(Santana)
The kids at school always tormented Rachel. I know she complained because I never did anything to stop it. I never told her, but I had to negotiate, blackmail and sometimes give in to keep things acceptable. Because, behind the scenes, I heard much worse plans against her than throw slushies and say names. Even so, I turned a blind eye to the petty aggressions because I didn't have much to do about them. So I got it into my head that this kind of bullying would make Rachel tough, that it would teach her not to bow her head to anyone. In fact, she never did. I was the one who put it down on numerous occasions, especially in front of adults. But I could say one thing: no one ever laid a finger on Rachel, and I was directly responsible for that.
Well... Rachel and I fought with our fists when they really teased us. Quinn, for example: on a few occasions we fought for real. The first time was precisely because of Rachel. We were in our first year of high school, not many days after Rachel suffered her first attack of slushies. I was in the locker room and overheard a conversation between Quinn and Frannie. Something about it being important that Quinn hit my sister on the way out of school. There was no apparent reason for it. I didn't wait until the end of the day. I grabbed Quinn by the scruff of the neck and threw her on the ground under the bleachers so no one would see us. And I taught her a lesson, including a black eye.
Later I learned that it was Frannie's order to make her little sister heal from her gay outbreak. Only a backward mind like the Fabray's could think that beating someone up would cure them, or even that sexuality was something to be cured: everyone has their own, right? Bunch of assholes.
All these memories came to mind three seconds after I heard the fight going on in Rachel and Quinn's bedroom. Well, that apartment had good soundproofing, including from inside. If I was hearing the fight from my room, it was because things were bad, and they were shouting. Adrenaline surged through my body and I reacted when I heard Rachel shouting "Get off me". I let go of the crutches, burst into their room and immediately pushed Quinn. She fell on the bed and I positioned myself between them, I had to protect my sister. I didn't know what was going on or why, but this was no ordinary fight between them.
Before I could ask, Quinn reacted, flying at me out of proportion. I pushed her away from my sister, but Quinn reacted as if she really wanted to hurt me. I overbalanced and slammed my back violently against the closet door, which was one of those flimsy sliding doors. The door broke and I found myself between the shards. My injured foot didn't help, one of the medicines made me drowsy. I'd never lost an arm wrestling match to Fabray. This was an extraordinary case. She climbed on top of me, trapping my left arm in the process. I'm left-handed, and I don't have the same strength and coordination in my right arm.
"Stay out of it!" She said before I felt her hand collide against my face, which burned immediately.
I tried to move, to free myself, to defend myself. I wasn't going to let her hit me like that.
"Get off her!" I heard someone's voice. Rachel.
My sister pushed her. Quinn fell sideways, her body against the wall. Then she got up, faced Rachel and I was desperate, thinking she was going to hit my sister. I thought Quinn was really going to do it when she took two steps forward. Rachel cringed, waiting for the slap, but Quinn walked straight past. She put on a pair of slippers and picked up her bag. She left the house without saying a word.
"Santy?" Rachel said in a small, tearful voice.
I could see she was shaking, but she still helped me up. I couldn't do it straight away. I felt a sharp pain in my ankle and in my back.
"Wait!" I tried to hold back my groan of pain so as not to worry her. I couldn't. "I think I've hurt myself again." I said breathlessly.
"Oh my God, you're bleeding!" Rachel said in a panic.
Don't think that Rachel went berserk at the sight of blood. Quite the opposite: she was Juan Lopez's daughter. She always took her first aid training much more seriously than I did. Her panic lasted all of two seconds. She took her hands off me, straightened up, took a breath, and turned her attention to me. Slowly, Rachel first helped me to sit up. Then she quickly examined me.
"Don't be alarmed, but you've got a wooden splinter stuck in your back."
"Oh..." That's why it was burning. "Is it superficial? Can you get it out?"
"I can't see it, Santy. Can you move your leg?"
"I can move it, but it hurts like hell."
"Let's call an ambulance. I'm not going to risk taking you to the hospital by car."
"I don't need 911, Ray."
"But you need a hospital.
"I can get to the car. Without 911."
"Okay, let's try to do this slowly."
Rachel positioned herself so that I could use her to stand up. I slung my arm over her shoulder for support and braced myself on my good leg.
"Wait. Just a minute, please."
She led me to the bed again. I sat on the edge and tried to breathe deeply. I saw blood on Rachel's clothes and was startled. I knew it was mine, but I hadn't imagined it would be this much.
"Are you sure she didn't hurt you?" I pointed to the T-shirt.
"The blood is totally yours."
"Oh..." I opened and closed my eyes. "I think I'm going to get sick."
Rachel ran and grabbed a bucket. I threw up as soon as she handed me the container.
"You're in poor health because of the surgery and all the medication. You shouldn't react like this, Santy. I can defend myself."
"You were yelling. I thought she was going to hit you.
Rachel remained silent. Maybe even she had doubts. She fiddled with the shard a little.
"I think it's not deep, but you're bleeding a lot. I'm sure you'll get some stitches... I'm not going to risk taking it out, Santy. I could leave splinters, which could then become infected."
"Take it off me, then the doctor will clean it up."
"No chance."
I noticed my sister's wrist when she tucked her hair behind her ear. It was very red, it even looked purple. It made me so angry. It was concrete proof that Quinn was really hitting my sister.
"Ray... your wrist."
"It was nothing."
"That's assault... ouch." My whole body was throbbing.
"It was none of your business."
"Of course it was! You're my sister! And I just wanted to push her away. What's her excuse for wanting to smash my face in?"
Rachel stopped for a moment and gently touched my face. From the force Quinn used to hit me, I think I'd have a black eye.
"What happened, anyway?" I asked.
"A website published a behind-the-scenes photo of Rom kissing me." She analyzed my foot and fixed the immobilizing boot. "I'll get your crutch."
"Was it photoshopped?" Rachel looked at me questioningly. "The photo, Ray, was it a montage of those fans obsessed with ships?"
"No, it's a real photo. The show wasn't even released to get people obsessed with shipping. I remember the circumstances. I knew there were press around, but I didn't see people taking pictures." Rachel said seriously as she grabbed a coat from the closet with the door smashed in. She ran into my room and showed me that she had taken my wallet with my documents and my crutches. She put my wallet in her bag.
"What's this about you kissing Rom? Oh God..." The more my blood ran cold, the more pain I felt.
"It was the day we shot the scene from Hamlet." Rachel followed me intently to the door. "At the end, we left the stage ecstatic and the cast started greeting each other. I remember Rom gave me a kiss... with his tongue. It was just something that happened in the heat of the moment and meant absolutely nothing." Tears were already streaming down my sister's face. "There were some photographers and journalists from entertainment magazines... I never imagined... Quinn got it all wrong..."
She dried her tears and I wanted to hug her to console her. I just couldn't do it physically at that moment due to my own state. Then the elevator arrived.
"It wasn't my fault, Santy." She whispered as soon as we got into the vehicle.
"I know it wasn't, Ray."
We went down to the garage to get our car and drove straight to the nearest hospital. I think we spent about three hours or more there, between being attended to, having some tests carried out, such as tomography and x-ray. The wood was superficially into my skin, but as Rachel had predicted, they had to do some aseptic work. I received the dressing and was given medication in my vein. Apparently, my surgery wasn't affected, but the pain was too much. Even so, the doctor decided not to prescribe the pain medication from before because it had opioids in it and could affect me. I could become addicted. So he gave me a normal painkiller.
Quinn Fabray, I hate you.
After the hospital, I suggested ordering a sandwich at home. Rachel thought it was a good idea, even though I was sure she would barely touch the food. When we parked in the garage, my sister answered her cell phone.
"Hi Mike... It was good of you to call, I need a favor... If Quinn comes looking for you, tell her to talk to me urgently... no... look, just do me this favor... okay... thanks."
"What did Mike want?" I asked.
"I didn't let him say much."
"Got it."
"I hope she's home by now."
"Look, she's going to do what she always does when you two have a bad fight: she's going to walk the streets, have a drink or eat some bacon, and then she's going to come home."
"I hope so! And you can apologize."
"Why would I apologize to someone who assaulted me?"
"You went where you didn't belong!"
"Go to hell, Rachel! To hell!"
We got into home in dead silence. Rachel shut herself in her room and I went to mine. I wasn't feeling any pain because of the medication I'd taken at the hospital, but my mood was terrible. I lay on my bed and tried to calm down after the events of the afternoon. It was early evening and there was no sign of Quinn. As angry as I was, I was worried. Then I got curious about the news. I got on my computer and typed "Rom Tyler" into Google. I selected "news" and searched for the most recent results. "Rom Tyler and Rachel Berry-Lopez made up behind the scenes of HBO's new TV show". A headline with six related articles, which means six gossip sites talking about the same thing. I opened the link and up popped a photo of him kissing Rachel in a close-up. There were smiling people in the background, Rachel was wearing clothes from the play, but I had no way of knowing the occasion.
The new HBO show 'Slings and Arrows' hasn't even premiered yet, but it's safe to say that behind the scenes things are very hot, especially for Rom Tyler ('Lost Treasures'). The 25-year-old actor has started a not-so-secret romance with fellow cast member Rachel Berry-Lopez (20). The two were photographed kissing during the final days of recording the series. The actor himself is quick to heap praise on her. "Rachel is such a sweetheart. She's extremely professional when she's recording, but afterwards she has the most infectious laugh and everyone's fine. It's such a pleasure to work with someone so young and talented. Rachel really is an inspiration". According to production sources, the cast mates approve of their relationship. "Rom started the shoot very agitated and anxious. Once he got closer to Rachel, he became more focused. This relationship has done him a lot of good," said one of the production staff. Rachel Berry-Lopez will make her big television debut in 'Slings and Arrows'. The actress began her career in Broadway and was part of the original cast of the hit 'Across the Universe'. Rom Tyler is best known for his role as Sam Madison in the series 'Almanac' and for his troubled romance with singer Liv Watson, lead singer of the Californian band Space Riders.
It was no wonder Quinn was so upset. The text had more quality and detail than the cheap gossip notes in the tabloids that circulate around town. There was also a high-definition photo of them kissing with lots of people around them. And you can see a tongue. At no point does Rom or the supposed source state that the two are really having an affair. All that can be said is that they are two good castmates, and that their closeness has brought benefits. But the whole picture, and between the lines, suggests that there is a relationship in progress. The photo, the compliments, everything favors this interpretation. Rachel knocked on my door and then entered cautiously. She had a tray with a snack on it.
"Can I come in?"
"Yes." I moved to make more room on my bed. She put the tray next to me and sat down. "I'm sorry... I thought it over and... I think the fight was a bit heated... and you weren't in the room..."
"Okay!" I looked at the little bottle of orange juice and the sandwich we ordered. I was really hungry... "Did you see the gossip?"
"No. Quinn showed me the photo and started asking about it. I didn't have the heart or courage to read it."
"Nina should have warned you." I joked. "It was her duty."
"I'm not going to jump to conclusions now, or today."
"The sources say absolutely nothing, but it's a believable piece of writing because the journalist manipulated the text well and the photo is real, as you said. It's more believable than those Broadway tabloids that said you were having an affair with Lucas. Remember?" Rachel squinted at my computer screen and silently read the text while I enjoyed my snack.
"Rom and I got close on set, it's true. Quinn knew about it and the three of us even went out for dinner a few times." She frowned. "But from there to having an affair of that nature is another story. The text only speculates, it doesn't state anything."
"I know, Ray. Quinn's the one who can't think straight when she's jealous."
"What's a relationship without a big fight, right?" Rachel said with a smile, but her eyes were already moist.
"Fights are normal. You two fight sometimes. But what happened today wasn't nice, Ray. There are limits that can't be crossed." I tried to speak carefully. "Tell the truth. It wasn't just your wrist that she held tightly." Rachel shook her head and started to cry.
"No." I took a break to keep the conversation going. "She may have exaggerated the force when she grabbed my arm."
I gently took Rachel's wrist and saw that it was purple. Not outrageously purple, but it was a sign that an exaggerated force had been exerted. My blood boiled, but I wasn't going to do anything about it just yet. Rachel was embarrassed and I wasn't going to accentuate it.
"Quinn needs psychological treatment ASAP." I said, still trying to contain myself.
"Are you saying that Quinn has an angry problem or something?"
"I'm saying that Quinn crossed the line by physically assaulting you… again. That means something."
"Quinn isn't an out-of-control woman who's going to commit femicide, Santy."
"Maybe not that much, but are you willing to pay to see? Everyone is jealous, but Quinn's is to a dangerous degree. She's jealous of our relationship, Rachel. Our life here is very stressful, and I always hear that relationships with actors are complicated. It can't be easy for her, or for you, to have to hide what you have, for example. Don't you think she could use some help to understand that?"
"I... I think you have a point."
"You know I only want your good, right?" Rachel nodded and tried to swallow her tears. I put the tray on the bedside table and made room for her to lie down next to me. That's how we fell asleep.
...
(Quinn)
My morning was as normal as it could be. Part of the documentary team got together to receive their final paycheck and to say goodbye after an enjoyable job. Of course, there were arguments and disagreements in the process, but nothing that compromised the progress of the activities. I would work with everyone again without the slightest problem, including Monica. Despite the harassment (off the clock, of course), she was an excellent professional. No wonder she took one job after another. I went to the bank and deposited my money before heading home. Rachel was at the Canadian consulate to get her work visa. An American citizen didn't need a visa to enter Canada, but a work visa was required to film there. Rachel would only be there for two weeks, but as the visa would be valid for five years, it was worth going through the bureaucracy. So we'd have a brief period off for just the two of us.
I returned to our home. Santana had made express (read microwave) food while muttering something about Andrew not having done what she had asked. Apparently he was giving her cold shoulder. Rachel arrived, and the three of us ate some unhealthy instant noodles with sodium-laden sauce. Santana volunteered to tidy up the kitchen while Rachel and I retired to the bedroom. She stayed on the bed reading the Widows of Eastwick script. I went to bed. I was planning a lazy day.
I only slept for half an hour. Rachel was next to me, lying on her stomach with her feet on our headboard, as she like to do when reading a book or magazine in bed. She seemed to be concentrating on her reading, writing in highlighter and making observations. I don't know if she was analyzing the film as a whole, or if she was making points about the character she would be playing. I do know that Rachel had only a few scenes and 21 lines of speech in the entire movie. It could have been less, depending on the final cut.
I went to my computer and brought it to the bed. I sat down with my back against the headboard and opened my emails. There was nothing but advertisements and a few messages from college friends. I checked my social media and came across a photo posted on Facebook: it was Rachel and Rom kissing in the middle of several people. There was a link accompanying the image. My whole body froze. I got curious and clicked. It opened the page of a website called Hollywood Life. My vision blurred when the photo of Rachel kissing Rom Tyler reappeared, accompanied by a text. At first I thought it was a montage, then I tried to rationalize about the promotional romance thing, or maybe it was a scene. But Rachel and Rom weren't involved in that kind of thing because her love interest was with Luis' character. She would have told me, right? My mind started spinning and I couldn't find an explanation, I couldn't reason.
"Quinn?" Rachel sensed my agony.
"You and Rom?"
"What?" She sat up in bed and looked at me, startled.
"Since when do you and Rom make out on set?"
"Sorry, Quinn, but I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm talking about this!" I showed her the photo on the computer. "Tell me this is a montage, or is it a scene you shot!"
"It's not. I'm sorry, Quinn. But it's no big deal either."
"What do you mean? Now coworkers are kissing like it's no big deal? I'm sorry Rachel, but from the experiences I've had on sets I haven't seen that... it must be something new." My voice grew louder as I became more ironic.
"I think I remember... I'd just done the stage scene... everyone was really excited and Rom gave me that kiss... but I hardly realized it at the time."
"Really? So if you fuck someone after some scene you won't notice either because of the emotion of the moment?"
"That's unfair!"
"Unfair?" I couldn't control the volume of my voice any longer. "You confess that you kissed a guy and you don't care! Do you think I'm an idiot?
"I do. In this case you're being unfair and an idiot. How can you think that I would deliberately cheat on you?"
"So you would cheat on me?"
"Don't put words in my mouth! You know I won't!" It was hard to breathe. It seemed that with every answer Rachel gave, everything got worse. I grabbed her wrist. She tried to break free, but I didn't let go and held on tighter and more determinedly. Rachel got out of bed, but I followed her.
"Did you have sex with him?"
"I refuse to answer that kind of thing. I'm going to marry you, damn it!"
"Answer it!"
"LET ME GO!"
"Not until you answer me!"
"YOU'RE OUT OF CONTROL!"
"I WANT AN ANSWER!"
"GET OFF ME!"
I let her go.
"YOU'RE CRAZY." Rachel continued shouting.
"SHUT UP!" I held her arm again.
I didn't see the door open. But I felt Santana grab my shirt and throw me against the bed. I would never hit Rachel, no matter how angry I was. On the other hand, Santana wasn't Rachel. Santana was the person who wasn't afraid to show the weight of her hand against my face. Not this time. I jumped up, grabbed Santana and threw her against the nearest wall. It was the closet door. The impact caused that Formica and bum plywood to shatter. Santana fell hard into our small closet, but I didn't care. There was a rage inside me that needed to be fed with violence. If I would never hit Rachel, Santana was another story.
"Stay out of it!" I said before my hand collided with her face. I hit her as hard as I could.
I knew she'd try to react, so I hooked her left arm around my leg to make sure she got the beating she deserved for being a busybody. Santana was in an unfavorable position, but she still didn't give in. She moved from side to side, trying to defend herself. Every time she made it difficult, the more I wanted to hit her.
"Get off her!" Someone pushed me. Rachel.
She pushed me so hard that my back hit the wall. I wanted to take it out on her. But I saw her frightened face. Rachel was afraid... of me. As angry as I was, I couldn't face that look. I stood up and saw that Rachel had closed her eyes in the process, as if expecting the blow. She really was afraid of me and I don't know why that made me even madder. I walked past her, grabbed my bag and a pair of slippers. I had to get out of there.
I didn't take the elevator. I went down six flights of stairs in record time. I reached the sidewalk still feeling like a caged animal, confused. The image of Rachel kissing Rom kept popping into my head. He was the guy who had a reputation for sleeping with the actresses he work with. What if it wasn't a casual kiss? What if it was some kind of everyday occurrence? What if she wanted him? I was insecure and angry. I wanted to take it out on her, I wanted to make Rachel suffer the way I was suffering. I didn't want her fear. I wanted payment in kind.
I wasn't thinking straight. I really wasn't. I needed to think things through, to calm things down. I decided to walk around the neighborhood. Tears flowed freely from my eyes, and I could see that people were noticing. To hell with people. The image of the photograph wouldn't leave my head. It wasn't an act. It was a real kiss that Rachel "didn't even feel". How hypocritical!
There was a bar three blocks past my building. It was a diner and bar known for being frequented by prostitutes who weren't "on the clock". It was common to see some of them, in their vulgar clothes, having a bite to eat before or after work. They were often accompanied by their pimps. I didn't care. I needed to clear my head. I went up to the bar and ordered a double shot of tequila. I knew I was attracting attention. There was a blonde woman staring at me, not in the sense of flirting. I think she was at a stage where she wouldn't be impressed by anyone else. Maybe she was just curious about the new face that had suddenly appeared to drink.
I ordered a second double shot. I turned the glass over. I wiped away the tears. The image of the photograph was still imprinted in my mind. I ordered the third double shot of tequila.
"Rough day, buddy?" The blonde prostitute sat down next to me. I ordered the fourth shot and answered without looking at her.
"Tough day. But I'm not your buddy."
"Why are you here?"
"Cheap tequila." I pointed to the price list.
"Do you want me to make your day better?"
I took my first look at the prostitute. She didn't look bad, and she seemed to be slightly stoned. How could she make my day any better? A quickie in a disgusting hotel for 30 dollars? I'd rather buy two bottles of tequila with that money. Besides, why would I pay a cheap hooker when I could have sex for free, if I wanted to, with much more interesting people? I could have sex with Monica, for example, if I wanted to.
That's when the idea popped into my head. If Rachel felt entitled to interact with coworkers with kisses on the lips, why couldn't I? I left the money on the counter and left the bar.
I took a cab and asked the driver to take me to Atlantic Ave in Bedford. It was one of those avenues divided by the train line, which is why real estate tended to be cheaper. That's where Monica lived. I never went to her place, but I had the address on my cell phone. I looked for the building. It was as ugly as the first one I lived in when I arrived in the city. I pressed the intercom.
"Monica? This is Quinn."
I heard the doorbell click and went inside. I climbed the three flights of stairs without really thinking about what I was doing on my way to the apartment of someone who was dying to fuck me, no matter what. Monica was waiting for me at the door. I approached slowly.
"What's on your mind to surprise me?" Monica smiled at me.
"Did you see the news?"
"What news?"
"Don't play dumb!"
"You'll need to be more specific, Fabray. I read a lot of news."
"About Rachel... having an affair with a fellow castmate?"
"Is that why you're here with that breath?" Monica let me into her apartment and pointed to the couch. I sat down and put my head down. "Would you like some coffee?"
"I'll have whatever you have to drink."
"Hmm."
She nodded. She went to a cupboard in the American kitchen of that bedroom/living room that looked old, but was neat and tidy. Monica took out a bottle of vodka, then went to the fridge and took out a can of sprite. She poured two glasses and offered me one of them.
"I have a cognac, but something tells me I shouldn't spend it on you, Fabray."
"This is great." I took a sip. Monica joined me.
"So your girl kissed someone else? Another actor?" I nodded, and Monica made a disdainful face. "I'm sorry to tell you, but this is more common than you think. Actors like to be with other actors, or with directors. Don't take that the wrong way. We're in the second echelon of filmmaking, Fabray, and actors live in clichés."
"I never imagined that Rachel would cheat on me like that."
"I don't want to play devil's advocate, but is she really cheating on you? Kissing for these actors means nothing. I heard about a young cast TV show where they liked to go to each other's trailers and play spin the bottle. Even the cast couple took part in these games and kissed other castmates. Didn't you hear about that actress who showed her entire anatomy between her legs to her gayfriend and castmate? It was an interview for a documentary!"
"Gayfriend?"
"Well… there are girlfriend, boyfriend and gayfriend… you know, that kind of relationship that isn't sexual because the other person is gay? Or maybe it's also sexual, but the other person is still gay and has other romantic interests?"
"Gayfriend… that's new. Those clueless people."
"Totally, but it happens, Fabray. It doesn't mean that your girl is cheating on you because she kissed a fellow castmate."
"You of all people defending my girlfriend... you who harassed me into having sex with you..."
"I'd totally have sex with you. But I'm not unfair to people."
"What did I do wrong?"
Monica looked at me with pity. The person who always looked at me with desire, this time she was pitying me. How embarrassing!
"You didn't do anything wrong. Shit like that happens, especially at our age. The world is full of interesting people. You're a good professional and you're the prettiest girl I know. But that's no guarantee of anything. You're only 21. Everything is unstable at our age."
"I've been dating Rachel for three years. Our relationship was anything but unstable."
"You talk as if three years is a lifetime. My parents were married for 27 years and had three children. That's a lifetime."
"Don't diminish my relationship."
"I'm just putting it into perspective, Fabray." She poured herself another glass of the vodka with soda. "Maybe this cast is one of those really close ones, who kisses each other and everything's fine. Maybe your girlfriend and this actor are seeing each other behind your back. Anything is possible. Rachel could be innocent or guilty. But that doesn't make her a criminal. You shouldn't take possession of people like that."
I finished my second glass of vodka and sprite and stared at Monica.
"Do you think I'm attractive enough?"
"You know I do. You're beautiful."
"How do I know you're telling me this just because you want to be in my pants?"
"Don't be pretentious, Fabray. It's not because I think you're pretty and I'm curious about your abilities that means I want to have some kind of relationship with you. I like my freedom too much to want to attach myself to anyone right now. Especially with you, who are clearly a possessive person."
"Then why did you harass me?"
"Because I was teasing you. Because it's fun. Because that's how I am. Because you're a republican and it's fun to mess with you. Because I just like to fuck. You don't have to take everything too seriously, Fabray. It's not because someone flirts with you in the street that you want to take it any further. Grow up. Wake up to life."
"But do you want me? Do you still want to fuck me?"
I approached Monica and kissed her. It only took her two seconds to respond. When we broke off the kiss, I stared at her.
"Would you make me forget this pain for two seconds? Please?"
Monica kissed me again, this time coming closer, touching my body. I touched her breasts, squeezed her, and she nibbled lightly on my lips before breaking the kiss. She took off her shirt and stared at me, as if daring me to take mine off and continue. I took off my blouse, my bra, and she kissed me, already massaging my breasts. I wasn't there for delicacy or romance. I wasn't there to make love. I was hurt, confused, a little drunk and horny. I took off her bra and sucked on her breasts. I got up from the couch for a moment, took off my pants along with my panties and stood in front of her.
"Can you make me feel good?"
"Without any romance first?"
"I'd just like to feel good today."
Monica knelt in front of me and sucked me off. It didn't take me long to have my first orgasm.
The next thing I knew, we were both lying on her bed. Monica had large breasts, which I took great advantage of. We had inelegant, dirty sex, as I would never have had the courage to do with Rachel. Monica was just some girl who was dying to have sex with me. She must have fantasized about while masturbating. And to me, she was just meat. I fucked Monica however I wanted: I made her get on her knees, on all fours, I rode her face, and I fucked her with three fingers fast and hard. Finally, I blacked out.
...
When I woke up, it was five in the morning. I was sober. Monica was sleeping next to me, and I could see that her room was a total mess. I couldn't tell if it was my fault or if it was just the way it was. What I do know is that I grabbed my clothes and left that apartment feeling sick because I was disgusted by what I had done to myself and to Rachel.
I wanted to die.
...
July 17, 2015
(Rachel)
I woke up with an arm around my waist and a body behind me. For a moment I closed my eyes again and prayed that it was Quinn, that everything that happened yesterday was just a bad dream and that now, with the new day, everything would be the same. However, the arm was stronger, darker, the fingers thinner and more elongated. Santana. I was in her room, in the middle of the chaos that she refuses to clean up of her own free will. The only thing in order there was the document drawer in the desk. The rest? If I didn't do my weekly cleaning, her clothes would be piled to the ceiling. On the other hand, waking up in Santana's bed in that messy room was comforting in the face of bad circumstances. No matter how bad things got, I would always have my sister to support me. I got up and the sleeper didn't even notice. My sister turned to the side and continued sleeping.
I looked at the clock on my cell phone: it was half past five in the morning. I rarely woke up that early. I imagined that Quinn was finally home, asleep in our room. I thought it would be a good opportunity to talk after the worst fight we'd ever had. But when I walked into my room, my heart raced with worry, fear and dismay. Quinn wasn't home. I panicked, imagining a thousand and one bad things that could have happened. I looked for my cell phone and the only message I had was from Nina saying she needed to talk to me as soon as possible. I didn't give a damn about my advisor at that moment and she would wait.
What mattered to me was that Quinn wasn't home. My room was exactly as I'd left it: with the closet door smashed in, my sister's dried blood here and there, my script and pens on the floor, the bed a mess. And no Quinn. Not even any evidence that she had passed through and left our home without us noticing: all her clothes were in place. What kept me from completely panicking were my father's pragmatic words about the arrival of bad news: it comes quickly and when you least expect it. I was almost panicking, but I wasn't going to cry.
So, I sent her a message.
"I know things got bad yesterday, but please come home. Send news, at least" – Rachel
I went back into my sister's room. I picked up the tray from the bedside table and took it to the kitchen. I'd clean up afterwards. I decided to make breakfast because I simply had to do anything, any task so as not to go crazy with worry. My movement around waking my sister up. Santana must have slept badly too, because she never woke up at that time of her own accord. I watched as Santana dragged her feet with her crutches to the bathroom. I heard the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink as I continued to make morning food at six in the morning.
"Good morning." She said.
"Where's the immobilizing boot?"
"I couldn't put it on myself. It hurts."
Yesterday, with all the mess, we didn't put the cold water compress on.
"Go back to your room." I ordered.
I prepared the ice pack and applied it to her ankle for 15 minutes. I saw that the stitches from the surgery were red and I cleaned them. I did the same with the cut on her back and changed the bandage. Only then did I help her put on the immobilizing boot. Santana stayed in bed. I could see that she was feeling pain in her ankle and still had a black eye.
"I wanted to get rid of that thing." She pointed at the boot.
"I'm sorry to tell you, but you'll be wearing that boot for another couple of weeks. You'll be on crutches for the next three months..."
"I heard the doctor, hobbit." Santana looked at me seriously after the cut she'd given me. "Were you able to sleep?"
"Your bed's not bad."
"Well... you chose it. Has Quinn shown any signs of life?"
Our conversation stopped when we heard knocks on the door. My heart started pounding harder. When I answered, I saw Quinn in a terrible state. She had dark circles under her eyes, messy hair, a strong smell and looked hungover.
"Can I come in?" Her voice was so small that my heart broke.
I let her into her own place and she sat down on the couch, as if she were a guest in an uncomfortable environment. Santana left her room briefly, stopping in front of Quinn.
"Be a good girl, or I'll use my crutches this time... on your face."
Santana left us alone. I sat at the other end of the sofa and couldn't stop staring at the figure that vaguely resembled my fiancée. She was visibly exhausted, with an obvious ache in her body. The way she squeezed her eyes shut, she was definitely hungover. She looked like she'd drunk her fill and slept in a ditch. All I wanted to do was hug her and tell her that things would be all right. But Santana touched on an important point: there were things that were wrong and that I couldn't ignore any longer. Closing my eyes and ignoring it wouldn't be the right thing to do. We remained silent. I didn't want to start the conversation. I thought that should be her role.
"I know I crossed the line yesterday." Quinn didn't have the courage to face me. "And I'll understand if you don't forgive me."
"I can forgive you. But I think we should discuss a few points. Your jealousy yesterday crossed the line. Your lack of control in the face of a gossip site was frightening."
"I agree!"
"Santana suggested that perhaps you could seek some form of help. Talk to a therapist, perhaps?"
"I'm open to options."
"I know my job isn't easy, Quinn. I try to imagine myself in the opposite position. If you were an actress and I wasn't... how would I react to you kissing someone else on stage? It's really not pleasant, but I'd really make an effort because I love you so much that I'd only want what's best for you and your career. That's just one point. There are many others..."
"And how would you feel if I got with someone else?"
That sentence came out of Quinn's mouth and exploded in my head and heart. I didn't react at first, but then I tried to rationalize. Well, maybe she was just being hypothetical, after all, it was what we were talking about, right?
"I guess... I guess I'd want to know why you hooked up with that person in the first place." My hands kept shaking. "I'd want to know if you did it because you didn't love me anymore or..." Fucking tears were streaming down my face. "Did you do it, Quinn? Have you been with someone else?" I didn't want to hear the answer, but I had no choice.
"Her name is Monica. You probably saw her at my birthday party. Monica worked with me on the documentary, and she harassed me with little attitudes, words, touches. I always ignored her, I swear to Christ in heaven! I never wanted anything to do with her. But then I saw the news on Facebook. I had the idea of looking for her, and what happened, happened. When I left here yesterday, I had one goal: to get drunk."
"You've obviously got drunk." I commented with a certain disgust.
"I had a few shots of tequila... then I got a cab and went to Monica's apartment. We talked, drank vodka, and then... Rachel... I'm so sorry!" Quinn started crying copiously in front of me and I wasn't sure if my brain was processing it.
"Quinn? What did you do?" I felt my own tears fall down my face. "Did you have sex?" My voice was full of hurt.
"It happened."
My world fell apart.
"It happened?" I tried to control myself so as not to scream or explode.
"I think it's best to spare you the details... but know that I regretted it afterwards, Rach." She turned to me and knelt down. "It was out of control. And now I want to die for hurting you like that. Please forgive me!"
I remained silent. I couldn't say anything at all. All I could do was cry.