Just watched Glee, cracked up pretty much the entire time. Great episode. Anyway, I am aware of a similar story floating around, but it doesn't bother me, as long as they keep it different. Here's chapter three, which I couldn't resist posting even though homework calls, hope you all enjoy it.
Her heart seems to pause in its tempo as she steps outside.
She squints and sees ambulances, screeching and honking their horns. In the distance, Shelby Corcoran follows Hiram and Leroy Berry, all three squeezing into an ambulance to be with Rachel. Rachel. Quinn wants to sprint after them, to find out if Rachel's okay. She has to be.
Shelby glances back once, her expression turning horrified, before she gets in the ambulance.
Quinn sees dozens of parents, teary-eyed and hysterical, waiting. She knows that some of them will be waiting forever, because their children will never really leave McKinley.
Quinn hears gasps and rapid exclamations, and stares down at her uniform, utterly disgusted.
"Quinn!"
"Holy Mary, Mother of God..."
"—I'm going to be sick—"
"It's Carrie all over again!" (Kurt, she knows that girlish shriek anywhere.)
Quinn can't face anyone, but knows they're gawking. Everyone's just looking and watching and staring at her—why was she suddenly the center of all attention?—and her skin feels like it's crawling with disappointment and hatred and total shame. She can feel the heavy, warm blood on her and her uniform, like a second skin—it's mocking her, like a tattoo that won't fade entirely—as Jacob's harsh words sting her heart but his blood paints her body like a stain on her soul.
She can taste it too—the blood—it lingers around her mouth and she gags uncontrollably.
Campbell, still next to her, apparently does not understand Quinn's distress.
"Don't worry!" Campbell assures her family and friends. "It's not her blood!"
Mandy jumps the barricade as Quinn quickly keels over and vomits.
"Quinn, Quinn," Mandy breathes as she holds Quinn's hair from her face, ignoring the sticky blood smearing on her hands. Quinn coughs, clutching at the pavement desperately and Mandy can practically sense her sister's humiliation and sorrow. Quinn sits back and her fingers ghost over her abdomen and Mandy knows it isn't all about sickness or fear.
"I care," Quinn mumbles hoarsely. "I do care..."
"Of course you do, kid," Mandy soothes. "Let's get you cleaned up, huh, Quinnie?"
Quinn nods obediently and allows Mandy to pull her to her feet. They're just a ways from the group of anxious glee members, Judy, and the collective parents, who wait impatiently so they can check if Quinn is okay. Judy reaches out to help Quinn but Quinn suddenly stops in her tracks.
"Hospital," Quinn urges, tightening her grip on Mandy's fingers, who winces.
"What?"
"Hospital," Quinn repeats agitatedly, and Mandy remembers she saw Quinn staring after Shelby.
"Oh! You're talking about Shelby Corcoran's daughter?"
Quinn nods as Judy pushes past the others and squeaks at Quinn's appearance.
"All right, let's go," Mandy says (avoiding the humorous fact that Quinn was reduced to one word sentences), pulling Quinn along with her to the rented Lexus, and protesting Judy in their wake. Santana, her hand clasped in Brittany's, turns to the rest of glee club. Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury have already gone for his car, to follow the Fabrays.
"Who's driving?" Santana demands impatiently.
"We have a minivan," Puck offers, as Mrs. Puckerman hands over her keys.
"I'll have my dad bring me," Artie decides. Kurt, Sam, and Mercedes pick carpool with him.
Puck leads Santana, Brittany, Mike, Tina, and Finn in a hasty march to the minivan, while their parents opt to return home, comforted with their children's safety and the day's danger ended. Puck slams the door shut and speeds out of the lot, driving quickly to Lima General. Santana sits with Brittany in the back, Finn in the passenger seat, while Mike and Tina take the middle.
Brittany sighs. "Will Rachel be okay, San?"
"I don't know," Santana answers honestly. "I hope so."
"You like Rachel now," Brittany says, smug. "I know you do."
"She's annoying," Santana mumbles gruffly. "But I don't want Manhands to die, okay?"
Brittany giggles. Santana huffs.
"Are we dating now, Santana?"
Santana thinks over her previous terror and internally admits that yes, she does want a relationship. Their connection runs deeper than a close friendship, even if it started out that way. She doesn't want Brittany with someone else and if she had to redo high school again, including this day, she would because it brought her closer to Brittany. It won't be unexpected to anyone with eyes and their status as Cheerios will protect them, along with Quinn's position as HBIC.
Santana stops that thought in its tracks. She doubts status will really matter anymore after today and Quinn is...checked out of anything at the moment. She nods at Brittany instead, who beams.
"Yes. We're dating now, Britt."
"No more Puck," Brittany warns sternly, poking Santana's arm, as Santana sighs dramatically.
"Fine."
Brittany grins.
Santana smiles genuinely and lets her mind wander to Quinn, wondering how she'll fix that.
Amanda Fabray is a near polar opposite to her younger sister, aside from looks and other quirks. They share the same shiny, jealousy-inducing blonde hair, and similar expressive hazel eyes. They were brought up the same, drilled with religion and Christian values like little mindless soldiers. They possess a similar determination, identical perseverance, and the almost forgotten tendency to trick Russell Fabray into believing he has two perfect daughters that he can show off proudly to his law firm.
The last point is irrelevant. Both girls don't care about their father anymore.
Mandy loves noise, Quinn longs for quiet. Mandy can shop for hours on end, Quinn refuses to.
Quinn dances, Mandy doesn't. Quinn sings, Mandy doesn't.
Mandy is forgetful to a fault, Quinn is retentive to a fault.
"Mandy! Mandy! Wait!" A ten year old Quinn sprinted and nearly slammed into a seventeen year old Mandy, about to leave with her date. Quinn held her hand out, offering Mandy's purse.
"You forgot this," Quinn wheezed. Mandy laughed.
"Thanks, Quinnie."
Mandy usually forgets everything—her license, makeup, schoolwork, but today, today, was different. Mandy won't ever forget today, when all Quinn wants is to forget. Mandy will always remember the sight of her sister, drenched in crimson blood and her eyes haunted with sadness. Mandy won't forget the way Quinn seemed to hold herself; lower, less proud...defeated. She'll always recall Quinn's expression—blank and listless, as if handed a death sentence with a smile.
Mandy has never seen anyone up close with that much agony in their steps.
As Mandy drives to Lima General, turning a quick gaze on her sister, who stares out the window, she wishes she could erase Quinn's near-photographic memory, just once.
Rachel feels like she's floating on air, like an astronaut.
She remembers closing her eyes like Quinn ordered, and passing out.
She eyes her surroundings with interest, as she stands in a lush forest. The sky is hidden by clouds and the canopy above, but it looks close to a storm. She hears something akin to thunder in the distance and shouting, and she wrinkles her nose in distaste. She'll think of that later.
Voices whisper softly in the trees, and she strains to listen.
"...lost a lot of blood, need a transfusion—"
"—unexpected...her friend's quick thinking..."
Rachel walks slowly down a path, stepping over pesky roots and around branches. Her eyes admire the dazzling green and woods around her, and she almost flies like a gazelle through the forest, exploring it. She finds the edge of the trees, and it's too bright for her eyes. She ponders if she should go ahead and investigate, because she can hear amazing music and it's the loveliest she's ever heard before. It's beckoning and she is about to move when she hears a playful laugh.
"Why don't you stay for awhile?"
Rachel tears her eyes from the light just ahead and peers left, seeing a figure in the distance.
"Stay?"
Indecision offers two options: forward or left.
"You'll never catch me anyway," the figure snickers, shrugging, and sprints from view.
Rachel grinds her teeth in frustration—she hates being bested at anything.
Rachel wars with two choices, forward to examine the brightness, it's lovely and warm now and she can hear music...or the hunt, the exhilarating chase after the mysterious figure—she recognizes the laugh and it's distinctly feminine—she wants to know her identity, and the girl is getting further away into the trees every second with an insane belief that she can win, but it's the dashing thrill of the pursuit, isn't it, that gets her excited? The opportunity to beat someone?
(Somewhere in Rachel's brain, she admits that this experience is very, very weird.)
"Rachel?"
"Can you hear me?"
Competition, or curiosity?
Rachel impulsively decides left and runs faster than she ever thought she could and realizes the path curves back into a straight line, and she can see the figure hastening to keep her lead. Rachel breaks into a sprint as the girl ahead is giggling melodically, and it's infuriating—couldn't she slow down for a second and let her win, because Rachel Berry always wins—Rachel speeds quicker and quicker and understands the girl led her backwards toward the voices which get louder but Rachel doesn't realize fast enough and has just enough time to lunge for familiar blonde hair at the finish line when she reflexively opens her eyes.
"Hi, sweetie," Shelby says, smiling in relief as she leans closer from her chair.
Rachel blinks and scrutinizes her environment. She's lying in a hospital bed, and the room is dimmed. The clock reads 4:23AM and she struggles to remember the last time she looked at a clock. The slightly numb feeling in her leg and the clock forces her to flashback to earlier—Jacob, the bullet hitting her and the pain and Quinn's terrified expression—she's panicking and about to scream until Shelby snatches her hand in her own and squeezes it gently, calming her down.
"Rachel, just relax."
"But what happened? What about—the shooting, I—"
"Relax. I'll explain," Shelby insists. Rachel exhales deeply and nods.
"The boy, he shot you yesterday at school. Do you remember?"
Rachel nods again.
"You crawled to the library," Shelby continues, a small, impressed smile on her lips, "I'm very proud of that, Rachel. You took initiative—I mean, who wouldn't in that situation, but that's beside the point—and Quinn, stayed with you and kept you awake until...until it was all over," Shelby added, Rachel noticing her obvious skip over Jacob's demise but didn't comment, "and we got you here just in time. You've been asleep after surgery for over ten hours."
"Where are my fathers?"
"The cafeteria. They were sitting here for so long I suggested they get something to eat."
"Why are you here?" Rachel asks. "Shouldn't you be with Beth?"
"She's with an overnight sitter. I came here because you're my daughter...why wouldn't I?"
Rachel shrugs. "I don't know. I didn't know you still wanted to be my mom."
Shelby looks away, upset, as she organizes her thoughts.
"I wanted to tell you before the shooting happened that I regret my decision. I regretted the day I gave you up all these years and worse, the day I rejected you. The thought of losing you today almost gave me a heart attack...I said that I wanted a baby and that we had missed out on too much together that I didn't really think about what I really wanted. Mr. Schuester messed me up a little. I missed you for so long, I had decided that you being a teenager wouldn't correlate to my position as your mother. But I do want it. Maybe it's too late, maybe your opinion about me has changed. It's not like you need me in your life. I did reject you, so it would be fine for you to reject me."
"Mom—"
"I wanted to apologize as well. I hurt your feelings. I know that being around Beth would be awkward for you, I mean, if you actually decided to accept me again, but I wouldn't mind a teenager to boss around, you know? You're my daughter, no matter what the contract says. If you let me, I can be a parental figure, or just a friend. Your fathers and I have talked and I wanted—"
"Mom!" Rachel exclaims, and Shelby stops, embarrassed.
"Sorry."
"I didn't know you babbled. Genes are fascinating, aren't they?"
Shelby nods apprehensively.
"So...you do want me as your daughter...no seconds thoughts this time?" Rachel wonders.
"Yes, and no," Shelby says. "I was scared and idiotic and with no idea how to handle the situation. Those aren't proper excuses, but all I'm asking for is another chance."
Rachel is silent for so long that Shelby wilts into her seat, about to offer to leave.
"Okay."
"Okay?" Shelby repeats incredulously. Rachel wouldn't be that forgiving, would she?
"Okay."
"Um...great," Shelby blurts out. "Great, that's...great!"
Rachel grins as Shelby hesitantly returns it.
"You can relax too, if you want. That's a yes, Mom. You look very nervous."
Shelby notices the not-so-subtle shift from Shelby or Ms. Corcoran to Mom in Rachel's wording from their previous encounter.
(She likes it.)
Shelby leans on the chair, relieved. "Good. You scared me for a minute."
"I'm always dramatic."
"I can see that. We're very much alike in that way."
They fall into companionable silence for several minutes.
Rachel shifts on her bed, and looks warily down in the direction of her leg. Shelby grins in amusement.
"I know what you're thinking, sweetie. No, they didn't have to amputate your leg."
Rachel huffs her relief. "Good. I can still dance."
Shelby laughs. "Well, are you ready to see your friends?"
Rachel nods and leans up into a sitting position, and Shelby stands.
"Before I wake the first one," Shelby says, gesturing to a sleeping Quinn Fabray on a couch just three feet away, Rachel, surprised, had not noticed before, "I want you to understand that Quinn's had a difficult time. Between the shooting itself and you getting hurt, she's...struggling."
"Struggling," Rachel repeats before it dawns on her. "Oh. Oh. She...saw it."
Their previous cheer vanishes instantly in favor of the issue.
Shelby nods. "Yes. And you didn't see it, nor did you see her afterwards."
Rachel blanches. "I'm guessing horror-movie worthy?"
"Quite."
"I'll help her," Rachel volunteers. "I—we're friends this year...I guess. I'll do my best."
"I don't know, Rachel," Shelby sighs, looking graver than before. "You might have your work cut out for you. I know you don't give up without a fight, but...she's going to have a tough transition period. I can admit from experience that giving up your child is heartbreaking, combined with today...she's had to grow up quickly. The other students at McKinley and your glee club won't understand anything about what she's going through. Even you won't."
"Regardless," Rachel argues, "I'll fix her. I promise you that."
Shelby holds up her hands, accepting Rachel's persistence. "Okay."
She crouches, tapping Quinn on the arm as the blonde dozes. Quinn looks—even from Rachel's vantage point—sad and troubled. Quinn's eyes flutter and she mumbles softly.
"Mom?"
Quinn blinks, confused, and recognizes Shelby, rearranging her expression to apathy.
"Oh, hello, Ms. Corcoran," Quinn greets. Rachel suppresses a snort.
"Rachel's awake," Shelby whispers back kindly. "I'll be in the cafeteria."
As the door shuts, Quinn meets Rachel's eyes and hastens to the abandoned chair.
"How are you?" Quinn asks, suddenly very close and Rachel jumps a little, startled.
"Fine, I'm fine," Rachel babbles, staring at the haggard state of Quinn's normally flawless face. Quinn looks pale and exhausted and her eyes have lost a bit of their shine. She seems to move slower, more carefully than usual, and Rachel wonders why. Quinn settles into her seat, keeping her gaze.
"How are you?"
Quinn grimaces before she can stop herself and Rachel feels guilty.
She watches in frustration and annoyance as Quinn's concern melts into collected stoicism.
How the hell was she supposed to help if Quinn keeps her emotions under lock and key?
"Fine."
"Quinn, listen, I—"
"I'll bring everyone else here," Quinn cuts her off abruptly as she rises, completely removed of her previous warmth and morphing back into Cheerio-Quinn, "since you're awake now."
"Quinn, wait—"
Quinn pauses at the door without turning around, allowing her ears only, not her eyes. Her hazel, exposing eyes were the gates of her feelings and Rachel assumes Quinn looks away to hide. She isn't used to sharing and won't open up easily—she's just not that kind of person, Rachel internally admits—and it's aggravating beyond measure. Rachel fumbles for something to say in this being a rare occasion Quinn will listen to her, an occurrence she can see disappearing soon.
"Thank you. For saving me."
Quinn doesn't move, just exhales loudly.
"You're welcome."
Rachel watches as she turns around only once, looking at the floor instead of Rachel herself.
"I'll always be around to save you."
Before Rachel can reply, the blonde has vanished.
Quinn enters the waiting room, adjusting her expression. She won't give anything away. Ever. Her problems will stay safely in the dark, she decides. She doesn't want to talk about today. And she won't. No one can make her anyway. If they tried—well, she'd go unhelpfully mute.
Her sweats are comfy—Mandy had run home and got them as Mercedes helped her clean up before she snuck into Rachel's room to wait for the brunette to wake up. She sighs. The blood is gone, washed away into a sewer drain, but the invisible, metaphorical blood, the one staining her hands with all of her sins remains, feeding into her guilt and despair. Quinn hides it deep in her heart.
Finn snores in his seat; Mr. Schuester paces distractedly; Ms. Pillsbury is on her cell phone.
Artie is dozing in his wheelchair, while Tina has Mike's head in her lap, both are asleep.
Judy and Mandy carry a soft conversation in the corner, noticing Quinn instantly.
Sam is stretched out across three chairs, with Kurt close by, both sleeping rather ungracefully. Puck has Mercedes using his shoulder as a pillow, while his eyes stare at the clock. Santana is whispering with a drowsy Brittany and everyone awake looks up expectantly at Quinn.
"Hey," she calls.
"How is she?" Mr. Schuester asks. Ms. Pillsbury listens, her head tilted to one side.
"She's awake, she's okay. They have her in a cast after a couple transfusions," Quinn explains tiredly, ignoring his sympathetic look. "Rachel can see all of you now, if you like. Room 268."
The sleepy members are woken up and herded out, following Mr. Schuester. Puck loiters with Santana as Brittany wheels Artie with the group. Quinn gestures backwards.
"You two should go see her too," she says pointedly. Santana doesn't move, as Puck moves closer and lifts Quinn's chin up with his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"How are you doing, Baby Mama?"
"Go see Rachel, Puck," she snarls, slapping his hand away—how dare he, and second, she didn't want his concern, or anyone's—and Puck acquiesces with a sad nod, shuffling silently past.
When it's just Santana, Quinn, Judy, and Mandy left, Quinn plops down into a seat.
"You too," she snaps.
"Don't be a bitch," Santana hisses, mindful of the receptionist and Judy, "just talk to me. Talk to someone about this, Q. Before it destroys you from the inside out. I can see you crashing headfirst into Crazytown and I don't want that happening."
"Don't test my patience," Quinn glares. "I swear, I'll—"
"I wouldn't even threaten my position on the squad," Santana remarks snidely. "That doesn't really matter right now, don't you think? And I wouldn't try to fight me again, we both know you lost. You don't have anything to bargain or intimidate me with, so stop trying. Just talk to me."
"Fuck off!" Quinn yells.
"Quinn!" Judy shouts.
Before Quinn realizes it, she's pushing Santana backwards, tackling her to the floor, and her fists are flying, clawing, scratching, she can barely see anything in her rage—Santana's cries of fury and Judy's screams are echoing in her ears as a punch smashes into her left eye, blinding her—Santana's face morphs back and forth between the fuming Latina and an insane Jacob as Quinn keeps slamming a devastating right hook over and over—and Mandy's restraining her arms as Mr. Schuester holds a flailing Santana back. Quinn breathes heavily as Santana bellows swears in a mix of Spanish and English and Quinn is shrieking nonsense promises of revenge and anger.
"Stop it!" Mr. Schuester thunders, infuriated. "Again?"
"What were you thinking?" Judy screeches, and Quinn struggles against Mandy's grip.
"She's...she's crazy," Santana gasps, glowering. "I—I tried to help..."
"Sure you did!" Quinn sneers. "Just leave me the fuck alone, Santana! All of you!"
Quinn wrestles free from her sister's arms and staggers down the hall before anyone can move.
She ends up in a distant ward, where a scarce nurse wanders by, clipboard in hand. A few raise their eyebrows but the hatred and resentment in her gaze keeps them quiet. She finds a seat on a bench and sits quietly, forcing herself to calm down and slow her brain down. She feels her eye with her fingertips, touching the swelled flesh and sighs deeply. She didn't mean to lose control like that...it just happened so quickly. She remembers the way her heartbeat jumped into a sprint the second she attacked—it was disconcerting and scary and she wants to regret it but can't.
Because in some sick way, she relieved herself of some of the anger and fear that Jacob knowingly left behind. She silently curses him to the deepest pits of hell. That psycho. It wasn't enough. She'll need another outlet to funnel her anger and rage into, some other punching bag if she wants to—
"Are you okay?" A voice questions, and she flinches automatically.
Her good eye focuses on a young boy, innocent and curious, staring with a bright smile so reminiscent of Rachel that she wants to cry and beg profusely for forgiveness—she was wrong, yes, she just needs someone to understand that...she needs Lima to understand her...
The boy waits for her answer as he sits beside her.
"I'm okay," she mumbles, keeping her tone light. He tilts his head in inquiry.
"You have a cut," he say simply, pointing at her face, as if it mattered. "That's not okay."
Quinn cracks a smile at that. "What's your name?"
"George," the boy replies with a shrug. She delights in the straightforward distraction that George presents. He's keeping her mind from Rachel and Jacob and Santana, and that's all she can ask for. He swings his feet, she notices, and he seems not to mind her lack of conversation.
"I'm Quinn."
"That's a neat name."
George keeps swinging his feet and Quinn sighs.
"Why are you here?" George wonders.
Quinn considers thoughtfully, choosing her words with care. She doubts a kid would really need to hear about gruesome suicides and a schoolwide massacre. "A boy from my school decided to hurt a lot of people, and I want to be here to support my friend who was injured yesterday."
George nods, like this happens all the time. Probably on a playground, Quinn muses.
"Why are you here?" Quinn asks. George indicates his own chest with his fist, like a caveman.
"I have a cold or something. Mom said it was nn-nnomina—"
"Pneumonia?" Quinn guesses kindly, and George nods.
"Yeah. I'm getting better though. The doctor said I never got a vaccine. Probably one more night, Mom thinks. They fixed it."
"Then shouldn't you be asleep?" Quinn teases. "I don't think five in the morning is a bedtime."
George haughtily rolls his eyes. "I'm nine years old. I don't have a bedtime."
Quinn raises her eyebrows and George sighs, like he's heard this before.
"Alright, fine. I do have a bedtime. But I couldn't sleep. There," he grumbles.
Quinn grins and playfully musses up his hair, and George yawns with a sleepy smile.
"I should be going," he says. "I hope your eye gets better."
"Nice to meet you, George, and likewise," she returns.
Quinn offers a mock-salute which George mimics, and the boy skips happily down the hallway, vanishing into a room and shutting the door. Quinn smiles to herself and vaguely wonders how children can trust others so easily. His open sincerity and sweetness reminds her a little of Beth. Ignoring the pang of longing in her heart for something she can't have, Quinn draws her knees closer to her chest and leans her head back against the wall, concentrating on not thinking about anything at all.
It's nearly seven in the morning when she moves, and her limbs ache from being stationary so long. She ambles slowly down the hallway, watching as doctors and nurses pay her no heed as they hurry off to do their jobs, muttering complex processes and medications. They have distractions, something to think about. She doesn't.
"Quinn?"
A man scrutinizes her as he comes into her vision, and she dimly recognizes him as Hiram Berry.
"Hello, sir," she says wearily, and he frowns in concern.
Quinn notices in her befuddled state that he's about an inch shorter than her in height. Funny.
"Have you slept lately, Quinn? And what happened to your eye?"
"Not really. And a fight with Santana."
Hiram gestures behind him, regarding her as if she'll drop dead any second. "Would you mind if I checked it out? I work here, and I don't want any permanent damage to happen to your eyes."
"Why not," she mumbles, and follows him into a simply decorated room, sitting on a table.
Hiram examines her swelled, bruised face before offering an ice pack.
"Lucky for you, the punch didn't break your eye socket, you'd need surgery," he comments.
Quinn holds the ice pack without replying, and just nods.
"Would you like something to eat?"
"No, thank you," she lies, ignoring the hunger in her stomach. "May I see Rachel again?"
"Well, actually, your mother is looking for you," Hiram says guiltily.
"Oh. If you don't mind, I really don't want to speak with her or my sister right now," Quinn mutters. "Would you tell them that they can just go home and I'll call them?"
Hiram frowns in disapproval. "I suppose—"
"Thanks!"
She rushes off to Rachel's room before the man can finish, determined to focus on Rachel.
Quinn sneaks in, delighting in the fact that everyone from glee club was gone, except for Shelby and Leroy. The two whisper quietly and look up in surprise when Quinn enters, and freezes, like a deer caught in headlights. She flounders uneasily in the doorway until Leroy finally speaks up.
"Visiting again?"
"Yes."
"Have you gone home, Quinn?" Shelby asks. Quinn bristles irritably, adjusting the ice pack with her hand.
"Did Schuester tell you about—"
"Yes, and I think you should talk to your mother," Shelby suggests.
"I think I'm fine," Quinn snaps. "I don't want to talk to her and I don't have to!"
Shelby opens her mouth to respond when Rachel, woken from a light sleep, moves slightly in her bed.
"I want her to stay," Rachel says, nearly asleep again.
Shelby sends her a warning look but acquiesces, and Quinn walks to the couch and reclines.
"Quinn?" Rachel calls.
"Yes?"
"Promise you'll talk to me tomorrow? About..." Rachel trails off expectantly.
Feeling Leroy and Shelby stare at her, unable to resist Rachel's adorably sleepy question, Quinn sighs in resignation, knowing Rachel won't give up until Quinn admits defeat.
"Sure," Quinn murmurs.
Quinn settles into her makeshift bed, ignoring the inquisitive looks until Rachel yelps suddenly.
"What happened to your face?" Rachel shrieks. Shelby covers a laugh. Leroy tries not to smile.
Quinn blushes. "Um...I jumped Santana—"
"Why, pray tell? What the hell—pardon my language, Daddy, Mom—would you do that?"
"She got me angry?" Quinn offers, more like a question, and a chuckle escapes Leroy.
"We'll talk about this tomorrow," Rachel snaps dangerously, and Quinn shrinks into the couch.
Since when is she Rachel's little bitch? Early summer, her brain yells in frustration. When Rachel somehow infiltrated your thoughts and messed you up?
"Okay," she squeaks, alarmed at the intensity of Rachel's anger, and finds herself agreeing to Rachel's demand. "Goodnight."
The last thing Quinn hears is Rachel's furious mumbling, Shelby's whispers, and Leroy's laugh.