When you're done fantasizing about what your friends are doing, it's late. You're not sure how late because it's dark in your sister's living room and you can't see the clock on the wall. But the burn in you eyes when you blink tells you that it's a few hours past when you should have gone to sleep.
You feel like talking to someone. Scratch that. You feel like listening to someone talk. You reach around yourself feeling for your phone. You find it between the cushions. When you press a button and the phone wakes up, you squint because the initial blast of light hurts your eyes. Seeing that it's almost 3a.m. just makes you sigh. You don't know anyone that's awake at this hour. You tilt your head to the side and wish your sister would wake up.
Finally you give up. She, and her husband, Ryan are sound asleep. You're alone. The sole person awake in this sleepy town. You think about going out for coffee but the only place open this late is the adult video store and you doubt they have coffee. You probably wouldn't go even if they did. You certainly wouldn't drink it.
Then you think about her again. It's become an inevitability. Every time your brain is not focusing on something else it's on her. She's probably asleep, getting her necessary eight hours to give her peek performance. You smile. You have no idea how she judges how she performs because you've never seen anything from her that was less than amazing. You're sure at some point she had a bar or pie chart and multiple graphs depicting her sleep/performance ratio. You quietly laugh into the dark. Even when she's so far away, she makes you feel better.
You pick up your phone. You remember that you're friends with an insomniatic med student. You hope she's asleep because she needs it, but you're almost sure she's not. Just in case she finally laid her head down to rest, you text so you won't wake her up. You up?
The reply is almost immediate, Of course. Immunology test on Friday. What's up? Besides us?
Just can't sleep. Frannie's couch is not comfortable.
You can guess what she's going to say before the text comes back, We have an extra bed.
You roll onto your back and stare into the dark. You remember Rachel's offer. Then Brittany's offer. Now Santana's offering. You don't really remember the last time someone wanted you somewhere that much. Let alone three people. Maybe last Thanksgiving, but that's just because you make the best mac n cheese in town.
Your phone lights up in your hand and you see she's calling you. Before you can say hello she's asking, "Fall asleep?"
"No. I was just thinking."
"About?" she prods.
You sigh and decide to tell her. What's the harm? You know that she knows that the three of them had been dropping hints all of yesterday about how you should stay, "About how you guys want me in New York."
"You want to be here too," she states matter-of-factly.
You wonder if Brittany figured you out and told Santana so you cautiously ask, "How do you know that?"
"Because everyone wants to be here," she adds. You can tell there's a smile on her face. If she knows, she's not telling.
"What do you think I should do?" it came out as more of a sigh than you would have liked.
"Get the fuck out of Lima. Live with us or the superstar." You usually love how blunt she is, but you were hoping to avoid her stating that so obviously.
You're quiet for a moment before asking, "What if I can't cut it in New York?"
"Am I still talking to Quinn Fabray because it sounds like I'm talking to a chicken shit."
That hurt. Yeah you're scared. Yeah the idea of leaving the sinkhole you call home makes you want to hide, but staying makes you want to die.
"Q?" she asks, her voice softer, "Just...give it two weeks. If you don't love it, move somewhere else, but...can you really be happy in Lima?"
No. The answer is no. You know this. Especially if you're alone. "I'll think about it."
"Okay," she says accepting that you will think about it, but something in her voice makes you think she doubts you'll take her up on it.
"Get some sleep."
"Okay, you too."
"Goodnight."
It's been two days. You've spent the last few days numbly moving your stuff into storage and watching your world move in slow motion all around you. Rachel called a few times, but the conversations are always short. She's a busy person after all. Well on her way to becoming Broadway royalty. You continued searching for her on the internet and find that she's scheduled to be interviewed on TV. You set an alarm on your phone so you'll know when it's on.
Right now she's telling you about her pre-show ritual while actually going through it, which keeps you having to stifle laughs. She laughs with you, but assures you that it's entirely essential to her warm-up. Finally she tells you that she needs to get off of the phone because people don't pay $300 a ticket to watch her talk on the phone.
"Have you given any thought to moving to New York?" she asks, "Now would be the most opportune time. I'm going to move into my new apartment this weekend." You can almost see the anxious look on her face.
You smile and toss an empty box down in front of the bookshelf, "I'm still thinking."
"Two weeks," she adds, "Santana said to remind you that you can give yourself two weeks and if you hate it you can move. You're free and single with a job that you can do anywhere. Find somewhere that makes you happy Quinn. Please, please, please, please."
You can't help, but chuckle. You don't say anything until she adds, "I really gotta go. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," you sigh. You don't want her to get off of the phone, but as entertaining as it is no one really shelled out that money to watch her try to make you happy over the phone.
When you hang up, you know she's right. You look down at the picture in your hands. Your Nationals win in glee. Your arms are around Rachel, because you momentarily forgot that you weren't supposed to be friends and you allowed yourself to feel. The glass is cold under your fingers as you trace her face with the tip of your finger. It's a blaring contrast to how warm she is when you're really holding her. You miss it. You miss it so much your arms ache to be around her.
After a deep breath you think what's two weeks to the hell of the 23 years you've been miserable here. Your palms start to sweat because you know you'd made up your mind.
Everyone you knew were friends with in high school besides Puck and Finn got out. You don't want to be them. You don't want to be like Karofsky who still lives with his mom and is working at the adult video store that doesn't serve coffee that you wouldn't drink. You don't want to be them. You want to be Mercedes who is in Columbus studying dentistry. Or like Artie and Tina who are in Seattle, both Seattle U grads, working on indie movies. Or like Sam who is in Austin quickly moving up in the extensive indie singer/songwriter scene.
You swallow your fear, forcing it away. You're not going to be a Lima Loser anymore. You're going to take a page out of high school Quinn's book and do something.
Two weeks. You're giving yourself two weeks to make it or break it in the big apple.
You throw the last of your books into the box. Finn was never much for reading so they're mostly yours. As you carry the box to your car, you glance at the pictures on the wall. You remember that there were times that you were actually happy with him. You don't bother to take down the pictures and place them in the box. He can keep them. You'll grab the one off of the nightstand on your last sweep.
On the way to the car, you find Finn sitting on the front porch steps, his long legs resting on the bottom step. There's an open beer next to him and he doesn't look at you as you pass. He stares hard out into the street watching the leaves tumble with the soft breeze.
You know that even though you're no longer in love with each other, if you ever were, this is still breaking both of your hearts. You're scared out of your mind to be starting over without the safety net that he's afforded you since before you both graduated from McKinley. You're now alone in the world with no direction.
You drop the box into the passenger's seat with a heavy sigh. Once the door is closed, you rest your forehead on the roof of your car. A few tears slip out from under your closed eyelids.
When you look behind you, he's gone. He probably went inside to get another beer or avoid looking at you. You take a deep breath and wipe your eyes, knowing that you only have a few more things to grab.
As you open the front door, Puck's truck rumbles up to the curb in front of your house. He gets out in his stained work jeans and grabs a case of beer from the front seat, tucking it under his arm. He slowly makes his way up the walkway, his eyes holding yours. You watch him as he stops in front of you. He places the beer on the bench you put on the front porch to give it more curb appeal, but never really use.
When he wraps his muscular arms around you a new waves of tears wash over you. You lean into his chest and let out a quiet sob. He patiently rubs your back until you settle down. You sniffle, trying to compose yourself, but don't leave his embrace. You lock your arms around his waist and add, "Take care of him okay?"
"Not a problem," he replies. "We've got huge plans. We're going to drink ourselves stupid tonight."
"Don't forget about strip clubs," you pull away with a friendly smile.
He chuckles, "Babe look who you're talking to. If there's anyone who isn't going to forget about naked women, it's me." He loops his arm around your shoulders, "You gonna be okay?"
You let out a sigh, "No idea."
"What are you going to do?" he asks, concern coating his face, "Where are you going to live?"
You pause, "I, um…I'm moving to New York for a trial period. I'm giving it two weeks and if I don't have a job by then, I'm coming back to live with my sister and beg for my old job back."
"You're going to live with Santana and Brittany?" he slowly nods.
You shake your head, "When they actually have time together they have obnoxiously loud sex. I couldn't sleep there."
He smirks and nods, "She told me."
"You still talk to Santana?"
"No, Brittany," he affectionately rubs your shoulder, "She calls about once a month to check up on me. I have no idea why, but it's nice. So where are you going to be staying?"
You fight a smile. Where your staying is the best part of this harebrained scheme, "Probably with Rachel."
"No way," he smiles, "Rachel Berry?"
You nod.
"When did you decide to move?" he asks, ripping open the case of beer and popping the top.
You shrug, "Um, like two hours ago."
"Really?" he chuckles. You find it funny yourself and you know that some people might think it's crazy, but that's what your life has become. You're miserable and you hate it. You were happy in New York. Elementary logic states that when you're miserable, you move in with the most beautiful woman you can think of and torture yourself with the knowledge that even though you live together you sleep in different rooms and sometimes there's someone else in her bed as well, although you just turn up the music and pretend that there's not.
You lead him into the house. Once inside he walks into the kitchen and finds Finn. You hear them talk for a moment while you linger in the living room. After you peer inside and see Puck toss Finn another beer. You're very thankful for Puck. He's always been the comic relief to the tragedy of your marriage.
You glance at the clock on your phone and know that you need to go tell your mom and your sister what's going to happen. You gather the last of your things and toss them into your car. You walk back inside and see that there's a hockey game on TV and both of the men are sitting on the couch watching it.
"Leaving?" Puck stands up.
You nod solemnly, your eyes on Finn as you hug Puck. Finally Finn meets your eyes and the look on his face physically hurts you. Your stomach seizes and you clench your fists, trying to relieve the tension. "I guess Puck already told you where I'm going." You can tell by the look in his eyes, the extra side of hurt, that Puck told him. "I'll give the lawyer my new address so he can just send what I need there."
He slowly rises off of the couch and for a moment you forgot how tall he is. You've spent three days with three normal, well close to normal, sized women. Brittany's tall, but Finn's a giant in comparison. He steps up to you and envelopes you in a hug. A final hug. Your ear is against his chest and you hear a muffled, "Be careful okay?"
"I will," you assure him.
"Tell Rachel I said hi," he adds as he pulls away. He drops back down on the couch and you nod. Your keys are in your hand. You look down at them and run your thumb over the teeth of the house key. It takes you a couple seconds to get it off of the ring. This feels so final to you. Like you're sealing this chapter of your life. You place the key on the entryway table and let out a deep breath.
You're leaving behind everything that you've ever known to take a stab at happiness. You're scared beyond belief, but part of your is relieved. You don't have to pretend to like your life anymore.
As you walk to your car you book a plane ticket to New York City for the next morning. You love modern technology. Then you check your bank account before you start you car. That should be enough to sustain you for two weeks in the city. You never knew that you'd come to appreciate the lack of frivolous things to spend money on in Lima. Now all you have to do is rationally explain to your mother and your sister that this is a good idea…no a great idea.
"Why New York City?" you mom asks, an hour later at the kitchen table in your sister's house. "If you want a big city, Columbus is so much closer or Cleveland…even Indianapolis…"
"Because mom," you sigh. "I've always wanted to go and I already have somewhere to live and job offers."
"Really?" you sister perks up. She looks sort of bored with the whole speech you presented to your mom. Your mom just looked alarmed.
You nod, "I met some other agents at the convention. They really liked me. And I won't be alone," you turn to your mom, "Brittany, Santana, and Rachel are there."
"Rachel Berry?" you mom asks.
You can't withhold a chuckle. It's kinda cool that your mom is so star struck over Rachel. "Yeah, I'm probably going to end up living with her."
"Really?" you mom looks all that more interesting and you think that if you end up staying in New York, that you're going to have to find ways to keep her from visiting all the time.
"I'm leaving in the morning," you state, having tactfully left that part out for a while. Both your mom and sister look surprised so you continue, "If I get a job within two weeks, I'll come back and get the rest of my stuff."
Your sister surprises you when she comes to your aid when your mom tells you that that's really soon. Your sister points out that you haven't been happy in the long time and this could make you happy and that you need to get happy as soon as possible.
And that is your plan. Get happy.
This plan lands you on a plane that leaves at five a.m. from the Lima airport. There aren't many people on it so you get your choice of seats. You sit by a window so you can watch Ohio disappear. You haven't called any of the girls yet because even though it's six a.m. in New York doesn't mean that any of them are awake yet. Except maybe Santana who is perpetually awake, but six a.m. Santana has never been a pleasant experience.
When you land you gather your meager luggage and hail a cab, still proud as hell that you can get one on the first wave. You rattle off Rachel's address and finally decide that you need to call her. You know you've been putting it off for as long as possible. It's almost nine and she should be up. But it goes straight to voicemail. So you try Santana. Her phone rings and rings and rings before ending up at the voicemail. You take one last stab with Brittany's phone, but end up with the same result. You sigh and hope that Rachel likes surprises.
The drive is long. You're not sure how long, but it's almost ten when the cab driver pulls to a stop…the second time. The first time you made him drive around the block because you're nervous. You were ecstatic to see the lights in the window of her living room on against the gloomy, overcast day, but you realize that this is real now.
As you ascend in the elevator, you wish she had answered her phone. You're probably lucky she's still here. Her new apartment is probably already ready for her.
It takes a few tries, but you finally manage to lift your hand to knock on her door. You're nervous. You're nervous beyond nervous. You want to throw up and jump up and down at the same time. You start to walk off before you hear the metal of the door handle rattle. You turn around and smile, happy that you caught her at home.
Except it's not her. A man opens the door and he definitely isn't David. Jesus Christ how many boyfriends does she have?
He smiles at you, "I'm sure you're looking for Ms. Berry. She'll be right out. I'm her real estate agent. She was just showing me her apartment." He steps back, "Please come in."
You're sure you look flustered and you're embarrassed to show up as she was showing the apartment to another agent. You shouldn't have just assumed that she'd wait for you to make up your mind. Things in New York City apparently do move at light speed. You don't have words until you see Rachel spot you from the doorway of her bedroom.
"Quinn!" she asks running to the front door, "I thought you were in Lima." She practically tackles you up against the back of the front door, throwing her arms around you.
"I was," you nod, suddenly unsure about showing up here, "I was just…I just…" You struggle to find something to say that doesn't make it seem like you flew here with twelve hours notice and came to her apartment to tell her you wanted to sell her apartment and move to the city and be her roommate and her best friend.
Somehow she seems to figure you out. Your luggage that she drags into the apartment must have given you up. A giddy squeal emits from her perfect lips as she closes the door behind you. A smile grows on her face and she looks to the man who she was showing around, "I'm sorry Ben. I don't believe I'll be needing your services anymore."
He looks shocked but tries to keep some dignity, "You have my card if you change your mind."
"Thank you," she tells him and leads him out. She laughs when she gets close to you and pulls you into a hug. "Do you already have your stuff or is to coming later or do you have to go back and get it?"
"I-" Again you struggle for something to say. You really do have a plan, but seeing Rachel again makes your mind stop moving all together and your muscle atrophy and you don't know which way is up. She pulls away and rubs your arm, "Don't worry about it. You just made a huge decision in less than three days. C'min and we'll talk about it."
Her couch was covered in boxes so she pulls you into her bedroom and sits you down. She moved to the headboard and you followed her, so you are both propped up while you sat.
"So are you going to grant me the extreme honor of living with me or are you going to live with the sex-crazed soap opera that is Brittany and Santana's apartment?" she asks with a playful smile.
You laugh at her descriptions and lean your head on the headboard, "If it's still okay with you, I want to live with you."
"Of course it is," she squeals and hugs you. "This is going to be so much fun! And just in time to move into the new apartment." She doesn't pull away from the hug though. She just stays, leaning on your chest.
She smile down at her and softly stroke her hair. She's so perfect. She's so supportive and sweet. You don't know how you survived the last few years without Rachel Berry in your life. Her thin t-shirt gives you the warmth of her skin without the temptation of actually touching it.
You both sit in silence for a while before she stutters out, "Are-are you okay?"
You've been trying not to think about that. You don't really want to remember that you're here with a small bank account embarking on a life that is most likely over your head. But right then, with Rachel everything felt right.
"Quinn?" she asks quietly. She pulls away slightly and she finds your eyes, "Are you okay?"
You realize that you haven't actually answered her yet. You close your eyes when her fingers tenderly massage your scalp and when you open them she's looking down at you with a light smile on her face.
You can't help, but smile back, "What?"
"I know we're supposed to be discussing your feelings and such, but," her grin grows as wide a possible and maybe even a little more than that, "The head cheerleader and two time prom queen is my best friend and roommate."
"That was high school," you're smile falters for a moment before you add, "I'm none of that anymore."
"Oh please," her smile fades a bit and her fingers stop moving in your hair, "Prom queen is forever." She flexes her smile trying to get you to smile again.
It works, but your smile is forced. She seems to realize that and cups your cheek, "Quinn," she takes a long, deep breath, "Your new life starts today okay?" Her smile hits you in the heart with a point that immediately sets your eyes to watering.
It's only a matter of seconds before she has your head cradled against her chest. It has been an emotional mess of the last seventy-two hours and you haven't properly cried for the burial of your marriage and your life in Lima. You don't mean to, but you start sobbing. In front of anyone else, you'd feel self-conscious, but this is Rachel. She just strokes your cheek and starts whispering to you that it'll all be okay. "…I promise."
When you wake up, you're still in her bed. You're not sure how long it's been, but she's gone. You glance at the clock on the nightstand and find that you've been in her room for over two hours. You really want to get out of the bed, but you feel so tired and it's become like a sanctuary for you.
"Are you okay?" her voice is barely a whisper from the door of the bedroom. You look up and nod. As you're making a move to sit up, she swiftly moves to the bed and places a hand on your shoulder pushing you back down. She sits next to you and looks down with a worried smile, "Are you hungry? I'm sure you haven't eaten yet."
You're not really sure that you're hungry, but you nod because you need to get moving before you fall asleep.
She rubs your upper arm and asks, "What do you want to eat?"
"A sandwich sounds good."
She laughs, her loud beautiful laugh that you can never get enough of and runs her fingers through your hair once, "I know just the place." Then she swats your ass and hops off the bed, "Get dressed Miss Fabray, I'm going to take you to what will soon be your favorite place to eat."
You can't move because you're still stunned that she hit your ass. A giggle erupts from deep in your stomach and you push off of the bed. Living with her will definitely be interesting.
After a quick sandwich Rachel has to go to her show, but not before making a copy of her old apartment and new apartment for you. She said she doesn't care if she's late while you two were patiently waiting for the guy at the hardware store to get the keys made.
But she shove her into the first cab that stops because as much as you love that she's willing to be late for you, you know that she hates to be late. She seems reluctant, but promises that she'll come right home after the show and eventually goes, making you promise to go see Santana and Brittany.
After you knock on the door to Brittany and Santana's apartment, it flies open with a , "Go away Br-" She freezes when she sees you. Her eyes are bloodshot and her face is wet. It's only a matter of milliseconds before she crumbles into your arms.
"What's wrong?" you ask, completely thrown off. You think you have an idea what it's about, because all of Santana's drama usually revolves around one person.
After a few seconds of sniffling in the open doorway of the apartment, she pulls back and brings you inside. Once you're both seat on the couch, she forces a smile, "What are you doing here?"
"I'm moving here," you add. You really want to know how Brittany managed to reduce Santana to tears, "What happened with you and Brit?"
She completely ignores your question, "You're moving here? Like New York or into this apartment?"
"New York," you let out a smile and gently stroke the tan skin on her forearm, "What I brought with me is already at Rachel's apartment."
"Two weeks?"
You nod, "Two weeks."
She released a genuine smile and sunk into the back of the couch, "Awesome. I'm glad you're here." She looked at the TV that's off and finally looked back to you, "It's almost three. You need to start calling real estate firms because the sooner you have your job, the sooner I can go back to Lima with you to get your stuff and the sooner my mom will stop asking me when I'm going to see her."
You smile and know she's right, even if she does make it sound like it's about helping her. She always had a way of making things seem like they were about her when she was really helping someone else out.
After a few minutes of talking she finally picks up one of her textbooks and starts reading, practically forcing you to get on your job hunt.
You dig the cards out of your purse. You have a stack of them on the inside pocket of your purse where they've all sat since the day you got them. So you call the first realtor. You remind him who you are which doesn't take much. You apologize that you waited until the last minute to call him, as you pace the length of the living room behind the couch, but he assures you it's okay and that you have an interview spot first thing on Monday. You let out a sigh of relief and fall onto the couch. So you have an interview. Now you need more.
Because Santana looks so intent on her book and you've gotten over your initial fear of calling these firms, you decide to head back to your apartment. You smile when you tell her you're going to back your apartment and she smiles back for the same reason. She gives you a hug and tells you that she'll inform Brittany that you're here. You start to ask about what happened with Brittany and she catches you, shaking her head with sad eyes.
The more interviews the more chances you have of getting a job. Of the twenty cards you got five interviews, which you decide is amazingly good. You're going to have a very busy Monday. So you unpack your bags and lay down on your bed, staring at the ceiling, loving how this is going right now. You don't even realize that you've fallen asleep on your bed until you feel delicate fingers running through your hair and a gently whisper of a song, "Wake up sleepyhead."
You decide that waking up and seeing her first thing is perhaps the greatest thing ever. She's sitting on the bed next you, leaning forward so that the tips of her hair are tickling your collarbone.
She pats your leg, "It's almost midnight and I'm positive you haven't eaten dinner so, I made you a sandwich." She picks up a plate off the nightstand, "I hope you like it. It's my favorite."
You sit up and accept the sandwich, looking it over. "Avocado, mushrooms, and sprouts?" You don't actually care that to you it looks like someone ate a forest with all it's animals and threw up on two pieces of vegan bread. All that matters is that her favorite and you'll try it because she loves it and you love her so by default you love it.
"You're the best," you smile at her and if you weren't holding a sandwich you would hug her.
She grins widely and wrinkles her nose, "I know right?" She stands up and stretches her back, "However, I'm extremely tired so I need you to condense your day into half an hour so I know what's going on with you before I go to sleep."
She never ceases to surprise you with how thoughtful she is. You take a bite of the sandwich and find it surprisingly good. After looking at it for a few seconds and then swallow. You hold up the sandwich and nod to her, "This is great."
"I know," she chuckles and moves around the room looking at the small personal touches you've added, "So your day?" She hops back onto the bed and sits outrageously close to you.
"I can do it in less than half an hour," you pick up your arm because you know she wants to lean on you. You rest your free arm around her shoulders as she rests her chin on your shoulder and slides her arms around your waist, "I got five interviews on Monday. Then I apparently fell asleep in the couch. That was my day. How was your show?"
She ignores your question and squeezes you, "You got interviews? That's awesome Quinn! You'll get a job and we'll be roommates forever!" She pops off of the couch and runs toward the kitchen, "We need to toast."
You take another bite of the sandwich and smile at the thought of being her roommate forever. Of course in your mind roommates means sleeping in the same bed, having amazingly hot sex every night and falling asleep to her whispering how much she loves you.
Your fantasy shatters when she sits down next to you and offers you a glass of wine. She taps hers against your own. "To New York."
"To New York." You decide that you need to caveat that by saying, "I don't have a job yet."
"Oh please," she shook her head, "You are Quinn Fabray. You're brilliant and beautiful and you can do anything. That includes finding a job in the best city ever now toast with me...and do it right. Smile and promise that you'll be my best friend forever."
"Forever and ever." you toast and clink your glasses together.