine and doing just that.
A moan emerged from the pit of her stomach as her fingers stroked faster and her hips rocked with the rhythm. Flashes of Rachel were all that were left in her mind. Eyes. Faster. Legs. Faster. Breasts. Faster. The bed creaked beneath her weight. In the darkness she heard her shallow breathing alternate with low-pitched gasps on every other beat.
She could feel something in the depths of her. Something big. Control was too far gone. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her fingers worked at a fever pitch. The skin of her shaft chafed at the steady, hard friction. The muscles in her legs tensed as she neared.
A loud, surprising moan echoed against the walls of her empty room. Her hips jutted forward a final two, three, four times, pushing hard against her fingers as they concentrated on massaging just the swollen head. The front of her shorts was wet, her fingers sticky. The shame plastered against her shorts as a reminder.
Thankfully, her eyelids felt heavy. Before she could dwell too much on what she'd done and the embarassment she should be feeling, Quinn fell asleep, hand unconsciously still massaging beneath her soccer shorts.