Return to Sender, Damaged in Transit
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Her head is swimming; she's never gotten rid of Angry Drunk Quinn this fast before. She can't remember how many shots she's had (she's pretty sure Jesse gave her a few extra) and now she's finding it extremely difficult to focus on her surroundings. "We should get a cab," says Jesse as he looks down either end of the street.
"Why?" she asks drawing out the word into a whine. "We walked here."
"Yes Quinn, but standing up wasn't a problem then."
She spins around to look at him. "I feel like I can run a mile. You know I've never really understood why people like Red Bull so much. Now I totally get it – it gives you wings."
"That I'll agree with," he laughs ,"during the lead up to Nationals, Shelby made sure we consumed a cocktail of Red Bull and coffee round the clock. She was kind enough to make it for us herself you know, mostly because we were all on IVs, but also because the proportion of each drink had to be incredibly precise. Too much Red Bull and your heart could stop mid solo; too much coffee and you'd constantly be running to the bathroom between dance numbers. Thrilling stuff really."
"Whatever," she slurs, waving her hand dismissively, "you haven't tried the Sue Sylvester Master Cleanse – guaranteed to make you lose ten pounds and your soul in one week."
He rolls his eyes and drapes an arm around her shoulder; she's not entirely comfortable with it and though her first instinct is to push him away, she decides against it. "Listen, we'll walk until we find a taxi stand okay," he says, guiding her through the now thinner crowd of people.
"Okay," she nods heavily, "because I think I'm drunk."
"You think you're drunk?" he asks, wearing an amused grin.
It's true though. She has never felt like this before; so maybe she is drunk, she can tell that much, but she feels so awake at the same time that it makes her forget she's drunk. Jesse, having stuck to beer, seems to be slightly more sober and is doing the best he can to stop her from swaying too much. The last thing they need is for a policeman to get suspicious. As they walk they talk more, mostly about their exes' many faults and at one point Quinn's pretty sure she mentions something about the rumour that Finn prayed to a sandwich god in hopes of getting to second base.
Jesse laughs about this for almost an entire block.
"What else is on your mind Quinn?" asks Jesse as they keep walking.
She looks up at him and chews on her bottom lip to stop herself from grinning. "It's a secret."
If it was possible for Jesse's ears to prick up, they absolutely would have because she can see he's beyond intrigued by her words. "Tell me," he says, eyes lighting up. She shakes her head and looks away. She's been a tease for most of her life and she's not above using it to screw with him. "I'll trade you, secret for secret," he says, raising both eyebrows suggestively.
Now it's her turn to be interested and she's wondering what exactly he's willing to tell her. Something embarrassing about Rachel? Or even better, something embarrassing about himself? Her mind races to try and actually come up with something that could pass as her own secret. "Okay," she leans in a little closer so she can whisper, "when you egged Rachel I wasn't that upset."
"Then what was your reason for being so hostile?" he asks, smirking slightly.
"Because I had to clean up all that damn toilet paper."
He finally manages to hail a cab and when he stuffs her in, she promptly slumps against the window, finally feeling the alcohol as the effects of the Red Bull wear out. She stares out of the cab and everything is a bright blur that makes her increasingly nauseous so she turns to face him instead. His brow is furrowed and he seems to be deep in thought; she wonders if he's thinking about Rachel. After all he had intended to see her before he met Quinn. She leans her head back in the seat and closes her eyes to stop the spinning.
"Do you think it's bad that Santana took the whole kiss thing worse than I did?" she asks, eyes still shut.
"No."
Quinn opens her eyes to look at Jesse but he's turned away from her, head leaning on the glass of the window. She must have some kind of compulsive urge to be miserable because really, there's no reason for her to bring that up and ruin the night. Her mood takes a turn for the worse and Angry Drunk Quinn comes back in full force when her thoughts drift to Finn. She had been so close to regaining everything at the start of the year, she'd stuck to the plan and then just like that, she'd given it all up.
She'd broken up with Puck as her first step; even though he had said he loved her and they fought a lot less over the summer, something about being around him made her think of the little baby girl she'd held that one night. It happened a little too often and – it was so much easier to cry over a boy.
Quinn had done everything right after that. She'd gotten her body back, literally fought her way back to the top of the Cheerios and started dating the newest popular guy at school – all whilst being on honor roll.
Sam, without doubt, is a great guy and more than anything she wishes she'd had more time – every morning when she'd put on his ring, she'd pray that it would be the day she fell in love with him because he was good to her and good for her. It would've been the smart thing to do. But it scared her, how much he loved her and well, what if one day he just...stopped...and realised he could do better than a cheating ex-babymama? And suddenly there was Finn, single, being a winning quarterback and telling her how he was 'proud' of her. Looking back, she wishes she hadn't set her goals so high at the start of the year; she hadn't intended to try and win Finn back, but when the possibility arose – that she could have him and pick up where they left off, completing disregarding those nine months, that she wouldn't have to think about Sam wanting to leaving her – she couldn't resist.
Kissing Finn was comfortable. And familiar.
Quinn had really tried with Finn. It's probably why everything hurts so much more this time around. Seeing Finn and Rachel made her bitter and angrier than ever before. She had no baby bump that she could talk to even if it couldn't hear her and her conversations with Finn never strayed beyond the 'safe' topics like copying homework, what was for dinner and whether or not he could touch her boobs. Anything else would inexplicably lead back to Rachel. And that always meant more fighting.
The worst part is that, apart from Santana, no one even cares that Finn and Rachel screwed up Nationals. When Quinn had made the Glist, Mr. Schuester was so angry because it 'hurt other people.' Clearly that kiss didn't because he didn't say one thing about it; if anything she knows that he felt pity because, obviously, it must have been so hard for Finn and Rachel to deny their feelings for an entire year whilst simultaneously fucking with everyone around them. Rachel takes Quinn's boyfriend again and again Rachel is the victim.
Quinn doesn't understand it. At all.
Her stomach lurches as the taxi stops, jolting her out of her thoughts – they've parked in front of the hotel. Jesse opens the door and she watches him take a few unsteady steps before he leans on the car to tell the driver to wait.
"Looks like someone's had too much St. James," she says, slurring his last name.
"I've had too much?" He offers her a hand; Quinn takes it and follows him to the hotel entrance. "Do you need me to walk you up?" asks Jesse.
She shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair, thinking of what is the appropriate way to part with him. She'd certainly had a good time, even if the ride back had mostly been in silence, but somehow a simple 'thank you' seems a little lame. His blue eyes watch her intently and he looks as though he's about to say something more.
He doesn't.
"I wish I had danced with you at prom – Rachel's a moron." She doesn't know why she chooses to say it or if it'll even mean anything to him and what makes it worse is that her voice barely comes out as a whisper.
His eyes widen ever so slightly before their expression softens and he gives her a small smile. "Good night Quinn."
She feels his hand slip out of hers and suddenly she has the urge to ask "Good night or goodbye?"
He shrugs, the slight curve of his lips giving him an air of mystery (she's sure he's doing it on purpose), and turns around to get back into the car. Once she's inside the lobby, she sees the taxi drive away – she doesn't even know where he's going. She'd been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn't even asked about where he's staying or when he's going back to Ohio. If he's going back to Ohio. And wait...he didn't even tell her his secret.
Ass.
Apart from the security guards and the receptionist, the lobby is empty and it takes all of Quinn's concentration to get into the elevator without swaying. It's a stroke of luck that she ends up outside the right room. Her body is ready to give out and she has a feeling it isn't picky about whether or not she gets to her bed first.
After about the tenth attempt (the first few consist of her card missing the slot completely), the door handle flashes green and her card is accepted. The lights are off and she sees a dark mass on one of the beds that looks like Santana. Or Brittany. Or Santana and Brittany. She can't tell.
Quinn awakes to the sounds of suitcases being zipped up. She opens her eyes to see what's going on and immediately regrets it; the bright sunlight only serves to make her throbbing head worse.
"Quinn you really should get up, Mr. Schue says we're leaving for the airport in an hour and I don't want you to miss the plane," says a voice she recognises as Brittany. She mumbles an answer and sits up to go to the bathroom. Somehow she doesn't have Santana's boots or t-shirt on anymore – she is only in her jeans and bra. She definitely has no memory of undressing. Her eyes feel sticky and when she looks in the mirror she groans, realising that what she had been dreading is true – she had passed out with her makeup still on.
After washing her face, brushing her teeth and grabbing the first t-shirt she can find, Quinn flops back on her bed and puts on her sunglasses. She should have splurged her mother's money on a new pair, because these ones are awful and barely keep the light out.
The door opens and Santana enters carrying trays of hotel toiletries and complimentary chocolates, biscuits and three-in-one coffee sachets. "Here stuff these in too Britt-Britt," she says, handing the blonde several bottles of shower gel and shampoo.
"I snuck some toast out for you Quinn," says Brittany as she sits on her bag, trying to close it with her favourite kitten pillow peeking out the side.
"Thanks but I don't think I could eat anything right now," Quinn replies shutting her eyes again; even the thought of food makes her feel ill. Seconds later she hears the door slam, causing a sudden spike in the intensity of her headache – when she looks up Santana is giving her a less than sincere smile.
Bitch.
It isn't like Santana doesn't borrow her things for extended periods of time before deciding that instead of 'borrow' she really means 'take' so whatever, she has no right to be pissed. Quinn is busy thanking the heavens that she had had the sense to pack last night when she hears Santana speak again. "Here take these," says the Latina before Quinn feels something smack her in the stomach. Suppressing the desire to throw up, her eyes flicker open painfully and she tries to inspect what exactly has been thrown at her.
Sunglasses.
"But Santana I already have –"
"Shut the fuck up and take them Q."
Not in the mood to argue, Quinn puts on them on without further discussion.
The lenses are darker.
...
Author's Note: Wow, thank you so much for the big positive response to the last chapter! It really means so much. Up next - Quinn's summer. Reviews are love :)