fic: these words, these twisted words
Title: these words, these twisted words [1/?]
Author: arquellania
Fandom: Glee
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Quinn Fabray, Jesse St. James
Rating: K+ (PG)
Word Count: 653
Summary: AU; it takes one summer to destroy all that Quinn has defined in her life, as well as open her eyes to things she may have overlooked - she's not the only one with secrets. Jesse St. James has a few of his own.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Author's Notes: First part of a (mini?)fic. I was going to post it all together once I was done, but Amy asked for it. :P
Two weeks, three days, four hours since she’d given her daughter away.
School had let out two days after regionals. Everyone retreated to their homes, their lives - things that no one, not even the supposed close-knit members of the club knew about.
She spent her days on the stairs of her mother’s (no longer hers - she stopped going eight months ago) parish.
Too scared, too ashamed to go inside.
She was out there - Beth.
(Beth; n.: proof that Quinn Fabray was no angel, though she had everyone fooled for a while.)
Puck retreated to the 7-Eleven again at her refusal of any type of relationship with him.
(relationship; n.: some fucked up sort of togetherness, one that Quinn Fabray was admittedly terrified of.)
It was a nice thought. Truthfully, their daughter had woven them together, and eventually tore them apart.
It wasn’t worth the pain.
After it all, she realized the moment was over - the moment where she had friends, had something to drive her.
So she remained on the steps, and waited for a new moment - her redemption, or at least something that would allow her to carry on.
--
It was a Wednesday.
She was at the usual place - on the steps, wasting away.
He drove up, stepped out.
When he caught her eyes, he began to recoil, then decided against it.
(Jesse St. James; n.: known as an all-around asshole; associated with on a need to know basis.)
He plopped down next to her with the usual dopey expression on his face.
She turned away from him and stared at the absolute nothingness across the street - a park in the distance, children running, no worries, no cares.
“What are you doing here?”
She saw him raise his eyebrows from the corner of her eye.
“Just needed some guidance.” He looked down at his shoes and began moving his feet in an identical circular motion.
(bullshit; n.: Jesse St. James’ specialty.)
“For what, exactly?” She turned to him. “You won Nationals again. You’re going to college next month - far away from here.” She took a deep breath to calm herself before she began a rant. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about.”
He gently cupped her chin and turned her head to face him directly.
“You clearly don’t know much about me, then.” He put on his trademark smile of deviance, one she had been trained to avoid like the plague
(see: Noah Puckerman).
His hand was still on her chin.
She forcefully removed it and huffed.
“It’s not like you know much about me,” She raised her eyebrows, a look that could easily rival his. “Other than what you’ve heard.”
“Well,” he began counting on his fingers. “You supposedly got knocked up by Finn Hudson while you were dating him, but you were actually knocked up by Noah Puckerman…Your water broke at regionals, you adopted out your daughter to my former coach, and now, you’re here.” His eyes flickered in delight at the idea of knowing absolutely everything about her.
“Well, you’ve heard a lot,” She sighed. “But it’s nowhere near everything.”
He laid back a bit and put his arms behind his neck. “Well, tell me everything, then. I’m interested.”
He jaw tightened - it was her usual defense mechanism.
“Why would I tell you anything?” She sneered. “Last time I checked, you’re notorious for taking advantage of people - or have you forgotten about Rachel Berry already?”
He didn’t respond. He only looked up at her, shrinking in her presence.
“Go find someone else to destroy,” she nearly barked her final words. “Because I’m clearly not in the mood to fall for your crap.”
She rushed down the steps, avoiding the truth, the story that needed to be told, and above all, the demented being that was Jesse St. James, at all costs.
(friend, n.: something Quinn Fabray doesn’t have; something Jesse St. James is not.)
--
Author: arquellania
Fandom: Glee
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Quinn Fabray, Jesse St. James
Rating: K+ (PG)
Word Count: 653
Summary: AU; it takes one summer to destroy all that Quinn has defined in her life, as well as open her eyes to things she may have overlooked - she's not the only one with secrets. Jesse St. James has a few of his own.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Author's Notes: First part of a (mini?)fic. I was going to post it all together once I was done, but Amy asked for it. :P
Two weeks, three days, four hours since she’d given her daughter away.
School had let out two days after regionals. Everyone retreated to their homes, their lives - things that no one, not even the supposed close-knit members of the club knew about.
She spent her days on the stairs of her mother’s (no longer hers - she stopped going eight months ago) parish.
Too scared, too ashamed to go inside.
She was out there - Beth.
(Beth; n.: proof that Quinn Fabray was no angel, though she had everyone fooled for a while.)
Puck retreated to the 7-Eleven again at her refusal of any type of relationship with him.
(relationship; n.: some fucked up sort of togetherness, one that Quinn Fabray was admittedly terrified of.)
It was a nice thought. Truthfully, their daughter had woven them together, and eventually tore them apart.
It wasn’t worth the pain.
After it all, she realized the moment was over - the moment where she had friends, had something to drive her.
So she remained on the steps, and waited for a new moment - her redemption, or at least something that would allow her to carry on.
--
It was a Wednesday.
She was at the usual place - on the steps, wasting away.
He drove up, stepped out.
When he caught her eyes, he began to recoil, then decided against it.
(Jesse St. James; n.: known as an all-around asshole; associated with on a need to know basis.)
He plopped down next to her with the usual dopey expression on his face.
She turned away from him and stared at the absolute nothingness across the street - a park in the distance, children running, no worries, no cares.
“What are you doing here?”
She saw him raise his eyebrows from the corner of her eye.
“Just needed some guidance.” He looked down at his shoes and began moving his feet in an identical circular motion.
(bullshit; n.: Jesse St. James’ specialty.)
“For what, exactly?” She turned to him. “You won Nationals again. You’re going to college next month - far away from here.” She took a deep breath to calm herself before she began a rant. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about.”
He gently cupped her chin and turned her head to face him directly.
“You clearly don’t know much about me, then.” He put on his trademark smile of deviance, one she had been trained to avoid like the plague
(see: Noah Puckerman).
His hand was still on her chin.
She forcefully removed it and huffed.
“It’s not like you know much about me,” She raised her eyebrows, a look that could easily rival his. “Other than what you’ve heard.”
“Well,” he began counting on his fingers. “You supposedly got knocked up by Finn Hudson while you were dating him, but you were actually knocked up by Noah Puckerman…Your water broke at regionals, you adopted out your daughter to my former coach, and now, you’re here.” His eyes flickered in delight at the idea of knowing absolutely everything about her.
“Well, you’ve heard a lot,” She sighed. “But it’s nowhere near everything.”
He laid back a bit and put his arms behind his neck. “Well, tell me everything, then. I’m interested.”
He jaw tightened - it was her usual defense mechanism.
“Why would I tell you anything?” She sneered. “Last time I checked, you’re notorious for taking advantage of people - or have you forgotten about Rachel Berry already?”
He didn’t respond. He only looked up at her, shrinking in her presence.
“Go find someone else to destroy,” she nearly barked her final words. “Because I’m clearly not in the mood to fall for your crap.”
She rushed down the steps, avoiding the truth, the story that needed to be told, and above all, the demented being that was Jesse St. James, at all costs.
(friend, n.: something Quinn Fabray doesn’t have; something Jesse St. James is not.)
--