A/N. Thanks for the corrections! I've edited some parts. Let me know if there are mistakes I overlooked.
Whoa. It's been 4 months (almost). I hope people are still following this story.
/
Chapter 9
/
If life truly is a dilemma, then Rachel, who is now thinking over things while sitting on her bed, definitely is living.
Noah has left a few moments ago, after offering a million thanks to the Berry men and not letting anyone else than him wash the dishes. Despite being annoyed at her airy cousin most of the time, Rachel thinks it's sweet of him to insist helping around every time he's here. Sure, he came in uninvited and consumed almost all the food, but still…
Presently, she's contemplating whether or not she should talk to her fathers. It'd be nice to ask them for advice, but if she'll want to talk about the Quinn situation then she'll have to bring the school situation, too. Including all the wrong things she's been doing. She doesn't want to hurt her fathers; if they knew what she'd been doing at school, they'd be really disappointed in her. With stress on really.
And she has never disappointed them before.
Burying her face in her hands, she shakes her head at herself. She has messed up – so, so much – and just like most of the time, she doesn't know what to do.
She needs some sort of refreshing so she can decide well – of that she's certain, so she walks to the powder room and washes her face. It will help clear her mind, tell her if she should converse with her fathers. But one round of washing isn't enough to calm her mind, so she washes her face again.
And again and again and again and again.
She's pretty sure she has spent at least an hour inside the room when she realizes she really has to act like the mature person that she is supposed to be, get over this, and talk to her dads.
And stop washing her face. It will be detrimental to her skin and to her parents' water bill.
She has just finished wiping her now fresh-as-baby face when "Don't Rain on my Parade" sounds through the whole room. Well, Rachel knows the song like she knows herself by now, and she can even sing it in her sleep, but she has long ago decided that she has to take every opportunity she has to hear it if she wants to slay the song when she auditions for the New York Academy of Arts. So ring tone, it is.
She stares at the screen before throwing her towel on the bed and placing the phone over her ear.
"Jesse?"
"Hey," comes Jesse's dreamy voice from the other line. Rachel can hear "Defying Gravity" playing in the background. She's not the only one with a pre-birth prepared NYADA song after all.
"Hi, Jesse. Look, I really appreciate you calling, but…uhmm…can I just call you back later? Now's really not a good time."
"No, I have to go somewhere in 30 minutes and I really need to talk to you about something."
Rachel doesn't remember Jesse telling him about where he should be tonight. "Wait, where are you going?"
"Uhm… Jason's having a small party, and I can't really say no to that. I had to blow him off last time because you said we needed to go on that date, remember?"
Rachel closes her eyes for a while, remembering how disastrous that "date" was. It appeared like Jesse had no idea what he was doing. It didn't bid well for Rachel – who knows how obsessive compulsive Jesse is at things – that her boyfriend seemed like he didn't make an effort for it at all, but she chugged it up to Jesse's busy schedule. "Well, wha-what do we need to talk about?"
"Rachel, please don't pretend that you don't know what I am about to talk to you about," Jesse asks, almost exasperatedly, and she wonders what she did wrong.
She can't remember, though. "No, Jesse, I have no idea."
A dramatic sigh is emitted from the other end of the line before a world-weary question. "What's happening between you and that freak?"
Rachel's voice gets caught in her throat. "W-what do you mean?"
There is another dramatic sigh, and Jesse, seemingly more impatient now tells her, "Don't lie to me, Rachel. I may not seem like I care but you know I do. Especially about you. I can read you like I can read Fanny's mind and then tell what she'll say or do next. So I knew you were lying to me earlier."
"Jesse -"
"I know you're associating with that freak," he cuts her off, his voice more edgy now. "And I don't know what happened for that to happen, but please, please tell me you're stopping it now. Think about me. You. Think about us."
Seeing no point in denying it now, she sighs and decides to take the risk, trusting her earlier instincts regarding Jesse.
"Fine. I reckon if I want this relationship to work then I've got to be honest. Yes, I had been associating with Quinn and -"
"I knew it! What have gotten-"
She cuts him off immediately, wishing desperately for her boyfriend to be his understanding self right this moment. "Jesse, listen please, I've been thinking about it, and maybe something can be done. Quinn's a good person. She's not hurting anyone. She doesn't deserve to be treated the way she's being treated at school. No one deserves to."
"Yes, and it sucks, but no one cares. No one cares about anything except how the next day will turn out for them. And you know how the next day will turn out for you if you keep associating with that freak. You can't be friends with her. Use your brain."
Rachel almost gasps. She knows Jesse can be so straightforward sometimes but that just stung. It's like he's possessed by someone else. "What's wrong with you?"
Her own anger may have seemed apparent to her boyfriend because Jesse starts to sound more patronizing when he answers. "Rachel, babe, listen to me, OK? I'm telling you this – I'm asking you to do this – because I love you. Enough to not want us –you – lose the power you currently have at school."
"Well, maybe we won't. Maybe we can pull Quinn up the social ladder instead of her pulling us down."
"Maybe," Jesse replies with a wry laugh, almost amused. "You know 'maybe' is paired with 'risk.' Always. Are you really that selfish? Do you know what you're playing with here?"
"Stop talking to me like that. Your words hurt. I'm not an idiot."
"Then start acting like you're not."
"What's your problem?!"
"Well right now, you are."
"And you think you're being better than that for me? Jesse, I understand your fears, but you need to understand me, too. I have to do something-"
"Yes, you do," Jesse answers. "You've got to stop."
"Please open your damn mind for one second and listen to me. I have done the most listening in this relationship and we both know I don't like rolling that way, but I did for you. I want to stay in this relationship, and if you want, too, you'll have to listen to me this time."
"No, you're off the point. If you want to continue being with me, stop befriending her. She's not worth it. Think about it. I have to go. Bye."
"Wha-," Rachel mutters disbelievingly. She doesn't even complete the sentence when a beep is heard from the other line.
She barely stops herself from throwing the phone against the wall.
/
Jesse's call was the one thing Rachel needed – her final straw – since right now she finds herself walking – almost dazedly – to her dads' bedroom, her mind blank but full and racing at the same time.
She can't help but feel lost, her throat aching because she desperately needs to steam out. Cry. For Quinn. For Jesse. For herself. For everything in this Godforsaken world.
If she'd be honest with herself, she has been feeling like she's lost herself for a while, even if didn't seem like it. Even if she doesn't admit it to herself. Even if to the watching world, she's exactly where she should be.
She has always wanted to be wanted. To be looked up to. To be popular. To be where she is now.
And now it has all come true. Jesse makes her feel like he wants her. Other students – teachers, even – look up to her. Not one person in school doesn't know her name. She's on top of the proverbial world.
Then why does she feel like she's nothing?
She hesitates outside her parents' room, unsure if she really should come in. Leroy and Hiram are facing the mirror side by side and making fun of each others' dark spots…again.
"Dad? Daddy," she calls, aware of how vulnerable her voice sounded. She stays at the door for a few seconds, still doubting whether or not this conversation should be happening.
Her fathers immediately gauge how she feels and she almost sobs right there and then when Hiram opens his arms wide for her. Her chest swimming in emotions, she paddles towards her fathers, who immediately form their "blanket of two" around her.
Once she's safe inside dad's and daddy's warm cocoon, she releases her tears. She must look so stupid, but right now, she doesn't think she cares.
Her fathers lead her to the bed where she continues to bury her face against Hiram's chest. Leroy slightly untangles himself from the hug and settles with trying to calm Rachel down by softly rubbing her back.
"I'm an awful p-person," she blurts out once they're all sitting Indian style on the bed. Or her parents are. She's awkwardly sagging against Hiram's chest, with her legs tangled weirdly somewhere down below her. "I'm so a-awful I don't even know w-what to say or do about myself."
Rachel squeezed her eyes tightly, tears immediately springing out of them. A whimper escapes her lips, making her fathers look over to each other worriedly.
Leroy speaks first. "You're not awful, baby. And not because we're you're fathers and we're obligated to tell you that," he tells her. "There are a lot of adjectives to describe you but awful is absolutely not one of them."
Rachel just continues crying. If only they know. She doesn't see the heart-wrenched stare her fathers share.
"Talk to us about it, honey. We can tell that it's bothering you so much, and it's hurting us, too" Hiram adds, nuzzling his chin over Rachel's head. He gives Leroy a glance. "Hon, can you get her a glass of water?"
Despite the lingering pang inside her chest, Rachel smiles a little at that as she sniffs. Her dads know her all too well.
Leroy exhales slightly and half-heartedly stops rubbing his daughter's back to fetch her a glass of water. When he comes back, he holds the glass for Rachel as she sips from it slowly. Once it's half-empty, Rachel stops drinking and motions for her father to place it on the table.
The water, like most times, does not dull the ache in her heart any less but lessens the lump in her throat. She gets out of Hiram's hug and sits a little straighter, bracing herself.
Now or never.
"I, well, t-there's this girl at school," she starts hoarsely. "And she's like…n-no one's her friend, because she's kind of w-weird, although I don't think she is. She's sweet and simple. She's just d-different – well, not a bad different, b-but different nonetheless. She's too shy, and n-nervous, I think."
Hiram, with slightly furrowed brows says, "And students hate her for that?"
"Well, yeah."
"Do you hate her, too? Does she give you all this ill feelings inside?"
Rachel shakes her head. "N-no. She wouldn't deserve that."
"Then what's the problem," Leroy asks, keeping his face open and calm.
Rachel bows her head, watching her fingernails. The problem is Rachel's an idiot. The problem is she pretends to be some strong bitch, but really, outside the Unholy Trinity, she doesn't even have the guts to stand up for what she thinks are right. She can't even do that in front of Jesse.
The problem is Rachel.
Her heart aches. Except herself, she doesn't know what the problem is.
"I have to tell you something, but please, promise you wouldn't judge or hate me. Please," she says desperately, tears springing out of her eyes again. She doesn't think she'd be brave enough to accept the truth about her. She wishes her parents would be, though.
Her dads will be terribly disappointed with her after tonight and she'll understand it if they decide to have nothing to do with her.
"We won't. You should know that by now. Don't be scared; tell us what's bothering you, angel," Hiram urges.
At the mention of the word, Rachel's heart aches all the more. "Don't c-call me that. I'm not – I'm not exactly an angel at s-school." Pause. Swallow. "I become the uhm, worst k-kind of person when I wear m-my cheerleading outfit."
Her fathers, although a bit shocked and worried, know not to stop her, so she continues. "I condone bullying, which is terrible because as head cheerleader I am considered to have most power over everyone. The girl I was talking about – she was bullied and I helped, and I think the bullying got to her bad. She's developed some sort of this constant fear, and I feel so responsible for it."
"Have you talked to her," Hiram asks, wiping his daughter's tears with his wrist. Rachel looks at both of her fathers discreetly. They both seem to hide their anger and disappointment, but their worry seems so genuine she starts tearing up again.
"I-I did, and we became s-sort of friends, but I m-messed it up."
"How?"
Rachel takes a deep breath. She can't back out now.
Now or never.
"When you were out, I took her here," she starts. "I-she was-I found her at school, and she was," Rachel pauses, wincing slightly, "very, very sick and had no ride so I offered to take her home. But her parents weren't there when we got there, so I took her here instead. I decided I needed to take care of her, and so I got to know her more. And she's even better when I know her. We took care of her the whole night and when she went home the next day, she thought we were friends. I-I knew in my heart we were. But when she was well enough to go back to school, I w-was a – pardon the word – bitch to her. I continued bullying her, I said mean words. I think I hurt her even more than anyone. Her face, I can't erase-"
She closes her eyes tightly as Quinn's heartbroken face plays on her mind again. She's awful. She's a monster.
"I d-did not mean to h-hurt her. I promise that. I meant it when I s-said I want her to b-be my friend," Rachel sobs, burying her face against Hiram again. Her father rubs her back once more.
"It'll be OK, baby. We're here. We'll help you."
Rachel sniffles. "But aren't you mad at me?"
Hiram gives her an "are you kidding me" look. "Mad? Na-ah. We're furious, hun."
"Furious won't even begin to describe howt we feel. In fact, we're unanimously thinking about giving you up to another gay couple," Leroy added.
"Dad!"
"You can't expect us to not be disappointed, Rach," Hiram says, a little more seriously now.
Rachel bows her head in embarrassment. Of course she did not. "No. I-I expected you were."
"We tried to raise you the best way we can," said Leroy.
Raising her head, Rachel was quick to answer, "And you did! You taught me all the good things. Being honest, and brave… All of this is my fault. I just did not learn enough."
They can't feel guilty for something like this. Her dads had nothing to do with all of these. She knows they tried. They still are trying. It's all her faults, and choice and decisions that lead her to these.
"And we're still trying to raise you the best way," Hiram continues his earlier, as if he's reading Rachel's mind. "And we acknowledge the fact that you're young – young enough to make mistakes. But you're old enough to mend them, too. And that's what we're expecting from you now."
"You need guidance, hun," Leroy adds. "And guidance isn't about showing hate to Rachel when Rachel did something wrong. It's giving her love because that's what she needs more."
Her heart swelling, Rachel nods through her tears. She doesn't deserve her fathers, but she's thankful for all of these.
"What should I do now?"
"A lot. But first, you should reach out to the girl. Make her feel better. As soon as you can. Before school tomorrow, if possible. She'll probably have a hard time believing you really want to be friends with her, but just be sincere. She'd feel it," Hiram says.
"And fix how you manage things at school. We're here if you need someone who'll settle things with the principal and the board," Leroy adds. "No matter how big your contribution is to it, stopping student bullying isn't your responsibility."
Rachel nods but is a little more apprehensive about the last part. Their school heads are bums.
"Where's Jesse in all of these? Does he know about your attitude at school?"
She nods, admitting rather hesitantly: "Yes. We both rule the school like idiots."
"Do you love him," Hiram asks her. Rachel doesn't understand how that is related to all of this but still, she nods a little.
Yes, she does. She does love him, right? She's pretty sure he loves her, too.
"Are you sure?"
Rachel just nods again, but this time she seems a little less sure than earlier. What's wrong with her?
"Well no offense to your taste, but if you ask me, I've always thought Jesse's some kind of a bitch," Leroy said.
Hiram slapped him on the arm. "Hey, language."
"Can it, hun. As if you feel that way, too, don't lie to me. You said it already."
He holds his angry look for a while before relenting. "OK. Touche. You win. One point for Hiram Berry."
"I can't believe you're talking about my relationship behind my back," she exclaims, sniffling (a.k.a Berry Drama).
"That just means we care about our only daughter," he says defensively. "There's nothing wrong about that. Complain when we're not."
Rachel thinks about that for a while, while still sniffling a little. Her dad sort of has a point.
"Fine. You have a point."
"You want to hear another point?"
"Sure?"
"Jesse's not good for you. And I hope you kind of get it because if you haven't noticed, you did not defend him when I called him a bitch just now."
"But he's the right guy for me," Rachel insists. "Sure sometimes it feels like, uhm, wrong but-"
Hiram cuts her off, "If it feels wrong, hunny, then maybe it's because it is. You can't know things all the time, but you never stop feeling. And when you're too lost and confused to do judgment, then rely on your feelings. Do you feel in love when you're with him? Does he encourage you to become a better person?"
Rachel doesn't respond. She doesn't know. Does she?
"Jesse isn't the only person in the world, Rachel. As we've said, you're young. He might feel like he is now, but he sure is not the one. We are not telling you to end your relationship with him or influence what you feel about him. We're telling you about how we feel.
Rachel doesn't say anything. She just lets out a few tears fall and rests her cheek again's Hiram's face again.
"Oh, baby. Do you want to sleep with us tonight?"
Rachel smiles sadly at Leroy and nods.
"OK. But you'd still be grounded, alright? No Barbara Streisand exposure for three months."
She wants to protest – it's like taking one half of her life – but she knows only a punishment that harsh could suffice for what she did.
"Fine."
/
Quinn can't sleep again; a lot of things are running in her mind. Her parents are asleep and she knows she should, too, but she really can't. Hugging Frankie closer to her chest as she lays in her bed, she closes her eyes tightly and tries to stop her thoughts about all that's happened today – the happy ones with Brittany and sad ones with Rachel – but nothing seems to be working.
Plus, her eyes keep coming back to the small drawer under the table, illuminated only by the moonlight that passes through her glass window. For a few moments, she just watches it silently, blinking from time to time. There's a nagging feeling in her head. Her hands are itchy. She wonders if she should finish her drawing.
She can't turn on the lights this late, though...father would be really angry. But the moon is bright outside, and the light that goes through the window seemed good enough for her to be able to draw.
She has to finish her artwork so she can give it to Brittany as early as tomorrow morning. She can't pay the kind blonde with money for the food she gave her, nor does she know any cool place to bring her to so she could return the blonde's favor. A drawing is all she can give her and she hopes it would be enough for Brittany not to regret befriending her and buying her all that stuff.
Breathing deeply, she makes up her mind then gets out of bed and walks as quietly as she can to the table to take her art materials inside the drawer.
There is the half-finished drawing of Brittany. She started her artwork when she came home this afternoon, but was not able to finish because mother called her down to have dinner.
Speaking of which, dinner was fine tonight. It appeared like Russell's been really tired at work so the dining table was awfully quiet, which was totally fine with Quinn. Her father also retreated to his room even before dinner was over, slamming his door loudly behind him and making Quinn jump from her seat. For a moment she was scared she made a mistake again and her father just took a belt from inside their room, but when he did not come out in the next few minutes, Quinn felt relieved. There were two pieces of steak left on the table and Judy let her have them, which she was thankful for.
She stares down at the drawing of Brittany and wishes she has crayons so she could put more color in her work. Brittany would appreciate it more. After all, her new friend is a very, for the lack of a better word, colorful person.
Her secret drawing escapades are her and Judy's secret. Quinn can't do anything else but draw – it's the only thing she's good at. Judy thankfully allows her to do her hobby, and even provides her art material from time to time.
Quinn pauses from her drawing when she hears a slight thud coming from outside her room, and her head swivels to the direction of the door, eyes wide with fear. She tries not to breathe too hard and make noise, but her chest starts aching almost instantly. Unconsciously, her hand grips the window's lower frame behind her as she cowers, eyes focused plainly on the doorknob, praying her father wouldn't come in and check on her.
If he catches her awake at this time of the night, she'd be severely punished – she's sure of that even if she doesn't want it. H-he'd put a rope around her wrist again and tie her to the bed while he hits her with the belt in the back repeatedly…and she really doesn't want that to happen again. The last time was bad…
Her eyes, still wide and focused on the doorknob, start watering at that thought and she prays a little harder.
Please, don't let it be father. Please, please. I'm sorry.
A few more seconds passes by. Quinn's chest heaves faster but not once does the doorknob move.
She breathes out heavily. Maybe, it's just another product of her imagination. She tries to convince herself that, and swallows hard to still her thundering heart.
She closes her eyes. Maybe she's overthinking things again. Brittany said she shouldn't do that.
When she's sure that she was but imagining, she wipes the sweat that formed on her forehead and tried to breathe more naturally. She pauses by her drawing for a while to stare outside the window, to the stars in the sky. She watches them pensively, and automatically thinks of her sister. Frannie said people who are gone, but have left someone close to their hearts on earth, do not really die. They choose to become stars so they could watch over the ones they love. That's why there are so many stars – because a lot of people choose to love.
She wonders if Frannie has become one of the stars. If she really loved her enough to choose to become one. She hopes so, but she wishes it's not really the case. There will always be this little part in her heart that Frannie's just here with her, even if she knows she's not anymore.
The little twinkling objects make her thinks of their song.
When the stars won't shine anymore…I'll be there, she thinks.
The stars are still shining. But it doesn't feel like that anymore, she whispers, hoping Frannie would hear her and come back. To be with her. Or get her. She wants to be with Frannie.
She feels a sudden familiar stinging in her stomach area and she keels over, eyes tight, whimpering. Her stomach would hurt sometimes, even if her father doesn't beat her and she has no bruises in there. It's the kind of pain that comes from the inside.
Experience-wise, she can't finish drawing well when she's in this much pain – that much she knows.
Resigning, she decides to stop making a drawing of Brittany and struggles to open the drawer to hide her art materials again, before making her way to her bed, curling over herself tight.
Her stomach really hurts and she doesn't know why. Her bruises seemed better when she checked them earlier. And she had dinner, so she knows it's not from hunger.
She wants to deny it, but she knows it's simple because she deserves to hurt.
Maybe her father's right. Maybe her hurting doesn't need a reason. Maybe she's hurting because God wants her to hurt. Even God doesn't believe she should be happy. That thought makes her want to cry all the time.
"Sorry, God," she whispers. "Pl-please forgive me."
She knows God wouldn't answer her – nor would He ever. He knows every single sin in the world and He's definitely mad at her for doing so much of them. She can't blame Him. No one can tolerate her.
Not even Judy. Her mother says she doesn't hate her, but she never says she loves her either. It's because she doesn't. Her mom isn't blind or stupid like her. She's just tolerant of her, but she's thankful for that.
Her mind also goes to Brittany. Kind Brittany. Her heart beats a little bit faster when she thinks about what could happen tomorrow. Would Brittany still like her? Or did she do anything wrong earlier, and like what happened with Rachel, Brittany wouldn't want to have anything to do with her?
She doesn't remember messing up when she was with Brittany, but it's always like that – her not realizing that she's messing up until it's too late.
She hopes Brittany will still accept her. She'll die if she doesn't.
As she feels another pang hit her abdomen, she curls over herself tighter and forces herself to sleep through the pain.
/
Stars can be really weird sometimes, Santana thinks absently, but so are they. If they weren't they wouldn't be on Rachel's roof, staring at the sky like corny idiots. She glances at her companion, who is clad only in her pajamas and a large coat and sipping from her glass of soda, a worn-out look on her face.
Her captain has called her approximately fifteen minutes ago, saying she couldn't sleep and needs to hang with her. Normally, Santana would throw a fit for being disturbed in unholy hours, but Rachel sounded so heartbroken that she gave in almost immediately.
"So what's this emergency meeting all about," Santana asks, pouring herself another glass of soda. "I hope this isn't about your idiot boyfriend again, because I'm telling you, the last thing I want to talk about is him."
"Don't worry. He's the last thing I want to talk about, too," Rachel answers, sighing sadly and staring down.
Santana pauses from her drink and regards Rachel seriously. Sure she hates St. James but if Rachel needs to rat him out then she'll tolerate having to hear his name. "Is everything okay between you two?"
"No." Rachel pauses. "But I don't – whatever's happening between us isn't bothering me, oddly. I just don't want to talk about it. Or him."
"OK. Cool," Santana says and waits for Rachel to continue. She sips from her glass and stares ahead, thankful she's conversing with her best friend at least. It's her first touch of normalcy in this otherwise crazy week.
"I can't sleep," Rachel admits after a while. "It's…Quinn. I just can't stop thinking over what happened with her."
"Thinking over what happened? Or overthinking what happened," Santana asks, though there's not a hint of jesting in her voice.
"Thinking over. It's not really overthinking when there's something to overthink about. I feel so awful I can't even begin to describe it."
Santana stares at her half empty glass. She doesn't take her eyes off them when she tells Rachel, "It's my fault. I added to your confusion by not supporting you and Quinn."
Rachel doesn't answer her. She doesn't have to, Santana thinks. There's no point in answering something as true as that.
And although she has no right to defend herself, she wants to tell Rachel how she felt, too. "This is stupid but…I feel like I've lost you for Jesse – wrongly. And Quinn kind of became the same threat. I have never felt more protective of people the way I felt about you and Brittany. For a moment there I didn't think she deserves your friendship, too. And I can't stay back and lose you to another person who doesn't deserve you."
"And now, I don't deserve her," Rachel says. "Perhaps I never did. But if given a choice and the chance I'll be friends with her. And you won't lose me with Quinn, I promise that. You don't have to worry about wrongly losing me to anyone other than Quinn, starting tomorrow."
"What-"
"I'm breaking up with Jesse," Rachel answers, swallowing slightly. "Tomorrow. I'm an idiot and he is, too."
Santana, although not entirely shocked by this little piece of revelation, couldn't help but be concerned, too. "Are you going to be OK?"
Rachel answers, "Maybe. Dad and daddy say he's a bitch anyway."
"The awesome Berrys," Santana remarks. "Jesse's inutile. And yes, I always believed you're an idiot, but since you break up with him…I don't know…maybe you're not. I am an idiot though."
Rachel chuckles, then looks pensively down her lap. "Don't be too hard on yourself."
"Maybe you're right. But it's hard not to when I think of all the Quinn chaos."
"Yeah, you were monstrous towards her. But I did worse. I was witch-like."
"At least you've shown her kindness. All I did was become a bitch to her."
"I made her believe we're friends, then throw her down the manhole the next day."
"I said terrible things to her when she was sick. You-you don't even have any idea."
"Of course I do. I was there, remember?"
"No. It wasn't just that."
"What do you mean?"
"While you were with Brittany in the other room, I kind of said mean things to her. Really mean, hateful things. Like no one in the world wants her. Not even her parents. The worst thing was that she seemed to believe me."
Rachel just stares at her with wide eyes.
"I know. I'm such a bitch."
"I can't believe you."
"Well, do."
"You're such a bitch. She must have felt so awful. She must be feeling so awful," Rachel laments, feeling more regretful than ever. These all would be too much for one person. "We really need to talk to her. I just want her to stop being awful about herself."
"Yeah," Santana answers absently.
"Shall we go," Rachel asks?
"What? Like right now?"
"When else?"
"She'd be asleep by now. It's 2 a.m."
"Oh, I thought it's like 9 p.m. or something," Rachel answers sarcastically. "I know it's 2 a.m. But I don't want her to wake up feeling awful tomorrow. The earlier we talk to her, the more we can help her. I want her to have a reason to want to go to school tomorrow. Are you game?"
Santana just stares at Rachel, gauges her serious face and takes a deep breath.
/
Santana doesn't understand why she agreed to do this. There's always tomorrow.
"What if she freaks out and calls her parents? We'll be dead pieces of meat. Aside from the fact that it would be so awkward. Mr. Fabray seems like a stuck-up bitch," Santana says, following Rachel's lead as they crouch across the Fabray's lawn. She can't see Rachel's face so she doesn't realize how she's annoying her right now. "So what's the plan," she asks as they hide underneath a large tree, Rachel doing unnecessary extra ninja-ish moves.
"Well the first part is 'try not being caught by staying quiet'," Rachel answers with a roll of her eyes. "That means you, Santana."
"Yeah, like you're doing any better. Look at how spasmic you're moving. I wouldn't be surprised if you accidentally trigger an alarm or a landmine."
Rachel glares at her before looking truthfully alarmed. "Oh God, you don't think they have those things here, right?"
"Yeah, because apparently Mrs. Fabray is a huge Hunger Games fan," she answers sarcastically. "Geez. Turn the switch on, Rachel. You're brain has shut down again."
"Don't fight with me right now. Now let's get to Quinn's room," Rachel tells her, trying to stray from the point that she's being slightly brainless.
"Which is," Santana asks and watches with great satisfaction the dumbstruck look on Rachel's face.
"Oh shoot," Rachel says. "I don't know where her room is!"
"Thought so," Santana answers coolly. The problem with Berry is she easily loses her train of thought when she gets excited. "Don't worry. I've been here last time and that tree," she points at the tree she previously noticed, "connects to the room up there. I'm not sure if it's hers but it would be a good start."
Rachel follows her finger and nods. "Cool," she says, quite impressed. "You really should join the Interpol."
"Yeah, but then all the guys would fight over me. It would be dangerous for the country."
/
Being two of the most talented cheerleaders in McKinley, Rachel and Santana had no trouble climbing the tree. They are crouching like disabled frogs on the balcony when Santana tugs a little too hard on Rachel's shirt, effectively stopping the other girl.
"What," the smaller brunette whispers harshly, facing her companion.
"What if it's her parents' room and they're having sex," she asks.
Rachel looks downright terrified for a few moments at the notion, before changing her expression to what Santana could only describe as sheer determination.
"I don't care if I go blind washing my eyes with alcohol. I want to talk to Quinn. I have to talk to Quinn," she says resolutely.
Santana rolls her eyes. "Geez. Dramatic much. You go ahead then."
The side of the room that's facing the balcony has a wooden door and glass windows. Thankfully, the curtains are drawn so they can easily peek through. Rachel peeks first, and when Santana is sure that they're not crouching outside the Fabray parents' room while they're having sex, she follows suit.
Quinn is lying on her side, her back on them. She's hugging Frankie, whose nose appears close to her elbow. With the moonlight shining on her small frame, they can tell that there's only one thin pillow under her head, and she has no blanket. Santana wonders how she can sleep with that.
Biting her lip, Rachel knocks twice against the window's glass. Santana watches and winces as Quinn jerks at the sound, hurling towards the headboard (hitting her head against it quite hard), wide eyes immediately locking at the room's main door.
"Great, we scared her," she whispers to Rachel, who now wears a deeply worried expression. The smaller brunette taps softly on the window again, making Quinn's head swivel towards them instead. Santana's heart admittedly drops at the utter terror on the blonde's innocent face.
Seemingly not knowing what else to do, Rachel gives the blonde an awkward wave.
Quinn's terrified expression stays for a few seconds before it morphs to confusion, and then disbelief. She blinks slowly a few times before wordlessly lying back on the bed, her back against the Cheerios. She curls over herself tightly.
"Great. Mad at us, just like we'd suspected," Santana says, resigning to their stupidity-induced fate. "Let's just talk to her at school first thing tomorrow."
"No," Rachel protests. "We're already here. We're talking to her here. I don't want her to sleep sad."
Ignoring Santana, she gently knocks against the door twice more, startling the blonde again if the slight jump of her shoulders is any indication.
"Quinn, please," Rachel whispers. "Open the window," she adds, rapping at the windowpane.
Santana is about to convince Rachel to leave again, when Quinn sits up slowly, her back still against the window. The two other girls stare at her anxiously.
Quinn slowly turns her body around then takes her glasses off the table and wears them. She stares at the window apprehensively, blinking dazedly once more, like she can't believe what she's seeing.
Oh. She probably thought she had been dreaming, Santana realizes, amused at the slightly scared but dazed look on Quinn's face.
Santana makes sure her face looks as harmless Pickachu's. She's pretty sure that's what Rachel's doing, too.
The blonde just continues to blink and stare at the two unbelievingly, chest slightly heaving. Through the glass, Santana can see how tired her eyes are, and the large T-shirt she wears highlights her frailness.
A few agonizing seconds pass before Quinn finally, unbelievingly whispers, "R-Rachel?"
Santana can almost feel Rachel practically jump out of her skin from relief. "Yes Quinn, it's me," she answers. "Please let us in?"
Although quite shaken still, Quinn slowly nods then gets down the bed carefully. She walks unsurely toward the door. She's not wearing slippers, Santana notices. Quinn opens the door and steps back anxiously. The other two stare at each other for a while before Santana motions at Rachel to come in first.
Quinn takes one step backwards when Rachel gets in, eyes immediately drawn to a spot on the floor, looking really small. She can't seem to look them in the eye as she twists her hands nervously. Although terribly worried, Rachel decides to keep her distance for a while.
"Hi, Quinn," Rachel starts. People who call Santana unfeeling can screw themselves because right there and then, she can totally feel the awkwardness as she hovers behind her best friend. She looks around the room to lessen the uneasiness she feels, taking in the bare surroundings. Apart from the bed, the closet, the small table and chair near the other window, there is practically nothing inside Quinn's bedroom.
This place makes her feel eerily sad.
"Y-you did not bring B-Brittany," Quinn mutters anxiously, voice shaking. Santana, whose heart breaks once more at the mention of Brit's name, turns her attention back to a still scared-looking Quinn.
But Rachel's shoulder slightly sags at that so Santana touches her supportively on back.
"No. It's just us. We're sorry for having woken you up. I-I know it's quite odd, but we really want talk to you," Rachel says.
"I-if you r-really want to," Quinn whispers nervously. She can't look them in the eyes still. Santana studies her face worriedly, and can tell she's ashamed and nervous and lost. "But I don't have… I mean, do you- do you want some…uhm…muffins," she asks uneasily, her entire face reddening slightly.
Santana catches her wince at the last word, like she totally did not mean to say that at all.
"Sure," Santana responds in an attempt to lessen the tension.
But Quinn's head hangs low, making Santana feel like a complete tool. She just wants to be polite, and totally did not mean to say yes. It's like her mouth has an automatic yes reflex when it comes to food. It's embarrassing most of the time. Like now.
Quinn shakes her head slowly, looking more ashamed than ever. "I-I don't really have…any f-food. I j-just t-thought I should offer. S-sorry."
Santana starts feeling even worse. She messes up during unfortunate times, and it makes her want to bang her head against the wall.
Before she can say anything to take it back though, Rachel beats her.
"No," Rachel states, concern apparent in her face and voice. "Don't worry about that. We've just had snacks anyway. We-were just here to apologize."
Quinn seems startled at that but she doesn't take her eyes off the floor. "N-No, Rachel. I- I should be t-the one d-doing that," she adds anxiously. She starts breathing a little more frantically and shaking a little more. "I-I'm sorry, Rachel. F-for messing up while at y-your place."
Tears form fast in her eyes, falling to the floor instantly. Santana watches as Rachel, even more concerned now takes one cautious step forward.
"No, Quinn, you did nothing wrong," Rachel says, her heart obviously shattering over Quinn's distressed state. She takes another careful step and cautiously reaches for Quinn's face but Quinn pulls away swiftly, as if burned.
Rachel steps back with what could only be described as pure sorrow on her face and she whispers a lot more nervously, the words, "It was all my fault. I was being stupid. You were great back there. You fixed our plane, and we paid you with ungratefulness. And you made me smile while you were there. A lot. G-genuinely."
"Quinn," Santana adds. She can't believe the shaking she can feel in her throat. "We regret everything we ever did to you. We'll do everything to make up to you."
Quinn shakes her head, still looking downright apologetic. "I d-didn't mean to m-mess up," she whispers desperately, like she didn't hear them at all. "I promise I didn't mean t-to make you f-feel bad."
"And you did not," Rachel tells her again. "I felt bad because of what I did, not what you did. I'm really, really sorry, Quinn. The sorrys will be done by me."
"And me," Santana adds swiftly, making Rachel peek at her swiftly with a little nod before turning her attention back to Quinn.
"She's right, Quinn," Rachel says. "That's why we're here at this hour, to let you know that you've never done anything wrong. We can't bear the thought of letting you wait."
Quinn doesn't say anything back and just shakes her head, as she takes another little step backward. She is yet to look them in the eyes. She is yet to believe them. The moonlight which is presently shining on her is making her skin seem even paler. Santana takes in her frail body, her eyes widening when she spots a rather large, purplish bruise on Quinn's left shoulder blade which is visible because of how awfully large her shirt is for her.
Rachel seems to notice the patch, too, because she gasps slightly and asks, "Are you OK, Quinn? Where did you get that bruise?"
Quinn's eyes widen in alarm as she realizes what Rachel is talking about. She clutches the sleeve of her shirt, covers her exposed shoulder protectively and takes one, two panicked steps backward, almost tripping.
She's like a scared baby animal, and Santana, whose starting to get what's happening, feels a pang in her chest.
Somebody's hurting Quinn. Some stupid idiot is hurting her. And one thing is sure – Santana's going to be out there to at least kill him/her, if that's all there is to be able to make up for what she did to the blonde.
"I-It's n-nothing. I…its…I must h-have hit it s-somewhere. I-I bruise a l-lot," Quinn answers shakily, sounding so close to tears. "I'm o-okay."
"It's not nothing, Quinn," Rachel answers concernedly, taking careful steps forward. "Does it hurt? We need something to put over it."
Quinn shakes her head, receding even more. "I f-feel t-tired. I w-want to sleep, Rachel. P-please g-go now."
"Quinn please. At least let me take a look at it. And you hit your head earlier, please allow me to check it."
"P-please get out of m-my room, Rachel," Quinn pleads. "Pl-please let me sl-sleep. I'm sorry f-for being bad. P-please don't…"
Rachel takes another step forward, making Quinn cower to as far as the wall, her breaths getting more pained-looking. Rachel decides to stop, because Quinn looks like she's about one second away from a heart attack.
"P-please g-go… Don't h-hur… I d-don't want you two h-here."
Rachel looks back behind her to Santana, fear and pain etched on her face. She looks over to Quinn who is more scared - more than anything - of them. To whatever's happening with Quinn now, they're definitely not helping.
She nods at Rachel, silently telling her to let the girl be for now. Rachel isn't being allowed the same level of trust – that is clear now.
Although it's the last thing she seems to want to do, Rachel nods in defeat.
"OK, Quinn. We're leaving now. Just relax please. We'd talk to you at school tomorrow. W-with Brittany."
Quinn, who is now clutching her chest which is heaving critically, nods with eyes open wide. "I-I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry. T-tell Brittany I-I'm sorry."
"Don't please. You have nothing to be sorry for," Rachel answers. "I-I'll help you, Quinn. I promise that."
Quinn's expression doesn't change so Santana takes Rachel by the arm and slowly leads the way out of the door. Quinn, still in her protective stance, follows them with terribly scared eyes. She stays that way until they are both outside.
With heavy heart, Rachel closes and locks the door behind her. They peek through the window stealthily after which, their chests getting ripped as they watch Quinn slide down the floor and sob wretchedly into her hands. Her whole being is shaking in fear and hurt. They want to comfort her, but they know they'll only be making things worse.
They watch for a few agonizing minutes, until Quinn finally stops crying. She seems to have trouble breathing after her breakdown, but her inhaler is on her bed so she manages to even it out. Rachel and Santana make sure that Quinn is safely lying on her bed before deciding to go home.
They are uncharacteristically quiet as they walk back to Rachel's, both lost in thought. Santana's head is in rambles. Quinn seems to be in more trouble than what she has expected. What makes this worse is the fact that it will take an awful lot of things to make her trust them again.
For Quinn's sake, they'll try way harder.