New York, 2016

"Quinn! What are you doing? I'm horny, come back to bed!"

Quinn rolled her eyes although Santana couldn't see her. "You're always horny," she called back to her.

"Which is why you should never get out of bed!"

Quinn put the top back on the jar of jelly, retwisted the bag of bread, ripped off a paper towel, and poured herself a glass of skim milk. She was about to return to the bedroom when her eyes caught sight of an envelope resting on the counter with Santana's name on it. She paused to stare at it, but resisted the urge to be nosy and read the letter, slowly returning to the bedroom. She had only gotten out of the bed because she had thought that Santana was asleep, but apparently she was up now.

"Where's mine?" Santana questioned at the sight of Quinn and her PB sandwich.

Quinn blew her a kiss. "Still in the kitchen, waiting for you to fix it."

Santana's lips formed a pout. "Why don't you ever make me breakfast?" she questioned, curiously, as if she just didn't comprehend it.

Quinn carefully crawled on to the bed, managing not to spill any of her drink. "Why would I make you breakfast?"

Santana gave a seductive grin. "Because I'm awesome, and I make you come really, really hard."

Quinn didn't realize that she was smiling. "There's that."

Santana leaned back comfortably against the headboard. "So breakfast?"

"I'm not about to cook for you, Santana. Get your butt up and fix something for yourself."

"That is so rude, Fabray! You're in my place, you fixed something for you…"

Quinn kicked her legs open, spreading them wide and subsequently shutting Santana up. "Well, if you're that hungry, I've got something for you to eat."

Santana's eyes traced the curve of Quinn's leg up to her center where she was wearing a pair of pink panties. "When'd you put those on?"

She licked off the excess peanut butter. "When I got up to make this sandwich."

"Why'd you put them on?"

"Because civilized people don't walk around naked."

Santana crawled in between her legs and hovered over her. "I think civilization is overrated," she said. Santana leaned in for a kiss, then thinking better of it changed direction and bit off the top right corner of Quinn's sandwich. Quinn protested as she moaned appreciatively. "Man, that's good," Santana mumbled through her chewing. "You want to make me one?"

"Not particularly," Quinn said, thoughtfully chewing her own bite. A large drop of jelly fell onto her thigh. Quinn moved to wipe it away, but with a smirk Santana held up a finger. "I got it," she said, before bowing her head, and drawing her tongue along the length of her thigh, scooping up the spilled jelly with her tongue. Above her, Quinn moaned.

Santana let her tongue continue on its path until it met the bottom of Quinn's underwear. "San," Quinn whimpered. Santana placed a kiss on top of the underwear, before playfully tugging on the bottom with her teeth.

"Hmmm…?" Santana kissed her panties in the spot where her clit should be. "You eat that," she grabbed Quinn's ass to pull her into a better positon, "And I'll eat this."

Quinn shivered in expectation. Santana lowered her head, and inhaled. "You smell so good, Quinn. Like if I made Amortentia, this is one of the smells that you would smell in the potion." Santana ran her nose along the center of Quinn's soaked undergarment. "I love how you get so wet for me, baby."

Quinn gripped the sheets. "W-what potion was Amortentia?" she questioned, as Santana slowly pulled her underwear down her legs.

"Sooo wet," Santana cooed, spreading Quinn's legs wide. "It's the spell for luck." Santana ran a teasing tongue along the top, planting kisses on the fleshy lips, and on the mons, just to watch Quinn squirm. She held Quinn's hips down so she couldn't buck up.

"N-no, the spell for luck was Fe…shit…" Santana licked at the moisture that was wetting her area.

"I don't think there was a Fe-shit potion in the book. I should probably double check that."

"Felix Felicius."

Santana shook her head with her tongue out. "Then it was the shrinking solution." Santana began to nibble on her left inner thigh.

"T-that one didn't have a name. Oh fuck, San!"

Santana chuckled. "You like that, huh?"

Quinn grunted in response. "If you don't quit playing and just fuck me!"

Santana bit her other thigh. "You'll do what?" she teased. "Notcome?" She gave another teasing lick touching her in all of the places except the right one. "Okay,don'tcome for me baby."

"You're such a bitch."

"You love it, though."

"Love!" Quinn shouted triumphantly, just as Santana's tongue slid over and around her clit. "F-fuck."

"Still not coming for me?"

"Amor means love. It's the love….oh fuck! God…there!" Santana retreated. "No! Santana!"

She chuckled at her frustration. "You know, I always knew you'd be calling me God someday." She gave her another long lick, teasing her entrance and venturing further south, before she let her tongue wrap completely around Quinn's clit. "That I'd have you on your back and begging in supplication." Santana pulled her tongue back, but was kind enough to let her fingers slowly massage her clit. "Oh wait," she paused, "I forgot, you're not that into that." Santana abruptly thrust inside of Quinn.

Quinn breathed out, trying to maintain some composure. "B-Brittany," she panted.

Santana's fingers stilled. "No…Santana."

"Not that into it with Brittany."

Santana caressed Quinn's inner walls, but paused when the words settled with her. "Wait? So we could have been doing this in high school?"

"Just shut up and fuck me!" Quinn commanded. Santana brought her face down over Quinn's clit and huffed on it, surprised, and delighted, to see that it made Quinn's legs tremble. She did it again, but this time she thrust into her at the same time, letting her thumb touch the bonus spot. Quinn's back arched off of the bed, and she let out a sound that was somewhere between a squeak, a moan, and some noise Santana had never heard before.

That sound alone would have ruined Santana's underwear…if she'd been wearing any.

"You don't like threesomes Quinnie-pooh?" she questioned, her fingers alternating between thrusting, and scissoring. "I think it'd be hot. You and Britt 69ing each other while I take her up the ass…"

Quinn was suddenly not beneath Santana anymore. "What happened?" she asked the air. "Quinn!" The bathroom door slammed closed. Santana rolled over, and ended up rolling onto the PB sandwich that Quinn had abruptly abandoned. "Shit!" she cursed, as she hopped up off of the bed. She walked up to the door and knocked on it. "Quinn? Babe? I was just joking." Quinn was silent. Santana knocked again. "Baby, come back to bed."

Santana listened and got no response. "Quinn, I'm not about to beg…" Apparently that wasn't true. "Stop being a woman, Quinn. You better not be masturbating in there. I earned that orgasm!" Santana listened for any sounds within. "Babe, if you come out you can wear Gianna. I know you like that!"

Santana groaned, because seriously were the two of them really not capable of spending a weekend together without fighting? Santana thought that things had been changing between them, but here she was banging on a door, and hell if she knew why. Unless it was the joke about the threesome. She did that all the time, though.

After five more minutes of being ignored, Santana said fuck it, and left Quinn to pout. She located the squashed sandwich, and contemplated eating it before she wrapped it in an old test paper and threw it in the garbage can. She then tore off the dirty sheets from her bed. She made up the bed with fresh sheets, wondering what the hell was with Quinn and all her damned mood swings. Was she pregnant again? On her period? Going through menopause early?

Santana was stuck in between whether she should get her-self off, or go back to sleep, when Quinn came out of the bathroom. Santana watched her crawl back onto the bed. She shot Quinn a questioning look. "Are you done with your temper tantrum?"

"I'd be in your love potion?" Quinn asked.

"Your smell," Santana corrected. "Any chance that while you were in the bathroom you saw the error of your ways and decided that you wanted to make me breakfast?"

"Why do you keep bringing up breakfast?"

"Because it's 8:00 in the morning, on a Saturday, and I just watched you eat a sandwich, and I halfway got to eat you, and I'm hungry, that's why."

"Where is my sandwich?" Quinn said, looking around for it.

Santana sighed, rolling over. "I'm going back to bed. Wake me in 3 hours."

"No, don't go back to sleep!"

Santana squinted at her suspiciously. "Why?"

"Well, we're already up. Let's talk."

Her look only grew more suspicious. "I'm almost certain that we don't do that."

Quinn tugged Santana into a sitting position. "Don't you think we should fix that? I mean we used to talk about everything."

"Yes, but then we started pretending that we don't have feelings for each other, so we stopped talking about anything."

Quinn huffed, looking cross. "God, Santana. Why do you have to make everything so difficult? Do you understand how aggravating it is to be around you sometimes?" Quinn questioned, pertly.

Santana leaned forward. "At least I don't have a stick up my ass, Fabray, and yours must be rammed up there pretty high because I've been in that pretty ass, and still never managed to find it. I think you should let me look for it again."

Quinn blushed because she had been drunk, and…it hadn't been completely unpleasant. Santana leaned back over and started sucking on Quinn's neck. "So, you going to tell me what that little storm out was about?" Santana questioned. "You're starting to get as bad as Berry."

"It felt like I was starting my period," Quinn lied, and Santana quickly called her on it.

"Bull. You start your period next week and you don't ever come down when you're on your period. No sex = no Santana."

"It's not like that at all," Quinn denied.

Santana just brushed off her lie, because it was exactly like that. Their being together without sex being involved would be a little too much like they were dating, and God forbid they ever do that. Quinn was too fond of pretending that she actually liked whoever she was dating at the moment. Normally Santana didn't care, she usually had someone else to keep her occupied when Quinn wasn't, but right now she didn't, and hadn't for at least two months. "Ok," Santana said easily. "So I get it, you don't like threesomes. Noted." Santana gave her nipple a hard squeeze. "But you like this, right?"

Quinn whimpered in agreement. Santana was rough with her breasts when she went down on her this time, skillfully working Quinn up quickly, before either of them could say something that would cause a fight before Santana achieved an orgasm. After they were both satisfied, Santana attempted to kiss Quinn on the lips, and like usual, Quinn pushed her away. Shaking her head, Santana got up to rinse her mouth out with mouthwash, and brush her teeth. Santana stepped out of the bathroom with her toothbrush between her lips. "I don't get what the big deal is. It'syourtaste, Q. Haven't you ever tasted yourself?" Quinn didn't say anything, and Santana rolled her eyes. "Do you kiss your boyfriends' after you go down on them?"

"IfI went down on them, I might, but gross."

"You're such a prude." Santana went back into the bathroom to spit and rinse. She wiped her mouth, before returning to the bedroom and lying beside her on the bed. "Either that or very gay."

"I'm not gay," she protested immediately.

"Hmmm…" Santana let her fingers trace over Quinn's skin. "And here I thought being a female who has sex with other females is what makes you gay." Santana started to kiss along her neck and collarbone, shivering slightly when Quinn's fisted her hair. "Guess I'm wrong."

"I'm bi at most, if that, and I've only had sex with you."

"And Rachel."

Quinn gave a comical look around. "I told you not to mention that! I was drunk! And me and Rachel only made out."

"Rachel and I."

"That doesn't count."

"But I count?" Santana prompted.

Quinn hummed. "Definitely."

Santana smiled a smile Quinn didn't see. "Good."

"Hey San?"

"Umm…yes, Quinn," Santana said, mocking Quinn's voice.

"That thing I wanted to talk about?"

"I thought we don't talk to each other about 'things'."

Quinn brought Santana's gaze to her own. "This is something different. Mercedes asked me if I wanted to go on tour with her this summer."

"Are you telling me this because you're going to fuck her?"

"Geez, do you have to be so crude?"

Santana pulled back to look at her with one of those smirks she knew Quinn hated. "I don't have to be, no. I choose to. Is that a yes? You know you don't have to have my permission, you can boink whoever you want. I totally support you."

Quinn pushed Santana away. "Could you be serious for once, Santana? I'm going to graduate in three months."

Santana leaned back in. "Yes, I'm aware."

"And?"

Santana trailed kisses down Quinn's abdomen. "And what?"

"That's all you have to say?"

Santana drew back, this time irritated. "What am I supposed to say, Quinn? I graduate at the end of the summer; what of it?"

The realization that this conversation simply wasn't going to happen settled heavily on Quinn. "This is a mistake," she said. Why did Santana have to be so frustrating? "This…us…I'm about to graduate from college, and I'm still doing this senseless screwing around with you. I am in a relationship with a serious, well-bred young man, and yet,"

Santana pulled Quinn back down. "And yet you're in my bed, where we will spend one fucking good weekend, and I do mean that literally."

"Is sex the only thing you ever think about?"

Santana only grimaced. "I think about a lot of things," she answered, "But sex is the only one of them that you respond to. What does graduation mean?"

"That it's time to start getting serious about life. That it's time to be looking into jobs, and internships, and…serious relationships."

Santana fell back against the headboard, reaching into her side drawer for a nail file. "Is this where you tell me you're looking for less of a Marilynn and more of a Jackie?"

"What does that mean?"

Santana realized that Quinn didn't the correlation. If Quinn had only watchedLegally Blonde: The Musicalshe would realize how formulaic she sounded. "Marilyn Monroe and Jackie Kennedy? Legally Blonde the Musical? Don't tell me that you haven't seen it."

"Ididn't live with Rachel Berry for three years, remember. Can we please have an adult conversation, here?"

"Sure," Santana said, rather obnoxiously in Quinn's opinion. She waved her hand with the file in it. "Adult away."

"What are your plans?"

Santana got a serious look on her face, her eyes darting around. "I would tell you, but I'd have to kill you."

"Santana! Can you at least try to be serious?"

"Who says I wasn't?" Quinn gave Santana a simmering look. "I haven't decided yet, but I've got a few options."

Quinn's thoughts instantly went to other blondes in other cities, and the packet that was sitting on Santana's table. "Like Brittany in Boston?"

Santana frowned. "Who said anything about Brittany and Boston?"

"I saw the letter on the table in the kitchen."

"What the hell are you doing going through my stuff? I could have sworn that it was addressed to Santana Lopez."

"It's sitting on the counter," Quinn stressed. "I didn't think it was a secret. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think I had to. And not that it's your business, but just so you know, that's not an admission packet, it's archive information that I requested for a project, but since you asked, yes, I did think about going to Boston College."

"To be with Brittany."

"To be in a city with someone I love. I realized I'm not a pack it all up and move off into the wild blue yonder kind of gal. I like companionship."

Quinn was almost positive she knew what kind of companionship Santana was referring to. "Are you two still having sex?" This was blurted out without consideration, and like most word vomit, it was not nicely received.

"How is that any of your business?"

"I tell you who I'm sleeping with! It's just simple consideration. I don't know about you, but I don't like the idea of catching an STD."

Santana scooted off the bed. "I'm going to go take a shower since it's fairly evident I'm not going to go back to sleep. And just so you know, I've only slept with you in weeks, but thanks for implying that I'm a whore."

Santana let the bathroom door slam closed, not caring in the least whether or not Quinn was still in her bedroom when she got out. She took her time just to give Quinn extra time to pack up, but she was still in the room when Santana got out of the shower. "I would have thought you'd be gone," Santana said, strutting over to her dresser to pick out something to wear. She didn't feel like leaving her room today, and if Quinn hadn't lost her mind, she wouldn't have left her bed today.

"I wasn't implying that you were a whore, Santana. I'm sorry."

"What is this about? We haven't talked about anything weightier then what we want on our pizza for the past three years, and suddenly this. What do you want Quinn? I can read minds, but it just makes it so much easier if you just spill and ease off the head games."

"Martin asked me to marry him."

Santana blinked. "Congratulations." She turned toward the TV. "Movie, or television?"

"Did you hear me?"

"As I am in full possession of two ears, I do believe that I did. Netflix or TV?"

"That's all you've got to say?"

"You've been heading full steam towards Stepford as long as I've known you; I'm not surprised that you're going to marry your little asshat."

"His name is martin, and it's called stability, Santana, and growing up. Try it sometime."

"I bet Professor Patches' wife and your mother felt real stable knowing that their husbands held lukewarm receptions for them, at best, and had a wandering eye for younger girls. But hey, it worked out real well for you mother, maybe it will for you to. Why do you insist on being a walking cliché? You're like the poster child for the WASP module. When will you get that there is no perfect life, no perfect family, no perfect anything? There's just people, being people, and people are inherently imperfect."

As usual when it came to Quinn and Santana, what she'd said had struck a chord, which caused Quinn's anger to rise. "I'ma cliché? Santana, you adopted cliché in middle school, perfected it in high school, and are thoroughly living it. You think I'm too passionate? What are you passionate about? What, other than your libido, wakes you up every morning? You piggybacked on everyone else's dream until you gave up and settled for the most mediocre and underachieving college degree in existence! How dare you mock me for wanting a little bit of comfort, of security? At least I come by it honest. When are you going to stop using your more powerful and successful friends and get somewhere on your own?"

Santana tilted her head to the side, giving Quinn an indecipherable look. "Let's get correct about something right now. I don'tusemy more powerful and successful friends. I stand behind them. Don't act like you're successes propelled me to the top when I was the one who was pushing you up from the bottom in the first place. But no you felt so fucking entitled that you didn't even turn around to tell me 'thank you'. I didn't step on Rachel's coattails, I gave her a reality check. Little soft, squeaky Berry would have never made it anywhere in New York if she didn't have the bitches like me showing her what she would be up against. And if you're referring toFunny Girl, I had just as much right to audition for the part of her understudy, as she had to audition for the role in the first place. What, Berry can audition for the role of Maria, but I'm outside of my range auditioning for Fanny?

"IhelpedRachel practice for her audition, I watched out for her, me and Kurt cooked and made sure that she stayed fed, was there for her every fucking day, let her cry on me when she found out she was pregnant, and held her hand after Finn died, so whywouldn'tI audition for that role when I found out it was available? It's convenient how people can forget how many times I stood in for them, or came to their rescue when they needed it, because then they don't have to feel bad, about not being by my side when I needed support.

"Everyone thought it wassohorrible how badly everyone picked on Kurt, but not one person spoke up when Finn outed me to the whole state, not even Kurt. No, instead after it happened I had to sit through the most patronizing display of privilege I had ever been privy to, until this very moment where you have the actual audacity to tell me that I don't take my life seriously when as soon as you leave here, you're going to rush off into the arms of your bland, pretty boy boyfriend, who offers you perfection at the very cheap cost of killing who you really are inside. Don't tell me that I don't have a concept of reality when I live it every day, while you only pretend to.

"So yes, Quinn, I mock the very notion of this world that you seem to aspire to because you think that you get it all on your own, when really I know exactly what it takes for you to have it, how much dirty lies lie beneath the clean exterior, and I don't buy into that garbage you're trying to sell me. You know what's honest to me? An orgasm. It's the most honest thing that a person can experience. The only time that I feel like you know how to be honest with me is when you're calling my name andbeggingme not to stop. The only time you allow me to express my feelings is when we're in bed.

"So the next time you want to ridemeabout 'getting somewhere on my own', just remember that you lied to get into your sorority and every moment you pretend to be perfect Quinn Fabray, your daddy paid for your college education, your teacher's set you up with your internship and probably your first job, and you used your best friend to do all the dirty work in order to keep your own hands clean. Remember that, andthencome back and tell me how you did itall by yourself."

It was only par for the course, because of course Santana was able to hit her at exactly the right spots. Quinn wanted to slap her. Instead she walked out.

New York was still too big, too dirty, and too chaotic for her, but she was finally beginning to get used to the city from her numerous visits. Not from her visits with Santana, because those mostly stayed inside, but Rachel always wanted to show her some place new, and Kurt, Blaine, and Mercedes often took her to their spots. Since high school, her and Mercedes' relationship had improved considerably, so much so that Mercedes had asked her if she wanted to come on tour with her this summer. She really, really wanted to go, not just because the thought of it all was amazing, but because she wanted the opportunity to further develop her relationship with her friend.

When Quinn had been pregnant with Beth, Mercedes had been non-judgmental and accepting of her. Her parents had been kind, without being pitying, and her brother, Michael, kept her laughing whenever he came home from school. After Beth was born, her life had picked up pretty much where it left off, but now that they weren't at McKinley, it had been a joy just getting to know each other again. Being around Mercedes was relaxing in a way that they had never been with Santana. Even though the two shared similar (but not the same) personalities, and had overlapping tastes, things were far less complicated with Mercedes.

They shared a faith, and had similar values, and although Mercedeslovedto gossip, she was also really good at keeping your secrets. She really liked the idea of spending the whole summer with her, but the petty part of Quinn was somewhat jealous because even though she didn't have a career so much as she had just enough to keep the lights on in her apartment, she was doing what she wanted to do, and not what was expected of her. Quinn couldn't say the same. She would have loved to pursue an acting career, but knew she never would. It just wasn't something that wasallowedof a Fabray.

Whenever she thought like that, she tried to figure out what she was still trying to prove, and who she was trying to prove it to. She didn't really talk to anyone from McKinley High save for a few people in Glee, her mother was a wreck, and her father was on his way to siring another child, if he hadn't already. Maybe she was trying to prove that she was better than Frannie, because Frannie was still the perfect daughter, even if she didn't have a perfect family to belong to. Or maybe she had this need to somehow redeem the Fabray name. The importance of the name had been hammered into her head for so long that she couldn't forget it, and there was still that part of her that thought that maybe if she was perfect enough, her father would want her again, her mother would sober up, and somehow their family wouldn't be the shambles that it currently was.

Martin was a picture module of who she was expected to be with. He was going to go into politics, he was from a prominent southern family, he loved God and country (but not enough to actually be a soldier), and together they would have 2.5 perfect children. He differed from Biff only in hair color, and the location of where his family was from. She could predict exactly what kind of life they would live together.

When Quinn got back to Santana's apartment, enough time had passed that it was now a respectable time to be up. Santana was still in the same spot that she left her, but she had seemed to have just gotten finished doing something, or talking to someone, just by the way she moved when Quinn opened the door. "Did you say hi to Berry for me?" Santana called.

"I didn't go see anyone, I just rode the train up and down for a while."

"Did you come back to tell me you're going home early?"

"Do you think it's possible for us to get through a conversation without getting into an argument?"

"I don't know, Quinn, depends on if you say something that pisses me off."

Quinn kicked off her shoes, and sat down at Santana's desk. "I applied for an internship in New York that starts once the summer ends, and if everything goes well with that, than I'm going to enroll in grad school. Get my MBA."

"And how does your beloved feel about that?"

"He wants me to move back home with him to Virginia."

Santana gave a mocking laugh. "Oh, god, that's priceless! Please tell me he lives on a plantation. That would be so perfect!"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, I heard you. Housewives don't need advanced degrees, so why haven't you given the perfect Martin his answer, yet? It's not fair to make him wait."

"You know why I haven't."

"Do I?" Santana questioned. She shrugged, as if this was news to her and turned on the television. "Let me know where you're registered, and I'll be sure to pick you out something nice." Quinn scowled out her. "That's all you have to say?" she demanded, frustrated at the girl in front of her.

"What do you want me to say, Quinn? Obviously you're looking for something if you're asking me that. Please, tell me what it is? You want me to save you? I'm not god or Jesus, I can't save you from anything."

"Damn it, Santana, for once, why can't you just be human, and act the way you're supposed to act when,"

"When myfriendtells me that she's getting married? Is this better?" She clapped sarcastically. "Yea…Quinn!"

"No, not the way a friend acts! I just told you that someone wants to marry me. That someone is willing to go out on a limb enough to ask me to be his. That there is someone in my life who I have a future with, who loves me, and you're not going to say anything to that?"

"I told you congratulations," Santana repeated.

"That's not what you're supposed to say!"

Santana impassively watched the tears fall down her face. "WhatamI supposed to say, Quinn? Don't marry him? Why? You already know that you shouldn't. Or as your secret lover am I supposed to pitch a fit! Go on a rampage? Be the stereotypical 'fiery Latina'?"

"Don't you feel anything about this at all? I just told you that you were one of my choices!"

"No, you told me that you had an internship. You know what I feel right now? Happy. He's everything you professed to want, and I'm your friend, so I'm happy that you found someone who you can proudly parade out to your family and friends, instead of someone who you slip into bed with. I want to throw you a party. I want to smoke a cigar with him. I am happy Quinn, because the second you tell him that you'll marry him, is the second I don't have to worry aboutthisanymore. But if you want to marry him, or you don't want to marry him, that's your choice. I am not an excuse, and I'm not your way out.

"You mentioned that you're about to graduate from college as if this means that you've achieved some level of maturity. Then grow the hell up. If you want something, open your damn mouth and ask for it. I'm sick of this game we keep playing! I'm sick of you always needing me to be the one to cross the line for you, princess. You just told me that I don't handle things for myself but you don't even have the courage to say what you want. You want me to tell you. You want me to be the one to say that I love you because you're too scared to tell me that you love me, but I'm sorry. I'm not going to do that.

"I can't lay myself bare, I can't put myself out on the line for someone who wants me to do it all, and doesn't want to offer anything in return. Take the internship, don't take the internship, I don't care. I don't want whatever little crumbs you're offering. I don't want to be your secret! I got yanked from the closet when I was 17 years old, and I don't want to go back into it. I'm not going to have a girlfriend who won't hold my hand in public, or even thinks I don't have a place outside of the bedroom.

"I want you to marry that tool because I am so fucking sick of always feeling this way! You make me feel as if I'm not good enough, Quinn.Thisdoesn't feel good to me. I can't even get you to make me fucking breakfast, and you want me to believe that you really made plans with me in mind?"

"What's is it with you and this damn breakfast?"

"You want to know why I keep asking? Because when you make someone breakfast, it means that you actually care about them. It means that you thought about them enough to want to fix them the most important meal of the day! It means that they mean something to you other than a damned fuck buddy! Contrary to what you might think, I wasn't put on this earth to make life easier for you at my expense. I have feelings, too, and this hurts! Ithurts. So make up your damned mind, because either you get to be the girl that all I'm doing is fucking, who gets the fuck out of my bed after we're done, or you get to be the one on my arm. My girlfriend, my lover, an actual friend. If I'm not actually your choice I don't want to be anything; and I'm so tired of being your excuse."