WARNING: Graphic sexual abuse ahead. I'll denote where it begins and ends with ... instead of . as a paragraph break.

With both Cheerios practice and a Spanish project, Rachel was slowly working her way into the cracks of Quinn's defenses. Rachel was steady and persistent in her pursuits to get absolutely anything out of Quinn. A smile, a laugh, a friendly comment. As these responses became more and more frequent, Rachel started to notice a strange flutter in her chest at even the sight of the pink-haired punk. Rachel started to observe and appreciate new positive qualities that Quinn had. Like how even though she was a Skank, she bathed properly and always smelled faintly of lemons. And how her nose ring was a little crystal stud that sometimes caught the light just the right way. How her steps were light and graceful even wearing big, clumpy combat boots. How her eyes were hazel flecked with gold and when her smile was for once honest, the gold would seem to sparkle as if they were actually shavings of the precious metal imbedded in her eyes.

But noticing the good meant noticing the difference between a happy Quinn and a normal Quinn. Genuine smiles were few and far between. Her eyes were most frequently cold or dead, with the latter being most common and most heart-wrenching. When she put on a fake smile it looked like sculpted plastic, perfect at first glance so that no one noticed the complete lie behind it. Sometimes her smile became feral and cruel and those times Rachel had to look away in wordless terror. And noticing that Quinn's skin was porcelain pale and generally flawless meant noticing the instant the smallest bruise or injury would mar her flesh. It happened with unnerving frequency. A patch of smooth skin would be perfect one day and have the tiniest mark the next. Once Rachel even noticed one appear between Spanish and Cheerios. When she'd ask on it, Quinn had looked at her blankly and said in a flat voice, "I'm clumsy." But not one thing about Quinn Fabray could claim to be clumsy in the slightest. Rachel knew that because, well, she had been watching her near obsessively for almost two weeks now.

All Rachel could do was anxiously push her observations to the back of her mind. Because the bad could mean so much worse and the good that Rachel saw could mean… not good at all for Rachel.

.

The end of the second week came too quickly. Quinn's charges were on par with the rest of the normal ranked Cheerios and she was officially out of the grasp of Coach Sylvester. Quinn wouldn't be coming back to practice. The very thought made Rachel's stomach hurt. But they still had weeks yet to do their Spanish project and this was the only thing keeping Rachel from going into a panic. She still had time to get Quinn to be their friend.

Interaction between Quinn and Santana had improved at a snail's pace. Meaning that they now didn't talk to one another and refrained from flinging insults. Which was a relief since the yells of "whore" and "lesbo" that had occurred during their first out-of-class meet-up had been particularly brutal. Quinn and Brittany were now on speaking terms, but every time B would try to inch forward, Quinn's wall would go firmly back into place. So their relationship stayed frozen in place. But Brittany didn't stop trying.

The one relationship that had grown comfortably was the one between Rachel and Quinn. Quinn would now look for Rachel on a regular basis upon entering a room. And once she'd even come up to Rachel first during a break. The progress was noticeable. Not as much as Rachel would have wanted perhaps, but Rachel did always aim high.

So when the week ended, Rachel caught up to Quinn after the practice and asked if they could work on the project sometime after school.

Quinn froze and her eyes went wide. There was a long, unbearable pause. Quinn shifted her weight slightly away from Rachel and averted her eyes. In a low voice she said, "Would Santana and Brittany come? Because I don' think that would work."

"They don't have to," Rachel said uncertainly.

Quinn's lips pressed together in a thin line. She kept opening her mouth as if to say something, then just as abruptly would close it. Finally she closed her eyes and when she opened them a steel had returned to them. "My house, after school, next Monday. Three-thirty to five." She said it in such a way that Rachel was sure there was a hidden 'take it or leave it' buried in the text. Rachel nodded. Quinn turned and walked away without any further exchange.

And now Rachel had all weekend to prepare.

.

When Ms. P heard the new development, that one Rachel Berry was going to be going home with Quinn on Monday, she became so excited that she let out a literal squeal of joy and started bombarding Quinn with questions and tips. Quinn rolled her eyes affectionately. Ms. P had been practically bursting at the seams since Rachel had taken an interest in Quinn and Quinn wasn't immediately shoving the girl away. She was more excited for this 'budding friendship' than Quinn herself. "Having friends is an important and necessary part of high school life," Ms. Pillsbury informed Quinn every chance that she got. Quinn didn't think that was true, she was fine without friends, but Rachel wasn't… horrible to have around. But the fact that she came with S & B kinda was. It was like a slap to the face by the cosmic forces of whatever, like God reminding her daily, "You can't have friends, Quinn Fabray. They might notice something up."

A year and a half. You can make it.

"So your other two partners aren't going to your house though?"

Quinn stopped herself from flinching. "No. They can't." Not a complete lie. Good. She didn't like lying to Ms. P outright.

"That's too bad. Maybe some other time."

"Mmm," Quinn hummed noncommittally.

"Well I hope you two have fun! It sounds like an inspired project!"

"We're just making up a fake country," Quinn said with a laugh. Honestly, Ms. P thought everything Schuester did was 'inspired'.

"Still!" Ms. Pillsbury went on to gush a little more about Schuester and Quinn tuned her out. She started listening again when Ms. P asked, "Are you sad you won't be doing anymore Cheerios coaching? I know you didn't hate it." Quinn locked eyes with Ms. P and couldn't miss the gentle concern there.

"Fuck no. Waste of my time."

"Language."

"Sorry, Ms. P."

They talked a little more about various topics until suddenly Ms. Pillsbury's already large eyes went wide and she said, "Oh my goodness, I can't believe I didn't think of this before! Why don't you ask Rachel to join Celibacy Club?"

"No," Quinn said fast and firmly.

Ms. P's face fell and she nodded. Quinn felt bad, but not bad enough to change her mind. Celibacy Club was hers. Her safe haven, her secret. What if Rachel came and they had to talk about celibacy? Ms. P would feel obligated to share her and Quinn's sandwich, but her OCD ways wouldn't like having to split it three ways so she'd probably stop bringing it altogether. And what if they didn't talk about celibacy like they normally didn't and Rachel went and told someone and suddenly her sanctum was invaded by people? No. Celibacy club was for her and Ms. P.

And Ms. P didn't push because in some ways Quinn thought Ms. P liked it that way, too.

.

On Monday, Rachel was ready.

She'd prepared her project notebook, a secondary last minute adjustments notebook that she could get messy, all the possibly necessary pens and highlighters and tabs they would need, some star stickers to decorate, and a thoroughly nervous Rachel Barbra Berry. Because this was so important. First contact outside of the school grounds. It could make or break entire relationships. Or land people firmly in the 'just school friends' zone.

She hadn't mentioned the invite to San or Britt and a part of her felt awful about that. But she wasn't purposefully lying. Just lying by omission. And it wasn't as if either of them had asked why she was skipping Glee.

Rachel had a suspicion that they might have an idea about it though.

She met up with Quinn outside the school. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Had Quinn been wearing that shirt in Spanish class? In one hand Quinn carried a plastic bag. Rachel could see colored liquid pooling at the bottom. When Quinn noticed Rachel approaching she purposefully moved the bag behind her legs and plastered one of her trademark faux smiles onto her face. Rachel desperately wanted to ask, but the situation was delicate already. Instead when Quinn asked if Rachel was ready to go, she nodded mutely.

Rachel was surprised when Quinn led her to a polished silver Camaro and motioned for Rachel to get in. Quinn owned this car? For some reason she'd been imagining a beat-up van or an old Volvo, or maybe a motorcycle. Something that would better match Quinn's personal style. As if reading her mind, as soon as Rachel slid into her seat and closed the door, Quinn said nonchalantly, "Birthday present." Rachel nodded understanding. This car matched Yearbook Quinn much better than Skank Quinn.

The ride was awkward. Between Rachel's intervals of silence and then spaztic chatter and Quinn's quiet responses and nervous drumming of her fingers on the steering wheel, it could not have been worse. When Quinn finally pulled in front of a large two-story house it was a relief for both of them to get out of the car. Rachel's eyes went large when she finally took in Quinn's home. It was huge. As close to a mansion as one would find in Lima, Ohio. "Whoa," Rachel breathed out before she could stop herself. She blushed and stammered, "It's beautiful, Quinn."

"Not like I built it," Quinn replied dryly. She looked unhappily at the building and Rachel couldn't help but notice.

They went inside. Everything was perfect. Spotless. Not a wrinkle or smudge in sight. Rachel felt like she was stepping into a museum. Like no one actually lived there.

Quinn halted in the foyer and crossed her hands over her chest. There was a pause and then Rachel said haltingly, "So, um, your room?" Quinn's head jerked up as if she'd forgotten Rachel was there, then she said woodenly, "Follow me," and started upstairs.

Quinn's room was… pink. Rachel immediately felt uncomfortable. Everything was frills and shiny polished wood. Like… like a little girl's room. Like it hadn't changed since Quinn was six. Quinn looked out of place in her own room. Quinn took off her leather jacket and opened her closet and at last there was a glimpse of Quinn, even some cardigans from her early high school years, but as soon as it closed again it was as if they were in a small child's room. It was creepy.

Quinn sat at the edge of her bed. Rachel put on a showman's smile and said in a chipper tone, "We can just hang out for a bit before getting into any schoolwork."

Quinn shrugged and replied, "Sure, whatever you want." Rachel blinked, confused. Why was Quinn acting so subdued?

"… I can't believe it took us so long to meet! What with our mutual acquaintences."

At this Quinn looked up and eyed Rachel with curiosity. "We met before."

"What?"

"You don't remember?" Quinn asked, startled.

"…remember what?"

Quinn fidgeted and tried to say in a blasé voice, "You know, freshman year, first week of school. I tripped you in the middle of the hallway and told everyone to avoid you because they might 'catch the gay'. I can't believe you forgot this."

And that's when it clicked. Why Quinn's coldness was eerily familiar, why Rachel got nervous around her, why B & S had seemed worried when Rachel found out they'd been friends with Quinn. She'd tried so hard to block out the first month of freshman year that she had forgotten one crucial part.

Quinn had started it all.

"You're the reason I was ostracized for the first month of high school?! I was tormented endlessly. The only reason it stopped was because you apparently stepped down as Queen Bee and Santana took your place, and I was nice to Brittany without any threats. How- how could you have done that to me? I didn't even know you!"

Quinn shrugged but Rachel could see a blush forming on her cheeks. "I dunno. I needed a target to seal my place as a ruler at McKinley and you… you caught my attention."

Rachel stomped around Quinn's room angrily, but not once did the idea of leaving or forgetting her quest to be Quinn's friend cross her mind. She just needed to work through her hurt. And also-

"Apologize."

"What?"

"I said, apologize. To me. For what you did. You could have ruined school for me, I could be friendless and lonely, Quinn! Actions have consequences. You were a bully and owe me an apology."

Quinn worried her lip and avoided looking at Rachel. She ran her hand through her hair and finally in a cracking voice said, "I'm sorry, Rachel."

It was the first she'd called Rachel solely by her first name.

Rachel had to swallow the lump that formed in her throat. It was pathetic, honestly, that those three words were all it took for Rachel to forgive her immediately. So she wouldn't say anything stupid, she just nodded. A softness fell over Quinn's face. "I didn't expect you to accept so easily," Quinn teased, but there was real affection in her voice.

"I'm a naturally forgiving person," Rachel said with a laugh.

The tension left as quickly as that.

Rachel pulled out the work and they started talking about it and making notes, in between all the easy non-school related chatter. They found out everyday facts about one another: Rachel was a vegan and Quinn could never be because she loved bacon too much, they'd both taken dance classes when they were little, Rachel dreamed of Broadway and Quinn dreamed of just about anything that would get her out of Lima, they both ran in the early mornings to keep in shape. They got stuck debating who would win in a race because Quinn was convinced that running on a treadmill "was fake running" and "hardly counted".

"It's a tried and true form of exercise! They have treadmills in gyms!"

"Gyms are for pansies. What, people can't regulate themselves so they pay someone else to?"

"Quinn!" Rachel said with a huff, but they were both madly grinning at one another.

"I'm gonna go get us some snacks. Endangered caribou and ostrich eggs sound good?" Quinn said as she stood, eyes twinkling mischievously.

"I will take my food cruelty free, thank you," Rachel replied primly.

Quinn shook her head and left her room.

Rachel stayed still for as long as she could. But the temptation to explore proved too great for her and Rachel gave in and stood to roam Quinn's room. Everything was pale pastel or glittered. She was struck again by how young the room looked. Rachel knew a thing or two about sparkles, her room had its fair share and Santana often teased that her room looked like it belonged to a ten-year-old, but Quinn's took the young vibe to a whole other level. There wasn't even a hint of makeup on Quinn's vanity, only ceramic unicorns and a cluster of fake jewelry, even a tiara. Only when Rachel opened the vanity's drawer did she find a mess of makeup and jewelry, as if it was hidden away from sight. It was just off.

Next to the tiara was a picture of a young Quinn with pale blonde hair and a serious face. As Rachel looked around the room she saw more pictures of Quinn through the ages. Always alone or with a man Rachel assumed was her dad. No mom, no friends. It was so sad. Rachel picked up the most recent picture of Quinn that must be close to a year old. Her hair was long and curled at the end, her smile was fixed and her stance was rigid. Even with those things, Quinn was the most beautiful girl Rachel had ever seen.

Rachel heard a footfall behind her and turned to see Quinn with a tray of ranch dressing and assorted vegetables. Quinn looked at her quizzically when she saw what Rachel held. "I-uh-" Rachel fumbled as she set down the picture. "You're a very pretty girl, Quinn."

The reaction was instant. Quinn's smile dropped, her eyes went cold, her face clouded. "Get out."

"What? What did I-"

"OUT!" Quinn yelled so furiously that Rachel practically ran past her in her haste to follow her command. She left her backpack in her rush to get away from Quinn.

Rachel had no idea what she had done, but it must have been terrible to illicit that reaction from Quinn.

She didn't know that Quinn put the platter down on her desk, went to her bed and curled around her pillow and started to sob.

...

She should have known.

She should have known that's what Rachel wanted.

It's what everyone wanted.

She was so stupid to have let her in this far. Hadn't she seen the way that Rachel often looked at her? She'd even commented on it a few times just to see the diva squirm. But she hadn't- Quinn hadn't expected Rachel to try something so quickly. She was cursed. Dye her hair pink, wear ratty clothes, and she was still cursed. Nothing could change who she was.

Dirty whore slut bitch cunt waste

Quinn's nails dug into her palms and she cried until there was nothing left in her. She didn't even go down to make dinner.

So that's where her dad found her, curled around her pillow in the fetal position, eyes hidden by a mop of tousled pink hair. She didn't move when she heard him enter, didn't make a sound when he sat down on the edge of her bed and stroked her hair out of her face.

"Quinnie? What's the matter princess?"

Quinn ignored him. Hoping that somehow this would be the day that her dad left her room without anything else. But just like every other day he stayed. And it must have been something about Quinn that always made him stay.

""Was it another mean boy, Quinnie? You know how boys are."

Please go away.

"You gotta be careful out there. I worry about you going to that school dressed like a whore, but had hoped that you were right and all the boys would avoid you, suspicious of disease and damnation. But we might have to rethink your wardrobe choices if you come home upset when a boy tries to sleep with you."

No. Freedom to dress this way is one of the few things I have. "It was the Berry girl. She made a pass at me."

She could see the hatred bloom on his face. "Little bitch dyke, perverts that whole damn family. Scared my little girl something awful, and no wonder too. My Quinnie wants to be righteous. We'll call it an early night, then. Go get dressed for bed, Quinn."

Robotically Quinn went to her dresser for her pajamas. She pulled them out and started to change. Russell Fabray didn't leave as she undressed.

He never left.

Quinn sat on the side of her bed, head hung low and eyes staring sightlessly forward. Sometimes, if she was just the right amount of tired, she could go so far into her head that she wouldn't remember a thing. But mostly she remembered. And when Russell Fabray buried his face against her neck and grabbed her breast and it felt like she could count every stubble on his chin and like his hand was on fire, she knew that tonight she would remember.

He pushed her onto her back and his hands were brands touching her all over as he togged off her pajama top again and started to suck hungrily at her collar bone, making his way down. It was the worst when he dragged it out. Finally his lips found her nipple and her whole body responded, even though Quinn's brain screamed at it not to. She was a dirty little girl, just like he always said she was.

His hand slid down into her bottoms and Quinn bit down hard on her cheek. She was as dry as bone but he didn't even notice as he shoved two fingers into her and started to roughly move them in and out. As if on accident his thumb grazed her clit and she bucked against it instinctively, causing Russell to smirk hatefully from ear to ear.

"Dad, please," Quinn whispered close to tears, and she was begging him to stop as well as begging him to finish and she hated, hated, hated herself with everything that she had.

When she was so close to climax she could feel it popping like fireworks behind her eyes, Russell quickly withdrew his fingers. Quinn let out a whimper and closed her eyes, and Russell bent low to her ear and said, "Finish it if you have to." And Quinn knotted her fingers into the fabric of her bed for the briefest of seconds because she wanted to prove him wrong, but he was right and she put her own hand between her legs and finished, feeling the amazing and awful rush of climax shake her body to its core. Quinn buried her face in her pillow with shame and heard the disgust and pride in his voice as he left and said, "Sluts can't help themselves. At least you'll always be daddy's pretty girl."