Fifty Words for Forgiveness
*0*0*
Giving Up, Falling Down
*0*0*
On Sunday night, you made the decision you had been dreading since things started to become difficult between Quinn and you. Friday night had left your heart bruised and beaten, and hers so frozen even the depths of hell wouldn't be able to melt it. So really, you had no choice. The answer was obvious.
You were giving up.
Quinn was never going to be the girl on your arm. She was never going to walk you to class. She was never going to kiss you in the hallways. She was never going to go out on dates with you. She was never going to publically declare your relationship. She was never going to love you.
With that and so much more weighing you down, you agreed that it best you stuck to the rule you had set for her. Leave your emotions at the door. That's what you needed to do, and that's what you were going to have to start doing. The second Quinn and you were alone, you were going to have to push out all your feelings, and lock them out of the room, your head, your heart. You couldn't, you just couldn't afford to lose another best friend like you'd lost Brittany.
Although you had tried to do just that on Friday night, you were going to have to try harder. On Friday night, you'd been looking for the girl who used to come into your bedroom, full of laughs and excitement, not the cold and controlled girl who'd arrived instead. You were hoping she'd meant those three words she'd confessed when her guard was down, but Friday night's events told you that was not possible, and never would be.
Therefore, Sunday night was your giving up night, and you formulated a plan for the rest of the week. Anytime Quinn and you were alone, it would simply be about the lust. If one of you wasn't getting an orgasm, it wasn't worth your time. Sex, it had to just be about sex. You could do that. You could most definitely do that. Hell, you did it with Brittany for years. Surely it would be easy to do it with Quinn, too.
So, when Monday morning came, you were ready and prepared. Your mask was in place, perfectly presented for the world to see, and you had locked away any lingering doubts. This was the right thing to do, you were certain of it. Nothing was telling you otherwise. This was definitely the right move.
Heading down the stairs to grab something to eat before heading to school, you heard your mother puttering about in the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, you watched her fuss over the contents in the various pots and pans she had on the stove, then made you entrance.
"Morning," you greeted, smiling as you took a seat at the island in the middle of the floor. Your mother was still oblivious to you, though, and you frowned. She was singing under her breath, flipping the contents of one pan, and clearly hadn't heard you over the sizzling it was creating. Shrugging, you went to say it again and then heard it.
One.
What the fuck was that?
Your frown deepened as you glanced round the kitchen to look for the source of that voice. You found nothing. The TV wasn't on. The radio wasn't on. Your father didn't look to be in the house. You couldn't hear anything. Well, you couldn't hear anything beside that damn pan sizzling and spitting away. Still, the voice had been so clear; too clear. It had to be coming from somewhere close.
"Did you hear that?" you asked, finally catching your mother's attention. She smiled warmly at you and then frowned, shaking her head.
"Hear what?" she asked politely, turning back to the food. The pan that was louder than a fucking spaceship taking off was finally removed from the stove, and you watched as she started to put the food onto plates.
Opening your mouth to explain what you'd heard, you suddenly heard it again, clear as day.
Five.
Okay, seriously, what the fuck was going on?
"That!" you cried, pointing upwards. It sounded like it was coming from a speaker system, almost like one of those announcements at the airport or train station.
Six.
"There it was again! Can you not hear it?" Your mother gave you a worrying look and shook her head, turning down the gas before coming round the counter, towards you.
Fifteen.
"Are you feeling okay, sweetheart? Maybe you should go lie down." Her anxious gaze didn't extinguish as she placed her hand on your forehead.
"No, I feel fine. I just..." you let your sentence hang, waiting. You were not disappointed.
Twenty one.
"That! Can you not hear that?" Maribel Lopez was looking at you with deeper concern and you shook your head, feeling like you were crazy; you weren't. You were not fucking crazy. You could hear someone saying numbers. You were not imagining it.
Twenty seven.
And what the fuck was that about? Numbers?
"I'm going to go," you said, biting at your bottom lip. This wasn't making any sense, and the more you thought about it, the worse your headache became.
Thirty one.
"Santana, are you sure you're okay? Do you really think school is a good idea today? You could stay home, I wouldn't mind." Your mother's frown left you unsettled as you grabbed an apple from the middle of the counter, completely destroying the neatly organised fruit bowl.
"No, it's fine. I have Cheerios practice. Can't miss it." Maribel nodded and watched you carefully as you headed out the kitchen and towards the front door. You tried not to let her reaction get to you, but it was difficult. She honestly couldn't hear it, and that thought was seriously worrying.
Forty one.
Glancing over your shoulder, to see if she'd heard, just one last time, you realised she hadn't. She was still watching you like something was wrong. There was. You were hearing shit, shit she couldn't hear. Could anyone else hear it? Was this like some prank someone was playing on you? Whoever it was would be dead by the time you were done with them. How dare they make Santana Lopez doubt her sanity.
Hoping to find more answers at school, you quickly set off. When you arrived, however, you were met with other mindless idiots trying to park their poor excuses of a car. Some bitch had taken your usual spot, and you were going to key it later so she knew not to park there again, but until then, you had to find somewhere else to park. That meant fighting among the Neanderthals for a good space.
"Move it, jerkoff!" you screamed, flipping off some twat in a Prius. They were blocking a space up ahead that some dickhead on the hockey team was trying to beat you to. You were seconds away from going Auntie Snix on their asses when the Prius finally got out the way.
Lucky for that bitch, you beat the hockey player and your baby was safely parked in what you would call a decent spot. You weren't near trees, so no bird crap; you weren't too close to the playing fields, so no accidental smashed windows or scratched paint work when some knucklehead lobbed a ball too far; and you weren't near any of the teacher's crappy vehicles, so that porno mag on your backseat wouldn't get reported if they walked by.
All of this ended up putting a smile on your face, but it was quickly wiped off with the addition of two words:
Forty four.
You looked round frantically, trying to see if anyone else had heard, but no one seemed as bothered as you. Everyone was making their way towards their friends and the main building. No one looked to have heard what you did. Were you really the only one?
Suddenly feeling vulnerable, you spotted some chick's eyes on you and spat out "freak!" before walking away. She looked hurt by your venom but it was enough to make you feel better about yourself, for the moment. You weren't going crazy. You weren't.
Forty five.
Again, you glanced around, but still, no one was bothered. They hadn't heard it. Only you had. Maybe it was time to rethink that previous statement. Maybe you were going crazy.
There was only one person who could help clear this up. You needed Quinn. She wouldn't judge you for this. Well, that's bullshit, she would judge you, but she wouldn't tell anyone about it. She would probably think you were losing your shit, but maybe you were.
With newfound determination, you pushed your way towards the school, in a rush to find the blonde. She could help you. She would react to it if she heard, and she would be able to shine some kind of light on this messed up situation. You weren't going crazy. No.
Like always, the hallways were packed, and without your Cheerio armour on, you would be getting shoved into lockers like the rest of your peers.
"Out my way, Man-hands." Berry looked at you over her shoulder with disdain but squeezed into her locker a little further, letting you past. You were so close to calling out a thanks, but then remembered you didn't do that shit, and especially not with Berry. God only knows what would happen if you encouraged her.
Forty Nine.
Speeding through the crowds, you made it to Quinn's locker. The blonde had her head buried in it, oblivious to your arrival, as she hunted for her books. A small part of you wanted to give her a fright, but another part was actually glad to see this version of Q, the laidback, 'haven't-quite-put-my-HBIC mask-on-yet' version. For that reason, you stood patiently and waited for her to notice you.
It didn't take long, because well, who wouldn't notice your hot ass leaning next to them?
Quinn gave you a genuinely friendly smile and for once, her mask didn't immediately fly into place. You couldn't work out why, though, given how things had been with the two of you on Friday night. She had been so cold and collected, why was she giving you this unmasked and free moment?
For fuck's sake, you were giving up on her, you couldn't have that gorgeous smile directed at you or those warm hazel eyes burning into yours. You just couldn't. What the fuck was she doing to you? And why of all days did she pick today to leave her mask off? As if you didn't have enough problems already. No, you were just going skitzo. Fantastic timing, Q.
"Hi," you mumbled, fighting a losing battle against the pathetically happy smile you were trying not to return. You didn't want her to know how much she affected you, in the simplest ways, just in case she used it against you, but for some reason you couldn't stop yourself. How could anyone keep their resolve around this girl?
Fifty.
"Hi," she replied, chewing at her bottom lip, holding back her own smile. From the look in her hazel eyes, the unmarred brow, and the relaxed expression, you deduced that she hadn't just heard the creepy voiceover that was numbering things. Well, that fucking sucked.
Closing her locker, Quinn dropped her shoulder against it and shuffled a bit closer to you. You glanced round the hallway briefly and were pleased to see everyone was minding their own business. You'd hate to have to go all Lima Heights on someone's ass before first period.
"So…I was thinking," Quinn began, reaching out and fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist. "Do you maybe want to come over tonight?"
Yes. Yes you did. Hell yes. Fuck yes. Of course you did. Why was she even asking? Was it not obvious? You were pretty sure your nipples had answered her question for you.
Opening your mouth, you went to reply and nothing came out. Frowning, you tried again, but you couldn't even mouth the word. What the fuck was going on? Swallowing, you gave it another shot, and still failed. Nothing. You couldn't speak. You couldn't even form the words with your mouth.
"San?" Quinn asked, her hand having dropped from your wrist, coming round to encase her body. Her eyes were filled with fear, rather than the confidence she was exerting a few moments ago.
Nodding, you tried to make up for the fact that you couldn't speak. You didn't want to freak her out with your inability to communicate, just in case she took it as a sign of rejection. You shot her a reassuring smile and nodded again, relieved when she smiled back. Christ, you had almost messed up.
"Okay then, I'll see you at mine after Cheerio practice." Giving you flirty smile, Quinn took a step back and headed off to first class.
You stared after her like some dopey idiot, the warmth in your chest having broken free, and quickly became lost in the promise of what would be taking place later on at hers and the confusion as to why you couldn't speak. Her mask had been off when she had invited you over, did that mean her mask would be off while you were there? Were you finally going to get the shy and bashful girl back?
God, that would be highly ironic, you thought. The second you give up, the second she starts to return to the girl you fell in love with.
It was at this point that you noticed some freshman leering at you. You had just been standing against Quinn's locker, having watched her walk off, and the little pervert had chosen that time to check you out. Squaring your shoulders, you went to bitch at him, shooting him a foul glare, but instead of hurling abusive Spanish at him, you choked on your words.
You literally couldn't speak.
You tried again, much to his amusement now, and still failed. It sounded like a fucking animal being slaughtered when you tried, each word becoming a garbled mess. You couldn't do it. You couldn't speak. Coughing, you tried once more, and still nothing. The boy's eyes were alight with mirth, and you knew you needed to do something to gain back the cred you'd just lost from this incident.
Hearing the bell ring, you knew you were going to be late to class if you didn't move your ass, so instead of verbally tearing down the freshman, you pretended to lunge at him. That mirth died instantly, and he jumped back into the lockers, a resounding thunk reverberating round the hallway. Smirking evilly, you took great satisfaction the fear that crossed his face as he quickly grabbed his things and scurried away like the pathetic little weasel he was. At least you could still strike fear into the minions when you needed to. That was something.
Words or no words, you were still Santana Lopez.
*0*0*
After first period, you were hoping that this morning had just been some fluke incident. Maybe your vocal cords were tired or some shit like that. Maybe you were sick and coming down with a virus. Regardless, you had rested your voice all lesson, and on your way to your next class, you tested it out again.
First, you tried to mouth the words, failing to do so, which was actually freaking you out. All you could think about was if your body was having some kind of stroke and it was delayed or some shit. You weren't a doctor, you didn't know, but apparently, your face in the bathroom mirror hadn't fallen on one side and you looked fine.
Frowning, you tried to say some words, watching as your mouthed moved to form them. You would get so close and then your mouth would just freeze. Majority of the time, the words didn't make a sound in your throat, but on the odd occasion, if you put enough effort into it, you would garble out some massacre.
It was fucking awful.
No matter how long you stood there and tried, nothing happened. It was useless. Swallowing nervously, you fought the fear creeping up your spine, and tried to put your perfect mask back in place before leaving the bathroom. You were scared, you didn't want to admit it, but you were.
Why the fuck couldn't you say anything?
Quickly making your way to your next class, you tried to keep your head down. If you couldn't say anything, then you had to avoid confrontations or situations where you would be required to speak. Until you knew exactly what the hell you were dealing with, it was best to just keep your eyes to yourself and your mouth closed.
All this, however, was easier said than done.
In third period, you were called upon, but you couldn't get a single word to leave your mouth. In the end, you had to shrug like you didn't know the answer, but you did. You knew it, and you couldn't say it. In fact, you still couldn't say anything.
The teacher looked at you like you were an idiot and bitched you out for not answering her when she spoke to you, and your classmates were surprised you took such a tongue-lashing. It was fucking awful.
Your reputation was taking such a fucking hit, and you couldn't do a damn thing about it. Resigned to the fact you weren't able to speak, you stopped trying. A small part of you, a tiny, miniscule, part of you knew this wasn't medical related, but that was one avenue you weren't willing to ignore.
At lunch, you avoided the cafeteria, and instead, you sent a text to your father, asking to come see him at his office. You knew his medical degree would come in handy someday. So grabbing your shit, you went to his clinic on the other side of town and sat patiently in the waiting room.
It only took a few moments before he ushered you into his office, and promptly asked what was wrong. Trying to speak, hoping beyond all hope words would suddenly be heard, you went to explain, and failed. Your father just sat across from you, frowning in confusion.
It was no use, you still couldn't fucking speak, so had to grab a pen and scribble out what was wrong.
I've lost my voice. I can't speak.
Taking the note from your hand, you watched as his eyebrows rose in question, and a small smile formed on his lips. Glaring at him, because of course he found this funny, you sunk back into your chair and let him have his enjoyment.
"I'm sorry, mija," Tomás Lopez chuckled, shaking his head. "Normally you're screaming and shouting, so at least allow me this short reprieve before you start up again. Now, take a seat on the bed and I'll have a look at your throat."
Ignoring his boyish grin, you hopped over onto the bed and watched him gather the equipment he'd need. No doubt he was going to call your mother after this and the two of them would have a royal laugh at your expense. Seriously, parents, what the fuck was up with them?
Much to your distaste, your father couldn't see any reason why you couldn't speak, and therefore didn't see the need to give you any antibiotics or treatment. You weren't suffering from a sore throat, a cough, or exhibiting any signs at the back of your mouth to suggest something was untoward. Everything looked perfectly healthy.
"I suggest you rest your voice as much as you can, and hopefully it'll return soon. If you're still struggling to talk by the end of the week, we'll get another doctor to check you over and make a referral. Okay?"
Nodding you slipped off the examination bed and grabbed your notepad to write him another note. It really wasn't his fault he couldn't see anything wrong with you, and he had made an effort, so you bit back the angry growl waiting to slip out and handed him over the bit of paper.
Thanks for trying.
"No thanks needed. Here, you'll need a note to explain why you're late to class. See you this evening." Your father gave you a reassuring smile and signed one of his doctor's notes for you. Accepting it with a smile, you tucked it in your bag and then rounded the desk to give him a hug.
You felt drained, having all the energy zapped from you. You really had hoped it was some virus or something, because then you could pretend you hadn't heard some creepy voiceover. But no, you weren't that lucky, and now you were back at square one.
Maybe you should have told your father about the voices, but to be honest, that thought was terrifying. No one reacts well when you tell them you can hear voices. It's not a good sign. And the last thing you needed was him giving you a sedative or having you admitted into the psych ward. No, you needed to keep the voices to yourself, or rather the one voice, and try and work this one on your own.
Once you arrived back at school, you trudged your way to your next class, handing over aforementioned note when the teacher demanded a reason why you were late, and promptly sat at the back of the room with your head down. You really could have used a nap; there was just no way you were going to make it through the rest of the day.
Unsurprisingly, by the time the end of the day did actually come round, you were fucking exhausted and needed to go home. Cheerio practice was too much, so you weren't going. You didn't care what Coach Sylvester was going to say about it, she could bitch you out tomorrow, you needed to sleep.
Texting Quinn, because you were bailing on her tonight as well, you hoped she'd understand. You had gone to the doctor's, so maybe that was going to work in your favour. Either way, you hated disappointing the blonde, especially given how relaxed she was that morning, but you had no way to talk to her, and you silence would be deafening.
To Quinn: Sorry Q, not going to make it to practice tonight. Was at the docs during lunch. Throat is pretty sore, voice is gone. Heading home to sleep it off. Maybe we can reschedule tonight for some time later in the week? Let me know. S.
Slipping your phone in your bag, you headed to your car and drove home extra carefully. Your eyelids were beginning to droop just as you pulled up in front of your house, and your body was in shut down mode. There really was no reason for you to be this tired, unless you genuinely were sick. This could only be good news. Maybe you had imagined that creepy voiceover, and it hadn't actually happened.
Regardless, the welcoming sight of your bed had you forgetting all those thoughts as you snuggled into the covers. Sleep, that's all you needed. Today was a dream, and tomorrow you would wake up with everything back to normal.
*0*0*
Somehow, you had managed to sleep straight through until morning. That shit just wasn't normal for you. You had to be sick. You just had to be. There really only was one way to find out, though, but you didn't want to chance it just yet. Instead, you went about your morning routine as if nothing was new, and hopped down the stairs with an optimistic spring in your step.
This had to work. It just had to.
"Morning, mija, how's the voice today?" your father called, rooting around in the living room trying to find his keys no doubt.
"Morning," you replied, a little anxiously. There was no reason to be anxious, however, as you didn't feel any discomfort or pain when you spoke, and your voice sounded strong and healthy. The word had just rolled off your tongue without an issue. "And voice seems pretty good," you added, a smile taking over your lips.
"Great! I told you it would come back!" Grinning happily, he found his keys buried under the papers on the coffee table and began gathering the rest of his things.
Smiling, you headed into the kitchen to grab a quick drink before heading off. You had your voice back. You could speak again. That was fucking fantastic news. Yesterday must have been some freak incident, never to be repeated.
Taking the glass out the cupboard, you were so damn close to placing it on the counter when you heard it, loud and fucking clear.
Six.
The glass slipped out your hand and clattered along the worktop, thankfully not breaking, as you gripped onto the closest surface possible like your life depended on it. Yesterday hadn't been a fluke. The voice was back, and the voice was counting.
It was counting your fucking words. It had to be. That was the only explanation. You had only said two things this morning, a small amount of words, and Christ, you were pretty sure you had used six words in total. That had to be it. That had to be what the numbers were about.
"Everything okay in there?" your father asked, concern in his voice. You could still hear him rustling about looking for his things, so sighed in relief. If he'd wandered in to investigate, he would have seen the horrified expression on your face and then you would have had to lie your way out of whatever mess this was.
Testing out your new theory, though, you nodded and cleared your throat, getting ready to take the plunge.
"Yeah, everything's fine." Three, that was three words. If your theory was correct then the voiceover would count to-
Nine.
Holy fucking shit. You were right. You were actually right. It was counting your words. What the fuck was up with that? What did that mean? Why the hell was it counting your words? What was going on?
Abuzz with questions, you abandoned your empty glass and headed back upstairs. You were going to be late for school, but right then you really didn't give a shit.
Opening your laptop, you typed in as many variations as you could on what was happening to you, and your results were shit at best. China and their limitations on speech came up. Freedom of speech in schools appeared. Psychological speech disorders and stuttering came up, but you didn't fit into any of those categories. There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to explain the creepy voiceover or counting words. Using the whole 'voices in my head' brought up loads of mental health webpages, and honestly, all that started to freak you out.
You closed the web browser as fast as possible, and sunk back on your bed, immersing yourself in the smell of your sheets. In you tried hard enough, you could almost smell Quinn; fucking fresh air, sunshine and amazingness.
You were losing you mind. Correction, you had lost your fucking mind.
There was a voice, a voice, counting your words.
That shit wasn't normal. That shit didn't just happen to people. No, it was fucking off the charts. You'd lost it. You were young and hot and you'd lost your fucking mind because of some creepy voiceover that wanted to count your words. How was that fair? And why the hell had you lost the ability to speak yesterday?
No, this just couldn't be happening. Already, this twisted situation had compromised things for you. Not only had you blown of Cheerios practice, which was going to earn you a new asshole torn by Coach Sylvester personally, you had also had to postpone your plans with Quinn. Quinn, the girl who hadn't worn her mask yesterday when she'd invited you round. The girl you were fucking in love with.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. No. No. No.
Fuck this whole situation. No. This wasn't happening. You were not going to let this happen.
Rolling off the bed, you grabbed you things and quickly headed out the house. You didn't even bother uttering a goodbye, as you couldn't stomach hearing that voice once more. It was too much. You couldn't take it. This wasn't happening.
In a daze, you entered school, shuffling round the mass of bodies still littering the hallway, and went towards your locker. It seemed you weren't as late as you thought you were going to be. With one last hallway before you reached your destination, you were startled from your thoughts and reality came crashing in on you.
"Sandbags, get in here!" Sue called, using her indoor megaphone to get your attention. Not only did it get yours, but the entire hallway's too. Fantastic, now you had an audience.
Entering her office, you stood up tall and waited patiently for her to get to her point. Sue was lounging back in her chair, her eyes pursuing over your uniform and her brow deepening. "You weren't at practice yesterday. Why?"
Unlike the bark she had used to get you in there, her tone was more curious. Taking that to be the calm before the storm, you steeled your shoulders and answered honestly. There was no easy way to go about it. If you lied and she caught you, she'd kick you off the team. Cheerios was blood in and blood out, apparently, but you were hoping Coach wasn't going to act on that part of the contract.
"I was sick, Coach" you answered, holding her gaze. There was no way she'd find out about the voices, and really, as far as you were concerned that was a sickness; the 'I'm losing my fucking mind' disease.
Thirteen.
Sue's eyes rose to the ceiling as she leant back in her chair. You wondered if this was the part where she monologued before ripping you a new asshole. You were ready for it, prepared, but still, the silence unnerved you.
Dropping her eyes back to you, Coach Sylvester eyed you carefully before giving you a quick nod and rising from her seat. She started hunting round her office, pulling out candles and ornaments, placing them around her desk, when she turned back to you.
"Turn in your uniform tomorrow, then vacate the area. You're off the squad. I do not want you spreading whatever viral disease you may have been cursed with by whatever higher power you pissed off. My Cheerios cannot be associated with it. Now go! Away with you!" she barked, pointing you out her office.
Unsure about what the fuck had just happened, you fumbled your way out the door, watching as she started lighting incense and waving them around the room. You didn't have a clue what the fuck was up with that. Maybe she was starting the Voodoo process or some shit, and by tonight you'd be in agony. Blood in, blood out, right?
Who knew? Sue was acting crazy, and while that wasn't new, her behaviour towards you was. She'd just kicked you off the squad because you were sick. That was unheard of. Normally, she'd take the sick and weak ones out and make them run laps until they were vomiting, so why hadn't you been subjected to that? Was this some ploy to trick you? Maybe she really was doing Voodoo in there.
Swallowing nervously, you walked to your locker, in the hopes to clear your head, but failed miserably. You had just been kicked off the Cheerios, and you hadn't even argued your case. Why? Why? What was wrong with you? Cheerios was your life, kind of. You needed it. You couldn't walk the hallways of McKinley without your red, white and black armour in place.
Turning back around you marched up to Coach's office to argue your position back on the squad, but stopped abruptly when you saw Quinn leaving her office. The blonde had a frown marring her face, which only deepened when she caught sight of you.
"You're off the team," Quinn said, shaking her head in confusion. It wasn't a question but you nodded anyway. "Coach said something about you being sick and that I needed to find a better second in command, one that didn't piss off those that were in control. What did you do? Did you get in a fight with someone?"
"No," you mumbled, completely lost in everything that had just happened. "I didn't…I haven't done anything."
Twenty.
"Well, she can't just kick you off the squad. We need you. I need you," Quinn argued, waving her hand. You couldn't help it, but despite everything that had just happened, the warmth in your chest exploded at her words. "How are we going to win this year's Nationals without you?" she went on to say, shaking her head. "Are you sure you didn't do anything?"
"No. Just missed practice, and she knows I was sick. That's it."
Thirty two.
"I don't know what's going on, but I'll get you back on the team, okay?" Those hazel eyes were caught on yours and you couldn't look away. Taking a sharp breath, you nodded and licked your lips. Her mask was off, nowhere to be seen. "So, are you feeling better?"
No, you weren't. You still had a creepy voice counting your words for no reason, and you didn't know when your words would suddenly stop. Given how it happened yesterday, you assumed the same would happen today. On top of that, you'd just lost the only protection you had at this school, and tomorrow was going to be hell. So no, you were not feeling better. You were feeling worse, but you couldn't tell her that. You didn't want to tell her that.
"Yeah."
Thirty three.
"Good, because my mom's gone to visit Frannie and I have the house to myself this week." The way she said it, so calmly but yet full of implication had you licking your lips again, catching her attention. Those hazels dropped, and she mimicked your action, before smiling at you. "So I take it you'll come round tonight?"
Oh you'd come, you'd definitely fucking come. Hell fucking yes.
Nodding, you fought every inch of you that wanted to kiss her right there in the hallway, and folded your arms over your body. Quinn perked up further at your response and she moved closer, her body just brushing against your arm.
"I missed you last night, so you can make it up to me tonight," she whispered, her fingers burning into your hip. You were practically melting under her touch, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to nod again in agreement.
You could definitely do that for her. Abso-fucking-lutely.
Grinning like an idiot, you licked your lips once more, mesmerized by her watching you do so, and slipped out her grasp. Really, the two of you were playing with fire doing that at school, in the hallway for crying out loud, but fuck me, you didn't care. Her mask was off, she was teasing and toying you again, and it was like you were really getting your Quinn back again.
Hallelujah.
*0*0*
You don't quite know how you managed it, but you did. You somehow went the whole day without uttering another word. You had used thirty three words that morning, and as you were parked outside Quinn's house, you knew you had done the right thing by staying silent the rest of the day.
The creepy voiceover had just cut you off yesterday. No warning. No signal. It had just stopped your speech. You remember you had said hi to Quinn and then that was it, nothing else. Stupidly, you couldn't recall what number it had last said, but you knew your words were precious. You had to be careful, because for all you knew, you had two left before you couldn't say any more.
Playing it safe seemed like a much better idea than risking the voiceover's wrath. It could cut your words off, that wasn't someone you wanted to piss off.
With a content smile on your face, you got out your car and walked up to Quinn's front door. You were sure you could still speak, and you planned on using all the words you had left on her. Girl should feel lucky. Shame she'd never know.
After ringing the door, Quinn answered a few moments later, still donning her Cheerio uniform. You figured she would have changed already. Yes, you were still in yours, but only because you hadn't driven home yet. You'd had to clear your things out the Cheerio locker room and ditch all the things you no longer needed.
You opened your mouth to greet her but Quinn shook her head, her hair no longer in the ponytail she had it in earlier. Those gorgeous blonde locks of hers were loose and wild, and god your hands were desperate to sink into them. Caught off guard by where your thoughts had went, you practically fell in the door when she pulled you in the house.
"Shh," she whispered, placing a finger on your lips to stop you from speaking. "I figured since you had a pretty crappy day, I'd actually make it up to you, instead. After all, this was you last day as a Cheerio." Her finger left your lips and traced her way along your jaw and then down your neck. "So, given how much you check me out in this uniform, I'm willing to bet there's a fantasy or two running around in that head of yours. Care to make it real?" She was practically husking in your ear, making your knees weak and your mind turn to goo.
Sinful, her tone was sinful, and fuck, if it didn't make you love her even more for being willing to go along with this. The girl who was shy and bashful the first few times you had sex was now offering up one of your all-time favourite fantasies. How was that even possible?
The fucking fallen angel had been corrupted, she had to have been. Heavenly, no more. Sin, she was pure sin, and you loved it.
Rather than answer her question with an actual answer, you turned her head to yours and closed the distance quickly, kissing her like your life depended on it. You needed her. You needed her to know that you needed her. Today had been fucking awful, and there she was, mask off, and willing to cheer you up. God, this girl; you couldn't get enough of this girl.
Your hands made their way up into those locks you were admiring earlier, and you pushed her body backwards, away from the front door. Her lips were caressing yours, her teeth nipping and biting at your bottom lip, and her tongue toying with you completely. She had you spellbound as the two of you moved up the stairs, her back bent to keep the kisses going, and her hands wrapped round your neck.
No words were needed for where this was going, you both knew exactly what to expect. By now, a routine had formed. You knew what she liked and where she liked it, and she knew how to tease and please you. As with each time you found yourself in her arms, clothes gradually falling to the floor, the overwhelming urge to confess everything, to love her, surged beneath your skin.
Your fingertips danced across her skin, caressing and loving, trying to show her how much she meant to you, how sorry you were for giving up on her, and you couldn't get enough. Your lips followed, moving along the Goosebumps left in your fingertips wake, as you licked and kissed her skin in adoration. Everything about her had you transfixed, and you were a fool for ever thinking you could stop loving her.
It wasn't possible. You were in too deep. You had fallen too hard. You were incapable of ending this, of losing her.
"Quinn-" you cried, only to have her lips cut you off, igniting the fire once more.
Thirty four.
She wasn't done with you, and you couldn't complain. She was kissing you with as much care and passion as you'd shown her, and it had your heart singing. There had to be hope. There just had to be. Her mask was off. She was back to being the girl with the warm hazel eyes and the inviting lips. She was fresh air, sunshine and amazingness, and she was in your arms, loving you with each kiss and each caress. Or so you could pretend.
And you did. You pretended that those hazel eyes were filled with nothing but love for you as she caught your gaze. Her forehead on yours, her breath mixing with your own, her scent captivating you completely, had you falling even harder for her. It wasn't possible, but it happened. Just the thought of her loving you had you loving her even more.
God, this girl.
Sated and exhausted, you were hiding in the crook of her neck, your arm wrapped over her bare torso, and your leg hooked in hers. You had encased her, trapping her in your arms, and your heart was on fire from the notion that the two of you could pass the 'friends with benefits' line and walk on over into the 'girlfriends/lovers' side of things. You wanted that. You wanted her, you just needed to tell her.
"I made a mistake," you whispered, watching the rise and fall of her chest.
Thirty eight.
Quinn was, thankfully, still awake; her fingers drawing patterns on your skin, as she listened to you speak. "Hmm?"
She turned her head, her lips kissing the top of yours and waited for you to continue. Her action, if anything, backed up your idea that this was the right moment, the right time to try for more. You could do it. You could tell her you wanted more.
"I don't want to leave our feelings at the door anymore," you added, stilling in her arms for her reaction.
Forty nine.
She took a deep breath, her chest rising beautifully before exhaling, and then she turned her body into yours so you were facing each other. You moved your head back to look at those warm hazel eyes you loved so much, and froze.
"Go to sleep, San. You don't know what you're saying," Quinn mumbled, nuzzling into you, her eyes finally closing.
Warm, hazel eyes; that's all you had wanted to see. Instead, you got the mask; the cold, dead eyes. The robotic girl was back. She'd shut down. You'd pushed for more and she'd shut you down, pushed you away. Fucking hell.
Fighting back the whine that wanted to escape, you hid your face in her neck again and left a kiss on her skin. It burnt your lips, and you knew that she was the fire you had been playing with all along. She was always going to burn you, no matter what happened.
You had known exactly what you were saying, yet she had dismissed you. She was letting you down gently. So, okay, you could take that. Giving up was perhaps the right thing to do. She clearly didn't want more, mask on or off, so it was about damn time you accepted that.
"Night," you whispered once more, closing your eyes tightly; anything to hold back the tears of despair.
Fifty.
"Goodnight, San."
Without it meaning to, it felt like a goodbye. You would sleep for a few hours and then get up and leave. So actually, it was a goodbye, because tomorrow you'd have to be someone completely different.
You were done.
Quinn was unattainable, you'd lost the protection you once had at school, and your heart was breaking all over again for a blonde that wouldn't love you back. The one lesson you were meant to have learnt, and you'd failed.
Well, Satan wasn't in hell for getting straight A's, that was for sure. Therefore, maybe it was fitting that your life was turning to shit. With a name like Satan, did you really think you'd get to live in heaven with your angel? No. That would never happen and you were an idiot to think it could work like that.
It was time to face reality: you'd lost your red, white and black armour; you'd lost your best friend, you'd lost your heart to a blonde who would never love you back; and you'd gone and lost your fucking mind with that creepy voiceover.
Your world was crashing around you, and there didn't seem to be anything you could do but sit back and watch it happen. It was too late, too late to change anything, to fix things, and to recover from what was going to happen.
You'd fallen, for Quinn, from grace, and the ground was nearing closer with each breath. Tomorrow, tomorrow you'd hit those rocks and be in hell.