Chapter 4
The next time Quinn wakes up, the room around her is blurry and she's alone and feverish – lost and confused – and she's reeling from yet another terrible nightmare. She can't register where she is, no matter how hard she tries. All she knows is that he – with his cruel face and cruel, cruel hands – was there.
He could be here.
She whimpers in absolute fear, curling on her side and clutching Frankie tighter to her bosom because her heart is pounding so fast and her chest is tightening so much it hurts. She's shaking and she can't stop it. There are tears in her eyes that she couldn't prevent from coming, falling in fat drops on her pillow.
You made me really angry again, Quinn, he said.
I'll punish you so bad, he said.
She clutches at the covers of the unfamiliar bed until her fingernails hurt and she starts to shake even worse. He's going to hurt her. Again. She doesn't want to hurt more but she doesn't know what to do to stop herself from hurting either.
She really doesn't. She wishes she does.
"F-Frannie," she just whispers shakily, desperately, like a little kid, because she doesn't know who else to call, tears falling freely from her tightly-closed eyes. It's wrong to want things but she wants to be six again. She wants Frannie by her side. She wants Frannie to hug her even if it's impossible. She needs Frannie because her head is hurting so bad and she's so, so cold. "Can you h-hear me? Please, Frannie. Please come back? I-I need y-you...I need you so much," she sobs.
Frannie doesn't though, because she can't. But Quinn really wants her to.
She really, really wants her to.
"F-Frannie? T-take me p-please? H-he's g-going to h-hurt me again. P-please? Don't you w-want me, too?"
Her tears are now soaking up the stuffed lamb, but she couldn't stop them. She sobs quietly again, praying desperately that he wouldn't keep his promise.
But, like a punch hitting her in the stomach (because she knows exactly how that feels), she hears them.
Footsteps.
Her eyes fly open in terror, her chin trembles, and she shakes some more, curling over Frankie tighter.
Help me.
"Quinn?"
She whimpers, closing her eyes tight. Please don't hurt me, she pleads in her mind, even if she knows it wouldn't stop him.
Please. I promise I'm sorry.
"Quinn? Are y-you awake?" the voice asks again. It's small, nervous, and doesn't sound like him, but it does nothing to stop Quinn from shuddering; it does nothing to calm her pounding heart.
Everyone's going to punish you, he said.
No one's going to love you, he said.
You deserve every little hurt and everyone knows that, he said.
"Oh, Quinn," the voice is saying. It's getting closer. Quinn's head is pounding in fear now, and she tries sinking into the bed more, trying to hide behind the pillow. Her bruised stomach and shoulder hurt with how tight she's hugging Frankie, but she ignores it.
I won't be bad…Please.
There's a clank of glass from somewhere in her side, and she knows she's really going to get it. Father is always worse after he's had his glass. She wonders how he would punish her this time. Would he lock her in the closet again? Punish her with the buckle of his belt until she bleeds? Slam her head on the wall? Punch and kick her again and again, until it hurt for her to stand? Make her kneel on frozen peas for six hours?
Or would he be more creative? Would he surprise her with another form of punishment?
Will she finally be ready this time? Because she never was before no matter how hard she tried.
Her heart is pounding so hard. Her head feels heavy and hot. A hand touches her aching shoulder and it's then that she loses it.
She scrambles into sitting position, hiding behind her knees, sweating and panting, cowering as far away as possible from the hands that she's sure was meant to hurt. She doesn't let go of Frankie, keeping him safe in her tight hug as she sinks to the headrest, trembling violently. Her eyes are wide but unseeing, and she struggles to keep breathing because her chest feels so, so tight.
"P-lease don't," she pleads earnestly even if she knows pleading wouldn't earn her a reprieve.
"Don't what, Quinn?" the confused voice asks. "It's me, Brittany. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
Quinn's heart starts pounding slowly as realization slowly sinks in her brain. Her befuddled sight clears a little now that it's not clouded with the same crippling fear. She slowly remembers. She remembers Rachel. She's at Rachel's home. Not at Russel's. Her breathing eases a little, but the bad feeling doesn't. Now, she feels less scared and more embarrassed and stupid.
"B-Brittany?"
"Yes, Brittany from school. Please don't be scared. I'm not going to be bad to you like most kids do," she says before tilting her head to the right, looking deep in thought. "Can't you recognize me because you don't have your glasses?"
Quinn shakes her head. She can recognize her, of course, even if it is indeed a little blurry.
"Why are you crying? You look so sad," Brittany continues to prod, sitting next to Quinn's bed.
Quinn looks at Frankie on her lap. "I-I just had a n-nightmare. I-I'm s-sorry."
"Oh, Quinn," Brittany says worriedly, bending a little and gently stroking Quinn's cheek. Quinn flinches a little but Brittany keeps her gentle probing and only lets go when Quinn starts to relax. "I don't like nightmares, too. They scare me so much. And I should be the one who's sorry. Rachel instructed me not to leave you alone because you're really sick and scared, but you were sleeping so I thought I should go down and make us some milk," she explains, pointing at the glasses of milk she placed on the table. Quinn follows the action silently, a little relieved that the glasses in fact do not have alcohol in them. It could mean she's not going to get hurt as much if she screws up again and angers Brittany or Rachel or Santana.
Especially Santana.
"Mommy makes me milk every time I'm sick. It makes me feel better all the time. I hope it'll make you feel better too," Brittany continues.
Quinn takes her eyes off the glasses to meet Brittany's. "T-thank you," she says nervously. She realizes her handsare still shaking so she puts them in her sides and clutches at the sheets.
"Oh, Quinn. You look really scared. I think you need a ," Brittany offers, opening her warm arms invitingly.
Quinn clutches at the sheets tighter, her chest tightening, her emotions warring. She's not used to this. Brittany shouldn't hug her. She's not sure if she's really not going to hurt her. Besides, Quinn probably smells bad. Her father always calls her garbage, after all.
But she really, really wants to be hugged, too. Even more. Even if she's scared. It felt really nice when Rachel hugged her. Like how it felt when Frannie did. She'd never forget. She felt safe…almost. It has been too long since she felt that way, and she desperately wants to feel that way always but she knows it wouldn't happen. She'd never deserve it. She deserves to be hurt because she's not learning her lessons no matter how much time her father wastes teaching them to her.
But Brittany is smiling at her, even if it almost looks sad. Then she realizes that maybe it's her that's causing the taller blonde's sadness, and she doesn't want that, even more than anything. So, swallowing her fear, she puts Frankie safely against the headboard and scuffles towards Brittany's arms.
Silently, closing her eyes tight, she sinks into the other blonde's warm embrace.
"It's OK. Please don't be scared now," Brittany coos, rubbing small circles around Quinn's back.
The smaller blonde just stays quiet, content with gently nuzzling her nose against Brittany's neck. She lets herself relax. It feels good to feel this way even for a while, even just once. She may not have this again after this, and that makes her feel sad, which is wrong. She shouldn't hope for anything.
"Do you feel less scared now?"
Quinn nods her head, fighting her tears. "Yes, I do. Thank you very much, Brittany."
Brittany hugs her a little while longer before deciding to pull away.
Quinn doesn't want to let go yet but she doesn't tell Brittany that lest she upsets her, screw this up. Then she remembers something, making her a little paler with nerves. "R-Rachel said y-you burned your finger," she whispers anxiously.
"Oh," Brittany says, raising a band-aid-wrapped finger. "Yes, I did. But it's OK now. It was so little. Santana mended it."
"I-it's my fault," Quinn admits, hanging her head. She's really embarrassed. All she does is cause harm to others. It doesn't matter if she doesn't mean to. She still screws up. "Y-you shouldn't get near me," she adds even if all she wants is be near Brittany right now because it's nice to have someone there.
"No, it's not your fault. How can it be? Rachel said that it's the fire's fault. At first I thought it was my fault for hurting the pan with fire and the pan's just getting back at me, but Rachel cleared it all up. She said the pan doesn't hurt with fire, but fire hurts everything else so I should be really more careful around it."
Quinn just stares at Brittany as she unconsciously picks at her palm, a little awed. She has never heard anyone talk about fire and pan like that before. Sure, she never really talked to anyone, but Brittany sounds a little…different. And Quinn likes it. She likes Brittany. Quinn thinks she herself is different, too. Different enough to not have a friend, even. She realizes she's happy for Brittany because she has friends.
"Anyway, can I add you in Facebook," Brittany asks suddenly. Quinn is a little surprised with how fast the change in conversation went.
"I-I don't have it," she admits shyly, blushing a little. She's heard about it from other kids, but she doesn't know how to do it. Father doesn't allow her to use the internet. He says it promulgates sin. Besides, Facebook is about having friends, and she doesn't have them. She can't have them. It would be pointless.
"Oh. What a shame," Brittany exclaims, body sagging a little.
Quinn hangs her head again, embarrassed. Her heart beats rapidly andshe wants to cry so bad; now Brittany knows how much of a freak she really is.
"Because Rachel said we can ask you to be our friend now, and asking you to be our friend in Facebook would legally seal it so…"
Quinn gasps, her heart pounding even more. She looks at Brittany, eyes wide, and breathing really deeply. She can't believe what she's hearing. "F-friends? R-Rachel wants me to be her fr-friend?"
Brittany nods eagerly. "Yes. We both want to. And Santana will, hopefully. Or eventually. She'll just need more time."
Quinn hesitates. "But I d-don't know how to be a friend."
"It's easy, silly. You just have to be yourself and let your friends see it," Brittany exclaims.
The smaller blonde is conflicted. Brittany makes it sound so easy. Maybe it is. Quinn feels hope bubble in her chest.
She can have friends.
"So, do you want to? I know we were mean to you before, but I really, really regret it. And Rachel says she regrets it, too. We'll prove it to you. We want to be your friend," Brittany urges, eyes hopeful.
Quinn twists her hands uncomfortably, face contorting a little in anxiety. Friends.It's all she wants. But she's scared because she knows she'll just be disappointing them. She'll just hurt them. They'd just hate her in the end, too. They'd just leave her when they get tired of her.
But she really, really, really wants to say yes, too. Friends. Impromptu hugs. Sleepovers. Chocolate drinks. Sweet kisses on the cheeks. People to . Especially safety. She might finally have them. Her mouth itches to say yes. Her heart, too.
"Come on, Quinn. Be our friend. I'm sure you want it," Brittany urges.
Biting her lip, Quinn finds enough courage to meet Brittany's eyes. "Y-you promise you won't r-regret it?"
The taller blonde regards her heartbrokenly. She takes Quinn's hand. "Oh, Quinn. I'm really sorry for everything we did. I promise not to regret it. I want to be your friend forever."
Quinn looks down, blushing. She'd do this. "O-Ok," she whispers.
"OK?" Brittany gasps.
Quinn nods shyly, then lifts her head a little to study Brittany carefully, fearing she's just toying with her. This is so like a dream.
The blonde seems really sincere, though.
"OK," she says with a small grin.
"Yes!" Brittany does a little happy dance in her seat. Quinn watches her silently, smiling a little. "We should drink to that! Do you drink?"
Quinn is confused. What does Brittany mean? Of course she drinks. People need to drink. Why would Brittany ask her that? Then her eyes passes the glasses on the table. "Oh. You mean t-the m-milk?"
"Oh, I almost forgot about that. It's not what I really meant, but this would do, I guess," Brittany says, taking both glasses. "Here, drink this. This is our celebratory drink as friends."
"F-friends," Quinn repeats in a whisper, heart thumping again. She takes the milk shyly when Brittany offers it to her.
"Come on, give me a toast."
Quinn's forehead scrunches a little. "I d-don't have bread. I-I'm sorry."
Brittany laughs. "Oh, you're a cute, silly little puppy. That means we bump our glasses. But it's OK though, I'm confused as to why it's called that, too."
"Oh," Quinn says, her anxiety building up a little. She sees father do that with mommy a lot. But he doesn't say give me a toast. He just raises his glass and mommy understands.
But Brittany is not like Father. She can't be.
Brittany is happily raising her glass, though, so Quinn makes her glass bump with Brittany's cautiously, even when it's shaking so bad. She doesn't want to anger her.
She takes a sip of her milk after Brittany did, and she forgets her fear for a while. It tastes good. She likes milk.
"You need to have a Facebook, though, so you could officially confirm our friendship," Brittany states after a while.
Did she mention she doesn't know how to? But she doesn't want to make her f-friend angry, so, "I-I'll try to make one," she says unsurely.
"I can help you if you don't know how to," Brittany offers brightly. "Santana made mine, but I know how to do it now. But you're still sick so we'll just make you a Facebook account when you're well."
"Really?"
"Yes, of course."
"O-OK."
Brittany smiles widely. "To friendship!" she exclaims, raising her milk for a toast again.
Quinn obliges nervously. But this time, she's slightly happy, too.
To friendship.
/
"The dynamo was placed and configured correctly, but the size of the propeller isn't proportionate to that of the body," Quinn is saying softly, gesturing on the useless project. "If we make the plane's body a little thinner or smaller, then the force being exerted by the propeller would be enough to make this thing fly. If you can see, the body is too heavy so-"
Quinn glances at Brittany and noticeably blushes when she realizes that Brittany's just gawking at her truly awed. She stops talking immediately and just locks her eyes hard on the helicopter she's working on, looking a little self-conscious now.
Brittany frowns. She doesn't understand why Quinn stopped talking; she likes listening to her talk. Her voice is so soft, like feather. And she sounds so smart. It was probably the longest she has heard the smaller blonde speak, and it was like music to her ears.
She didn't want to make Quinn come to Rachel's room and help them with their project, but the smaller blonde insisted to the point of shedding tears. She seemed so guilty over something that Brittany thinks is not even her fault, and it breaks her heart to see her new friend beat herself up over this. And San and Rachel seemed to be having problems with fixing the project so she finally let Quinn help, but not before making her promise that she'd tell her if she starts feeling sick, and that she'll just be there to instruct while Brittany does the actual tasks.
"Why did you stop speaking? You were making my head hurt."
"I-I was?" Quinn looks at her, looking truly remorseful. "I-I'm sorry, t-that was stupid of me. I'll just stop talking," she mumbles.
"No, that's OK. Actually, that's good, really good. My little brother said that an aching head means a thinking head. You got me thinking about the lesson. I didn't really get it when Mrs. Warwick was discussing it to us but with you, I-"
"It's Mrs. Woodwick," Quinn corrects, lifting her head a little.
"What?"
"T-the Science teacher. Mrs. Woodwick, not-" Quinn repeats, before seeming to realize something and casting her eyes downward again, face really regretful. "S-sorry I interrupted you."
Brittany watches Quinn carefully, and it breaks her heart to see her look so guarded and scared and uncomfortable. Like she always was. Like she's thinking what she's doing is wrong all the time.
"Don't be sorry," she answers. "It doesn't matter. I don't think I know a teacher's surname correctly. Remembering our lessons is hard enough. Trying to remember teachers' names too would be too much. I can only do one. And Sanny said remembering the lesson is more important than remembering the teacher, so I always choose to remember the lesson more than the teacher."
Quinn stares at her then, mouth open cutely. Brittany smiles a little. People might not notice it, but she understands that people find her strange. And when they're looking at her after she speaks her mind, she can tell that there's judgment and a little bit of disgust on their faces. They think she's too stupid to know, but she isn't. So many people look at her strangely. Except her family and Rachel and Santana. They look at her with love all the time.
Others, though, think she's just another stupid blonde. She had seen too many looks like that to not know until now.
So she can tell that Quinn doesn't think of her that way. If anything, she just looks purely awed. Curious. No judgment, or disgust. No trace of thinking about how strange Brittany is. She looks like she's just trying to take it all in. Trying to take everything about Brittany in.
Trying to understand Brittany wholeheartedly.
And that's when Brittany decides, deep in her heart, that she really, really, really likes Quinn, and she's going to be her friend for as long as she can.
"So what am I supposed to do to make it fly," she asks, gesturing that Quinn hand her their project to settle the silence that followed her statement.
Quinn gives her the project while biting her tongue, but she's obviously a little excited to teach Brittany if her slightly bounding toes are any indication. They spend the next hour trying to do the necessary adjustments to make the thing fly. Quinn tells her the instructions shyly but clearly, so Brittany doesn't find it hard to comply. Also, Brittany does her best to finish the project as fast as she can so that Quinn can rest at an earlier time, especially when the sick girl starts coughing a lot after about an hour.
After Brittany glues in the last of the pieces, she stares at Quinn unsurely. "Do you think I did it right?" she asks, face a little worried.
"Yes, of course," Quinn answers softly but surely. "You did really well."
"Should I try it now?"
Quinn nods encouragingly, so Brittany nervously nods back. With bated breath, she turns the dial on the side of the plane a few times and waits nervously.
And then it whirs to life.
Both of them stare with mouths open in excitement as the helicopter successfully hovers a few feet above the ground. Brittany hurriedly catches the rope that they tied around the project's tail before their hand-made helicopter crashes against the roof. She pulls it down and presses the off button. The propeller decreases its rotation speed until it stops fully.
She looks at Quinn with the same shell-shocked but happy expression that she's sure never left her face. The other blonde's face is mirroring her own.
She did it! It's the first science project that she made herself!
Quinn beams at her, shyly, but she still looks so, so proud.
Santana and Rachel would be so proud.
Hell, Brittany is so proud of herself. She doesn't remember ever feeling this smart!
"We should take a picture of us and the plane," she says happily, blindly groping her pocket for her iphone. She's pretty sure she put it there. But it's not there, so she grabs her bag and searches at the contents instead. She finds the phone inside her lunchbox…again.
"Just for remembrance," she quips when she finally gets hold of it, walking next to Quinn. People do a lot of photography nowadays. She likes taking photos of Lord Tubbington's lustful facial expressions. Rachel photographs her precious, music-producing throat at least five times a day. Santana likes photographing her sexy lace panties and sells the photos on Ebay.
She sits Indian style next to Quinn, positions the now-working plane so that it's between them and opens her Camera 360 app, then makes a peace sign and grins widely. She is about to tap the shot bar when she feels Quinn squirm a little beside her. She puts her phone down and studies her friend, frowning a little. Then she her frown turns into a smile of amusement.
Quinn is looking at her lap uncomfortably, biting her lip and blushing to the tip of her ears.
The taller blonde coos in her head again. Her new friend is adorably bashful.
"Come on, Quinn. Don't be shy," she urges, nudging Quinn in the shoulders slightly. She doesn't expect the pained whimper that leaves the other girl's lips as she cradles her shoulder.
"Oh no! Are you OK? Did I hurt your arm?"
"N-no, I'm OK," Quinn answers, an alarmed look crossing her face. Brittany frowns in concern. She doesn't understand what's happening, but she feels her stomach drop for a reason she doesn't know.
"You're sure?"
Quinn nods, eyes desperately pleading for Brittany to believe her.
Brittany looks at Quinn, thinking deeply. "OK, Quinn. My body is sore when I'm sick, too," she tells her, although she's still slightly worried. "Now, let's take a picture."
The smaller blonde blushes yet again. "Y-you can just be alone in the p-picture. I can take it for you," she says bashfully. "I'd just make it look bad."
Brittany scoffs. "Pffft. That's impossible, Quinn."
Quinn doesn't answer. She refuses to look at Brittany. Instead, she casts her eyes downwards again, looking like she doesn't believe her.
Sighing, Brittany just decides not to force her. "Let's just not take our photos then," she suggests. Her new photo with the plane should be with her new friend or nothing.
Then, a better idea crosses her mind. She stands up, and uses her best ninja-moves to crawl towards Santana.
"What are you doing?" Quinn asks nervously, following Brittany's movements with her tired eyes.
"Shhh," she shushes her gently. "I'm going to take their photos. I know it seems mean, but friends do this to their real friends all the time."
"Really?" Quinn whispers
"Yes. Santana has a collection of Rachel's hilarious sleeping faces," Brittany shares. "I'll show them to you sometimes."
Quinn nods, although she still looks shocked and unsure.
The Cheerio snickers as she finishes taking funny pictures of both of her friends. Quinn is just following her movements a little dazedly. The photographs are genius – they are so going to go a long way tomorrow.
When she looks at her blonde friend again to show her the photos, she realizes that Quinn is looking a lot weaker than earlier. She catches the smaller blonde unsuccessfully suppress a shiver, and the sight effectively makes her naughty grin fall into frown.
"Are you OK?"
Quinn nods weakly but Brittany can tell by her really pale face and drooping eyelids that she's starting to feel really unwell again. She slides next to Quinn then, gently puts her arm around her shoulders.
Quinn immediately sags quietly against Brittany chest, trying to find even a tiny bit of comfort. And comfort for Quinn is only but a portion of what Brittany's willing to give to her.
She can feel the heat of the girl's forehead through her shirt, though. "I think you're burning up again. Maybe your medicine is wearing off," she says worriedly, while trying to think of what to do. She looks at both of her sleeping friends. They both have their mouths open, and they look like they're sleeping uncomfortably, but she decides to let them just sleep that way. Their bones could ache all they want tomorrow; they kind of deserve it for making Quinn sicker. "Maybe you should just sleep in Rachel's bed. It's nearer," she says. "Come on, I'll help you." She starts lifting both of them up.
Quinn seems hesitant. "R-Rachel might get angry."
"No, she won't," Brittany answers.
"But they look uncomfortable. They'd h-hurt tomorrow. Maybe they should sl-sleep on the bed. I can just sl-sleep here," the smaller blonde says, looking at both Rachel and Santana with pure concern.
Brittany makes an 'awwww' sound in her head. "It's OK, Quinn. They're used to sleeping that way," she lies, just to convince the smaller blonde.
"R-really?" Quinn asks worriedly.
Brittany wants to lie again but she frowns instead at the terribly forlorn look on Quinn's sweet face and just decides not to.
"No, I was lying. But it's OK. You're the sick one so they'll totally be fine with that."
"A-are you sure?"
"Yes, I am. I promise, I'm sure. And I'm also sure I won't be able to make them switch places. They sleep like dead snails." She whispers the last part dramatically, as if she's telling Quinn a special secret. The smaller blonde bites her lip and giggles a little.
"OK, Brittany."
The Cheerio then helps Quinn to Rachel's bed and tucks her safely under the covers. She frowns in concern when Quinn doesn't stop trembling even with the thick blanket on. She really needs to drink her medicine. She checks the time. The last time she drank her medicine was four hours ago; they're just in time for her next dose.
"I think you're medicine is left in the next room," she says. "Can you wait here? I'll just get them for you."
Quinn nods, nuzzling against a pillow. "Th-thank you, Brittany. C-can you get Frankie, too?" she asks shyly before burying her face in her pillow slightly. "Sorry."
"Shhh. Don't say sorry. I'll get it for you," she says, before turning around without a second thought. She's almost at the door when she remembers that she doesn't know what the blonde is talking about. "Wait, who's Frankie?"
"T-the lamb," Quinn explains.
Oh. Brittany giggles. She noticed the lamb earlier. She likes lambs. She likes it that Quinn likes lambs. "Sure. You just wait here, OK?"
Quinn nods, smiling shyly. Brittany winks at Quinn, who blushed, before heading for the medicines and Frankie. When she comes back, Quinn is still lying down, but her eyes are open tiredly and she smiles weakly when Brittany arrives at the door.
She was really waiting for her.
Touched, the taller blonde walks next to the bed and helps sit Quinn up so she can drink her medicines. She has to ask Quinn about which pills to give her, though. She still gets confused with medicines a lot.
After the blonde has had her fill, Brittany helps her lie down again. She hands her Frankie and Quinn happily reaches for her friend, making the taller blonde smile.
For a while, Brittany just sits next to Quinn to watch her sleep just in case she has a nightmare again. The look on the smaller blonde's face when Brittany came in with the milk was really heartbreaking, and as much as possible, she doesn't want that look in Quinn's face again. She made the mistake of leaving her alone earlier, she's not going to let it happen for a second time.
A few minutes later though, Quinn is still shivering and coughing weakly on her pillow, while Brittany is starting to get really sleepy. It is then than an idea crosses her mind.
"I should just cuddle with you," she suggests cheerfully. "My mommy always cuddles me when I'm sick. That way, you wouldn't have nightmares, and I can sleep, too."
Quinn's eyes are closed but she blushes a lot, then frowns. She rubs at her closed eyelids absently. "But y-you might get s-sick, too," she whispers hoarsely.
"No, I won't. I took my vitamins this morning," Brittany answers matter-of-factly.
Quinn frowns again. "But I-I don't smell good."
Brittany giggles. "You're silly, Quinn. You smell like sunshine."
"Sunshine has s-smell?" Quinn opens a confused eye halfway to look at Brittany questioningly.
"Oh, you're like a sleepy little kitten, Quinn," she says. "Why don't you just let me cuddle you, and let's sleep together?"
Quinn blinks twice. "A-are you sure?"
"Of course!" Brittany says eagerly, jumping to Quinn's bed gently and settles with Quinn under the covers. She opens her arms wide for the blonde but she can tell that Quinn is hesitating. "It's OK, Quinn, don't be shy," she urges.
"O-OK," the other blonde murmurs, slowly squirming towards Brittany and gently sinking into her hug, resting her tired, heavy head on Brittany's chest. The taller blonde immediately wraps the quiet blonde in her safe embrace, content to just hold the fevered girl there.
"G-goodnight, Brittany."
"Goodnight, Quinn."
"Y-you're warm," Quinn mumbles sleepily. "Like F-Frannie."
Brittany is too sleepy to ask about who Frannie is. So she just says, "You're warmer."
Quinn giggles a little, even if it has a little wheezing sound in the end. "That's because I'm sick, silly."
"That's because your heart is warmer than everyone else's," Brittany counters.
"Really? But…"
"Shhh…"
"I-I'm sorry."
"Shh," she hushes again, rubbing the blonde's back to calm her down because she can feel her heart beating faster against her chest again. "Just relax and sleep, Quinn. It's OK."
"A-alright. Goodnight again."
"'night."
/
The first thing Santana notices when she wakes up the next day is the aching in her joints. She'll soon realize that it's because she has fallen asleep hunched against the side of Rachel's bed, exhausted, cold and uncomfortable.
The second thing she notices is that it's morning, and she remembers all of them falling asleep while doing their project. While, not after, which means that there's a very good chance that they haven't finished it, which means that they wouldn't be able to pass their Science class, they'd be kicked off the Cheerios and their dreams are dead. Brittany's dreams are dead. She curses nothing in particular, because it's too early to find something specific to curse, as she angrily pushes herself into sitting position. They're officially doomed.
The third thing she notices, which brings her fury to the highest possible notch, is that the cause of their doom is now in the room with them, and is tucked inside Brittany's warm hug instead of Santana. She's usually cranky in the mornings, but this is a whole lot different.
Now she has a specific thing to curse. She can feel the heat of her anger rise at the base of her neck, consuming her entirely, uncontrollably.
What is that bitch thinking?!
Fuming, she storms towards the blondes' direction and kicks hard at the bottom of the bed. The jerking immediately snapped Brittany's eyes open as she groggily looks up at Santana. Quinn just moans weakly, looking too sick and tired to do anything else, but her terror is obvious with the way she trembles violently and tucks herself further against Brittany, trying to look as small as she can.
This only angers Santana more.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?!"
"San-"
"Get off her!" she shouts, practically ripping Quinn from Brittany's body by grabbing her by the arm and shoving her towards the corner. Quinn, who is thrown away from the bed, sobs in fear, but she is too weak to keep her balance and so she just lets herself fall in a sitting position on the floor where Santana practically threw her, leaning weakly against the wall and curling over herself.
"Santana," Brittany pleads. "Please, don't hurt her!"
Santana is too consumed by her anger to listen to Brittany's pleading. She snaps at Quinn again. "How do you manage to do this? Tie Brit and Rachel in your shoes when all you do is ruin everything for us?"
"San, please, stop! You don't know what you're talking about!"
Again, Brittany's pleas go unheard. "You think you could just force yourself to us and be our friend? You actually deluge yourself with the idea that you deserve us, huh, freak?! You think anyone would even want to be near you?! We'll here's the headline for today just in case you haven't heard it yet: you're fucking wrong! You're a loser, a fucking loser, and that's what you ever will be no matter how hard you try! Do you understand me?"
"Santana! You stop this instant!" If the Latina isn't too consumed by her anger, she would have noticed that Brittany is red in the face and is in the verge of a breakdown. But she doesn't. All she's seeing is red, and all she's feeling is anger, and all she knows is that the freak needs to pay for what she did.
"Answer me!"
Through her shaking and panting, Quinn manages to hoarsely say as she rocks on her toes, terrified, "I-I'm s-sorry. I-I know I do-don't deserve you. Pl-please d-don't punish me."
"Yeah right, as if that would happen. I'm going to show you what you deserve, freak," she threatens, walking a little closer towards the blonde. Brittany tries holding her back in the arm but an angry Santana is a hundred times stronger, and it isn't hard for her to shrug off the taller blonde.
"I-I'm sorry," Quinn pants again, breaths erratic. She is turning red in the face from her fear and all the crying. "Pl-please…"
"Santana!" Another strong voice joins the fray. Santana gets a little distracted by that, and she momentarily gets her eyes off the Odd Show and settle them on her HBIC friend instead. Brittany takes that as her chance to approach Quinn, kneeling next to the harshly shaking and panting blonde. Quinn squirms away from her though, shaken eyes looking terribly lost and Brittany starts tearing up helplessly, confused if she should reach out to the terrified girl more.
"What's happening here?!" Rachel marches up to them from the door, eyes ablaze with what Santana can surely tell is pure anger. Her hair is wet, as well as her shirt, so Santana knows she cut her morning rituals short when she heard of the commotion.
"I'm just advising the freak to know her place," she counters, levelling Rachel's stare. "I woke up to this leech sucking on Brittany and I only did what I was supposed to do as a friend."
Rachel glances at a shaking Quinn, her eyes turning worried for a while, before seeming to compose once again burning a glare at Santana. "You need to leave before I lose it at you," she warns, knuckles tightly clamped in her sides.
"What's wrong with you, two? Why are you suddenly kissing up to that bitch? She's a screw-up who knows nothing but bring the rest of the world to hell with her!"
"And you're so much worse," Rachel counters just as heatedly. "You're behaving more stupidly than everybody in hell right now by attacking a sick girl."
"Oh fuck this," Santana exclaims. "Why are we even fighting about her? She's probably rejoicing over the fact that she isn't ignored like she rightfully does every fucking day! And if she's sick, it's probably because she fucking deserves it!"
"How can you say that? She doesn't," Brittany cries loudly, hoarsely, heart-achingly from where she sits next to Quinn, and both the other Cheerios turn their attention to, utter sorrow drawn on their faces. Quinn still has her head in between her knees, rocking nervously on her toes. There's no indication if she's too lost in her head to understand what's happening around her. "You're so mean, Santana! And stupid! I'm disgusted to be your friend! I don't like you anymore!"
The other two cheerios are too shocked to say anything at that moment. Santana watches with her heart being cruelly split apart as the one person she cares about so much in the world grabs their useless project from the table, then her overnight backpack before running outside the house.
Rachel looks at her, and she's too shocked to look back. "What are you waiting for? Get out of here because I don't want to see your face until you fix your shit."
The smaller Cheerio then kneels next to Quinn, and tries to touch her gently in the shoulder, perhaps draw her out of her thoughts. Quinn recoils at the slightest of contact, whimpering, but Santana doesn't notice it at all. She doesn't – because all she can think about now is that look in Brittany's face and how much she has screwed up.
/
The car ride to Brittany's house is full of unspoken tension. Now that the adrenaline and her early morning freak out have subsided a little, Santana is starting to feel a little guilty with how she has reacted. Sure, that weirdo has done a lot of mistakes lately, but she shouldn't have acted like that in front of Brittany; she made herself seem like a total d-bag.
Brittany hasn't spoken a single word since they left the Berry household. The blonde was determined to walk home and not be inside Santana's car and if Santana hasn't utterly pleaded to the point of kneeling down, Brittany would have had not come inside.
The blonde doesn't even acknowledge her until now, though, and Santana just listens agonizingly with her stomach slightly dropping more and more each time she hears the blonde sniff. She really hates it when Brittany cries. Even a thousand more so if she knows it's because of her.
But it should also be because of the weirdo who ruined their project and Santana believes it would be unfair of Brit to think that she's the only one to blame in the early morning commotion. When Brittany sniffs yet again, Santana finally takes a deep breath and the courage she needs, and brings the car to a halt at the side of the road.
Brittany doesn't even look at her. She keeps staring out the window, looking extremely, extremely upset.
Taking a deep breath, Santana starts, "B, listen… "
The blonde cuts her short sternly. "Just take me home, Santana. I don't want to talk to you."
"Please…"
"I said just take me home, Santana," the blonde repeats – this time a little louder, still not bothering to look at the Latina.
"Please B," the brunette pleads again, sounding a lot more desperate this time. She doesn't care about reputations when it comes to Brittany. "I'm sorry, I really am. I overreacted, I know but-"
The blonde finally looks at her at that, face dead angry. "Overreacted?" she questions. "You went crazy!"
"I-I know," she admits, feeling like an even bigger bitch than she is. "But I was too angry, and it was too early, and I- I was confused. I wasn't able to control myself. You know how I am in the mornings. Especially when I…I'm stressed and w…worried. I'm really sorry, believe me. Please."
"It can't take back what you did," Brittany answers heatedly, her chest heaving along with her emotions. "Why did you have to hurt her like that? You know she's sick!"
"Brit, I know it seemed awful, and admittedly it was, but you have to understand where I'm coming from. I was just protecting you; I was just protecting us."
Brittany scoffs through her tears. "From what? From her? Are you blind? Can't you see she needs more protecting than all of us combined? Do you even think she's capable of hurting anyone?"
"It would be wrong to trust her-"
"I was wrong to trust you!"
Santana gasps, eyes starting to burn even more. Her mouth opens, but it takes her a few seconds to voice out a stuttered, "Y-you don't mean that…"
"Yes, I do," Brittany says. "You promised you wouldn't hurt her but you still did and I hate you for that."
Santana feels her heart being ripped apart. She's a bitch, and a hater, but she needs Brittany's love, and she wouldn't be able to live her life with Brittany hating her. She can't.
"Come on, B. Please…I was wrong, I know, but you know I wouldn't hurt her too much," she bargains desperately. It's a douche-baggy excuse, she knows, but she's desperate for Brittany's forgiveness at this point.
"Too much? You shouldn't have hurt her a little bit. Everyone has hurt her enough!"
"She kind of ruined our project, our only hope to pass that science class, the very same one we need to pass and retain our place in the Cheerios. It's so important for me for us to get that cheerleading scholarship because you're so important to me. You're all I'm thinking about, believe me. I-I lo-" She shakes her head. "I-I look forward to seeing you in college. That's all I wish for, and because of that Weirdo, you could lose your chance."
"Yeah? You know what? That's actually funny, because if you just took enough time to get your head out of your ass, then you'd know that that weirdo just helped me get my dream back."
"Wh-what do you m-mean?"
"What I mean is if you just let your stupidity get just a tiny little bit behind you, you would have noticed that while you were spending the night snoring your healthy ass out, Quinn has to haul her sick ones out of bed to fix that damaged piece of wood you unfairly made her believe she broke in the first place. And thanks to her you might get your dream college life. But hey, prepare to have them lived without me, because I don't even want to be anywhere near you after this. So drive this freaking car now, before I walk out again because frankly, every second I spend here with you feels like the worst times of my life."
"Brit… I-I didn't know. God, I didn't… Brit… I'm sorry…"
"Well it's too late. And if you still have an ounce of brain left, you're going to start that car now."
Santana, too shamed in shock, just silently follows what Brittany wants. Her heart feels like it's carrying the world inside, and she barely locks in the urge to cry.
They reach the Pierce's residence with the same sickening silence that enveloped them during the majority of the ride. Brittany is about to get out when she seems to think twice before looking again at a still reeling Santana. The look in her blue eyes makes Santana want to beat herself.
"Anyway, you broke two promises," Brittany says. "You hurt her, that's the first. And you said you'd never hurt me, but obviously, you did the moment she hurt her."
She bangs the door before running inside their home, crying yet again.
Santana is left alone in the car, feeling like the world is about to collapse around her.
She wishes it would.
/
I apologize for the slightly long update. It was quite a busy week at work.
Once again, thank you so much for all of your support. You have no idea how much it means for a first-time fanfic writer like me, especially when it's coming from authors whose stories I have been silently following even before I created my account.
I had a wonderful time reading your reviews. I think it's really sweet that you want to protect this Quinn. She's turned out into a very heart-wrenching character, even more so than I have originally planned, and I am so pleased that you find my writing effective. And to those who said that my English is good, thank you. It's one of my favorite subjects at school. Hehe.
Also, thank you for putting in your suggestions. I made an outline for this story prior to writing it, and so far, your suggestions do not go far from my plans. Some even hit the home base, in fact (I'm talking about you Jemjo Storys), and I decided that I wouldn't be removing it just because you kind of guessed it. Hehe. I hope my writing of that part was good enough for you.
And please, never ever apologize for a long review (Yes, thebword). Thank you for telling me about the 'street slang' thing. Haha. You're kind of right. I don't know how to edit it, though, without affecting the whole thing, so it's probably going to stay that way for a while.
Also, I'm sorry for those who are growing impatient. There are several reasons why they haven't figured out about the abuse yet. The unholy trinity are no experts about it, and Quinn's constant fear, nightmare bouts and instinctive flinching could be easily linked with the bullying she receives from her peers daily. As for the sore stomach thing, she's sick and the human body is usually unusually sensitive when under the weather, both internally and externally, so there goes the excuse.
And don't worry, Santana will eventually redeem herself. She's not a bad person deep inside and we all know that.
Again, thank you for the reviewers. I can't mention every single one of you, but really, I am just so grateful.
Anyways, enough with my rant. Hope to see you on chapter 5.