Prompt Post #7
Welcome to the Glee Angst Meme again! You know how these things work. You can come here and prompt your most angsty prompts, and write stories filling those angsty prompts to let our characters suffer.
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Please remember to place any Trigger Warnings in the subject line of your ( Read more... )
“Sorry man!” Joe yelled back. “I was just checking the clock to see how long Finn’s been gone. It feels like a while.”
“The clock on the wall is broken!” Artie shouted his reply.
“The clock needs a token to work?” Joe shouted back.
Artie shook his head and gave up. “I’ll go check on Finn,” Artie responded.
Joe let him go, confused. He’d always known that Artie had immense upper-body strength, but why did he feel the need to chuck some trash bins?
Artie, however, was feeling no such confusion as he wheeled himself around the halls. Finally, he heard Finn’s voice. It sounded like he was arguing with Quinn, something about her wheelchair.
Oh, hell naw! Nobody got to threaten somebody out of a wheelchair! Furious, Artie wheeled himself into the bathroom, ignoring the blue GIRLS sign. Anger turned to confusion when he saw Quinn standing, putting on her makeup in front of the mirror. He actually heard Finn’s words clearly, about playing up her temporary disability for prom queen votes.
If there was anything worse than being bullied for being in a wheelchair, it was being in a wheelchair and playing up the sympathy vote when, clearly, there was no sympathy needed.
Artie’s mouth went dry. “Quinn?” he gaped.
“Artie,” Quinn looked just as surprised as he did.
“Is it true?” he asked, wheeling himself closer.
“What?” Quinn had turned pale.
“You’re using your wheelchair to get votes for prom queen?”
Quinn turned even paler. “Artie, it’s not like I don’t still need it,” she said, gripping the sink for support as she moved to sit back down on the wheelchair.
“But you won’t always need it,” Artie’s voice was full of reproach.
“No,” Quinn admitted with a slight sigh.
“I can’t believe you, of all people, would do this,” Artie glared. “Actually, I can,” he said suddenly. “Before this happened, before Yale and the ramp and the skate park, I could’ve believed it,” he was not going to cry, dammit, “but I thought you’d changed.”
“I have changed, Artie,” Quinn began.
“No, you haven’t,” Artie interrupted. “Because you see this,” he gestured at their wheelchairs, “as just another tool you can use to manipulate people.”
“I’m not manipulating them!” Quinn cried.
“Oh yeah?” Finn cut in. Artie jumped-he had forgotten the tall jock was there. “Tell him what you told that girl on the prom committee.”
“Don’t,” Artie held up a hand. “Whatever’s going on between you two, don’t drag me into it. And Quinn,” he looked at the girl, who looked hopefully back. “Never mind,” he said, wheeling himself away, Finn following close behind.
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