.
Now that I know what I want, see, I think that it haunts me
.
Ideally, she knows, she doesn't want this, but…really, what's ideal about this situation?
She hasn't seen Brittany in over a month. And somehow Brittany seems busier than ever—figuring things out for Regionals, hanging out with Blaine and Tina and a bunch of other people a lot.
Even the Skype sex isn't enough, when they can only have it once in awhile; a night that Santana is off and Brittany isn't busy or doesn't have to go to sleep early because of Cheerios practice in the morning.
So Santana consoles herself with the fact that this is coming from a place of desperation, and not because she doesn't love Brittany anymore. Because she does. She's sure she always will.
But she's a woman with needs. Needs Brittany says she can get met elsewhere if she has to. And she has to.
And maybe…yeah. Maybe it has something to do with Quinn. And Rachel. And hearing about Quinn being gay now and making out with her roommate and how good that apparently was and…Rachel. If Kurt is right, she needs to make sure Rachel realizes there can't be anything between them. And what better way to communicate that than hooking up with someone else?
And okay. Maybe the realization that Brittany was right and Rachel and Quinn were potential options for her makes them seem like…temptations. She's sure she really never thought about them until presented with their queerness and now it's like…Rachel's across the room topless or Quinn kissed a girl until she came and…
How is she supposed to just ignore those kinds of thoughts when she hasn't gotten laid in what feels like forever?
It's the end of her shift and she's rolling her neck and shoulders to loosen them. She is almost positive Angela works this morning and she kind of wanders away from Helen and the grocery section a little early to try to find her. And tries to shake off her inexplicable jitters.
Because, come on, she was like the hottest bitch at McKinley. Asking this girl out should be no big deal.
She puts on her smirk and the little swagger in her step. She can see Angela rifling through a few papers next to the home improvement aisle, frowning. She's alone, which should help.
Santana remembers the way all the boys at McKinley practically fell on their knees before her as she approaches.
Angela glances up, then actually lifts her head and smiles as Santana approaches. "Hey!" she greets, "How's it going?"
"That's what I want to talk to you about," Santana purrs.
Angela's face changes. It's no longer open and friendly but…maybe intrigued. "Yeah?" she asks, giving Santana her full attention.
"Yeah, well, here's the thing, Blondie," Santana begins bluntly, "I'm hot, you're hot. We're both, like, the two hottest women in this store. So what I don't get is why we haven't done anything about it yet."
Now Angela looks flat-out amused, which…well, it nettles Santana a bit. "Oh?" Angela queries, "And what would you like to do about it?"
"What're you doing Friday night?" Santana asks. She happens to have off, and she knows Angela doesn't work Saturdays or Sundays; the lucky bitches on her team in the store get Monday through Friday schedules.
"I…suppose I'm free," Angela answers, still smirking.
"Good. You, me, dinner. And maybe you can earn a little something something if all goes well."
Angela presses her lips together as if trying not to laugh. Santana huffs. This isn't fair. "I'm down," Angela eventually responds with a shrug.
"Good," Santana nods, then has Angela put her phone number into her phone. She more or less commands Angela to figure out where they're going to go for their date and saunters away, hearing Angela chuckling behind her.
Goddamnit, they're not supposed to laugh when she seduces them.
.
Well we scheme and we scheme but we always blow it
.
Angela texts Santana the next day telling her to meet at a specific subway station on Friday. Santana texts back "this better be good" and gets a "hahaha" in response. Which…she still doesn't get why Angela finds this so funny.
She gets off the train and stands next to a beam, arms folded, trying to look fierce in her leather jacket. Angela approaches her with a smile, and Santana nods jerkily, keeping her expression sharp.
"Hey," Angela greets, smiling warmly. Her hands are shoved into her coat pockets.
"Hey," Santana responds stiffly. Angela smiles again, then jerks her gaze toward the stairs. As they walk toward them, the hand closest to Santana drops out of Angela's pocket and flexes. Santana's pinky curls, but it just feels weird. The pinkies are just a her and Brittany thing…and the thought of holding hands with someone else is bizarre. Maybe Angela feels that way too.
She follows Angela mostly in silence, just exchange a few smiles, until they reach their destination. "Here we are," Angela grins, ushering Santana inside.
Santana glances around, noting how small and warm the place is, and as they're seated at a little two-person table, she asks, "What is this place?"
Angela shrugs, "Vegetarian restaurant. Seemed a safe bet for a lesbian first date, right?"
She can't hold back her sharp laugh, "Stereotype much? I eat meat."
Angela rolls her eyes, "Well, maybe if you didn't play all cryptic and make me choose where we went, I might have picked somewhere else. Suck it up, woman."
Santana closes her mouth and immediately smirks. Okay. So they play the same dating game. She can do this.
"The fuck is seitan?" she gripes as they review the menu.
The food is surprisingly good, but then, she has been living with Rachel Berry, so certainly that's fucked up her palette some. And the conversation goes okay. Angela is a part-time student (she complains that it's going to take her forever to finish her degree at her pace of nine credits a semester), but she's getting a History degree because she actually wants to teach History someday. Santana just snorts, "Okay, I can't even pretend to find that interesting."
"Your worst subject?" Angela guesses with a knowing look.
"Nah, I did fine in History, I just really wasn't that interested."
"What are your career goals?" Angela asks.
Santana sighs, "Really? Can this conversation be less sexy? I don't know. I just know I like being in front of an audience and being in charge. Performing. Being a star."
Angela nods, "Well, it's a hard business to break in to, but you're in the right place for that. One of them anyway."
Angela is then candid about the fact that she broke up with her last girlfriend a couple months ago and at this point, Santana isn't sure what to say, and the awkward subject weighs on her tongue.
By the time they're ordering dessert, it's Angela who leans forward and says, "Look, Santana, I like you. You're hot and funny. And, I mean, I wake up early all week so this is getting late for me, but if you'd like to join me back at my apartment for a bit to hang out, I wouldn't object."
Jackpot, Santana thinks, but the subject weighing on her finally bursts out, "I have a girlfriend."
Angela straightens and leans back immediately, "Excuse me?"
"I'm in an open relationship," Santana amends, "But I have a girlfriend. Long distance, still back in my hometown. I…just wanted to get that out of the way so, you…you know I'm not looking for a girlfriend. I'm looking for like…casual. Friends with benefits."
Angela sighs heavily, "And you couldn't have mentioned this earlier?"
"Like when?" Santana shoots back, "Like when I asked you out? 'Hey, what are you doing Friday, bt-dubs I have a girlfriend?'"
A reluctant snort. Then Angela sighs, "I get it. Look, give me some time. I'm not saying I want this, but I'm not saying I don't either. I just need to think about it and you and I will need to talk about what this means for us."
It doesn't make sense to feel guilty, but she does. She nods, "Okay. Whatever. As for what it means, just like I said. Friends with benefits."
Angela nods back, "Right, sure." She sounds unconvinced. Their desserts are placed in front of them, and they finish them quietly. Angela pays, shaking her head gently when Santana guiltily tries to contribute (she had expected Angela to pay, until she started to feel bad). Santana follows her back to the subway station and they get on the same train, sitting next to each other.
The weird thing is that it isn't completely awkward. Angela's clearly thinking, but she's not shying away from Santana, either. Her demeanor isn't cold. And when she gets off earlier than Santana she waves and smiles a bit and says, "See you Monday?"
Which would be fine, she'd be looking forward to that, if it weren't for Saturday night.
She gets there and goes to punch in, grinning at Helen as she does so, but Helen doesn't seem to see her. At first, Santana figures she's got something on her mind, and as they're sent to do separate tasks, she doesn't exactly get much of a chance to ask her.
But when it's time for their break, Santana heads toward the exit where she and Helen meet up to head to Starbucks, but as she gets close, she's sees Helen leaving the building already. She picks up her pace, rushing to grab her coat out of her locker, but by the time she gets outside, Helen has already gone.
Okay. Maybe she didn't even know Santana was here.
She could drive herself to Starbucks, she supposes, but it's really not the same without Helen. So she waits, eating her lunch within view of the exit. Helen doesn't come back in until break ends and, again doesn't seem to see Santana at all.
"Am I a fucking ghost?" Santana calls after her, a little petulantly. Helen doesn't turn.
By second break, Santana gets in her face right in front of the time clock, "Okay. What's the deal? You've been ignoring me all night."
Helen stares stony-faced for a moment, then glances around, "You really want to do this here?" she gestures at the cluster of about half their coworkers, all clocking out next to them.
"Whatever," Santana raises a dismissive hand, "Yeah, hit me. What's your problem?"
"Well," Helen begins sarcastically, "My problem is that I thought we were friends, but it turns out you're not honest with me."
"How so?" Santana challenges.
"Look, I talk to Angela, okay? We've hung out outside work a few times, we text sometimes. So I know you went on a date with her." At this, the murmurs around them start. "And that's fine. I don't care who you date. But when she called me wringing her hands because you have a long-distance girlfriend, I didn't know what the hell to do. Because I had told her you didn't, and had given you every opportunity to open up to me about whether or not you did."
"You never asked. I never lied to you."
"You lied by omission, and I know why," Helen retorts. Santana just folds her arms and raises a challenging eyebrow, "You never told me you had a girlfriend because you were keeping me in reserve."
"Excuse me?"
"I've seen this god knows how many times," Helen snarls, "Girl leaves home, leaves behind another girl, but scopes out her options in the new place, just in case it doesn't work out with the girl back home, she's got a spare in the wings. She grooms the spare with flirty jokes, keeps her at arm's length, never letting on that she's waiting to see if her relationship dies. But what you don't get is that I would never have been that spare for you. I'm not into you, Santana. Don't flatter yourself. I don't date teenagers."
Santana's mouth is hanging open, and the murmurs cease as Helen storms away. Santana glares at all the onlookers, who drop their eyes to the floor as she, too, stalks away to eat alone.
Because, fuck. She doesn't know if Helen is right or not. All she knows is that it sounds true and she just…doesn't know how to be friends with other lesbians.
It kind of hits her then that, in spite of all the progress she made with Rachel and Quinn and Kurt, she barely knows how to be friends with other people.
.
Take our hands out of control
.
The Feminism, Race, Gender and Sexuality freshmen seminar is fast becoming her favorite class. Even moreso than her Theater survey course, which is interesting, but she's really looking forward to doing theater. With the seminar, she loves how much debate and discussion there is.
It's also probably the most she's heard Lulu speak, which she also enjoys, because it gives her more to talk about with Lulu. They usually exit the class talking about the day's subject matter and…yeah, she's really happy to have someone around who doesn't scoff at feminism.
There's one day, however, that throws her a little. Somewhere in the class discussion, one of her classmates—one of those students that like Lucas seems to love the sound of her own voice—manages to steer to topic of discussion to some recent rape cases near where she grew up, in which alcohol apparently played a huge role.
"Well, that's a touchy subject," the professor starts tentatively, "But in general, the law does say that after a certain point of intoxication, one can't legally give consent to sexual activity. The problem is, of course, that people do have completely consensual sex while legally intoxicated, so many cases turn into he-said, she-said kind of scenario, where the presence or absence of feelings of violation of, usually, the woman afterwards determine the scale of the crime."
Quinn feels as though her professor's words begin to gradually get further away, and it isn't until Lulu nudges her and mutters, "Are you okay, Quinn?" that she realizes that she's shaking.
She swallows, "I'm fine," she murmurs.
But her mind is churning, and she can barely chat with Lulu as they leave the classroom. Lulu seems to recognize that Quinn needs some quiet and doesn't say anything; they just walk together in silence.
A few hours later, she has a free block of time and she grabs her phone and talks a walk on campus until she feels suitably alone.
She calls Puck, who picks up groggily on the fourth ring, "Hello?" he slurs.
"Are you drunk?" Quinn spits in disgust.
"Quinn?" he asks, then clears his throat and seems to sound more alert, "Nah, just napping. Sup?"
"Oh, not much," Quinn answers with false cheer, "Just checking up with you to see how many women have you gotten drunk and forced yourself on lately."
"What?" Puck asks, alarm in his voice, "Q—"
"No," Quinn snaps, "Listen to me. Getting me drunk to have sex with fucked up, Puck. I said no!"
"Hey, just listen a minute, Q," Puck pleads.
"Don't talk to me anymore," Quinn snarls, hanging up on him. He tries to call back, but she rejects the call. He doesn't try again.
She thought, for some reason, that telling him off would feel good somehow. That it would be therapeutic. But it's not, she's still seething and frustrated and confused.
After dinner, she pulls Lulu aside and asks if she'd take a walk. She catches Stephanie's questioning gaze (and Lucas's knowing one, which kind of makes her want to punch him), but ignores her as Lulu agrees that a walk sounds nice. They pull on their coats and step out into the frigid early February night. Quinn realizes she forgot her hat, but she can't dwell on it much.
They walk in silence for almost five minutes—excruciating, as they shiver, trying to get used to the cold—until Lulu finally asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Quinn knows Lulu must know there is an "it," judging by Quinn's behavior in class, but she doesn't even know where to begin, so she takes a breath, "I wanted to talk about class today."
Lulu nods, silently, until the pause stretches long enough that she says, "You looked upset."
Quinn nods again and then says, "Look, I…I got pregnant at sixteen." She doesn't look directly at Lulu, but she can see the shock pass over her face before she manages to mask her expression, "I couldn't…I couldn't get rid of her. That kind of choice wasn't one I could go through with—I still wouldn't, I don't think, but back then I was pro-life. I hadn't thought it through, really. I mean, obviously I'm pro-choice now, even though I still don't think I could have an, an abortion." Quinn takes a breath. "And…I got pregnant because I lost my virginity to my boyfriend at the time's best friend." Lulu's eyebrow rise again, and Quinn shakes her head, "I lost so much because of that mistake. My parents kicked me out. I lost my position on the cheerleading squad. When my boyfriend found out, I lost him. And the thing was, I always thought I deserved it, because I'd done such a horrible thing—having sex with someone I wasn't in love with, not to mention cheating. And I couldn't take it out on her. So I gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl in the world and I gave her up for adoption."
"That must have been really difficult," Lulu says after a long pause, wincing as she says it, but Quinn finds it comforting, to hear that kind of validation.
"Yeah," she nods, "And like…I always took so much responsibility for it in my heart that…I never thought much about how it happened, until today. That guy…that stupid guy I slept with…okay, I always blamed him for not using reliable protection—he did not pull out in time, and he was supposed to be in charge of that. But in class today, it all came rushing back. How we were kissing, and when he pressed to move onward, I stopped him, and he responded by handing me a wine cooler and encouraging me to drink it. I didn't, but I had already had some to drink. I don't really remember being all that drunk, but the fact is, we drank and had sex and that's why I got knocked up."
"I'm so sorry, Quinn," Lulu says compassionately, "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
Quinn shrugs kind of pitifully, "So I called him today and told him off for doing that to me, but the strange thing is, I don't feel any better. I thought I would."
Lulu seems to be thinking, "Is this the first time you've really gotten mad at him?"
Quinn snorts, "God, no. I've yelled at him for being an idiot a million times."
"I mean, for this, though," Lulu clarified, "You said before you pretty much blamed yourself."
"I guess so, yeah. I tried to blame him early on, but could never stop blaming myself."
Lulu nods, "So you finally confronted him for violating you. What did he say?"
Quinn frowns, "I maybe didn't use quite those words. I just told him what he did was really messed up and didn't really let him speak."
"So…today, when you got upset, it was because you were thinking about the way he went about it, rather than how you felt about it?" Lulu asks.
Twisting her mouth, Quinn nods, "I guess so. It's his actions he can control, right?"
"Yeah. But how do you feel about it? Is this the first time you've really felt violated by what he did?"
"I…guess, yeah. Because I'd never had the perspective to let me see that he did something really wrong."
Lulu nods, slowly, and finally asks, "So you feel now like he really violated you, like he obtained your consent in a way where you don't feel you could give it?"
Quinn tries to think about it. She knows she had been a bit buzzed at the time. She had gone through about two wine coolers in about an hour—though, Puck had been sharing them—so she can remember feeling a bit strange and light-headed, but…she also knew what she was doing. She could remember thinking about the reasons why she wanted to say yes and…
"I…don't know," she finally admits.
"I'm not trying to make you decide one way or another what happened to you," Lulu says quickly, "I just know that, it's a really shady area. People can make a really bad decision together and both regret it, and no one can necessarily be violated in the process, because regret isn't the same thing, or someone can violate another person, who doesn't realize it until later. However you feel, I accept that's what happened to you, and I'll support you. But it sounds like a really confusing scenario that you could use a chance to think about or talk over."
Quinn nods. She had been considering bringing this up with her therapist, but she didn't have a session until Thursday, and at that moment, she'd felt like she couldn't wait to talk to someone else. She wants to ask Lulu more, to ask what it means that she thinks she did consent, perhaps with enough sense of self to actually say yes, when Lulu's phone jangles in her pocket. She sighs, extracts it, and answers. It's clear from her tone that it's her boyfriend.
"I've got to go," she says regretfully a minute later, "I'm so sorry. If you need to talk more, I'll always be happy to, okay?"
"Okay," Quinn smiles, "Thank you so much, Lulu. And I think it goes without saying…don't tell anyone?"
"Of course not," she promises, reaching out to impulsively hug Quinn, who holds her back for a moment. Lulu rushes back to Quinn's dorm to get her bag, left up in Quinn and Stephanie's room, but Quinn wanders, taking a more meandering route back, thinking.
.
Drunk and driven by a devil's hunger
.
The next day, she calls Rachel.
It's hard to just launch into her thoughts and what she's worrying about, so instead, she asks, "How did you forgive Puck for sleeping with Shelby?"
Rachel seems surprised by the question, but not unpleasantly so. Her voice is open as she replies, "Well, it was very confusing for me, because Puck had once been interested in me, somewhat. I mean, barely, all things considered. It mostly served to solidify our friendship."
Quinn nods as she takes it in, then says, "Okay, so it was confusing, but…what did you think when it happened?"
Rachel sighs, "I wondered, why did it have to be my mother, of all people? It did bother me for a time until I realized it wasn't about me at all. It was about Beth."
"Right," Quinn murmurs, her heart rate picking up as it always did when Beth was mentioned, "And you were able to forgive him just like that? I mean, I remember when I told you, you didn't even seem mad at him."
"Well, to be honest, when you told me, I was more worried about you, and Beth, to even think too much about Puck and Shelby. And when I did take the time to think on it…it took some thought, and sorting out my feelings," Rachel says thoughtfully, "Because, yes, I did find it distasteful that he would pursue me and my mother within a few years of each other. But then I remembered how he would, the rumors said, frequently sleep with people's mothers while working on their pools. And then I wrestled with the fact that I found it off-putting that she was his teacher…and then I remembered my crush on Mr. Schue." Quinn represses a snort when Rachel reminds her of this. "And then when I reminded myself that he had a lot of regrets and painful feelings about Beth, well…of course I could see why he would fantasize about making things work with Shelby. He wants to be Beth's family."
Quinn could empathize with that, she realizes. The reason that she had despised Shelby had been due to the same feelings Puck wrestled with, except that to be Beth's family, Shelby was in her way.
"Why do you ask?" Rachel finally queries tentatively.
Quinn sighs, "I just…I'm trying to figure out whether I'm mad at him, about the sex he and I had. I had a conversation the other day that brought up a bunch of confused feelings about it, and…I guess I just need a bit of perspective."
"Well, he was a teenage boy," Rachel replies rationally, "And while I don't consider that an excuse for truly bad behavior, I do think it warrants some leeway for bad judgment. And his hoping he could have unprotected—I assume—sex with you without consequences is, I think, a matter of bad judgment rather than malice. Besides, deep down, he has a good heart. You know the whole reason he started his pool cleaning business?"
"To help with his grandmother's medical expenses while she was still alive because they were becoming too much for his mother to afford. I know."
"Right," Rachel smiles, "He's a good guy who made a lot of mistakes. So did we all, at that age."
And that, Quinn thinks, is not entirely the point of her current ruminations. She knows that people with good hearts can do terrible things, but…maybe it gives her more insight on the kinds of intentions Puck probably had.
It is something to consider, anyway.
.
I was made to believe there's something wrong with me
.
After sleeping on it, the next afternoon she finds a quiet expanse of snowy campus and calls Puck again.
He answers, his voice incredibly tentative, and the first thing Quinn says to him is, "Beth is not a rape baby."
"Okay," he replies, his voice still soft, uncertain.
"I still think what happened was shady, Puckerman, and could have been really messed up, but the fact is, I had my reasons for going through with the mistake we made together. I consented. You didn't violate me."
"Okay," he repeats.
"But what you do to girls to seduce them? That has got to stop."
"I know," he answers softly.
"Because one day you're going to have sex with a drunk girl who feels really violated about it," she continues doggedly.
"I know," he murmurs again.
"I felt angry, I blamed you, but the truth was, I had my reasons to consent. Yeah, you helped to talk me into it, but in the end, it was my decision."
"Quinn…believe me, I know."
"What does that even mean?" she snaps, "I'm telling you about myself, you can't possibly know what I was thinking at the time."
"No, I don't, but…I know what I did was messed up, okay? I realized it back in the fall."
"Oh, that makes sense," Quinn says sarcastically, "That's why you continued to pass out alcohol to all the women you know."
"Will you listen to me instead of just being a bitch for once?" Puck cuts in, "Okay, first of all, that doesn't count, because I wasn't trying to sleep with any of those women. Hell, Quinn, I've barely slept with anyone in half a year and if you'd let me talk, you'd know why."
Quinn seethes, then, "Fine."
"Okay," he starts tentatively, "It happened way, way back in the fall. Almost everybody was gone, so I was hanging out with Artie when he had some free time. And we'd, ya know, listen to music and play games and it was a good time."
"Uh huh," Quinn grunts impatiently.
"But like, this one day this song came on and it was about date rape and about how this guy got this girl so drunk that he could have sex with her even though she didn't want to and…I dunno, listening to it, I got really scared and uncomfortable. So I left Artie's, and he didn't get why I left all of a sudden or why I didn't come back for awhile."
Quinn bites back to urge to call him a jerk for walking away from Artie for no good reason, but she resists.
"I couldn't make sense of it. I'd heard of date rape, sure, but I thought the girl had to be unconscious or something but in the song, she wasn't, and it made me scared. I mean, I want to get my dick wet but I don't want to hurt anybody to do it, you know?"
"Right…" Quinn drawls in revulsion. Puck doesn't seem to notice.
"So I called Kurt, 'cause he's kinda like a boy and a girl."
"Are you kidding me?" Quinn growls.
"What?" he shoots back, annoyed, "Will you stop jumping on my dick every five seconds?"
"Believe me, I have no desire to do that ever again," she snarls, "But are you serious? Just because he's gay, you're gonna call him a girl."
"He calls himself a girl sometimes," Puck protests, "And I don't mean it like a bad thing or whatever. I just mean, he's a dude, so he knows what it's like to think with the wrong head, but he also sleeps with dudes, so he knows what it's like to like…be open to a guy. Like girls have to be."
Quinn sighs a little, because it does kind of make sense. Puck takes that as a cue to continue.
"I talked to him about how I was scared that I'd date raped you and some other girls, because I gave you all alcohol. I just never knew it might not be okay. I figured people drank like I did—to help them get the courage to do things they actually wanted to do but were scared to start up."
Quinn snorts, but it's not derisive this time, "You? You're scared to have sex with women?"
"Well, hell no, not to have sex. I'm scared of being rejected, and if I was drunk, it sucked less."
"Sure," Quinn shrugs.
"Anyway, Kurt was actually a big help. He told me that unless girls told me that I had hurt them, that I probably hadn't. And that you—and you were my biggest fear—always seemed to take partial responsibility for the sex and what happened, so he doubted you felt violated. And that I should probably just fuck sober for awhile, just to be safe, and I'd kinda already been thinking that, because I didn't ever want to force a girl to do something she didn't want. Like, I have a sister. I wouldn't want a guy to do that to her."
"I get it," Quinn answers, "And while normally I'm not sure I'd be happy about Kurt speaking for me about this, he's kinda right."
"Yeah, I thought he was," Puck says easily, "But then why did you call me all pissed off a couple days ago?"
Quinn sighs and rubs at her face. She's barely noticed how cold it is as she's been listening to Puck, but her face is numb. Still, she stays where she is, just pacing a bit, as she says, "In one of my classes. The professor brought up how at a certain level of intoxication, people can't legally consent to sex." Puck's quiet, so she continues, "And I had a moment where I wondered if, maybe, that night, I might not have been able to consent and it made me very scared and angry. The thing is, though, I never knew that this was even a possibility. No one taught us about this stuff."
"Yeah," Puck agrees softly, "I mean, I knew getting girls drunk meant they would be more likely to say yes, but I figured that's because they wanted to anyway."
"Hmm," Quinn grunts. Because even though what Puck's saying is rife with unintentional victim-blaming mentality…Quinn thinks he was right about her.
It was around the time that Rachel Berry appeared on her radar in a very big way, when Finn had joined the Glee club. She had panicked, feeling Finn slip away from her, toward Glee club, and Rachel. How the thought of Rachel filled her with rage and panic and…she remembers how she had stared at herself in the mirror, imagining Lucy's body was returning (because why else would Finn be pursuing someone else?) and…had invited Puck over.
It had been on purpose. Nobody invited Noah Puckerman over to study. But she had the house to herself, and Puck had brought the wine coolers she'd requested when he asked what she wanted him to bring ("girly drinks," he'd snorted, but really she just wanted something her parents didn't drink).
Her intention had been to just make out with him for awhile. When he'd asked what kind of drinks she'd wanted, she'd decided drinking to make the idea of cheating on her boyfriend more bearable was a fabulous idea. Because underlying the panic of losing Finn was the feeling that she would be relieved to lose him, because she wouldn't have to kiss him anymore, and what did that mean that she didn't even want to kiss her boyfriend? Puck had game, Santana claimed. If anyone could make her enjoy kissing, if anyone could transform her from some sort of frigid ice sculpture into an actual human being, it would be him.
But everything got sort of muddled. The tipsier she got, the less she could get Lucy and Rachel out of her mind. She felt bloated and disgusting and thinking about Rachel and Finn filled her with a kind of fury and jealousy that just confused her. And when Puck asked to go further, she remembers consenting. She knows she did. She just couldn't remember why, for the longest time. And the sex, that whole miserable, painful, stupid experience…
She remembers why, now. Because she had been trying to prove something to herself. That she could have sex with a man. Enjoying it hadn't even really been the point; as far as she knew, women weren't supposed to enjoy sex. But if she could do it…if she could go through with sex with a man, maybe she wasn't hopeless after all.
She hadn't been drunk. It had just been easier to tell herself that she was, to put the responsibility all on Puck. And she'd consented. They'd talked it over, he'd reassured her, and they'd done it. He just had screwed up the dismount, so to speak.
Finally, she says, "You're right. I think that is what it was like for me."
Puck lets out a breath, "I'm really glad you don't think I hurt you on purpose. I honestly didn't know that it could be wrong to give chicks booze. I am sorry you've always regretted it, though."
"I don't really," Quinn answers, "Because it brought us Beth. And if it hadn't been you, it would've been someone else. I was looking for something, Puck. You helped me find it."
"I…did?" he asks, bewildered.
"Yeah. I was looking for the reasons why I felt so off. So strange. And being with you helped me figure it out even if I didn't even think about it for years afterwards."
"…okay…" Puck murmurs in confusion.
"Dammit, Puck, I'm trying to tell you I'm gay," Quinn chokes out, her voice breaking, "I had sex with you because I was sad, and feeling fat, and wondering why I didn't like kissing Finn. I had sex with you because I was trying to prove to myself that I could. That I could be with men. But it wasn't something I ever cared to repeat."
"…you're gay?" Puck repeats.
"Yes," she hisses, annoyed by the fact that he doesn't seem to be keeping up.
"Shit," Puck mutters, "That's wild."
Quinn rolls her eyes, "Oh, shut up. And don't you dare ever tell me I'm both a man and a woman because of it. And keep your mouth shut, because almost no one knows." She's smiling a little, though, in spite of her words, and she knows it's reflected in her tone.
"Alright," Puck replies, still sounding a little dazed, "Hey Quinn?"
"Yeah?"
"Even if the sex we had really had nothing to do with me…I'm glad we made Beth together."
"Yeah," Quinn responds quietly, "Me, too. I'm glad it was you, Puck."
A/N: Chapter titles from She & Him, "Sweet Darlin'," Modest Mouse, "Dashboard," Yeah Yeah Yeahs, "Gold Lion," Delta Rae, "Bottom of the River," and Janelle Monae, "Cold War."