DISCLAIMER: Look on first chapter.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I don't know your screen name, but hopefully I've fulfilled one of your birthday wishes. :) I hope that you've had a great day! Happy reading!
May 5, 2011 (Thursday)
McKinley High School
Lima, Ohio
5:24PM
"Sam, what the hell is that?" Mercedes asked—her tone incredulous. Sam looked up from his masterpiece on the crinkled paper and towards her. She was gaping at his creation.
"What is what?" he questioned and Mercedes pointed at his art. Sam glanced down at his pile of paper mache that he had been slowly shaping into a mushroom—or at least trying to.
The Glee club had decided to create a Willy Wonka Wonderland for Jean's funeral since it had been her favorite movie. They had spent the first hour of Glee club rehearsing the song "Imagine" from the movie, before they pulled out the arts and crafts and started making paper mache mushrooms and flowers to use as decorations.
Since the funeral was on Saturday—they decided to stay this afternoon to make all the décor they needed. At the moment though, almost everyone was on break. Santana, Quinn, and Brittany had gone to get food for everyone. Mr. Schue was with Finn, Kurt and Rachel in the computer lab—they were working on designing the programs for the funeral. Lauren had wrestling practice and she wouldn't be back until six o'clock.
Mike and Tina had left to go get more supplies for the artwork they were making. Artie was in the auditorium with Puck—they were working on the song arrangement. So, Mercedes and Sam had been stuck on paper mache duty until dinner. Sam was grateful for the time alone with Mercedes—he loved the Glee kids, but they could be rowdy at times.
"It's a mushroom," he replied and Mercedes shot him a look full of doubt.
"That doesn't look like a mushroom, Blondie," she told him with an amused smile twitching at the corner of her lips. Sam looked down at his attempted mushroom and had to admit that it was a little lopsided—alright it was a lot lopsided, but he should get credit for trying!
Sam grimaced and Mercedes laughed.
"I guess I shouldn't consider art as a potential career path," Sam muttered and Mercedes smiled at him.
"You were born to be a musician, Sam," she told him as she started molding her perfectly proportioned and level mushroom. It was about hip height and she had been working on that one for almost thirty minutes. Sam admired it for a moment and gave a depressed sigh when he saw his own crappy mushroom.
He scooted away from the crinkly paper that he'd been sitting on and he wiped his wet hands on his jeans. Mercedes grimaced at the action, but he didn't care—these were his oldest and most worn pair of jeans. He had come prepared.
Mercedes put the finishing touches on her huge mushroom and was admiring her work as Sam grabbed his guitar from against the wall. He strummed the copper strings and he noticed when Mercedes looked over in his direction.
He grinned at her. She was wearing an old purple tie-dye t-shirt and a pair of boot cut jeans that looked like they had seen better days. But the worn material clung to her in all the right places. That was one thing that he loved about old jeans—they looked like they were made specifically to fit you after wearing them for so long.
Her hair was down and straight today. He wished he could see her natural curly hair again. But she was wearing her black frame glasses today, and he liked it. A lot. Sam thought she looked beautiful.
Playing random chords on his guitar eventually turned into a familiar melody and Sam couldn't help himself.
"Like baby, baby, baby, oh!" Sam sung the opening lyrics to the infamous Justin Bieber song as he strummed his guitar. "Like baby, baby, baby, no! I thought you'd always be min—"A wet piece of paper mache flew from where Mercedes was standing and hit him directly upside the head.
He looked over and saw Mercedes giving him a look. Her lips were quirked sarcastically, but her eyes were dancing with amusement. Sam couldn't believe that she'd hit him with paper mache! He wiped it off his face as he walked over and plopped down beside her on the ground.
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Mercedes held up a hand to stop him.
"Boy, don't you even start with me." She said and Sam grinned at her disgruntled expression. Just to spite her, he started playing the chords again and Mercedes smacked him on the arm.
He laughed at the look on her face. "I thought you liked my Bieber impression?"
"Sam, you're much cuter than Justin Bieber, but he can dance and you—uh, you try."
"I try?" Sam asked in mock offense, "I'll have you know that my dance moves are epic."
"More like epic failure." Mercedes muttered and Sam poked her in the side. She squealed.
Sam pouted at his not girlfriend.
"It's not a bad thing." Mercedes protested. "You look adorable when you try to dance. It heightens your dork-chic appeal."
"Dork-chic, Cede?" Sam asked amusement in his green eyes. "Is that your way of defining me so you feel better about falling for a sci-fi nerd?"
He was too busy being smug to notice the paint brush in Mercedes' hand, but he was eventually clued in when she swiped a bright blue stripe across his cheek. Sam gaped at her and Mercedes cracked up. He pouted.
"What was that for?" he whined.
"You're an Avatard," she replied cheekily, "I figured that you wanted to join the ranks of the blue people."
Sam teasingly sniffed at her. "This color is more smurf than Na'vi."
Mercedes' eyebrows rose in amusement and disbelief. "And I suppose there's a huge difference between the two?"
"Of course there is," Sam replied—his inner dork totally offended. "Avatar blue is far classier."
Mercedes was fighting to keep the smile off her face; Sam could tell. "Don't be insulting the short blue people, Sam!" she told him sternly and Sam rolled his eyes. "They have leadership and they don't have anger problems like your Na'vi people."
"At least the Na'vi people don't have a town slut," Sam threw back as he returned his guitar to its spot against the wall.
"That's a lie," Mercedes protested, "All civilizations have a town slut. It's like a law of the universe or something."
"Well the Na'vi sluts would be smarter than Smurfette with her fake blonde hair," he retorted as he walked up behind her. Mercedes gave him a sarcastic look.
"You're one to talk, lemon head," she replied and Sam blushed. He should've known that Mercedes would've heard about that. Kurt was her best friend after all. He hated that the guy had immediately saw through his game. "The Na'vi people aren't that different from the short blue people."
Sam couldn't restrain his gasp of horror. "How can you say such a thing, Nala? They're on completely different levels of awesome."
"They both live in tree houses," she responded and Sam gave her the stink eye.
"Smurfs live in little tree houses," he defended his opinion, "but Na'vi people live in one giant tree."
"They're both trees, Sam," she replied in fond exasperation and Sam grimaced.
"The Na'vi tree had magical powers," he told her and she laughed.
"Yeah," she said with a giggle, "Wasn't enough to keep it standing, though."
Sam could've passed out at that comment. He was torn between laughing his ass off and unleashing the thunderous power of sci-fi onto her head. When Mercedes leaned forward to gather another pile of newspapers, she said, "And the Na'vi had sex with braids—talk about weird fetishes."
And Sam couldn't stop laughing. Mercedes smiled at him over her shoulder, before she sat on her knees and started making another mushroom. Sam's chuckles eventually died off as a devious thought formed in his head.
He had to admit that he was staring at her ass. He blushed and felt like the biggest pervert, but damn, Mercedes looked sexy in those jeans. She was leaning forward to grab some paint brushes and Sam couldn't prevent himself from acting.
He reached beside him and quietly removed the lid of the semi-open can of canary yellow paint. He lightly placed his hand on the top of the paint—just enough so his palm was covered, before he pulled his hand out. Sam stared for a moment and prayed that Mercedes wouldn't kill him for this—but it would be so worth it to see the look on her face.
Without giving himself a chance to hesitate, Sam moved over and used his paint covered hand to smack Mercedes directly on her butt. He heard her loud gasp and cry of "Samuel Evans!" as the wet paint soaked through the thinning material.
Sam was busting a gut laughing at her expression when she whirled around to glare at him. He stopped when she slapped him on the chest with a hand covered in green paint. And it was so on.
Sam chased a laughing Mercedes around the room with yellow paint on both of his hands. Mercedes responded by slapping him with a brush full of hot pink paint.
Somehow, he ended up capturing her and pulling her backwards into his embrace. Mercedes wasn't trying that hard to get away, but she was laughing. He held her at brush point and she was totally freaking—thinking that he was going to put it in her hair.
"Give up or your hair gets it," he demanded and Mercedes flinched away from the green paint covering the bristles of the paint brush. He looked at her face from where his head was resting on her shoulder and he had to laugh at the dismayed expression on her face.
She hated losing and she didn't want to give up, but she also didn't want paint in her hair.
"Sam!" she groaned and he tightened his arm around her waist—pulling her closer. He moved the brush an inch closer and Mercedes said, "I give!"
The panic on her face made Sam laugh as he released her.
He fell backwards into a chair on the choir risers as she rapidly checked to make sure that none of the paint had gotten into her hair. They were a total mess—the front of Mercedes' jeans was covered in splotches of bright colored paints and her t-shirt had handprints everywhere.
There was a streak of yellow that went down her cheek and across her chin—and trailed all the way down her neck—to the collar of her t-shirt. Her glasses were fine though. Staring at her for a moment, Sam was struck by how incredible she was.
"Mercedes," he said softly and she stopped stroking her hair to look over at him. Something in his expression must have surprised her because her brown eyes filled with worry and she dropped the strands of dark hair that she'd been examining to walk closer to him.
"What's wrong?" she asked and Sam didn't respond verbally. Instead he stretched a hand out to her and she took it immediately. When Sam abruptly tugged her closer, she looked wary. He pulled at her until she was standing not five inches away from his knees and he just looked at her.
Her hair, her face, her eyes, just her—it was all so beautiful. Sam tugged at her hand once more and said, "Sit down."
Mercedes moved to sit next to him, but Sam let out a noise of disagreement. He placed his hands on her hips and tried to pull her onto his lap. She tensed.
"Sam," she protested—her expression humiliated, "I can't sit on you."
"And why not?" he asked and Mercedes looked away from him. He had noticed the shame and self-consciousness in her eyes though and that just wasn't acceptable.
"I'm too heavy," she whispered and Sam squeezed her hips.
"Bullshit," he told her firmly and Mercedes' gaze snapped to his in shock. Sam met her eyes. "Sit down."
She started shaking her head, but Sam stopped her with a hard look. "Do you trust me?" he questioned and Mercedes' eyes widened, before she closed her eyes and nodded lightly. "Then sit down."
She only hesitated for a moment, before Sam guided her onto his lap. She ended up facing him—straddling his thighs. Sam felt her embarrassment and nervousness and he hated it. She was gorgeous and anyone who told her differently could go suck it.
Feeling her this close to him was driving him insane; she felt warm and soft and curvy and Sam thought it was beyond delicious.
"The others are coming back soon," she told him—her voice shaking and Sam really didn't give a damn about the others at the moment. He was too busy mentally slapping himself for not seeing the living and breathing blessing that God had given him.
Mercedes Jones' friendship was like a shot in the dark. You never knew when it was coming and it always hit you like a ton of bricks when it showed up. She had come into his world and taught him about forgiveness and love.
How had he not realized that his feelings for her were as real as he was? He was such an idiot.
"Sam, what are you doing?" she asked, but Sam didn't answer her. He just leaned forward and captured those soft lips with his own. She inhaled sharply and he felt her stiffen in his embrace, before she relaxed into the kiss and molded her lips to his.
There was no way to describe it. His mind was blank and his body was on fire. Kissing Mercedes was nothing like kissing Quinn—who was all about teasing touches and soft kisses—or Santana—who was rough and fast; all lust, no real passion.
Mercedes had full lips like his own and that made her kiss softer, but her movements were firm and passionate.
He had never been kissed like he was the one to be treasured and adored and Mercedes was doing just that. He had never imagined that it felt so amazing to be kissed with equal importance.
Her kiss was innocent and hesitant—like she wasn't completely sure of what she was doing, but Sam didn't mind. She made his heart pound with each soft movement of her lips against his and Sam could hear the blood rushing in his ears as her hands fell into the juncture between his neck and jaw.
Her scent was filling his nose and she tasted like chocolate and mint. God, he didn't want to stop kissing her, but he had to. Pulling away was the hardest thing that Sam had ever done and he felt like he'd just run a mile.
His thoughts and emotions were all over the place. What the hell was this girl doing to him?
He looked up at her and he groaned at the sight of her half-lidded gaze. Fuck all if his not girlfriend wasn't the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.
"Cede," he whispered, "I want to be with you so badly, but damn it—the timing couldn't be more wrong." He had a hell of a lot of problems, and he still had no fucking idea where these feelings for her came from, but he wanted to be with her.
Sam was on the verge of just giving up on finding out—just so he could kiss her again and make her his girlfriend, but he was positive that if they jumped into a relationship right now—he would regret it and Mercedes could get hurt. That was unacceptable.
"What are you saying, Sam?" she asked softly, her forehead resting against his and Sam looked her directly in the eyes.
"I want to give us a try," he told her. "Just to make sure that these feelings are real, you know."
"So you want to—"she stopped for a moment; searching for words, "not date?"
"More like pre-date," he replied, "Friends who are interested in more but not going on actual dates." Mercedes blinked a bit, but he could see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"I've never heard of pre-dating before, but I'm always up for something new," she told him as she cupped his face with her hands. Sam grinned up at her as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "After all, I just kissed a smurf."
Sam laughed softly and lifted his hand to tug a strand of her hair. "If you kissed a smurf, then I just kissed a canary."
Mercedes snorted and said, "I have never in my life heard of such a ridiculous couple."
"You're right," Sam replied, "but that ridiculous couple got together because of the shared awesomeness and the fact that the smurf thought the canary was smokin' hot."
"You are such a dork," she told him with a laugh and Sam couldn't resist placing a soft kiss on her mouth.
"Yeah," he admitted, "but I'm your smurfed-out dork." Those words had Mercedes' beaming.
"I don't know if this will work out, but gratitude can't always explain the rush I get when I'm around you—especially not in moments like this," said Sam.
Mercedes wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug and Sam held her for a few moments. He rubbed his hand up and down her back. Sam had to smile when he felt her fingers threading through the hair at the back of his head.
Their cuddling came to an end when Sam noticed that it was almost six. "We should get back to work," he told her as she pulled back to look at him. Mercedes smiled as she stood from his lap.
"How about I teach you how to make an actual mushroom?" Mercedes teased, "You know, instead of the blob monster you were throwing together before."
Sam sniffed at her as she walked back to the crinkly paper and sat down on the ground. "Stacey would call my creation a masterpiece."
"Stacey worships the ground you walk on," Mercedes replied, "You could hand her a bowl of mud and she'd think that the sun was shining out of your ass."
"Hey now," he protested as he plopped down across from her. "No need to be mean. We've had this conversation about my ego multiple times now."
"Yeah," Mercedes agreed, "And I'm still not listening."
"You would be the only canary in the zoo with rabies," Sam told her and Mercedes snorted at that comment. "They're supposed to be singing and chirping happily—but you're trying to mess with a brotha's confidence."
"A brotha?" Mercedes repeated—her voice reflecting her disbelieving amusement.
"I can get my hood on," Sam told her and Mercedes cracked up.
"You're from Tennessee!" Mercedes retorted and Sam pouted.
"There are plenty of brothas in Tennessee," he replied, "I was an honorary one when I lived there."
"Sam, you're so white—I feel like I'm talking to Casper!"
"And now she's insulting me," Sam said as he threw his hands in the air.
"At least I called you the friendly ghost," Mercedes replied and Sam stuck his tongue out at her.
She let out a laugh. "Come on Blondie; let me show you how to make a mushroom."
Sam just wasn't made for paper mache objects though, and he was eventually downgraded to a painter. He had a ball doing that though, and he and Mercedes had quite the time explaining to the others how paint had gotten all over them. He couldn't tell if they'd succeeded or not, but when Mercedes smiled at him for sitting next to her during dinner—he decided that he didn't really care.
May 7, 2011 (Saturday)
Lima Funeral Home
Lima, Ohio
3:03PM
Mercedes could tell that Sam was feeling down. His green eyes had looked sad all day long, and she hated seeing the slight frown on his features as he and the other Glee guys hauled all of the funeral decorations into the funeral home.
She and Tina laid down the green plastic in front of the closed casket. Quinn was organizing the different mushrooms and flowers and decorations that they'd spent all afternoon on Thursday making.
Everyone was pretty much silent—the funeral's home somber mood was affecting them all. Tina and Mercedes shared a look—they both felt the downtrodden attitudes of the whole group.
Looking around at everyone, Mercedes decided that she hated funerals.
May 7, 2011 (Saturday)
Lima Funeral Home
Lima, Ohio
6:01PM
Mercedes found Sam long after the service—he was standing next to his truck that he'd parked in the far corner of the lot. The entire place was pretty much empty by the time Mercedes had checked and double checked the ceremony room to make sure that they'd gotten everything out.
Though her real reason for lingering so long was because it was raining—not storming yet, but it was coming down at a steady pace and Mercedes hated getting her hair wet; especially in public. But Sam was standing there—and her worry for him won out in the end.
She had noticed how upset he had been during the service—he hadn't spoken much all day. Mercedes wished that she had been closer to him during the song, but she wasn't going to argue with Kurt's arrangement. It had been a rough day for all of them.
Mercedes took a deep breath and prayed that no one would see her until she'd be able to use a brush and a hair straightener. It occurred to her that no matter what she did—Sam would see her fro-ified hair, but he hadn't cared two weeks ago at the pool; so she figured he wouldn't care now.
Stepping from beneath the awning, Mercedes made her way to Sam as quickly as she could without putting her foot into muddy puddles that had formed on the ground or splashing dirty water onto her dress.
"Sam!" she called out to him when she reached the front grate of his red truck. His head lifted and he turned to look at her. She could clearly see the surprise in his green eyes. Sam straightened up as she came around the side of the truck to reach his side.
Mercedes wanted to cry at the sight of his eyes—it was obvious that he'd been crying before she got here; his lids were puffy and his eyes were red. She placed a hand on his arm and Sam gave her a weak smile.
"Your hair's getting wet," he pointed out needlessly. That was something she already knew. She could feel it curling already. Mercedes took a step closer to him and she wrapped her arms around his waist—pulling him into hug.
"You were more important," she replied and she felt his hands fall on her hips. The heat from his palms was startling against the chill of the water and the wet cloth sticking to her skin. Sam ran his hands upward—from her hips and up to her neck.
She felt his fingers tug on her wet curls as he rested his forehead against hers. "Thank you, Nala," he whispered—his voice barely audible over the falling rain. Mercedes' heart pounded in her chest. This boy would be the death of her. She just knew it.
They were silent for a moment and Mercedes' heart broke when she heard him let out a broken gasp. It felt like her heart was rattling around in her chest at the unfairness of it all. Mercedes fully believed that everything happened for a reason, but damn it was hard to keep hold of that perspective when she watched Sam.
His life was literally falling to pieces and he was trying to glue them back on every time. And now she and her aunt and her family were all involved in the rebuilding process. She was so invested in making sure that he would overcome this—that she felt his pain acutely; almost as though it was her own.
"My grandfather used to love the rain," Sam said—his voice raspy with sorrow. "He always said that the rain drops were the tears of our lost loved ones. That they cried because they felt how much we missed them. He told me that the rain was the perfect place to be whenever you needed to feel close to something. He said that in the rain it was okay to cry and smile at the same time—it didn't matter that you were sad or happy—just that you were there."
Sam let out the bitterest sound that Mercedes had ever heard before. It made her chest tighten.
"I don't think those tears work when your lost loved one is still alive," he told her and she knew that he was crying again. "I wish my grandfather was here now, Cede. I've been standing in the rain for the past twenty minutes and all I keep thinking—is that he's crying for me. I remember when he'd put these disgustingly yellow rain boots on my feet—I called them banana walkers for the longest time—and he'd put me in a jacket. We would walk out in the rain together and we'd cry together. Then we'd sing."
Sam let out a small laugh through his tears and Mercedes clutched him tightly. "We'd sing "All I Needed Was the Rain" by Elvis Presley, and Cede, you haven't seen anything like my grandfather performing an Elvis Presley song," he said as he met her eyes. She loved seeing the sparkle back in his gaze as he talked. The love between those two must have been a sight to see. It was very apparent that he adored his grandfather.
Sam started humming a very bluesy tune and Mercedes watched him with a small smile. His hands moved from her curls and ran down her sides until they reached her hips. Sam's eyes fell closed as he started singing, "Hello misfortune, how's my old friend "Mr. Misery"?"
His fingers tapped out a beat against her hips as he sang, "I've been away so long I bet you thought you saw the last of me. I got no bed to rest my head—no doors or walls or window pane." He sounded good with a song that had a bluesy and country feel to it. The smile on his face got bigger as he started swaying a bit. "Now all I needed was the rain—rain, rain, rain, rain."
Sam's green eyes opened as he pulled her closer and voiced, "Met a little honey at the "Buzzin' Bumble Bee Cafe"—yes, I did. One drink and all my money and that honey bee had flown away." Sam was pretty much dancing with her now and Mercedes couldn't help but laugh at the reminiscent smile on his face. He looked like he was torn between his memories and the moment.
"I'm 'bout as low as I can go.I don't really mean to complain," he sang, "Now all I needed was the rain—rain, rain, rain, rain. All I needed was this rain. All I needed was the rain." Sam continued humming the tune even after he had stopped singing. Mercedes watched his eyes fall closed again and he relaxed into their embrace.
She didn't need to say anything. Mercedes let him get lost in his thoughts and memories and she was sure that Sam could feel his grandfather's love more than ever.
Maybe Sam's grandpa had been onto something.
She didn't know how long they stood there—not speaking, but holding one another—but her hair was a complete mess of wet ringlets by the time she climbed into Sam's truck. The smile of gratitude that Sam gave her as he started the engine—made it completely worth it. It helped that he blasted the heat as soon as they got in. The last thing they needed was to get sick—especially a week from Nationals.
May 7, 2011 (Saturday)
The Jones Estate
Lima, Ohio
11:17PM
Mercedes had just walked up the stairs from the basement to go grab a quick snack from the kitchen when her doorbell rang. Her eyebrows rose. She hadn't been expecting anyone to stop by.
And Sam would've told her if he was coming over—but she doubted it because he said that he had a mountain of homework to do when he got back to the motel. Sam had driven her home around seven and she'd immediately gone to shower—after giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, of course.
She felt her face heat up. She had wanted to kiss him again, but Sam had literally given her—her first kiss not even three days ago and yeah, she was confident, but she had no experience with being kissed much less kissing someone else.
So she had gone for the easier route—a kiss on the cheek—and that still had her blushing like an idiot.
The goofy grin twitching at the corners of her mouth was enough for Mercedes to be grateful that no one else was around to see her. She still couldn't comprehend the fact that Sam Evans—as supermegafoxyawesome that he was—wanted to be with her.
It blew her mind.
And if she said that she didn't come home Thursday night and dance around her room singing love songs and saying "That's right, skinny bitches" to herself for over two hours—then she'd be lying.
Her celebration had gotten so intense that her mother had come up to ask her what was going on. Mercedes made up some craptastic story about some random guy telling her that she was a rockin' babe and luckily for her—her mother believed it. She just didn't mention that it was Sam.
Sam just made her so damn happy. He was still the same sweet and hilarious guy that she'd first become friends with, but he was into her. Every time he complimented her on something and meant it—God, it brought tears to her eyes.
Sam Evans was the type of guy that Mercedes had spent several lonely and pained years praying would come into her life and sweep her off her feet. And God had provided.
Long after all the tears, and anger, and jealousy—she had been ready to throw in the towel and accept the fact that she would be alone forever. But Elizabeth Evans walked out on the most loving individual that she had ever met and her answer was presented to her like a bomb going off.
She hadn't even realized that she was falling until she was a thousand miles under and there was no stopping it. Mercedes knew that whatever this was hadn't been completely defined and there was a long—and most likely painful—road ahead of them.
Sam had a lot of problems in his life, but Mercedes promised herself that she would be his friend—even if they didn't work out romantically. She would stand by his side and help him through it all. And it didn't matter to her if Sam was homeless and penniless—she loved who he was—the broken but loving man he was.
He didn't need to be fixed—his home life needed repair, but Mercedes believed that God didn't hand out more than a person could handle—especially not if that person had a family ready and willing to help them.
She was sucked out of her musings as the doorbell rang again. Mercedes changed directions and walked down the hallway that led to the foyer. She trekked across the wooden flooring and to the front door. She could faintly make out long blonde hair through the opaque glass panes of the door and she only knew two other blondes—and Brittany didn't know where she lived.
Mercedes opened the door and let out a gasp at the sight of Quinn standing on her doorstep.
"Jesus, Quinn," Mercedes breathed as she stared at the older girl.
Quinn's normally immaculate appearance was completely gone. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in thick strands—soaked through. Her bangs stuck to the skin of her cheeks and forehead and her clothes were drenched with rain water. She was pale and shivering despite her jean jacket. Her eyeliner was running down her cheeks and her mascara had spread around her eyes. But what concerned Mercedes the most was the fact that the girl was crying.
She was sobbing so hard that it hurt Mercedes.
She looked over Quinn's shoulder and into the pouring rain and she couldn't see any cars in the driveway. Her dad had parked the cars in the garage that was off to the left of the house to protect the vehicles from the storm. Quinn couldn't have possibly—"Did you walk here?" Mercedes demanded incredulously and Quinn nodded.
The funeral home was at least six miles from her house! Without another word, Mercedes grabbed Quinn's arm and practically dragged her into the house. She closed the door behind them, before she looked at Quinn—her brown eyes wide with shock and worry.
The girl was still crying her eyes out and Mercedes hated seeing her like this. She decided to save the questions for a time when Quinn didn't look like a drowning cat.
"Come on girlie," she said softly as she placed an arm over Quinn's shaking shoulders. "Let's go get you cleaned up, alright?"
After the way Quinn had treated her this year—Mercedes had the right to be resentful towards the other girl, but she wasn't. She was disappointed, yes, but Mercedes could tell there was a reason behind her actions—even if she didn't know what it was just yet. She had always been taught to be kind and courteous to people who had hurt her or brought her down—simply because everyone should be treated with compassion even if you didn't think they deserved it.
Mercedes led Quinn through the house and up to her bedroom—where she sent her to shower and gave her some clothes—that Quinn had left over from her stay the previous year—and a new toothbrush from the cabinet.
It took about forty minutes for the girl to shower, brush her teeth, and get dressed. While Quinn was getting cleaned up, Mercedes took her clothes down to the laundry room and started the wash. She sat Quinn's shoes on the drying rack—upside down so any excess water could drip out—and then she fixed Quinn a plate of the oatmeal raisin cookies she loved so much and a glass of milk.
Every woman knew that cookies were step one to healing heartbreak.
Quinn emerged from the restroom—her hair wet but clean and brushed—just as Mercedes was setting the plate of cookies on her night stand. Quinn wore a black Hollywood t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants—an outfit that Mercedes had forced her to buy when shopping once. She'd told the blonde that when you slept you were supposed to be comfortable; not perfectly attired like a nun. They'd been Quinn's most worn pair of pajamas when she stayed here.
The girl saw Mercedes standing there and she froze until Mercedes held up the cookies and milk as a peace offering. Quinn didn't look like she knew quite what to say, but she walked over slowly and crawled onto Mercedes' bed.
Mercedes handed her the food—which Quinn took with a grateful smile—and sat down next to her on the bed. For a few minutes, Mercedes watched Quinn nibble on a cookie—the despondent look in her olive green eyes still prominent.
"Your mother's cookies are still as amazing as I remember," Quinn finally spoke—her voice was soft and nervous. Mercedes acknowledged the compliment with a nod and a small smile.
"You're the only one who really enjoyed the oatmeal and raisin ones with her," Mercedes admitted, "She doesn't make them half as much now that she's practically the only one who eats them." Mercedes hadn't meant it as an insult, but she knew that she was pressing buttons.
She'd apparently pressed the right one because Quinn's expression was suddenly overtaken by guilt and Mercedes felt like a jerk for pushing her when she was in a fragile state emotionally as it was.
"I'm sorry, Quinn," Mercedes apologized as the girl stared down at the plate of cookies. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It's just—"
"I just ignored everything your family had done for me and I tossed our friendship out of the window for a chance to get my old life back," Quinn spoke roughly—her voice was shaking and she looked like she was going to start crying all over again. Without anything else to do, the blonde chugged the glass of milk she had in her left hand.
Mercedes was speechless. She hadn't expected Quinn to come right out and admit it like that.
Quinn leaned over and placed the empty glass and cookies back on the night stand. She tugged at her hair as she crossed her legs beneath her. "Well, yeah," Mercedes said lamely—not having any other response.
They were silent for a moment before Mercedes got her wits back about her. "Why are you here, Quinn?" she asked—the question had been eating at her since she'd first seen Quinn on her doorstep. "Why the hell would you walk six miles to my house—in the middle of a storm? Couldn't you have gotten a ride from Finn—"
"Finn broke up with me," Quinn snapped—she said Finn's name like it was the most disgusting thing she had ever had to acknowledge. Mercedes was taken aback by that revelation.
She knew that they were having problems, but she hadn't expected them to split so soon. Okay, that was a lie—she knew that their relationship was doomed when it started over again, but she wasn't going to say that out loud—at least not right now.
"Why?" she asked.
"For Rachel," Quinn replied—her voice was so bitter that a bad taste formed in Mercedes' mouth. She had seen Quinn furious and hurt, but she hadn't seen this bitter and resentful side of her before—and she knew for a fact that all of that hate couldn't be coming from a failed relationship and a lost two dollar crown from Party City.
"He's still in love with her," Quinn told her and Mercedes stared at her friend.
"Do you want me to be honest with you right now?" Mercedes questioned suddenly, "Or do you want me to tell you something that will comfort you for a few days and then I'll tell you the truth when you're ready to hear it?"
She had a hell of a lot to say to Quinn—stuff that the girl needed to hear, but it was pointless to say any of it if Quinn didn't want to hear her advice or wasn't ready to hear what needed to be said.
Either way, Mercedes wouldn't make that choice for her. Quinn was grown. And she could make her own decisions.
Quinn looked startled at the bluntness—she must've briefly forgotten what it was like to be a friend with Mercedes. That was okay—she would be reminded quickly.
Mercedes watched quietly as the emotions flittered through Quinn's eyes.
"As much as I know I need to hear what you have to say," Quinn began, "I'm not ready yet."
Mercedes could understand that and she was happy that Quinn was being honest with herself—for once. Maybe all the maturity she had gained at the end of last year hadn't been lost in the last year.
"Okay," she said to the blonde. Quinn seemed taken aback by her easy agreement, but she didn't say anything out loud to question it as Mercedes stood up. "Should you call your mom or something?"
Quinn's eyes watered. "I should," she confessed, "but I don't want to go home tonight. Would it be alright if I stayed here—just for one night?"
Mercedes blinked. Now she knew there was something going on, and whatever it was had Quinn wound so tightly that she was practically an emotional military knot. Mercedes fought off her rising concern as she said, "That's fine. Do you want to stay in your old bedroom?"
They had kept her room just like she had left it. Quinn had become an integral part of her family—none of them had the heart to remove her place from their household. When Quinn gave her a confused look, Mercedes told her as much. The blonde looked even more overwhelmed and Mercedes prayed that the girl would stop being so stubborn before she did something stupid.
"Uh," Quinn choked out, "Would it be alright if I stayed in here—with you?" Mercedes was shocked—not just by the silent tears that were clinging to Quinn's blonde eyelashes, but because of the question.
She and Mercedes had slept in the same bed many times. Whenever Quinn's hormones were driving her into different moods—fear, paranoia, hysteria—and giving her nightmares, the blonde would sleep in Mercedes' room. The chocolate skinned diva had held a crying Quinn many a nights. And it looked like Quinn needed her to be that friend more than ever right now.
So Mercedes agreed. Quinn looked so grateful and relieved that Mercedes felt her heart break. She would get to the bottom of this because as crappy as Quinn had treated her lately—she knew that the kind-hearted girl who'd become one of her best friends was buried underneath all those walls Quinn had up.
After Mercedes had taken the dishes downstairs and brushed her teeth, she got into bed and turned off the lights—Quinn laying not four feet from her. And when she felt a soft hand grip hers, she looked over and could barely make out Quinn's outline in the darkness.
"Thank you Mercedes," the blonde girl whispered and the sincerity in her voice destroyed any lingering anger Mercedes had towards her. She would never forget, but Quinn had already received her forgiveness.
Damn her conscience.
REVIEW! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Until next time! :D The lyrics in this chapter belong to Justin Bieber's "Baby" and Elvis Presley's "All I Needed Was the Rain".
