(Rachel)
After Quinn confessed to the atrocity she had done, I remained silent. I couldn't say anything at all. All I could do was cry. I couldn't believe anything that was happening. I couldn't understand how a random kiss had turned into a reason for cheat on me, which sounded like retaliation. Was it the first time? What if she had already been with other women during our relationship?
I remember the pain I felt when I found out that Santana and Finn had only had sex once, even when Finn and I was off. It hurt so much. It hurt because they kept it from me for months, it hurt because the choir knew and laughed behind my back, it hurt because it was my sister with my then-boyfriend. But the pain I felt at Quinn's confession was ten times worse. I love this woman, I have a life with her... I agreed to marry her... and Quinn had the nerve to go to bed with some tramp. It was like I was worthless.
The next thing I knew, Quinn was kneeling in front of me, close by. She tried to take my hand, but I got up from the couch as if she had a contagious plague. Anger began to pulse inside my chest.
"Don't you dare touch me, Lucy Quinn Fabray."
"Rach..."
"Don't call me Rach!" I said quietly. Then I faced Quinn. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I loved her more than anything, but she had crossed a line that I couldn't forgive. It was as if she had murdered a part of me. I could barely look at her. My anger began to mix with disgust. "You know where the suitcases are. Take one and get out of here."
"Rachel..."
"I said GET OUT OF HERE!"
Quinn lost her balance and fell backwards at my shout. She hit her back on the coffee table.
"Rachel... please. And if I come back tomorrow..." Quinn's cry was also unleashed.
"GET. OUT. OF. HERE!" I screamed as hard as I could.
"You'd better get out of this room, Ray." There was a third person in the room: my sister. She seemed unusually calm. Santana approached slowly with her crutches and an immobilized foot that she couldn't dream of being forced to the floor for three months. I didn't move. I was in an internal debate between killing Quinn or running away. "Ray!" She said more emphatically. "Let me take care of her. Go into my room and punch the pillow, shout from the balcony, break my closet door, but get out of here."
I look at Quinn. I loved her, but at that moment I hated her, despised her. Santana was right: I had to get out of there and punch something. I went to my sister's room and slammed the door. The door didn't deserve it, of course. Then I threw myself on my sister's still messy bed and cried freely.
...
(Santana)
Of course, the privacy I was willing to give Quinn and Rachel was relative. I was attentive and listened to most of the conversation. I confess that I almost ran out to smash my crutch over that bitch's head as soon as I heard her confession. Bitch! I had to hold myself together and take a deep breath. I had to control myself for Rachel's sake. She was going to need me. I was on alert until I heard her scream. I decided that I needed to take action, but not like I had done the day before. I had to be more rational, balanced. Someone had to be in that house. The deplorable scene in my sister's room had taught me that if everyone gets hot-headed without anyone rational around, it meant chaos with negative results. Said and done.
"You'd better get out of this room, Ray." I made myself present. Rachel looked at me like she didn't want to see me there, that it was none of my business. I approached slowly with my crutch and it was nice to see that her attention was on me. "Ray!" I said more emphatically. "Let me take care of her. Go into my room and punch the pillow, shout from the balcony, break my closet door, but get out of here."
Rachel was reluctant. She was having an internal debate there. Finally, and thankfully, she stomped off to my room and closed the door in such a way that I thought all the paintings in the house would fall with the shockwave of the impact. I'd be dealing with Rachel soon. Quinn was in tatters and crying copiously. I didn't know what to think or do right away. I just stood there watching someone fall apart. I was angry at what she had done, but I was also sorry. Yes, I had all the reservations in the world about Quinn, but even for me it was sad to see a couple who loved each other so much go through that kind of drama. All because, on the one hand, my sister let herself get carried away with the little intimacies exchanged on set, and she didn't have the courage to get ahead of the press. Rachel made a mistake in underestimating the gesture and didn't tell Quinn about it. On the other hand, Quinn had a real problem with jealousy and possessiveness.
I walked to the kitchen. I left a crutch leaning against it so I could open the fridge. I grabbed the jug of cold water, which was providential at that time of year in New York. I had to do some juggling to pick it up, close the fridge and put it on the worktop. Little by little, I got the hang of managing on my own with two crutches and an immobilized foot. I picked up the glass and tried to carry it without spilling water all over the house. It was harder than it looked. I managed with minimal loss of content. I reached Quinn, who was sitting on the living room carpet with her forehead between her bent knees.
"Please don't make me bend down with this crutch and this glass in my hand." I said in a low, calm voice. As I saw no reaction from the cheater, I sighed. I left the glass on the table and sat down on the sofa, picked up the glass again and placed it in front of Quinn. "Drink it... it'll calm you down." She raised her head. Her eyes were bulging.
"I don't want to!" Quinn's voice was hesitant and blurred with crying. "She's going out for an hour and we'll talk."
"Fine... whatever you say, but while you're waiting, drink the water because it'll do you good." I said more firmly.
Quinn accepted. She drank all the contents. It was difficult to experience a situation like that. After all, I had known Quinn since we was a child, even if I didn't speak to her. We became friends in a way. Perhaps an unconventional relationship, but she was one of the few people I could talk to and get an honest opinion from. Quinn was a good listener. I started to run my fingers through her hair. It was strange to want to comfort the woman who cheated on my sister less than 24 hours ago.
"Why are you being nice to me?"
"Would it do any good if I came here wanting to hit you over the head?"
"Maybe it would be more you!" She wiped her face with her blouse.
"Although you really deserve it, I don't want to fight. It wouldn't do any good under the circumstances. Do you want me to call Mike to come and pick you up?"
"I'm not leaving. This is my home too, and I'm tired of being kicked out of my own house!" Quinn growled. It was little moments like this that brought out certain old traumas. "Rachel will calm down and listen to me."
"Okay! Fair enough. In the meantime, why don't you go to your room, get some clothes and take a shower? You stink!"
Quinn looked at me angrily, but then nodded positively. Water was a holy remedy. At least for me. In the absence of a swimming pool, I took long baths. Fifteen minutes of letting the water fall on my body. It helped me think better. Maybe that would help Quinn. I took the empty glass and went back to the kitchen. I just left the used object in the sink and picked up my other crutch.
I walked to my room and found my sister lying on my bed on her stomach. She didn't seem to be crying as much as before. I sat on the edge of the bed with my back to the headboard. I pulled my immobilized foot up onto the bed, a process that was causing me pain after I had blown myself up during the fight. I began to stroke my sister's hair, which still wasn't moving. Sometimes I massaged her shoulders too, which were stiff as a rock. Gradually, Rachel got out of the prone position until she rolled onto her side and laid her head on my lap. She was still silent and you could see that she was trying hard not to start crying hard again.
"Is she gone?" He asked in a weak voice, like a little child.
"No."
"I want her to leave." The anger was back in Rachel's voice. "I'm not leaving this room until she's gone."
"Why don't you take a nap and talk to Quinn later and more calmly? I can make you some tea to help if you like."
"I want her out of here!"
"Okay... fine... you'll say it directly to her... again... but only after you've had some sleep and cooled off. You'll regret it bitterly if you take any action of this nature in the heat of anger. Without thinking for at least a second."
"Will you stay here with me?" Rachel looked like a helpless little girl.
"Of course."
It was bad getting into bed with Rachel all weepy and clingy. I barely slipped into bed and she was already snuggling up against me. She slipped her arm under my abdomen, leaned her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes. I couldn't move much at that point. I wasn't sleepy, I wasn't really tired. My sister fell asleep, but I kept going over the day's events in my mind until I got tired. Until I nodded off too. Rachel woke up a couple of hours later with her eyes very swollen from crying.
"Why isn't your room an en suite?" She muttered and I frowned.
"I don't know if you've noticed, but there's only one suite in this apartment, and it's yours." If she had wanted another suite, it might not have been a good idea to let Quinn choose the apartment. But I couldn't make that kind of comment, lest I add fuel to an already awful situation.
"I want to use the bathroom."
"The bathroom faces my bedroom. It's only four steps from one door to the other."
"What if she's still in the room?"
"Don't look away."
"The problem is that I need to look. I need to say one last thing..."
"Ray, think very carefully about what you're going to say to her. I don't think you'll want to give up a relationship like this without talking."
"Without talking?" Rachel said quietly. "I'm not the one who left here after a fight and fucked the first whore on the corner."
"I understand that part and you're right, Ray. But be careful how you say it."
"She cheated on me less than 24 hours ago, Santy!" Rachel raised her voice. "I've got a pair of horns on my forehead because of her. That's unforgivable."
I wasn't the best person to answer what was or wasn't forgivable. I was the one who had an open relationship with Puck and Brittany when I was at McKinley High. I would cheat on Andrew with Brittany in a heartbeat if she wanted me. I have inappropriate thoughts about Johnny. Who am I to judge in this department? I can judge Quinn's aggression and jealousy, but the fact that she cheated? I didn't have those morals, no matter how much I was team-Rachel until the end of the world.
I know Quinn did something colossally stupid, but I couldn't get as angry with her as I was supposed to. Her physical aggression when she held Rachel's wrist bothered me much more than the sexual betrayal, or when she assaulted me. Unlike Rachel, I wouldn't break up with someone over a casual slip, especially after a big fight. I don't think I'd forgive anyone unless there was a parallel relationship going on behind my back: then it would be too much to bear.
Rachel closed her face and left the room. May God protect her. That was all I could do.
...
(Quinn)
Santana gave me a pitying look. So much so that I didn't know whether to be very angry, because she was directly responsible for the mess, or grateful that my head wasn't cracked open by a crutch. If Santana hadn't broken into the room, maybe Rachel and I would have had a chance to understand each other. Maybe I wouldn't have left the house with so much rage in my chest and sought out Monica to take it out on. But I wasn't in a position to talk to her.
"Why are you being nice to me?" I asked, and my voice came out a little slurred.
"Would it do any good if I came here wanting to hit you over the head?"
"Maybe it would be more you!" I wiped my face with my blouse.
"Although you really deserve it, I don't want to fight. It wouldn't do any good under the circumstances. Do you want me to call Mike to come and pick you up?"
"I'm not leaving. This is my home too, and I'm tired of being kicked out of my own house!" I was indignant at the insinuation. "Rachel will calm down and listen to me."
"Okay! Fair enough. In the meantime, why don't you go to your room, get some clothes and have a shower? You stink!"
I think she was right: I must have stunk of alcohol, sweat and sex. Santana went into her room and I struggled to get up from the carpet. It was hard to walk into my own room and mentally watch the scenes from the day before. Rachel didn't seem to come in for the rest of the day. The bed was the same, the closet door was still broken with all the shrapnel on the floor. There was some dried blood on the floor and on the bed. I panicked because I couldn't remember where the blood had come from. What if it was Rachel's? But she didn't look physically hurt. Santana, on the other hand, had a bandage on her shoulder. Maybe it was hers. I went into the closet. In a way, it was a relief to see that Rachel hadn't burned or thrown my clothes out of the window. People thought it was a myth, but I'd seen it happen more than once.
I grabbed some shorts, clean panties and a T-shirt. My robe was still hanging on the clothes rail we had in the bedroom. I went into the bathroom. I let the water run freely over my body for a good few minutes before worrying about perfumery. I wished I had the ability to block out images in my mind, but the slides kept coming up. The photo of the kiss, Rachel justifying herself and looking scared, my anger, Monica, Monica naked on her knees, Monica smiling like a demon as I gave her an orgasm. It was like having a nightmare with my eyes open.
"What have I done?" I cried softly and punched the wall. One so hard that it flayed the skin. At least the pain removed the images from my mind.
I put on my clothes and when I came out of my room, I tried to listen to what was going on in Santana's room. Everything was very quiet. All I had to do was wait to talk to Rachel again without crying and with a clear head. I sat on the couch and waited. I don't know how long it took, but I jumped when I heard the door to Santana's room open. My Rachel went from the bedroom to the bathroom without saying a word. And I stood there dying of anxiety. The minutes Rachel spent in the bathroom were an eternity. She came out with her hair brushed, her face swollen from crying but clean, and walked over to me with an unreadable expression. Without saying a word, she stopped in front of me and stared at me.
"I want you to pack your bags. It's over between us." She handed me the engagement ring.
"Rachel! No!" I wanted to fight, I wanted to start crying again. I wanted to go up to her and shake her to get this absurd idea out of my head. I got up from the couch to go to her, but Rachel raised her arms in a warning gesture for me to keep my distance.
"Not only did you physically assault me, but you also cheated on me in the most base and vile way, regardless of whether you were sorry or not. All I know is that I can barely look you in the face, and I can't bear to live with you for now. If you don't have the dignity to pack your things and leave by early evening, then I will."
She said it firmly, without flinching. Then I realized that I could squabble, fight and appeal, and she wouldn't reconsider any time soon.
"Is that what you want?" I tried to control myself as best I could. "For me to get out of here?"
"It's not like you'd be homeless, Quinn." She said bitterly. "What's her name can take you in, can't she? I guarantee she'd be happy to share her bed with you for a while longer."
"Do you want me to throw myself into Monica's arms?"
"Do whatever you want, Quinn. I'm going to my sister's room and I'm going to stay in there until the end of the afternoon. If you're still here, then I'll go up to my room, pack my suitcase and find a place to stay. I'll leave the whole apartment to you and Santana. You decide."
Rachel did as promised and went back into Santana's room. I was reluctant to leave the living room. I felt like having a little dispute. It was silly, though. I went back to my room and put some of my clothes in a backpack. Not much for three or four days away from home. Maybe that would be enough to make Rachel think again and forgive me.
I left the apartment and went down the elevator, looking through my contacts on my cell phone. I stopped at Monica's name. I was tempted to call her out of anger. She'd offer me a warm bed and easy sex for a night or two. But what good would that do me? What would it add to my life? It would only make my situation with Rachel worse. I didn't want Monica, I wanted Rachel. I always wanted Rachel. I deleted Monica's contact from my cell phone and called Mike.
...
July 18, 2015
(Santana)
I woke up earlier than usual, which was annoying because I was on my summer break. Or almost. I was exhausted from the previous day's events. I got up with my body slightly numb in my arms from holding Rachel all night. I tried not to disturb my sister and it seemed to have worked. The carpet helped to dampen the sound of the crutch's "toc-toc" as I made my way to the closet. I still had some difficulty putting on pants. I didn't mind the crutches so much, but not being able to firm my feet on the ground was cruel. I put on my sweatshirt and a Nirvana T-shirt and went downstairs of the building.
"Good morning Santana." I bumped into the building manager at the entrance.
"Morning." I replied dryly. The manager was an efficient woman in the administration of the condominium, but she was a gossip woman of first category.
"Did Quinn travel? I saw her taking a cab yesterday carrying a backpack."
Our building had good soundproofing between the apartments, but we still heard noises like a drill, the dragging of heavy furniture, a hammer on the wall. Someone probably heard the brief shouting and the sound of the door breaking two days ago and must have commented on it. It wouldn't make gossip any easier.
"She had to travel in a hurry to sort out some private problems."
"I see. And your foot? How is it?"
"The same. Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to buy breakfast."
"Would you like some help?"
"No, thanks. I'm not going to buy much."
"Okay. Give my regards to your sister."
Thank God she didn't insist any more. I walked down the block to the delicatessen that opened at the beginning of the year. I bought a bag of whole grain bread, just the way Rachel liked it. Then I stopped by the café on the corner and bought two cappuccinos. Rachel wouldn't mind if I had coffee for one lousy day. When I got back, I found my sister coming out of my bathroom.
"I brought our coffee." I forced a smile. Rachel just nodded.
In silence, she went up to her room. Quinn had left and made a point of leaving traces. The closet overturned on her side. Socks all over the floor. Rachel hated finding used socks on the floor of the apartment. Quinn didn't do that. She was almost as organized as Rachel, which is why they were so harmonious in their division of space - except for the hanging clothes. I was the master of leaving socks around the house. They'd stay in the same place for days if I left them until they were collected for the laundry or the weekly cleaning. I knew Quinn had left socks on the floor on purpose, to force Rachel to collect her things and suddenly miss them and regret it. She could be Machiavellian like that, even when she was terribly hurt. When I inspected the house yesterday, I noticed that most of the clothes were left, as if the plan was to spend a few days away from home. Rachel wanted to throw everything out of the window. I didn't let her. Not for Quinn's sake, but for our's sake: I'd hate to become the neighborhood's topic of the month.
I set the table as required. I put the freshly bought bread on a plate, jam, our coffees, plates, cutlery, jelly, fruit, granola. The only thing I didn't make was pancakes.
"I'm not hungry." Rachel grumbled as soon as she came out of the bedroom in fresh clothes.
"Eat at least one slice of bread." I insisted. "If you don't eat your meals at least a little, your health will suffer and you'll end up with gastritis like mine. What do you think?"
"Okay..."
We didn't talk. I devoured the food while Rachel just nibbled her bread and sipped her coffee. She didn't even complain that I had a cup too: a bad sign.
"I need to sort out a few things this morning at Columbia and for Rock'n'Pano. Nothing serious, but it's just that a customer has ordered some units of the product for evaluation, and I also need to go to UPS to ship a package. I'll be back before lunch. Will you be all right on your own?"
"Maybe I'll work out for a bit."
"Perfect!"
I brushed my teeth and rushed off to sort out small things at Columbia. Things like the waiting list for subject fences, the results of grading processes, approvals. I called Andrew to help me. As I was going to campus by cab, he could wait for me. The university was in a prime area of a city that was considered one of the capitals of the world. Even so, Columbia was modestly busy. All the better for someone on crutches like me. I met Andrew at the agreed location, and we kissed despite our turbulent relationship. I asked Andrew to go to UPS to ship a package while I sorted out the problems in the office. He had two good legs, he could walk more.
I stayed in the administration building of the economics faculty to sort out registration problems for two subjects, and I took the opportunity to find out if they had already approved the process for one of the grades. I had filed an appeal for re-evaluation. I'd got an A- in an exam, which would have given me an A in the final grade, but the professor had ignored certain points in the essay question that would have raised the grade in the exam and, consequently, the final grade.
"Here's your transcript." The secretary handed it to me with a bored look on her face. The rest of the campus would be on vacation until the weekend. She should be happy.
I was happy to hear that the increased score had already been approved. I couldn't see it online because of some fault in the system or something. After sorting out some paperwork, I waited another 15 minutes for my boyfriend to call me back.
"How are you going to repay me for my service, Miss Berry-Lopez?" Andrew kissed me lightly before helping me up from the bench in the hall.
"Movie?" I didn't want to take him home because of the state of war.
"Your place?" I sighed and he didn't take my gesture very well. "Why? Do you want me to stop coming to your house?" He bristled.
"It's nothing like that, nerd. It's just that some things happened. Quinn and Rachel had a big fight, and Quinn moved out. In fact, she got kicked out. Anyway. It's not the best time to be dating back home."
"Nor to leave your sister alone, don't you think?" He had a point.
"Then we'll go home and watch a 50-year-old musical with my sister to make her feel better. What do you think?"
"It's a great date."
I hated Andrew's wisdom.
"I never imagined seeing Quinn and Rachel apart..." Andrew helped me down the stairs. The access ramp was on the other side and I was too lazy to turn around.
"I never imagined seeing Quinn in our lives..." Andrew didn't understand. Realizing his confusion, I elaborated. "Quinn wasn't even friends with my sister before they started dating. It's funny, it's been a few years, something that started in Lima, but I'm always surprised when I think about it. Quinn and Rachel? It's really weird. I thought my sister was going to die next to that asshole Finn Hudson, who was the guy she dragged around school. Finn was captain of the football team, a kind of school hero, the kind who could do the biggest shit and he would never be wrong. But he was also a guy with no talent, you know? He was only in the position of school hero because he was the teachers' darling. Rachel and Finn dated for a couple of years, on and off. To my surprise, my sister dumped that two-neuron jerk for Quinn."
"I thought Rachel only liked girls."
"She's like me. Bisexual. Quinn is a lesbian. I wouldn't be surprised if Rachel started seeing guys again. Just as I wouldn't be surprised if Quinn became a womanizer."
"The good thing about life is that it throws up surprises. Everything you think is final is really just an illusion. I thought I was going to marry a neighbor who was my best friend. We spent our childhood together and swore we'd get married one day."
"And what happened?"
"The usual. High school came along. She became the hottest girl in school, while I remained the same nerd who read Marvel comics. In our freshmen year, a popular guy from the basketball team took her away from me."
"Did she get pregnant? Did she marry him?"
"Nothing so cliché. Life just happened. He got a scholarship to play at Kansas, and she went to Oregon to study literature, and will probably be a high school teacher when she graduates. I think she has another boyfriend there, I'm not sure. We haven't spoken in a while."
True. The greatest youth loves aren't always predestined to be together. Look at Brittany and me. I thought our destiny was to get married and have three children: a biological child of mine fathered by her, a biological child of hers fathered by me, and an adopted child. It was the perfect plan. But life tore us apart more and more.
Andrew and I took a cab back home, because it was hot and I didn't feel like going into the oven of the subway, especially when the air conditioning system in the carriages had problems. It was better to take the yellow car, even if it was more expensive. We arrived home around midday, and the scene we came across was one of the most surreal. Rachel was dancing, jumping and shaking her hair with a bottle of vodka in her hands. The music was so loud that I don't know how the neighbors haven't complained yet. Or maybe they did, and my sister told them to fuck off.
"Have you gone mad?" First I turned the music down.
"What a spoilsport you are!" Rachel sneered at me. She was completely drunk. "Hi Andrew. Have you come to fuck my sister? Because I think you should do it before Brittany snaps her fingers and Santana runs off like a dog in heat. Do you know that the love of my sister's life is called Brittany?"
I froze for a second when Rachel mentioned Brittany to Andrew. It was obvious that he knew that Britt was my ex-something, whatever you call what we've had over the years, and my best friend. That's why he didn't need to be reminded.
"Give me the bottle!" I took the vodka from her hand
"No way." Rachel lunged at me to retrieve the vodka. I would have overbalanced and fallen to the ground if it hadn't been for my boyfriend. He supported me and kept an eye on me.
"I want to this bottle." Rachel growled and tried to advance again, but Andrew grabbed her around the waist.
"That's your problem." I took advantage of the fact that the beast was trapped in Andrew's arms, and emptied what was left of the bottle into the kitchen sink. I did it out of pity, because that was a very good vodka.
"No!" Rachel protested from the living room, "I let you drink when you're depressed. Why don't you let me drink too?"
"In case you haven't noticed, you've already passed the acceptable state of inebriation. Besides, I'm the wrong one in the family, remember? I'm the black sheep, not you!" I turned to face my sister, but was surprised by an ironic laugh.
"You? The wrong one? The black sheep? Please! Just the darling of the family! The lovely rebel!"
"Ray... please!"
"What? Are you going to deny it? You? Santana Berry-Lopez? The one who can set the world on fire and everyone will still love you?"
"Rachel!" I put more warning in my voice.
"Am I lying? You're the favorite daughter. The school cheerleader everyone feared, the math genius, the prettiest and sexiest. You're the girl from Columbia who makes a major out of smart kids. The heiress to millions of dollars. Isn't that what everyone talks about? What about me? Rachel Berry-Lopez? The clumsy one, the one with the big nose, the one with no salt. The actress who annoys everyone with her cheesy singing. I'm your shadow in our family! I always have been."
"That's not true." I tried to get closer, but Rachel reacted restlessly in Andrew's arms and I had to keep my distance. "You're the star of the family." I tried to soften. "You've always had this unique talent, and you've always known what to do with it. You've always been strong and determined, Ray, not me. So please, stop for a moment." I wanted to put some rationality into that alcoholic brain, but all I got was an ironic laugh.
"You, Santy... have always been the most admired by everyone without even having to make an effort. Zaide only has eyes for you. Mr. Weiz did all the dirty work because he wanted you by his side. Because you're apparently the reincarnation of his dead son. Isn't that what he implied? Mom? You don't even speak to her of your own free will, yet she only has eyes for you. Because you're the daughter with the guy she's always loved, while I'm probably the fruit of the other guy's sperm! Dad only had eyes for you: for his adventurous daughter who loved gardening with him. And papi prefers you because, of course, you're his biological daughter. And Beth. And abuela. And even me! I've always hated myself because you've always been my favorite person in the whole universe! But I'm nobody's favorite! All my hard work is overshadowed by a simple gesture from you! All my talent is erased the moment you make a funny insult!"
"I don't understand this attack!"
"You know, Andrew, I'll tell you a little story. At school I was dating the guy of my dreams. Finn could choose any girl, he got Quinn Fabray, for heaven's sake! I, the ugly duckling, had to fight with all my might to win him over. But it only took Santana to say "do you wanna?" for him to forget about me. Do you know why she did that? Because she was a heartless bitch. She screwed Brittany, she screwed Puck, she could have screwed anyone with two legs in that town, and she decided to screw Finn just to rub it in my face. She let me be bullied at school because she enjoyed my suffering. Because she always liked to see me on the floor. That's your girlfriend. I'll give you a warning: keep an eye on her, because at the very least she'll want to fuck Quinn to kill me for good."
"Rachel, shut up!" I shouted.
"Do you know why I liked inverting the hierarchy so much?" Rachel raised her finger, pointing at me. She was angry, but so was I, and I was trying not to lunge at Rachel and slap some sanity into her fucking head. "Because for the first time in my life, you were below me! You're here... in the palm of my hand. Depending on me to eat, like never before. For the first time I was the protagonist and you were the supporting actor. And you know what else? I've never been so happy in my life!"
"Now that's enough!" Andrew picked up my sister and threw her over his shoulder. He did this a second before I started to pound some sense into her head. "You'd better calm down before you say anything else you'll regret later."
Andrew carried Rachel into my bathroom, put her in the shower stall, clothes and all, and turned on the cold water. I watched in amazement as my boyfriend did this. Rachel struggled to get out from under the shower, but he held her until she calmed down. I was in shock. Drunks were honest, and I never imagined that Rachel would hold such a grudge against me. It's true that I've always held a domineering position over her since I was a child, but I never in my right mind imagined that it would have affected her so much. Rachel has always been my little sister and my partner, after all. I love her so much! I guess I never stopped to pay attention to how she really felt.
"You'd better get some clean clothes for your sister..." Andrew sat on the edge of the shower stall. Rachel was soaked, panting and starting to cry.
I went to her room as fast as I could. I grabbed some clothes and went back into the bathroom.
"I think I can take over from here..." I said to my boyfriend, who nodded and left the bathroom.
I ran my hands over a crying Rachel's face before turning off the cold water. She was reasonably cooperative. She took off her clothes, dry herself and I try my best to help her to put on new ones. I dried her hair as best I could and led her to my room, because hers was still the same mess. I sighed in frustration, and even a little embarrassed. Rachel had been through that uncomfortable drunk me more times than she'd like to admit. Now she reciprocated with a little taste of how awful it is. I offered her a large glass of water before she fell asleep. It was hot in New York, so the windows in my room were wide open. The wind was even better than turning on the air conditioning in the living room.
Andrew made lunch, while I tried to pack what I could. He wasn't a skilled cook, but he knew how to make pasta. It was our feast.
"Sorry about what you've seen here." I set the table for lunch.
"At least you know she really loves you, despite everything."
"I've never compared myself to my sister, but she always finds a way to compare herself to me. I don't understand, Andy, she's unique, intelligent, loving and extremely talented. Rachel doesn't need this shit. Everything she said about preferences... is a mistake. She's loved by everyone, she's abuela's and bubbee's favorite... My parents never had favorites. Just as I loved gardening with Dad, Rachel and he could talk for hours and hours about musicals and divas. It was just a question of point of view, you know?"
"But is it true that you let her be bullied?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, that's true."
"Santana..."
"It's not that I want to make an excuse, but, in reality, Rachel and I were bullied since we were children because of our family. There were some kids who picked on us because of it. But we learned to cope. When we got in McKinley High, I was on a mission to become popular with Brittany, because I thought that would protect my best friend. Britt has learning problems and people often call her stupid. I didn't think she would survive high school. But the truth is that I was so hopelessly in love with Brittany that I ignored my sister. Not completely... but I neglected Rachel a lot."
"And you still are?"
"What?"
"Hopelessly in love with Brittany?"
"I'll never stop loving Brittany." If he wanted an answer, I'd be absolutely honest.
"Oh..."
"But Brittany is out of my life, and you're here."
We returned to silence. I don't think it was a good answer because maybe I made Andrew feel like the replacement, the second option. We finished our lunch, cleaned up the kitchen, and Andrew decided to leave.
"Thanks for your support." I said at the door and gave him a rewarding kiss.
"Anything, give me a call."
I kissed him once more before he left for good. Then I went to clean my sister's room. First I changed the sheets and bedspread. Then I swept up the shrapnel with tremendous difficulty. I opened the windows to let the wind dilute the bad energy that remained. I had a basket of clothes to wash, so I separated some to put in the machine. I had a habit of always washing white and light clothes first.
That's when Rachel came into the living room complaining of a headache. We looked at each other and I felt something heavy between us. I didn't know if I wanted to discuss the relationship right then. Rachel went to get a drink of water with some aspirin, while I got on with the job of making the piles of clothes. Rachel watched me as I put the first load in the machine.
"I'm sorry." She broke the ice. "I didn't mean all that."
"I think you kept those things in for too long." I tried not to confront her.
"What I said isn't what I really think."
"Really?" I was ironic. As guilty as I felt, I had this thing about never wanting to lose a fight to Rachel.
"I love you, Santy."
"I've never doubted that."
"I've always admired you."
"Look Rachel, I get the message. I may not have been an exemplary sister, okay? I know what I've done. I know I've hurt you countless times. But it's not fair for you to dump this frustration on the image you think others make of me, and that you make of yourself. You've always been loved by me, by our parents and by our family, and never doubt that!"
We were silent. For so long that I was startled when the machine's alarm bell sounded to "tell" me that the washing process was over. I put the washed pile into the dryer with a few sheets of fabric softener and then threw the second pile of laundry into the washing machine.
"I don't understand Ray." I broke the silence. "Yesterday you were very sad, but you didn't resort to drinking. Today that's it. What's gotten into you? It's true that you allow yourself to have a few drinks every now and then at parties, but I've never seen you as bad as today. Why did you decide to drown your sorrows like that?"
"Because until yesterday, everything was just a jealous fight. Today the truth came out: Quinn cheated on me with another woman and left."
"You told her to leave..."
"I know... that doesn't make it any less painful."
"Everything will get better, okay?"
"You can't promise these things."
"Time can."
...
July 19, 2015
(Quinn)
There was a big drool stain on my pillow. I thought it was ridiculous. Not because of the drool, because I was human, and that sometimes happened. The problem was the situation as a whole. My bed became the couch. My bedroom was a living room that I shared with one of my friends. Men smell strong, of foot odor and other things. No matter how comfortable Mike's apartment was for a single person to live in, the smell of testosterone managed to take over. Point two: I was there because my fiancée kicked me out. The worst thing was that I couldn't complain because the cause was just. I had cheated on her in the most rash and vile way I could think of. If regret could kill... Point three: there were tissues scattered around me. I'd been crying all day and my face must have been so swollen. I really was the most pathetic person in the world.
"Good morning, Quinn." Mike kissed my head and went into the kitchen. Maybe he'd make the pancakes. I wanted food too. I'd eat an ox and then two kilos of chocolate and three liters of ice cream.
Johnny was exercising on the bar attached to Mike's bedroom door. They were both shirtless and I began to wonder why men had this habit. It definitely wasn't because it was so hot in New York. I dragged myself to the bathroom. It was always good to go first before the boys decided to pour their accumulated sperm into the toilet or bathtub. I washed my face and looked in the mirror. I looked like crap.
"I hope you'll take up the offer of some fresh air today." Johnny said as soon as I came out of the bathroom. "One more day on the couch and you could die."
"Go to hell!" I said angrily.
The two men left and left me buried in melancholy and television. I wasn't paying attention to the program. I really wanted to listen to something while I sat alone, crying my heart out and coming up with a thousand and one plans to win Rachel back. But if my mind was active, my body was a wreck. I could barely move my legs. I had no strength, such was my sadness.
Was Rachel as sad as I was? Was she on the couch dying to eat a bag of Cheetos? No. Rachel wasn't pathetic like me. I know my fiancée. She was a superior being.
...
July 20, 2015
(Quinn)
I didn't even say goodbye to the boys who had gone out to earn their bread. I didn't give a damn about bread. All I wanted was Rachel, our bed and our house. In that order. I hadn't showered for days. I hadn't eaten properly. I didn't brush my teeth. All I did was lie on that old couch in front of the television. On top of that, I felt like throwing the appliance out of the window when I watched Grey's Anatomy, one of Rachel's favorite series. I realized how pathetic life could be at that moment, so I decided to take action. Because nothing is so bad that it can't get worse.
I decided to leave the apartment for the first time in days and bought a case of beer in the first shop I saw. I went back to Mike's apartment and drank beer while looking out of the window at the streets. I started to feel better. I took another bottle and drank it. Beer tasted bad, but it could be beneficial. I even felt like going to the bathroom to pee. Even that had become a rarity in previous days.
On the sixth bottle, I turned on the radio. Jay-Z's "Big Pimpin" was playing. I turned up the volume and started singing along. I almost screamed along to the verses: "Me give my heart to a woman /Not for nothin' never happen'/ I'll be forever mackin'/ Heart cold as assassins, I got no passion/ I got no patience and I hate waitin'/ Hoe get your ass in/ And let's RI-I-I-I-I-IDE/ Check 'em out now RI-I-I-I-I-IDE/ Yeah/ And let's RI-I-I-I-I-IDE/ Check 'em out now RI-I-I-I-I-IDE/ Yeah".
The can emptied. I got angry. I looked in the cupboards to see if I could find anything else. I shouldn't go through Mike's or Johnny's things, but to hell with it. My search was rewarded when I saw an open but still full bottle of whisky. It was a 12 year old that Johnny drank occasionally to celebrate some of his small achievements or simply for the pleasure of having the liquid go down his throat. It might not seem like it, but Johnny was a good whisky drinker. He said he learned to taste from his father. That must be a good whisky. So I poured it in. I opened the bottle cap and started pouring. Cowboy style.
...
(Johnny)
Relationships are shit. A lot of shit. I, for one, have never had any luck with any of them. I've never been the kind of guy who looks at women as if they were a piece of meat, like walking vaginas waiting to be penetrated. Yes, I've been around a lot of guys like that, but I, in particular, am a relationship guy. The irony is that they've never worked out for me.
I completely lose hope in romance when I see what's happened to one of the relationships I thought was the coolest: Rachel and Quinn's. Then, overnight, I see Mike run out of the apartment without saying a word to me, which wasn't so strange, because it's his house and I'm the guy sleeping on the mattress in the living room that he kindly gave me until I could rent a new place. And it wasn't free, by the way, because I offered to pay a hundred dollars for each week on that floor, as well as offering my domestic services such as washing and ironing. Mike run out of the house, and an hour later he returned with Quinn in tow: Rachel had thrown her out and all my belief in love had almost gone up in smoke.
I cared about those girls. I really did! I admired Quinn for being a fighter, just like me: we managed: each in our own field. Rachel was sweet, a talent, an incredible person. Santana was... man, I had no words to describe Santana. All I knew was that I'd loved this girl practically since day 1. These crooked twins saved me... these young people saved me.
That's why, when I arrived at Mike's apartment and saw Quinn passed out from the drunkenness on the couch, I was more upset than I could admit. She was lying with one of my empty whisky bottles on the floor. The smell in the apartment was awful: not only had Quinn thrown up on the carpet, she'd pissed her pants, right on the couch. Unfortunately, I knew that scenario well. I'd seen myself in Quinn's shoes a few times. What I knew, no matter how disappointed I was, was that I couldn't judge her or leave her there, exposed to embarrassment.
That's why I picked her up and took her to the bathroom. I wish I had a better way of doing it without sounding abusive, but there was no way. I also needed to take advantage of the fact that Mike was still out of the house. So I started undressing Quinn as quickly as I could. I had to wash those clothes and get rid of the piss, vomit and the days she hadn't showered. I'm not going to deny it: Quinn was a wonderful young woman who had a beautiful body, soft white skin and nice breasts. But I had to take a deep breath and focus on my goal there and be careful not to disrespect her.
I put her in the bathtub and turned on the shower. Quinn woke up, but she was still completely disoriented. She said disconnected things and started to cry. I wasn't going to touch her any more than I already had to, so I let the shower water do its job.
I turned off the shower after a few minutes, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Quinn's body. Then I picked her up and carried her over to Mike's bed. I had a brief internal debate between dressing her or just covering her with a sheet. The thing is, Quinn had nothing else clean, so I took a T-shirt and sweatpants from Mike. I put it on, put her on Mike's bed and covered her with a sheet. Meanwhile, I gathered up all the dirty clothes and put them in a bag. Since I knew how to deal with vomit and urine, I went to the nearest market and bought a liter of kennel odor eliminator. Believe it or not, it was the most effective product than the normal household ones.
I started cleaning the apartment and it was during this time that Mike arrived.
"Where's Quinn?" That was always Mike's first question. He never started with: hello Johnny, how are you? Quinn was the guy's priority and I knew why. Not that he'd told me anything, but it was obvious that Mike loved Quinn. What luck for him: to love a beautiful lesbian right away. It was hard to love knowing that you'd never have a chance because your equipment was wrong.
"She's stoned in your bed. She drank so much, she pissed on the couch."
Mike didn't care and practically ran into the bedroom. He came back the next minute looking like he was going to hit me.
"Tell her she showered alone!" He said between his teeth.
"No. I gave her a bath... or an attempt at one, at least..."
"You son of a bitch!" Mike came at me, trying to get blood out of my face.
"Hey man!" I tried to defend myself as best I could. "I didn't do anything to her! I swear I didn't abuse her!"
"No... you just gave her a bath! You bastard!" And he kept trying to hit me.
"I didn't touch Quinn! Not like that, okay? I didn't touch her, I didn't touch her private parts, I didn't abuse her condition. This girl is like a sister to me, and I would never do anything, absolutely nothing to embarrass her! Or any woman, man! I'm not a rapist!" I dodged a blow from Mike, who wasn't thinking. "What did you want me to do? Leave her pissed and shit right on your couch?"
Mike only stopped when I punched him right in the jaw, right in the spot that could knock any guy out. That's what happened. Mike fell over the bucket and splashed the water with the diluted product all over the carpet. Then I approached him.
"I didn't abuse Quinn. I just did what needed to be done."
"Do you promise for your parents?"
"I promise!" I held out my hand to help him up. "Quinn's in a lot of trouble, man. She's going to need a very strong liver to get out of this."
"She needs us."
"I'm here for her."
Mike looked at the mess in the living room and sighed.
"I think we're going to have to do a good clean, aren't we?"
"Yes, we are."
"Are we together then?"
"Sure."
Mike took the two cushions from the sofa and removed the fabric, throwing everything towards the pile of laundry I had done. He was going to take care of the laundry and I, well, I was going to have to dry that carpet and get rid of the smell of urine and vomit. Good thing Mike had a hairdryer.
...
July 21, 2015
(Quinn)
The night was young in the city that never slept. I raised my glass and toasted for the umpteenth time along with dozens of illustrious complete strangers who were present in the bar. I mean, it wasn't just any bar. It was famous for being frequented by university students. Most of them from NYU. I think I vaguely knew one of the guys there. I don't really remember. What matters is that everyone was having a great time. I took my shot of tequila and poured it in. It went down wonderfully.
How did I end up there? It was Mike's fault. He left me locked up in that apartment with no money and no booze. Johnny thought it was absurd, but not that he had any right to think so. He needed a roof over his head while he was looking for a new apartment. I still had my credit card, so I decided to play the rebellious girl against Dad. I put on the most reasonable clothes that were clean, went down the fire escape and walked around the city until I found a bar I liked. Santiago had asked me to drink there with him several times, but I always refused. Everything I did to be an exemplary and responsible girlfriend only to end up seeing my lover on gossip sites with her lips glued to her hunky colleague's. And that wasn't even a scene! It was a real kiss! You know what? I wasted too much time being responsible at a time when I had all the understanding not to be. I am a college student, after all! I should do shit and go messing around.
Mike was right when he said that no one should get married before 30. Santiago was right when he said that college was the time to party hard. I was crazy. I went into the bar and started to clear the backlog. Afterwards, I didn't even have to pay for my drink, as there were several assholes willing to do it for me while I could dance with all the girls. One redhead was more insistent. She kissed me in the middle of the bar floor and everyone applauded. We were putting on a show. Until she asked me to go to the bathroom for a quickie. What did I have to lose? All I did was unbutton my pants, since I wasn't even wearing panties. She penetrated me and I penetrated her. Five minutes and I was back in the bar as if nothing had happened. She offered me to leave and go to her place, but I dismissed her: the quickie was great, but I had other girls to pick up.
"Noble colleagues." A guy climbed up on one of the chairs with a glass of beer in his hand.
"What's up, brother?" It was the standard response among us NYU students and it was said in chorus.
"That television is showing rap clips and the like. Which is a form of cultural expression perceived as one of the most sensual in the modern culture of our great country."
"God save America!" Another response in chorus. That was very funny and I laughed in the midst of the interaction.
"Then I propose a game. To toast this brilliant cultural manifestation, I propose that everyone takes a shot every time the rapper says ass in the song or when the clip shows scenes of a fit little ass rubbing up against a dick? we'll drink in salute."
I was definitely game.
...
(Santana)
I was having a great night's sleep when my cell phone started ringing. I wanted to throw it out the balcony door, but when I looked at the time, 3:47 a.m., I got worried. Calls at that time were either emergencies or tragedies. I became apprehensive.
"Who is it?"
"Are you Satan?" It was a man's voice on the phone.
"What? If this is a hoax..."
"Don't hang up. My name is Ian and I work at Jordan's House, a bar near the NYU campus. Do you happen to know Lucy Quinn Fabray?"
"What happened to her?" I became alert.
"She's one of the kids who are in a state of misery here in the bar, and I don't know where I should send her in the cab. So I looked up some family contacts on her cell phone. I liked your name."
It's a good thing the barman called me. It would have been worse if he'd spoken to Rachel. My sister would have freaked out more than I did.
"Right... Here's what you're going to do: put her in a cab and take her to 426 W45th St. Write down the license plate and text it to me. If she doesn't arrive in one piece within half an hour at this address, I swear I'll raise hell on your ass. They don't call me Satan for nothing."
"Okay, ma'am, thanks."
"Thank you, friend. Thanks for your consideration. But make sure she arrives in one piece and then we'll even think about financial compensation, okay?"
I hung up the phone wanting to kill Quinn. But I could only hope that Mike would do it for me. I immediately called Mike's cell phone.
"Santana?"
"You irresponsible bastard, where are you?"
"Out looking for Quinn. She ran away from home!"
"I just got a call from a bartender. Quinn's in an alcoholic coma and the guy's going to send her to your place in a cab."
"Johnny stayed in case of any eventuality. I'll put him on alert."
"Tell him to get the damn cab and call me as soon as Quinn's body gets into your place."
I lost sleep. My heart was pounding, and I practically dragged myself to the kitchen for a glass of water. I avoided turning on the lights because my sister's bedroom door was ajar and it was the first night she'd slept alone since Quinn was kicked out. It was a relief to have a whole bed to myself again, but one way or another, the couple insisted on not leaving me alone. I peeked through the door and Rachel was fast asleep. Let it stay that way. I went back to my room, still waiting for a phone call. I stayed in the dark so as not to test my luck with Rachel. The phone rang, I don't know how long afterwards, but I didn't wait long.
"Hi San!" Johnny's voice conveyed pure exhaustion and some relief.
"Is she all right? Is she hurt... no signs of abuse or anything?" He was almost out of his mind with worry.
"Quinn's back on the old couch in the most perfect alcoholic coma, but in one piece."
"Thank goodness!" I breathed a sigh of relief. "Johnny... don't let that get back to Rachel, okay?"
"That's all right, my pretty. Have a good night."
"You too!"
I tried to close my eyes, but it was difficult. This break-up between Quinn and Rachel was literally killing me.