I stare at myself in the mirror, more specifically my black eye- courtesy of my father. I wince as I start to apply a coat of concealer over the tender, bruised skin. The last thing I want is people asking questions and sticking their noses in places that don't concern them.
I finish covering up my shiner as best I can. I nod to myself. Not too bad, hopefully no one will notice. Even so, I'm thankful- this isn't the worse thing I've ever had to cover up.
I open my bedroom door and listen. Nothing in the house stirs except for the nasally snoring coming from my father's room. I clench my jaw and silently slip downstairs and into the kitchen to grab a breakfast bar being as fast and as quiet as I can so I don't wake my father. Five minutes later and I'm leaving the house and en route to school. The only reason I even bother going is because it's a much better option than to stay at home with my alcoholic, abusive father.
I'm walking on the side walk as cars of all shapes and colours whiz past me, eager to get to where they're going. I wish I still had a car. My dad forbid me to ever have one again whilst I was under his roof after the crash. Not as much for my own safety but for other people's as he told me. I remember the sting that comment left. It was the start of our downfall. He first started out mentally torturing me with little comments like that and I'd soak them up like a sponge, getting all worked up and upset. Then after I began to come to terms with the fact that my father cared more about booze than he did his own daughter, the punches were thrown. The first time he had hit me was after he had called me a disgusting person and I'd replied with 'whatever'. He'd realised I didn't care what he had to say but made damned well sure I'd care about his next move. I remember just sitting there, holding my face in silence, not even daring to cry or even breath noticeably. I thought if I sat as still as possible he'd go away or realise what he'd done and tell me he didn't mean it- but he did. He stood there and watched me with a smug, satisfactory look on his face until he saw the first sign of a reaction leak from my tear ducts.
I shudder at the memory and decided to count the number of red cars as a way to distract me. By the time I get to McKinley, I've counted 78 red cars. I look around and spot The Mack skulking off to our spot under the bleachers. I follow her. All three Skanks are there sharing a morning smoke. I pull one out and head over to join them. They notice me and give me a curt nod.
"Sup Fabray?" Ronnie says.
"The sky," I reply callously, though I don't think she understands as she shrugs and turns her attention back to her burning cigarette.
"We need to get some lunch money off of someone today. I've nearly run out of smokes," Sheila tells us. The other two skanks chirp in agreement and then they all turn their heads to me expectedly.
I've never bullied a kid for their money before, not really my style. I usually just steal it straight from their unattended bags or coat pockets when they're not looking. It's a skill I've come to perfect, like a modern day, female Artful Dodger or something. If I can't get it that way then I chance my old man's wallet but only when he's passed out for the long haul. If he ever caught me stealing from him I'd come off a lot worse than a black eye.
I realise that the Skanks are still looking at me. "Yeah, totally," I say smoothly, as though I do it all the time without a bother. They seem content with my comment and start discussing who they're going to 'beat the crap out of' for their money. They mention a freshman with an excess of cash that he always seems to carry around, a loner girl that spends most of her break times by herself in the girl's toilets and a kid in a wheelchair. I hope they don't pick the last one, I just wouldn't feel right bullying a cripple for money. Then again isn't that what being a Skank is all about? A lack of morals and care for anything other than cigs, alcohol and money?
They eventually decide on toilet girl, probably feeling too lazy to track the other two down. We finish our smokes and head to our home rooms after deciding to collect the money at morning break.
None of the Skanks are in my home room and I don't have a clue where it is, seeing as I skipped it both times yesterday. I feel around at the bottom of my satchel bag, hoping that the information sheet is still crumpled up at the bottom of it somewhere. My fingers brush scratchy paper and I pull out the information sheet. Room 4. Isn't that the English room?
I shrug to myself and make my way to the already familiar room. Students are still flooding in so I'm not late. I spot my form tutor sitting at the desk. He looks in his thirty's, curly brown hair that sits stiffly on the top of his head and the most god awful sweater vest I've ever seen. He looks at the crowd of incoming student and then spots me and beckons me over. I roll my eyes, not caring if he notices or not.
"Quinn Fabray right?" He asks. I nod in response. "Good, well I'm Mr Schuester, or Mr Schue, whichever," He smiles. I just look at him. "Okay well, if you need anything or want to know anything just ask and-"
"Okay I got it," I say, cutting him off through impatience.
"Right then, just take a seat," he says, slightly taken aback by my rudeness. He gestures to the row of desks that have been slowly filling up throughout his little welcoming speech. He returns to his own desk and I scan for an empty seat.
"Oh you have got to be kidding me," I mumble when I see that the only free seat is again next to the brunette girl who just so happens to be in the same form too. She looks up at me as I take my seat and I can pretty much guarantee she's thinking the same thing.
"So your name's Quinn?" she asks, trying to make conversation for some reason.
"Yup."
"Well, I'm Rachel Berry… not 'Man Hands' as you called me yesterday," she informs me.
I roll my eyes at her but before I say anything, Mr Schue cuts in, "Okay, settle down, settle down. I'm going to set you all a home room assignment," he tells us, only to receive an echo of protest. He raises his hands and motions for silence before continuing. "I'm going to pair you up and by the end of the week I want you both to give me a little presentation on something or someone that mutually inspires you both." I groan, along with half of the class. How pointless was this? I get he's trying to get the student body to be more creative and involved but really, no one gives a shit.
He starts naming the pairs and the whole time I'm thinking, Not Man Hands, not Man hands, not Man Hands!
"Quinn Fabray and…" Not Man- "Rachel Berry." Fuck.
I look at Rachel and she looks at me with a forced smile before she starts to babble on about her biggest inspirations. I make it clear I'm not up to dealing with her right now and sling my bag over my shoulder whilst heading for the door, probably leaving her still talking.
I have a free period first thing and I'm sure I heard The Mack and Ronnie say they do too, whether it's an official one I don't know. I'm nearly at the school doors when a hand touches my shoulder making me jump. I spin round and glare down at Rachel.
"Stop doing that!" I yell at her.
"Doing what?" she asks innocently.
"Sneaking up on me all the God Damned time and- ugh, never mind. What do you want?"
"You walked out on me in Home room; I just wanted to let you know that I'll plan the presentation on mutual inspirations for Friday. You like Barbra Streisand right? 'Cause that's our inspiration."
"Yeah, okay whatever." I begin to turn around but I am instantly met by something extremely cold, ragged and…fruity hitting my face, stinging my eyes, shooting up my nose and dripping all down me.
"You just got slushied nerds! WOO!" I manage to open my eyes to see a couple of Jocks high five each other as they carry on with their march down the corridor. I wipe my face ineffectively with my hands and turn to Rachel who also has red slushie stuck in her hair, running down her face and staining her clothes- though I suppose that's more of a favour.
"What the fu-"
"It's because you were talking to me," she says squinting, trying to keep the slushie out of her eyes. "Come on, I'll get us cleaned up," she tells me as she grabs my hand and begins leading me somewhere. I would let go but I can't see, and figure getting this junk out of my face and eyes is the best thing to do right now.
I smell the familiar odour of bleach and disinfectant as Rachel leads me into the toilets. She shoves some paper towels in my hands and says, "Here, wipe your face with them, make sure to get it out from behind your ears too, slushies go sticky!" I could tell she'd had this happen to her a lot and for a split second I felt a pang of sympathy which was replaced by shock when she said, "Take your top off." I wiped my eyes clean and stared at her. "So I can get the slushie out, trust me, I've done this so many times. If you don't get it out now then it'll never come off. You might want to rinse your hair under to tap too; you can dry it with the hand dryer." I sighed and shifted out of my T-shirt, kicking myself for wearing a grey top today instead of my usual black.
I hand it to her and bend to the sink to wash my hair. Luckily, the slushie is only caught in the ends of it. Not that it'd really matter with my hair, anyone would just think I've dyed it random colours. I finish with my hair and head over to the hand dryer. Rachel finishes with my top and is about to hand it to me when her eyes cloud with confusion and shifts to concern as she looks me up and down.
"What?" I bark. Her hand reaches out and touches the bare skin on my stomach, her cold touch from the water making me flinch.
Shit, I think, I'd totally forgotten about the scars and cuts. My face heats up with embarrassment. No one has ever seen them before.
"Quinn, did you-"
"It's none of your damned business!"
She's looking at my face now, her eyes growing even more worried.
Double shit! The slushie had washed away the concealer that hid my black eye. I feel faint and my/ face heats up so much that I think it's going to combust.
"Quinn I-"
I don't catch the rest of what she says, the blood that's pounding in my ears drowns out her voice and I grab my top out of her hands, shoving it on as fast as possible, not even caring that it's terribly damp against my skin. I run out of the toilettes and towards the bleachers, I just need to get away from her.