I run through the slightly crowded hallways of McKinley, colliding with several people but I don't care, I keep on running. Finally I make it to the doors and run straight towards the bleachers, praying that none of the Skanks will be there.

Before I even get there I know that my prayers have gone unanswered. Already I can smell the faint smell of burning Tobacco. They turn around and look at me questioningly, obviously noticing my flustered, out-of-breath form, teary eyes but most of all, my newly appeared black eye.

I stumble over to Ronnie and The Mack, and Ronnie hands me her cigarette without saying anything, obviously thinking I could use one. I'm grateful for the unusually kind gesture and breathe a "Thank you".

I sit there in silence for a moment, taking a few drags and trying to regain my cool whilst Ronnie and The Mack wait patiently for me to tell them what had happened. I really don't feel like talking but I know they won't let this go. If it eases their boredom just a little or gave them an excuse to beat on someone then they'd want to hear it. I hand the cigarette back to Ronnie.

"Jocks," I say. "That Rachel girl was talking to me about some stupid assignment and they slushied us." I don't care to elaborate on the rest, I'm about to tell them that Rachel had made me take my top off and that she had seen my self-harm or the bruise on my face.

"What about the bruise?" Ronnie asks, pointing to the swollen lump that used to be my eye. I frantically empty my imagination in search of a decent, believable lie to tell them.

"It was for the assignment- some stupid drama crap, don't worry, it's just stage makeup," I say, the words coming out a little too rushed but they both nod and hopefully buy it.

The Mack's the next to speak. "That damned Rachel Berry, who does she think she is? If she hadn't have been talking to you, you wouldn't have gotten slushied!" I bite my lip, I can tell where this is going.

"Yeah," agrees Ronnie. "I think we should teach her a lesson. Don't worry Quinn she won't bother you again. We'll take her lunch money instead at break."

"No, really it's fine, I've already threatened her to stay the hell away from me- us. I think she got the message," I lie again, hoping they'll let it drop.

Mack and Ronnie exchange a look. "Whatever, but if she bothers you again, she won't know what hit her. Us Skanks have a rep to uphold and no prancing music geek is going to ruin that by getting slushies thrown at one of us," says Ronnie curtly, probably pissed that I'd taken away her excuse to beat up Rachel Berry.

It wasn't that I didn't when them to bully Rachel; it was that I was scared that Rachel would retaliate and blab about the things she saw. If that got out to the school, what would happen? I'd get bullied for sure and I couldn't handle that in the one place where I go to escape the abuse I receive at home. I had to find a way to make Little Miss Perfect keep her trap shut.

I don't join the Skanks with their plan for obtaining lunch money at break. Instead I make it my mission to find Rachel and tell her to not say a word about what she saw to anyone. Eventually, I slump against my locker in frustration. I've looked in the Library, in the courtyard, in the cafeteria and in nearly every damned classroom but I can't find her.

I'm just about to give up and go join the Skanks when I hear a faint sound. I realise it's music- a piano which is shortly followed up by one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard. It's a girl's voice, so clear and full of energy. I strain my ears to listen more and follow the sound. I come to a halt outside the auditorium doors, the girl's voice louder than ever. I can now recognise the song she's singing- Funny Girl. The voice sounds so familiar, and I'm itching to open the doors and see who it is, but I really don't want to disturb the singer. Finally, my curiosity wins and I inch the heavy doors open ever so gently and slip in as silently as I can manage. I shut the door softly and begin to turn around. The girl is still singing and I'm thankful I've gone unnoticed.

I feel my eyes widen in shock as I realise that the girl with one of the most amazing voices I've ever heard is the irritating little brunette girl I've been trying to find for the past fifteen minutes.

The song finishes and I notice a small group of kids and my homeroom teacher Mr Schue stand up to applaud her. Rachel smiles and bows slightly then hops off the stage to join the others.

"Okay Guys! Rachel, that was as beautiful and flawless as ever," Mr Schue praises her. "We'll meet again in the choir room at lunch and we can talk over a few numbers for the week."

I watch as Mr Schue and the other kids including a guy in a wheelchair- probably the one the Skanks were talking about- leave through the side exit, leaving Rachel leaning against the stage, reading something on a piece of paper. I turn to leave, still slightly stunned by what I've just seen and heard. I still want to tell her to keep it zipped but I'm not going to do it right in front of the band members who annoyingly are still packing their instruments up.

"Quinn," sounds Rachel's voice from behind me. I sigh and turn around to face her. "What did you think? I saw you come in halfway through and-"

"It was good," I tell her, knowing full well that 'good' is a serious understatement but I wasn't about to make her feel good about herself. The band members finish packing and start to leave. Here's my chance.

She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and tugs on the hem of her flowery dress awkwardly. "Listen Quinn, I know why you're here, and honestly I'm not going to say anything but I really think you should talk to someone. You're obviously in a lot of pain to do that to your own body and as for the bruise, I know you didn't run into a door or whatever so-"

"Okay, when you've quite done psychoanalysing me, let me just say, firstly: you don't know a thing about me so stop trying to sound as if you know what's going on inside my head. Secondly: if you do ever say anything to anyone, I swear to God I'll make your life a living hell. What I'm dealing with is my issue, not yours or anyone else's so just forget you even saw anything and we can just go back to disliking each other," I say sternly, never dropping her gaze. Her eyes cloud and I can tell I've hurt her.

I turn around again to leave and open the door before she says, "I don't dislike you Quinn." I pause for a moment but I don't say anything, I just let the door close on her. I walk away from the auditorium, feeling slightly relieved that I found her but as each second passes, I start to realise that the things she said about me were right to some extent. My cheeks heat up, flooding with embarrassment and anger and I suddenly feel stupid and transparent.

I find the Skanks in the bathroom, dunking a dark haired girl's head in a lime scale-stained toilet and flush it on her. "Just give us your money and this can all stop," says Sheila calmly. "Hey Fabray, little help? This little bitch isn't paying up," she spits in the girls direction as The Mack pulls her head up out of the water. She takes a deep breath and splutters before being shoved back under.

I run a hand through my pink, dry hair and budge Mack aside as I pull the girl's head out of the toilet. I can feel the Skanks watching me, waiting to see what I'd do and I realise that this is a test. I shove her against the stall wall, gripping her by the collar of her grey animal sweater. "What's your name sweetie?" I hiss sarcastically about three inches away from her dripping face.

"G-Gemma," she says, gasping for air. I press her up against the wall even harder.

"Well, Gemma, how about you give us your lunch money and you can run out of here and carry on with your boring life? If not, then I guess you better get used to having to hold your breath under water, and if that doesn't work then I'm sure we can get creative," I say bitterly. I hear stifled laughter from the Skanks behind me and I can tell that they're amused by what they're seeing.

Gemma digs into her jeans pocket and with a trembling hand, offers me ten dollars. I let go of her and snatch the money. She flees the bathroom in choking tears and I watch her go, suddenly feeling like an ass for taking my anger out on her.

"Nice job Fabray!" Ronnie says excitedly, slapping me on the back. I smile back weakly and shove the money in her hand. "I knew you had it in you." The words stun me slightly. I didn't. After how my father treats me, I never thought I'd be the one to make someone else feel like I do every time he grips me by the neck or every time he grabs me by the arm, hard enough to leave an agonising bruise. Scared, angry, confused, self-loathing. In that moment that I took my anger out on Gemma, losing myself to the dangerous emotion- I was no better than my father. Sure I hadn't hit her but I know damned well that if she had refused to give me the money I would have done. That person wasn't me and it terrified me and I vowed to myself I'd never make someone else feel like that by my hand. Sure I'd watch if someone else did it, but I'd never again do it myself. I sure as hell didn't want to become 'my father's daughter'.

The bell rings and we leave the bathroom. I break away from the Skanks and head over to my locker to get my things for Psychology. I'm not in the mood to listen to a teacher ramble on about child attachments or research methods right now. I just want to curl up in a ball under a thick duvet and shut the rest of the world out- just like I used to do when I was little.

I reach my locker and see a small piece of folded paper wedged in the thin gap leading into my locker. I can't get at it so I have to open my locker door. The paper's labelled: "Quinn" and I can tell who it's from just by the handwriting. The dot on the 'i' has been turned into a star. I feel something well up and lay heavy in my stomach. Why was I so nervous about reading the note?

Hesitantly I open it. It reads:

Quinn, you're right. I don't know a thing about you but I can tell you're hurting. I don't know why but like you said, that's not my issue. But I really do think you should talk to someone, and seeing as I'm the only one who knows about your habit I'd be more than happy to be a shoulder to cry on- if you ever wanted that is. I told you I don't dislike you and I meant it. I want to help you Quinn, whatever you're going through, I know you deserve better than that.

Rachel aka Man Hands.

I screw the letter up in my hand and slump against the row of lockers, and crumple to the floor as I burry my head in my arms in frustration. I'm aware people are staring as they walk past but I really don't give a shit. What was it about this girl? How could she see through me and make me feel like this? I've always wanted to talk to someone, to anyone, just to let loose and unload every emotion I'd ever endured onto them, let them bear my burden too just so I wouldn't have to go through it alone and in silence, but no one else ever cared enough to let me do that- and now here was this girl, offering to be my emotional punching bag like we were friends. I'd been a bitch to her ever since I joined this school and all she wanted to do was try and be a decent person.

I don't understand Rachel Berry at all, I think to myself.