(Quinn)

I've cheated twice in my life. The first time I got pregnant, and the second time I deeply hurt the woman I loved most in the world. It was a period of hell and depression in which I sank into drunkenness for days and days. I didn't even listen to Mike, and I wasn't in a position to understand Johnny's call for responsibility. At the height of my anger I called Rachel a hypocrite, because she had done the same thing to Finn when they broke up. If she had forgiven Finn at the time, why couldn't she show a little benevolence and do the same to me? Oh yes: "because what we had didn't compare". The problem is that she was right: it didn't compare and we weren't teenagers anymore.

After my meeting with Rachel in the restaurant, I stopped to think for the first time since all the mess. I definitely didn't think it was right to see actors kissing backstage. Acting is a profession like any other, with academic training, union, ethics code, salaries and contracts. Therefore, what happened between her and Rom is not justified. They are professionals who were in the workplace, and this shouldn't be treated with disdain, as something commonplace.

I am jealous of Rachel, and her indifference to the freedoms between castmates led me to take an extreme and thoughtless attitude. I really regret having physically hurt her, even though I didn't mean to. I held her wrist tightly, and I crashed like a madwoman into a Santana that, come to think of it, was at a complete disadvantage. I crossed a line I shouldn't have. But I wasn't wrong to confront Rachel. I was wrong in the intensity of my reaction.

The cheating came from impulse, drunkenness and anger. I knew I was wrong, and I still went to Monica. I didn't want her, on the contrary, but she was the only person I knew who could give me what I wanted without too many explanations. It was either Monica or the prostitute from the bar. The choice seemed obvious to me. I bitterly regret having pressed that intercom in Brooklyn in the first place. I regret it even more for wanting to be honest and telling Rachel everything. As bastard as it sounds, I should have kept my mouth shut and come off as a victim. But we don't have a time machine at our disposal and it's not possible to repair the past, only to learn from it.

After my meeting with Rachel, I spent the whole week looking for a job. I needed to get my life back on track after the shock. I had to do it for Rachel, but above all for myself. I couldn't get anything concrete from interviews and that didn't pay the rent. I had the money coming in from Rock'n'Pano, which was very little, and from the NYU studios, with Corey will probably fire me of not showing up to work (in my defense, there's nothing to do there during vacation time).

I missed out on three freelance jobs during my period of daily inebriation, but perhaps I could recover one of them, which was to photography the opening of an exhibition of paintings by local artists in a gallery on Long Island. I asked a very low price, and the woman in charge was okay since I didn't respond at the right time. She was going to go for it. No one would charge less than 500 dollars like me.

When Thursday came, I had breakfast with Mike and bought him flowers to thank him for putting up with me. My hope was that I would never have to sleep on the couch in his apartment again. Then I took the subway and went home. At last.

"Good morning, Quinn." Rachel answered the door and let me in. Her posture was formal, distant, but I understood.

"Hi!" Santana was on the couch in the living room, staring at her computer. She barely took her eyes off the screen. "It's been a long time, Fabray. How did you spend those days?"

"Surviving." I was still trying to feel at ease again.

"My cab will be here in half an hour, so let's not waste any time." Rachel avoided looking at me. "I've prepared a list of recommendations and tasks that I've stuck on the fridge." She pointed to the kitchen and there indeed was a list stuck to the fridge. "Your clothes and equipment are where you left them, so don't worry about it. My sister also said she doesn't mind you sleeping over, but I do mind you sleeping in my bed."

"Rachel!" I shouted. "There's no point in me spending all this time sleeping on the couch!"

"I'm serious, Quinn. Do you want to sleep here again?" Rachel pointed to the living room floor. "Start respecting me from a distance. I don't want to come back and smell you in my bed. But back to your responsibilities, Santana's physiotherapy is every weekday from 8am to 9am at Coler Goldwater Hospital. I drive her every day and don't be fooled by her pleas, don't let her drive, let alone set foot on the floor."

"Okay." That didn't sound so bad. Drive to Santana, wait for an hour, and I'd be free for my own business.

"You might need to take me to a few places, but I'll let you know in advance." Santana said.

"Please don't let her forget to take her medicine." Rachel took the floor again. "All the times are marked on the fridge as well as the recommended diet. Oh, and the package with the coconut water should arrive tomorrow."

"Coconut water?" I was surprised. Since when was coconut water consumed in that house?

"Abuela said it's good for cooling the stomach, my father said it's great for replenishing mineral salts, and Santana even found out on the internet that it's good for hangovers. Add it up." For a moment I thought Rachel had relaxed in my presence and I was incredibly happy about this nonsense.

I really missed these little things about the Lopez family. It was great to be back, although not as much as I would have liked.

"Anything else? Anything you need me to do?" I took a step closer to her.

"No!" She stiffened her posture again and took two steps back. "As soon as I get to the hotel, I'll call you to give you my phone number and room number, in case you can't reach me on my cell phone. I'll try to get in touch to find out how things are going."

We heard a horn downstairs. Rachel looked out of the window.

"It's my cab."

She turned to her sister and hugged her. Santana didn't even get up. She couldn't either. When it was my turn, there was simply no contact and not even an exchange of glances. Rachel didn't let me help her with her suitcase. She just waved at me, without so much as a smile, and left. I still didn't know what to do inside my own home. Santana was in the living room working on her computer and remained indifferent. She had that power when things were going well at home, imagine with me and her sister temporarily broken up? I was afraid even to go into my own room.

"I'll make things easier for you, Fabray." Santana sighed and got up from the sofa. "You can sleep in your bedroom, or ex-bedroom, whatever. Rachel's idea of making you sleep on the couch is just to torture you. It's completely illogical. Apart from going to the physio, I don't need a babysitter, so don't tie yourself to me for the rest of the day." Santana picked up her crutches and headed out the door. "I'll be back soon."

"Where are you going?"

"To buy some gum."

There was a knock on the door, and I relaxed more and sat down on the sofa. Everything was still in place: the books, the records, the television. Not even the pictures of me had been removed. I closed my eyes and was grateful for this relief. I got up and decided to start moving. I had dishes to wash in the sink, a bag of dirty clothes on my back, and I still had to look for a job and take on any freelance work that came up. My life was starting again.

...

August 08, 2015

(Santana)

"Good everning, Santana." I saw Mr. Weiz's image appear on my computer screen.

I wanted to die every time I saw him. I wanted to die twice as much every time he told me that what I said or how I acted reminded him of Michael. Weiz wasn't even subliminal anymore when he touched on the subject. I wanted to die in triplicate every time I remembered that I signed a contract selling my soul to the devil. I sold my soul to protect zaide, and to stop all that shit from being thrown at the fan, for bubbee's honor and, above all, for Weiz to leave me alone!

"How are things in Portugal?" I asked for the sake of asking. Weiz always expected a little attention from me.

"Good as always, you know how I am: I like to stay away from the storms at this time of year." Mr. Weiz was on vacation, enjoying a beach before returning to New York to begin the transition period. Not for me. He hired a new CEO, who was a natural-born administrator: a conservative guy, who took few risks, whose priority was to hold the line and keep things running as they should. This was the transition guy, who would take over until I was ready.

I was going to do an internship in the projects department, which is one of the most strategic departments in a company because it deals with market and image actions. The aim, according to the old man, was for me to take the shortest route there, until I was ready to take over as president of the empire he had built. But that would be like an express business course for me, since I would be making very little use of my training as an economic analyst.

September was just around the corner and the chill in my stomach was getting intense. Just thinking that I would have to juggle my work at Columbia, my small company and my internship at Weiz. It was a lot and I wasn't sure how I was going to cope with it all. Rock'n'Pano would certainly be second in the priorities, even though it was my baby. Just when I was starting to pay back the initial investment. I thought about perhaps making a proposal for shared management, which basically meant paying someone to look after it. Marta from the cooperative could do that, but I wouldn't like it because it would be like I was handing them a ready-made company. That wasn't the intention of the partnership, as it was proposed.

"Would you like to know if things are all right at your home?" I knew exactly why. In the confusion with Rachel, the trip to Lima and things with Rock'n'Pano, I failed to deliver one last document to Mr. Weiz's lawyer by the promised deadline to make our handcuffs official. It was a three-day delay, dammit.

"As good as possible. I was at my parents' house in Lima a few days ago, enjoying my vacation. Rachel had some private problems and she forgot to sign the document. But she should be back from Canada in a couple of weeks and I promise to clear up all the mess. Just be patient. It's not like I'm going to use this time to counterattack with marbles."

He started laughing at the computer screen. I didn't find it funny at all.

"You're really witty, Santana. That's great for the business world. But be careful."

"You didn't call me to give me lectures and advice, did you?"

"No. Incredibly, the first reason I called was to find out if everything was all right at your home. With you and your sister. If things are going well in your little business."

"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Weiz. Rachel and I are fine, despite the minor setbacks, and business with Rock'n'Pano is going smoothly."

"Okay. I should arrive in New York next week. It's a shame you've got a bad foot, otherwise I'd have booked a round of golf. Since that won't be possible, I hope to see you for dinner. No serious business, I promise."

"See you then."

I turned off the Skype and heaved a sigh of relief. Mr. Weiz at least didn't act like the devil this time. That must be progress. It was hot in New York and I couldn't wait to have an ice cream or something. The problem was that it was hell outside and only the living room was air-conditioned. The device cooled the apartment reasonably well, but it took a while. So you had to get cold in the living room. What ridiculous weather it was that year. Blame it on fucking global climate change. I heard knocking on my door.

"What is it?" I opened the door angrily. Would Quinn mind her own business, watch some stupid movie and leave me alone?

"Your sister left me a list of tasks. Looking after you is unfortunately one of the items."

"Didn't I tell you I don't need a babysitter?"

"Look, I've made a vegetable pie. It's warm in the oven. I swear I followed all the steps in the recipe, and I didn't let it burn this time. I'm going to eat it now and if you want to join me, great. But if you don't, that's fine too. I just ask one favor: that you stay alive for two weeks. Just two fucking weeks. That way your sister will arrive and find you alive. Rachel will be pleased with me and we'll be able to reconcile more quickly. What do you think?"

"You're really desperate." Quinn had been sweet on me ever since Rachel went away. True, it wasn't that long ago, but it was still amusing to witness the extent of the deceit. "But don't you think it's too hot for us to eat hot vegetable pie today?"

"I don't know what's good for gastritis that's cold..." She took a good look at my face. "You should avoid ice cream. It's on Rachel's list. Especially beer. If you want, we can wait for the pie to cool down and eat it with the coconut water in the fridge. What do you think?" That was the most absurd and, at the same time, hilarious thing I'd heard all day.

We had dinner together, and the pie wasn't bad. We didn't talk much because, frankly, I wasn't that comfortable with Quinn being there. There was still a certain resentment towards Quinn for everything that had happened. On the other hand, it would be worse to be alone. Andrew was out of town and I hadn't seen Mike and Johnny for a while. It was high time I saw them again, but not that night when my mood wasn't the best.

"Do you have any plans today?" I asked as Quinn collected the dishes to wash.

"I was going to watch a movie with a cold Coke. You?" She said coke with emphasis, just because I can't drink soda.

"What movie?"

"About Time."

"English chick flick with a nerd as the lead."

"I can make extra popcorn if you like and some melon juice shaken with ice."

"Well, that would be a lot of work, Quinn... but I don't care and I'll take it." She shook her head and smiled. She went to the fridge and got the melon to put in the blender. I accepted because I had nothing better to do. It wasn't that I was going to watch a movie cuddled up to her or that we were going to paint our nails together.

"San?" Quinn suddenly stopped in time and sounded serious.

"What?"

"Do you think I have a chance of Rachel forgiving me?"

The question didn't take me by surprise because I'd expected her to drop it at some point. Even though I had anticipated it, I hadn't come up with an answer or given it any proper thought.

"Rachel has never been a saint and on top of that she's a terrible moralist. She cheated on Finn once with a girl in London and tried to have sex with Puck once after she found out I'd had sex with Finn. Hell, she was kissing you in corners while she was still with Finn Hudson. So what morals does she have, right? Except that she's never had a solid, serious relationship with anyone other than you. It was you, Quinn Fabray, who took her virginity! You started dating while practically living together. So this cheating of yours, under whatever circumstances, has mortally wounded her. Rachel has never loved anyone before like she loves you, not even Finn Hudson. It's possible that she'll forgive you eventually, but it will take time. If you really love her, you'll have to be patient."

Quinn nodded and turned on the blender. A little over ten minutes later, the kitchen was tidy and she sat down on the sofa at a reasonable distance. The movie started.

...

August 12th, 2015

(Santana)

"So? What did you think? Santana?"

I was in the world of the moon for a moment. Sometimes it was comfortable to stay there. Johnny was at home showing off the new work he had done for a new Rock'n'Pano collection. He was the artist who sold the fewest prints, but he was the most enthusiastic, especially now that the idea of selling T-shirts was beginning to mature. If I was a cold-blooded businesswoman, I would have dismissed his collection because it simply didn't attract customers. But Johnny was my friend and my crush. That's why I preferred to introduce T-shirts with his prints cautiously.

"These two prints here could be used for T-shirts." They were indigenous tribal figures inspired by Apache ornaments. They had some appeal and might please. The other six were very delicate flower tribals. But I was only going to buy four new prints.

"I like florals on T-shirts. These Apaches could be from the cloths." Johnny nodded.

"Yes, but the T-shirts are still experimental and the florals are part of a new collection."

"It's more artistic, you know? And it has more feminine appeal."

"I need the male audience too." I said pragmatically. "That's why I'm going to invest in men's and women's T-shirts. Marta, from the cooperative, has already given me the cuts of the shirts and the sizes we can offer, but it's going to be a small production, on-demand."

"You've got it all worked out."

I loved Johnny. He was handsome, nice, and I was completely attracted to those little green eyes. But business is business. I had a plan to follow. Not even his abandoned bulldog face was going to change my mind.

"Very well. I'll pay you 100 dollars for each print plus 5% of the sales."

"You're mean!"

"My money is tight."

"Leave money aside, San. I don't care about that. I'm saying you're mean because you don't care about the artist's sensibility."

"Who says?" I felt offended.

"I say it!" He picked up one of the floral prints and leaned the paper against my shirt in a sideways position. "Don't you see? These flowers need to be next to the heart. Look how beautiful they are next to someone even more beautiful, like you, who appreciates them and gives them meaning." Was that serious? Johnny saying that I was beautiful in such close proximity was an invitation to lose control. Something that was very close to happening.

"Satan!" Quinn came home and broke our mood. It was a relief to be honest. "Hey, Johnny! I didn't know you were coming here today."

"Santana has no artistic sensibility." He complained again. "Would you prefer this print on a T-shirt or a dishcloth?" He showed the paper to Quinn. She walked over and took a look at the other works scattered around the table.

"I'd wear those here." She pointed to the Apache tribals. "They're nice."

I couldn't stand it and started laughing. Johnny was face down on the floor, poor guy. He had nothing else to do, so, defeated, he closed the deal with me. Now all I had to do was negotiate with Mercedes and check out the work of a young designer she had recommended. Mercedes said the guy was spectacular and just needed a chance to break through. I still didn't know if I was going to make room for another artist. I didn't want any strangers just yet. In any case, I was going to take Mercedes' friend into consideration.

"Shall we have a drink to seal the deal?" Johnny suggested. "My friend Janet is playing at Rockwood Music Hall tonight."

Rockwood was a famous nightclub in the Village because it was a stronghold for folk and jazz artists. Every night, a bunch of people would book hour-long performances and take turns on the stages. The first stage was for strangers in search of the sun and the second was for people of a higher caliber. Many intellectuals, aspiring artists and leftists in general passed through. It was the kind of place that Quinn and Rachel liked. I still preferred louder, dirtier pubs. They had more authenticity and spirit. If we were talking about artists, I think the vulgarity of these pubs had its beauty.

"Fine by me." Quinn shook her shoulders. "I really need to go out for a while."

"Only if we go dancing afterwards." I said, knowing that it was impossible for me, but I wanted to test the reaction of those two.

"Santana, you're on crutches and doing physiotherapy". Quinn protested.

My ankle still had to go through a painful rehabilitation process in the form of an hour a day in physiotherapy, plus the exercises the physiotherapist told me to do throughout the day. And as everything was still new, I couldn't even think about putting my foot on the ground, despite my good progress. The physiotherapist's words, not mine.

"Okay, let's go to the land of cheap philosophy. But on one condition: zero alcohol."

"Really?" Johnny's eyes widened.

"Let's not radicalize. One glass maximum, okay? I've had my share of alcohol for the year." Quinn contorted her face a little. It was still hard to visualize that moralist in the way of life of misfits, bohemians and addicts.

We agreed to meet at the Rockwood later. In the meantime, I called Andrew and invited him. We were at a bit distant, and I thought this would be a good opportunity for us to have some small talk, with friends around. I took a long shower and got ready. Even with all the time I'd been injured, I still had my moments of fumbling to get dressed because I couldn't force my feet yet. I could even put my foot on the floor, as long as I didn't put my weight on it, which was almost impossible. According to the physiotherapist, I would have to recover all my muscles first before I could walk normally again. In the meantime, putting on jeans was an acrobatic feat.

Quinn and I took a cab to Rockwood because it would be a pain to find parking there, and we arrived half an hour later than planned. It was charming to arrive late for this kind of meeting. Andrew was outside waiting for me with a closed face. I kissed him on the lips when we met, and his features didn't change. Johnny showed up accompanied by Mike, Mike's one-time prey, and another couple. They were nice, older people. Dave was an insurance salesman and Anna was a high school math teacher. They were both close friends of Janet, the singer who would be performing. Mike's date was called Drell, an actress/gymnast/dancer who worked for Cirque Du Soleil. Mike was going to shoot an action movie in which he was going to play an FBI cadet who was a former trapeze artist. He had to prepare for the role beforehand and ended up with Drell. Nice figure!

Janet took to the stage and began a repertoire of her own songs on the guitar, accompanied by a bass player and a percussionist. It wasn't my kind of music. I didn't know if Quinn was enjoying the show or the glass of wine more. Maybe both, I don't know. As long as she didn't give me any trouble getting home, we'd be fine. I couldn't carry drunks. Johnny was joking and very comfortable. He ran his hand through my hair and said funny things. Andrew didn't seem to be excited by the music or the company. It got to the point where I needed to talk, or he was going to burst.

"Can we go outside?" I said in his ear over the sound.

Andrew agreed, so we decided to leave the nightclub. The nights in New York were relatively mild and comfortable compared to the heat of the day. I was only wearing a thin long-sleeved blouse, and I felt well dressed. Andrew wasn't. He was wearing a coat and someone would have to be sick to wear that at that time. He was unhappy about something. With me? Probably.

"Did something happen?" I asked. "Your head seems to be somewhere else."

"What's going on between you and Johnny?"

"What?"

"You two are smiling more than usual, you're always making excuses to touch each other... it's annoying, Santana."

"Sorry, nerd. Johnny and I... we've been friends for years and..."

"He was the first friend you made in town and blah, blah, blah. Is that the story you've told dozens of times that you were going to use to justify it?"

"Johnny is like a brother..."

"You have a sister who is much closer than most sibling relationships I know. Even so, you don't behave like that with Rachel. So don't make excuses. You like him, and that has nothing to do with brotherly love. Just admit that you're into him, and make things easier."

Andrew stared at me in such a way... for the first time it was so intimidating, that I flinched and my gaze wandered to the floor. The worst thing was that he was right. Even though I wasn't ready to get so emotionally involved with anyone just yet, Andrew was right.

"The problem, Nerd, is that I adore you. You're one of my best friends, and I'd hate for you to stay away."

"But that's not how I want you. I mean, I always knew you didn't love me the way I love you. This fixation of yours on Brittany... I always thought it was okay, because she's on the other side of the country. But Johnny? He's too close. That's more than I can tolerate. I don't want to be one of those guys who tries to get the girl at any price. If you want to be with me, it has to be because you really want me. Not because I'm third or fourth option on your love list! Not because I'm one of your best friends."

I looked down at the sidewalk. It was hard to face Andrew at that moment. He was completely right. He was a decent, kind, sensible guy. I really liked him a lot. But I liked him much more as a friend than as a boyfriend. It wasn't fair on him.

"That's why I need to let you go." There was a lump in my throat and I was trying not to cry. "Not because of Johnny, because even I don't really know what's going on between us. We need to break up, because you deserve so much more than I can offer. I was being selfish and unfair to both of us. I'm sorry!"

"Then we're done." I nodded positively and he smiled a little. "I never thought breaking up with you would be so civilized. You're always so abrasive." We both laughed, awkwardly, nervously. The truth was that I couldn't hold back the tears on my face any longer. Not even Andrew. "Not that I'm taking it well. To tell you the truth, it's hard to hold back..."

I surprised him with a kiss, the kind where I dropped my crutches in the process. It was our farewell as boyfriend and girlfriend, and I had to thank Andrew for having taught me so many positive things, and for being with me at important moments. I needed to thank him for sticking by me for over a year, even when I wasn't the easiest person to be around. We could have worked out if I had loved him as much as he deserved. But I loved Brittany. And in her absence, I still had this crazy attraction to Johnny. My head was full enough.

"Thank you... for everything." I said when we broke the kiss.

"I think you'd better go back to your friends." He bent down and picked up my fallen crutches, in a gesture of kindness and grandeur.

"Right!" I wiped away the tears.

"Give Rachel a hug for me."

"Don't talk as if you're going to disappear from my life. I may have lost my boyfriend, but it would be a tragedy if I lost my best friend."

"I'm going to disappear from your life, San. At least for a few weeks... I need a break."

"Promise you'll come back? To be in my life, I mean."

"Eventually... I don't know how long I can go without talking to my fuzzy."

"It would be a tragedy if I couldn't talk to my nerd anymore."

Andrew smiled sadly. He was crying, and so was I. He wiped his tears from his eyes and turned away. I watched my now ex-boyfriend walking away. With him, another part of my life was completed. I lingered outside the bar for a while, because I felt like crying and crying, and I didn't want my friends to see me like that. A woman asked if I was okay and even offered me a tissue. I thanked her for her kindness.

"San?" Johnny came to find me, and was startled to see me crying, supported by a complete stranger. "San, what happened?"

"Andrew and I broke up."

"Did he say anything to you?" I felt the anger rise in Johnny's voice.

"No, quite the opposite." I took a deep breath to try and control myself. "Could you call Quinn? I'm not in the mood to party anymore."

Johnny nodded and went back inside. He left with Quinn looking worried. I knew Quinn had been drinking, but she didn't look like she was drunk. Perhaps the days of alcoholic coma had matured her liver. We took a cab home. Quinn put her hand on my shoulder and it was the first time in weeks that I had received a gesture of comfort from her. It felt good. I didn't love Andrew. I liked him a lot, but I never loved him. Even so, ending a relationship of so much time and complicity hurt a lot. Much more than I could have imagined.

...

August 13, 2015

(Quinn)

Of all the reactions to a break-up, Santana's was less traumatic than mine. All she did when we got home was cry on my shoulder and then went to sleep. I set up my sleeping bag in the living room (yes, I respected Rachel's wishes religiously), and fell asleep quickly.

Santana woke me up for breakfast and she was little reminiscent of the woman who looked like the world had fallen in when Brittany announced her pregnancy, for example. She wasn't happy, whistling to the birds, but she also didn't have the manic-depressive air she's shown on other occasions. In front of me was a serious Santana, looking slightly sad, eyes a little puffy from crying, but ready to face life. I was impressed, although the scene was hardly surprising.

"We're on short notice for physiotherapy." She reminded.

"There'll be time."

We swallowed our meal and went down to the building's parking garage. Each resident was entitled to a parking space. Those who had a car took their own, those who didn't rented a space when the opportunity arose.

"San, about the car..."

"You can borrow it. But woe betide you if it comes back with a scratch on it."

"Thanks."

I had a part-time job interview at a real estate agency to photograph houses and apartments for sale or rent. It was a job to earn 1K a month. I had to process the photo, edit it and upload it to the internet. Nothing I didn't know how to do. It wasn't anything I enjoyed doing either. But I had to make money. There was also a short film to be made in which I would have the opportunity to work once again as director of photography, but the production time was too short, so much so that it would be worth much more for the experience and pleasure of making movies than the financial return.

We arrived at the hospital and established our usual routine: Santana went to the exercise room and I stayed at the reception desk distracted by a book I was carrying in my bag. The book of the day was "Labyrinth" by Kate Mosse. The story wasn't that good, but at least the book was thick enough to fill the time during the many physiotherapy sessions.

"Miss Fabray?" I closed the book when I heard my name being called. It was the physiotherapist accompanied by Santana. She didn't look very happy, but he had a mischievous smile on his lips. "Nice to see you again." We greeted each other.

"Likewise."

"I just wanted to reinforce in front of a witness that I'm not releasing you to drive yet." Santana grimaced at the young professional and only didn't cross her arms because she was on crutches. "Although progress is better than expected, it still wouldn't be wise. It's better to wait a few more weeks for the muscles to become firmer so that they can sustain this tension and coordinate movement better."

"Sure." I nodded and swallowed my laughter. I wanted to borrow the car and I wasn't going to risk Santana denying me in retaliation because I knew she'd do it. "Shall we?"

In the parking lot, my cell phone rang. I recognized the number and reached my limit. As Santana settled into the passenger seat, I blocked it and didn't hide my irritation.

"What's wrong?" She asked as she threw her crutch into the back seat. "Who called you?"

"Monica." I said simply. "That's the third number she's insisted on talking to that I've had to block." I wiped my hand across my face and confessed, "She calls me almost every day. It drives me crazy."

"Well, you had sex with her, and you never spoke to her again. That was pretty creepy of you. What did you expect?" I hated having to swallow that kind of judgment.

"She's a Machiavellian psychotic who spent weeks trying to seduce me!" I hissed.

"And she clearly succeeded."

"Not in the form of seduction exactly..."

"Okay... I'll give you that credit, but Quinn, seriously, if this girl is obsessive, shouldn't you just try talking to her? If it doesn't work, just sue."

"I don't think it needs to go that far. Sue her? No!" The thought of talking to lawyers gave me the creeps.

"Well, you know best. As long as this shit you've done doesn't hurt my sister even more..."

Santana had been going off the deep end these days. Or was it because my morale was still low? Probably the latter. I had to take action, but I didn't know what to do and I was afraid. I, Quinn Fabray, didn't know what to do.

...

August 20, 2015

(Quinn)

Fabray control. That seemed to be my mantra for the last few days. Every time I received a text message from Monica, it became harder and harder to keep my cool. I wanted to go wherever she was and wreck havoc on that psychotic lunatic's face. If regret could kill... I tried to take a deep breath. I was in the NYU building approving my last semester of classes. The next semester would be dedicated solely to my final project and exams. My mind had to be clear and ready, but no. I had to get rid of Monica, win Rachel back and marry her, put up with a boring job in a real estate agency, look for freelance jobs and find time to make the short film.

I wanted to do everything very well. Like Rachel Berry-Lopez, I had my own desire for perfection. But unlike her, my satisfaction was more personal than the quest for recognition, for stardom. For example, I wanted my diploma. It was important to me, as a personal achievement and also to show my family that I had managed to get out of Lima, get an education and win without needing a penny from their pockets. Yes, my pride spoke loudly like that.

My cell phone vibrated again. Unknown number.

"I'm not going to stop until we talk. Call me. M"- Unknown number

I wanted to die. Rachel would be arriving at the weekend and it would be a torment to have Monica's plague on my feet until then. The last thing I wanted was to welcome her with my mind swirling with thoughts of others. I needed and wanted to concentrate on rebuilding our relationship, on proving that she could trust me as before. But one thing was certain: I would have to deal with Monica first. I called the unknown number.

"Quinn!" Monica answered the phone. "I'm glad you finally decided to pick up. We need to talk."

"No waiting around. Just say where and when you want to talk."

"How about tonight at home?"

"Impossible and I'm not stepping foot in your place."

"That was rude."

"If you want to see me, meet me in an hour in Washington Square Park. I'll be waiting for you in front of the arch."

"That impersonal?"

"The more impersonal, the better. Take it or leave it."

"I'll be there!"

I didn't expect everything to be resolved in one conversation. I wasn't naïve. Monica had a serious problem. I'd even say it was pathological. I was unlucky enough to be in her sights. I sorted myself out and walked slowly to the meeting point. Halfway there, I ran into Santiago and Sheryl, his current girlfriend.

"You look anxious, Quinn." Sheryl observed. It was no surprise: female sensitivity.

"I have to solve a zillion problems before Rachel gets home from her trip." I didn't lie.

"That means the days of freedom are over!" Santiago and his sexist remarks. It wasn't for nothing that he received a discreet elbow from his girlfriend, yet he didn't mince his words. "Look on the bright side, Fabray. You'll be able to catch up." And how I wish that were true. Santiago was an excellent friend, but for work. I wasn't crazy about telling him my personal problems, unless I was desperate to talk to someone. Anyone. On the other hand, Santiago was always up for a good chat. I was distracted by him and Sheryl.

I looked at my watch. I was startled to realize that I needed to pick up the pace. The shit about being at an urban campus college was that you were subject to all the moods of the rest of the city. It wasn't like Columbia, which was a university with a more traditional campus. New York decided to take it easy that day. It meant that Monica would be on time. She was always on time. That was one of the things that made her a good assistant producer. So it was no surprise when I arrived a little late and saw her waiting impatiently for me. I regained my posture, stuck out my nose and got ready for the first round.

"You're late!"

"I don't have much time." I glanced at my watch for emphasis, then faced her with my best bitch posture. "So I'll be brief and clear. Okay, I went to your place, dried your bottle of vodka and fucked you all night, only to disappear the next morning. You can sue me! I'm an asshole, I'm selfish, I'm an idiot. But please, stop calling me!"

"That shows how immature you are to deal with this kind of problem. And you still wanted to get married? Poor Rachel!"

"Don't bring Rachel into this."

"She's probably glad she dodged the bullet."

"Look, Monica, I came here to have a nice chat, even though you've been hounding me the whole time. If you have something really important to say to me, just spit it out."

"I wanted to give you this back!" She took a plastic bag out of her purse and threw it at me. "You forgot your panties at my house! And your engagement ring."

For a moment, I was so embarrassed that I couldn't face Monica anymore. Forgetting my panties at her house? Worse than that, the ring Rachel had given me? I guess I was so distressed when I practically ran out of her house the next morning that I didn't even notice that pieces were missing. Worse, I didn't even notice that the most important object was missing. What was I thinking, for Christ's sake?

"Don't think that what you did was something new for me, Fabray. I've had very good relationships that ended the next day. It's no big deal. What we did... you were just another one, and you weren't even that extraordinary. The difference is that I was worried. Not because your relationship could go down the drain, but because you're emotionally fragile, and you could do shit after shit after shit instead of sticking to your guns and moving on, like most people do."

"I'm not fragile!"

"Maybe not... but you're definitely an asshole."

"Says the girl who spent weeks throwing herself at me like a slut!"

Monica approached me in such a way that I thought she wanted to hit me. And maybe she should. I realized that our discussion was getting a bit loud and there were a few pairs of eyes looking in our direction.

"Look..." I said with a lower voice and more caution. "Thank you for returning my panties and my ring, Monica. But I don't need your concern, your messages or you in my life. Just as I'm sure you don't need me. What happened was a mistake by someone who was hot-headed. That's all you are to me: a mere mistake. I don't like you, I can't bear to look at your face. And if you don't stop calling me, sending me messages, I'd better wait for my lawyer to get in touch. Is that clear?" Monica tried to keep her posture, but her nervousness was visible. Either she was going to burst out crying, or she was really going to slap me.

"You need help, Quinn Fabray. Is that the narrative you've created in your head to come off as a victim?" She smiled wryly. "Look here, I'm sorry if I wanted to give you back your ring instead of making easy money with it in pawn. I'm sorry I worried about you. I'm sorry I wanted to be your friend. I'm stupid, I admit it. At least I'm not a sociopath. Goodbye, Fabray. Never again!"

She turned her back on me and walked away. I needed some time to recompose my posture, and I left as if I were the old Quinn Fabray who ran the school. I looked at the engagement ring and put it in my pocket. Fuck! Deep down, I owed Monica a favor.

...

August 22, 2015

(Quinn)

My heart was pounding. Rachel would be arriving from Canada and I couldn't have been more anxious. I got up early to tidy the house. I folded my sleeping bag in the front closet, put away the blanket and the pillows, vacuumed, swept, dusted, washed the bathroom and cleaned the kitchen. All under Santana's wide-eyed gaze. She was stunned the whole time by my willingness to make the apartment look good in order to welcome my Rachel. Let me be clear: I loved having my place tidy and clean. It was something that came naturally to me. But this was a special occasion. As a final touch, I went down to the nearest flower shop and bought some red roses.

Rachel didn't want us to pick her up at the airport and I had no choice but to wait for her at home. After getting everything ready, I took a shower, got ready for her and waited.

Rachel was late. I started to get impatient. I couldn't pay attention either to Fox News or to the storyboard of a project by Santiago that I'd received by email. He was dying to make a short film, and then try to enter festivals around the world. At a certain point, every filmmaker needs to do this to make a name for themselves and I was inclined to join the partnership. But at that exact moment, I didn't have a heart for it.

"The suitcase is lost." Santana said as soon as she hung up her cell phone and I struggled to get my bearings. "That's why it's taking so long." She said, "The suitcase is lost!" Then Santana started laughing, which confused me. "Her suitcase is always lost."

It took another three agonizing hours for Rachel to get home. When she finally opened the door, Rachel only had her handbag with her, looking tired, her hair a bit messy, her clothes a bit crumpled. Not sexy at all, but super sexy at the same time, if that made sense. She first hugged and kissed her sister, and looked her up and down to make sure all the pieces were in place.

"Hi Quinn." They were the first words she'd said to me in days, because she basically only spoke to Santana on the phone. "Good to see you."

Then she hugged me. It was quick, but imagine what it meant to someone who hadn't even had the chance to make a simple gesture like that to the loved person in over a month? It was an eternity, the kind that made my skin shiver at the mere contact with her skin. The parts that touched each other burned like fire. Then, in the next second, almost literally, Rachel broke our contact and I was left with the sensation still pulsing through my body. An exaggeration, perhaps. But it happened.

"Did you manage to solve the problem of the loss?" I asked, still not quite naturally. I felt like I was a guest and that I was about to leave. It was a horrible feeling in my own home.

"They say the suitcase will arrive here within 48 hours. I need just wait." Rachel was also uncomfortable with me and I started to worry. "Well, I'm going to take a shower... and Quinn, could we talk later?"

I nodded. My hands were sweating.