Pieces of Her, 23/?
Title: Pieces of Her, 23/?
Author: Kagekamay
Rating: R
Length: 3,433
Spoilers: AU after Special Education
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Rachel Berry wasn't unbreakable. Now she's broken and the only person who can put her back together is Quinn Fabray. WARNING deals with self harm.
It had taken a lot of coaxing from Brittany, and a couple of empty threats from Santana, but eventually Quinn had let herself be escorted out of the locker room. She didn't bother to try to stop Santana from snatching her keys from her gym bag, nor did she resist when she found herself led to her own car with Brittany's arm slung protectively over her shoulder.
"Follow us in my car," Santana murmured to Brittany, handing the blonde her own keys.
Brittany nodded, and gave Quinn one last reassuring hug before walking away.
Next thing Quinn knew, she was strapped into the passenger seat, and Santana was pulling out of the parking lot, turning in the direction of her house. She caught the girl glancing sideways at her a couple of times, but still she didn't speak. She couldn't. The image of Rachel's broken, tear stained face was still painfully etched in her mind. When the car finally stopped, Quinn mechanically unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her gym bag at her feet before getting out of the car. To her surprise, Santana did the same, and followed her to the front door.
"You can go now," Quinn said flatly, opening the door, and stepping inside before attempting to close it in Santana's face.
The girl caught the door before it closed, and pushed it open.
"I said leave, Santana," Quinn hissed, throwing down her bag and pushing harder against the door, but the smaller girl wouldn't budge.
With a hard push, she sent Quinn stumbling backwards and stepped inside, her arms crossed, "Yeah, not gonna happen."
Quinn looked over her shoulder just in time to see Brittany pulling into her driveway.
"Get out of my house."
"Hate to break it to you, Q," she said glancing behind her as Brittany made her way up the walkway, "but I just spent the last hour or so with you whimpering on my shoulder because of some fight you had with Berry, and I'm not planning on going anywhere until - "
"What she means to say," Brittany started, stepping inside and giving Santana a warning look, "is that she's worried about you. We both are."
Quinn shifted uncomfortably, looking from one girl to the other. Santana's jaw was taut, but she had known the girl long enough to tell there was truth to Brittany's words. There was a glint of something akin to concern in her eyes. Brittany was…well Brittany. It was obvious she wanted to help, and even though Quinn appreciated it, that didn't mean she was willing to accept it.
"I can't…do this right now," she deflected, crossing her arms over her chest, "I still have to check up on Rachel and - "
"Whoah, back up there, blondie," Santana interrupted, her eyes narrowing, "what do you mean you have to 'check up on her'?"
"Exactly what you think it means," Quinn explained tiredly, turning towards the direction of the stairs.
"You mean she's here?" Santana asked incredulously, the last word coming out in a harsh whisper.
Quinn paused at the bottom of the stairs, her left hand pressed to her forehead and her eyes closed as she tried to stop the pounding in her head, "I really don't want to hear it from you right now, S."
"Well that's too damn bad bi - "
"We'll be in the living room," Brittany interrupted, grabbing Santana's hand and dragging her away before she could finish.
Quinn sighed in relief, and started to climb the stairs, holding onto the banister for support. She felt completely physically and emotionally exhausted. Her head was still aching, and she really didn't want to have to explain her complicated situation with Rachel to her two friends, but she knew now there was no way she was going to be able to get them to leave. The bedroom door loomed in front of her, and Quinn hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard to try to regain some of her composure. Slowly, she raised her hand, hovering an inch from the wood for a split second before she knocked.
"Rachel?"
No answer. She waited a couple seconds before she knocked again, a little harder this time.
"Rach, will you please open the door?"
Still nothing. Quinn sighed, and rested her forehead against the door as her remaining reserves of energy started to ebb away.
"Please talk to me," she pleaded, hating how her voice came out strangled and weak, "please."
She waited, but no one answered her plea.
"Alright, I'll leave you alone," Quinn whispered, "Santana and Brittany are downstairs with me…i-if you want to come out."
She was about to leave, but on a whim her hand strayed to the doorknob in a last ditch effort to get to Rachel. She expected to meet resistance, but the knob turned smoothly in her hand, and the door swung open.
The room was empty. For a moment, she stood stunned in the doorway, unable to come to terms with what this meant.
"No," she moaned, moving to the drawers and opening them, expecting to see Rachel's clothes still folded and put away.
Nothing. They were gone. She searched frantically, looking for any sign that Rachel had been there but to no avail. Any trace of her was gone from the room. The bed looked cold and unslept in, a contrast to the bunched up sheets that it had been mere hours before when she had gone in to wake Rachel for school.
She couldn't deny it. The physical proof was staring her straight in the face. Rachel was gone.
Without a second thought, she whipped out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she stopped on Rachel's name, jamming her finger on the green button and pressing the phone hard to her ear.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
A high pitched ringing noise pounded in Rachel's eardrums, waking her from the light nap. Dried tears caked her cheeks, and her body tingled all over. Groaning, she struggled to move into a sitting position, blinking blearily to try to take in her surroundings. It was then that she noticed her torso was bare, and the tiles of her bathroom were stained crimson. Memories slammed into her as she took in the gauze wrapped around her arms and stomach, splotches of red showing through.
There had been so much blood, more than usual. And she had panicked. Her eyes found her bathroom towel, soaked through with her blood from when she had frantically pressed it to her stomach to stop the bleeding. Not too far away, her shirt was balled up and just as thoroughly drenched in red. Rachel vaguely remembered resorting to using it to replace the towel when the blood had finally started to subside. And the ringing was still there. Was it common for people who suffered blood loss to hear things?
Her body ached as she grabbed the edge of the sink, hauling herself up from the floor, and making a note to clean the floor later. Right now it was all she could do to stand. The diva swayed slightly in place, and she gripped the sink tightly to keep from falling down. Her face was chalk white and there were still bits of dried blood on her arms that she had neglected to wash off. She could get to it later. Sighing she rested her head on the wall, closing her eyes and losing herself in the feel of the cold tile against her cheek.
If only she could just stay here forever. Just forget about all the hurt and pain, and stay here, in limbo. The brief moment after, when she felt this relief. Before all the feelings came rushing back, along with the disgust with what she had done. Her eyebrows crinkled, and she felt a small frown on her face. Best not to think about that now. Would the ringing ever go away?
Suddenly her eyes shot open, and she swore she felt the remaining blood in her veins run cold, as she finally identified her phone as the source of the ringing. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes and turned her head to look into her room, it was lit up and vibrating madly on her bed.
Rachel was tempted to let the phone ring, but it seemed the caller had no intention of leaving her alone. She stumbled from the bathroom, her eyes raking the ground for discarded clothing. She zeroed in on a black hoodie hung on her bedpost and made her way towards it, clumsily pulling her arms through the armholes and simultaneously trying to walk. Big mistake. The room started to spin, and she dropped onto her knees, willing it to stop.
"Shut up," she mumbled hoarsely, the harsh ringing making her head hurt even worse. As if to spite her, the noise seemed to grow louder.
With a tremendous effort, she was able to stand again, and somehow managed to hoist herself onto the bed and grab her phone.
The name made her freeze.
Quinn.
Her thumb hovered over the green button, as she tried to decide whether to pick up or not. Before she could, the call ended informing her that she now had seven missed calls. All from Quinn. Along with six voicemails. Two seconds later, her phone was ringing again, and she hastily pressed the reject button. Before she could change her mind, she turned the phone off and threw it back on her bed, hoping that be enough of a hint to the cheerio that she didn't want to talk.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Quinn looked down at her phone, Rachel's voicemail mocking her once again, but this time it had come too early. Rachel was ignoring her call.
"Quinn."
Her head snapped up, and her eyes found Santana, standing in the doorway of the room. Pity was reflected in those dark eyes, and it made Quinn feel even more pathetic. She knew she should stop, that Rachel had made it obvious that she didn't want to talk, and yet she couldn't.
She just needed to do something, anything to stop herself from drowning in her helplessness. Quinn was always in control, but whenever it came to Rachel, she was left clutching at anything to stay afloat.
"I'll just try one more time," she muttered, her voice wavering slightly.
Unsurprisingly, it went straight to voicemail, and Quinn ended the call before she heard Rachel's overly bubbly voice telling her to leave a message for the eighth time.
She sank onto the bed in defeat, clutching the useless phone in her hands. That was that. It looked like Rachel didn't want anything to do with her. She felt the bed dip and heard a soft sigh as Santana sat down next to her.
"Look, I'm not good with this kind of shit," she muttered, fingering the edges of her skirt self consciously, " - but I've got to be honest, Q."
She waited for Quinn to actually look at her before continuing, "There are just some times when you've got to let it go."
"I can't do that," Quinn admitted, her voice cracking, "Rachel...she's…she might…"
Her lip trembled, and she couldn't bring herself to finish her thoughts, to make it that much more of a possibility. It was already enough that she was breaking down in front of Santana of all people.
"I don't think Berry wants to talk to you right now, and blowing up her phone isn't going to help change her mind," Santana said bluntly.
"Well, what else am I supposed to do?" Quinn cried, shooting up from the bed and running her hands helplessly through her hair, "And why are you even trying to help?" she demanded, rounding on Santana, "You don't exactly keep it a secret that you dislike Rachel."
"Yeah, I don't," she shrugged, pausing to think for a second, "it's just...you would've done the same thing for me."
Quinn was taken aback, and she didn't say anything. She just stared at the defiant glint in the Latina's eye.
Santana sighed, and the blonde could detect the vulnerability in her voice when she spoke, "If it was me freaking out about B, I know you'd be there telling me to suck it up and wait it out."
"But it's not the same thing!" Quinn argued, willing Santana to understand where she was coming from.
Santana raised an eyebrow, her mask snapping back into place, "Oh really?"
"All I've done is wait!" she yelled, gesturing helplessly, "I waited for her to let me help her! I waited for her to trust me, and stop looking at me like she expected I was going to turn on her, and I finally got that! And as soon as I do, it's taken away from me! Hell, I'm still waiting for her to admit that - " she slammed her mouth shut, horror struck that she had been so close to mentioning the kiss.
To cover her slip up, she collapsed on top of the bed, her head buried in the pillow, "What am I supposed to do?" she mumbled, turning her head so she was looking sideways at Santana, "Tell me," she pleaded, desperate for an answer.
Santana didn't say anything.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Rachel stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her hands clutching the edge of the sink. She drew a rattling breath and forced her eyes to meet those of the pale face reflected back at her. Why couldn't Quinn just leave her alone? Her eyes strayed back to where her phone was still lying innocently on her bed. It was silent, and yet she could still practically hear it ringing. She knew the blonde was probably worried sick, and she would be even more upset if she found out Rachel had cut again.
She reached for the faucet, cupping the cold water in her hand and splashing it on her face. The brunette winced, but once she had blinked past the droplets of water, she was dismayed to find the reflection had remained the same. The girl with the lifeless eyes, shivering in a hoodie that hung limply around her frame still stood in front of her. Worthless. Stupid. A waste of space. A sudden desire to hit the mirror, to shatter the image that glared tauntingly back at her, over came her, and she had her fist raised, ready to deliver the blow…but what was the point? Breaking the mirror wouldn't make the reflection any less true. Angrily she turned away from the mirror and punched the bathroom wall instead, the pain shooting threw her hand only helping a little.
She couldn't believe that she had been so close to forgetting the truth, that she had let herself believe Quinn when she had told her she was special. Thankfully, Finn had let her see her foolishness. She was a disease, a loser; and she always would be.
One of her hands found the razor on the sink, her fingers running almost lovingly along the cool metal that was still stained with droplets of her blood. Her fault. It was her fault. She whimpered and closed her eyes, but the words echoed tauntingly in her head. Sam. Quinn. Finn. She had messed everything up. One stupid kiss with Puck because she was feeling insecure, and Finn hated her. Quinn tried to defend her from bullies, and Rachel inadvertently cost her a boyfriend.
It wouldn't be long before the cheerio would be looking at her with the same disgust as Finn, and when that time came, Rachel knew it would break her. It was better to leave her now, before that happened. It still hurt, but at least this way it was on her terms.
Her fingers stopped idly tracing the blade, and instead she picked it up and examined it closely. It glimmered with a promise, beckoning her forwards once again. This time, she was in control, and there was no danger of her cutting too deep again. She rolled up her sleeve, and lifted the blade to her forearm, which to her annoyance was still bandaged. She tore them off her arm, slightly pleased that the cuts had yet to stop bleeding.
Again she lifted the blade to her arm, looking for a patch of skin left unmarked. The inside of her forearm seemed promising, and with a shaky breath she pressed down on the razor. Immediately, she felt the burning. Her arm screamed in agony, but she just pressed harder. Her heart screamed in unison, burning with her confusion. Her guilt. Her sadness. Her heartbreak.
No. The blade stopped its work as she gathered her resolve. She had never been loved. Not by him. And especially not by her. The razor took on a new path, shifting from its usual straight lines to form curves. Letters. When Rachel was done, she washed the razor and held her arm up to inspect her handiwork. The message glared back at her, burning itself onto her skin, branding her so that she would never forget. Blood ran from the letters, dripping down her arm and joined the mess on the tile floor.
Slut.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Santana leaned against the car, looking back at the window that she knew was Quinn's, where the blonde was still undoubtedly curled up on her bed. A soft hand brushed against her forearm, and she instinctively reached out and grasped the hand, seeking comfort in the familiar gesture. She looked up at Brittany, who was staring at the window too, lost in thought.
"Santana?"
"Mhm?" she answered, a little distracted by the small patterns she was tracing on the back of Brittany's hand.
"You said Rachel's not going to talk to Quinn, right?"
"Yeah."
"And Quinn can't talk to Rachel because she is ignoring her?"
Santana's hand stilled and she let go of the blonde's hand so that she look at her properly, "Where is this going?"
"Well," Brittany started, chewing on her lip, "If they won't talk to each other...what if Quinn sings to her?"
Santana stood there silently marveling once again at her best friend's ingenuity. Normally, she would have tried a little bit harder to hide her approval of anything to do with Berry, but something definitely wasn't right if Quinn was freaking out this much over unreturned phone calls; the sooner this was fixed, the better.
"That's a great idea, Britt."
Brittany beamed and let out a breath of relief, "I thought so too, but I just wanted to make sure you agreed."
She gave Santana a quick peck on the cheek before nudging her to move out of the way so she could open the passenger door.
"We can tell Quinn tomorrow and she can pick out a song to perform!"
Santana rolled her eyes, but she couldn't keep the smile off of her face even if she tried, "Okay, okay we'll tell her tomorrow, and then she can perform it next week or whatever."
She slid into her seat, and looked over at Brittany who had gone quiet, "What?"
Oh shit. The blonde was chewing on her lip and doing that adorable pout that she knew Santana couldn't resist.
"Ay díos," she muttered, dropping her head to the steering wheel, "what else were you thinking?"
Author: Kagekamay
Rating: R
Length: 3,433
Spoilers: AU after Special Education
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Rachel Berry wasn't unbreakable. Now she's broken and the only person who can put her back together is Quinn Fabray. WARNING deals with self harm.
It had taken a lot of coaxing from Brittany, and a couple of empty threats from Santana, but eventually Quinn had let herself be escorted out of the locker room. She didn't bother to try to stop Santana from snatching her keys from her gym bag, nor did she resist when she found herself led to her own car with Brittany's arm slung protectively over her shoulder.
"Follow us in my car," Santana murmured to Brittany, handing the blonde her own keys.
Brittany nodded, and gave Quinn one last reassuring hug before walking away.
Next thing Quinn knew, she was strapped into the passenger seat, and Santana was pulling out of the parking lot, turning in the direction of her house. She caught the girl glancing sideways at her a couple of times, but still she didn't speak. She couldn't. The image of Rachel's broken, tear stained face was still painfully etched in her mind. When the car finally stopped, Quinn mechanically unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her gym bag at her feet before getting out of the car. To her surprise, Santana did the same, and followed her to the front door.
"You can go now," Quinn said flatly, opening the door, and stepping inside before attempting to close it in Santana's face.
The girl caught the door before it closed, and pushed it open.
"I said leave, Santana," Quinn hissed, throwing down her bag and pushing harder against the door, but the smaller girl wouldn't budge.
With a hard push, she sent Quinn stumbling backwards and stepped inside, her arms crossed, "Yeah, not gonna happen."
Quinn looked over her shoulder just in time to see Brittany pulling into her driveway.
"Get out of my house."
"Hate to break it to you, Q," she said glancing behind her as Brittany made her way up the walkway, "but I just spent the last hour or so with you whimpering on my shoulder because of some fight you had with Berry, and I'm not planning on going anywhere until - "
"What she means to say," Brittany started, stepping inside and giving Santana a warning look, "is that she's worried about you. We both are."
Quinn shifted uncomfortably, looking from one girl to the other. Santana's jaw was taut, but she had known the girl long enough to tell there was truth to Brittany's words. There was a glint of something akin to concern in her eyes. Brittany was…well Brittany. It was obvious she wanted to help, and even though Quinn appreciated it, that didn't mean she was willing to accept it.
"I can't…do this right now," she deflected, crossing her arms over her chest, "I still have to check up on Rachel and - "
"Whoah, back up there, blondie," Santana interrupted, her eyes narrowing, "what do you mean you have to 'check up on her'?"
"Exactly what you think it means," Quinn explained tiredly, turning towards the direction of the stairs.
"You mean she's here?" Santana asked incredulously, the last word coming out in a harsh whisper.
Quinn paused at the bottom of the stairs, her left hand pressed to her forehead and her eyes closed as she tried to stop the pounding in her head, "I really don't want to hear it from you right now, S."
"Well that's too damn bad bi - "
"We'll be in the living room," Brittany interrupted, grabbing Santana's hand and dragging her away before she could finish.
Quinn sighed in relief, and started to climb the stairs, holding onto the banister for support. She felt completely physically and emotionally exhausted. Her head was still aching, and she really didn't want to have to explain her complicated situation with Rachel to her two friends, but she knew now there was no way she was going to be able to get them to leave. The bedroom door loomed in front of her, and Quinn hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard to try to regain some of her composure. Slowly, she raised her hand, hovering an inch from the wood for a split second before she knocked.
"Rachel?"
No answer. She waited a couple seconds before she knocked again, a little harder this time.
"Rach, will you please open the door?"
Still nothing. Quinn sighed, and rested her forehead against the door as her remaining reserves of energy started to ebb away.
"Please talk to me," she pleaded, hating how her voice came out strangled and weak, "please."
She waited, but no one answered her plea.
"Alright, I'll leave you alone," Quinn whispered, "Santana and Brittany are downstairs with me…i-if you want to come out."
She was about to leave, but on a whim her hand strayed to the doorknob in a last ditch effort to get to Rachel. She expected to meet resistance, but the knob turned smoothly in her hand, and the door swung open.
The room was empty. For a moment, she stood stunned in the doorway, unable to come to terms with what this meant.
"No," she moaned, moving to the drawers and opening them, expecting to see Rachel's clothes still folded and put away.
Nothing. They were gone. She searched frantically, looking for any sign that Rachel had been there but to no avail. Any trace of her was gone from the room. The bed looked cold and unslept in, a contrast to the bunched up sheets that it had been mere hours before when she had gone in to wake Rachel for school.
She couldn't deny it. The physical proof was staring her straight in the face. Rachel was gone.
Without a second thought, she whipped out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she stopped on Rachel's name, jamming her finger on the green button and pressing the phone hard to her ear.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
A high pitched ringing noise pounded in Rachel's eardrums, waking her from the light nap. Dried tears caked her cheeks, and her body tingled all over. Groaning, she struggled to move into a sitting position, blinking blearily to try to take in her surroundings. It was then that she noticed her torso was bare, and the tiles of her bathroom were stained crimson. Memories slammed into her as she took in the gauze wrapped around her arms and stomach, splotches of red showing through.
There had been so much blood, more than usual. And she had panicked. Her eyes found her bathroom towel, soaked through with her blood from when she had frantically pressed it to her stomach to stop the bleeding. Not too far away, her shirt was balled up and just as thoroughly drenched in red. Rachel vaguely remembered resorting to using it to replace the towel when the blood had finally started to subside. And the ringing was still there. Was it common for people who suffered blood loss to hear things?
Her body ached as she grabbed the edge of the sink, hauling herself up from the floor, and making a note to clean the floor later. Right now it was all she could do to stand. The diva swayed slightly in place, and she gripped the sink tightly to keep from falling down. Her face was chalk white and there were still bits of dried blood on her arms that she had neglected to wash off. She could get to it later. Sighing she rested her head on the wall, closing her eyes and losing herself in the feel of the cold tile against her cheek.
If only she could just stay here forever. Just forget about all the hurt and pain, and stay here, in limbo. The brief moment after, when she felt this relief. Before all the feelings came rushing back, along with the disgust with what she had done. Her eyebrows crinkled, and she felt a small frown on her face. Best not to think about that now. Would the ringing ever go away?
Suddenly her eyes shot open, and she swore she felt the remaining blood in her veins run cold, as she finally identified her phone as the source of the ringing. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes and turned her head to look into her room, it was lit up and vibrating madly on her bed.
Rachel was tempted to let the phone ring, but it seemed the caller had no intention of leaving her alone. She stumbled from the bathroom, her eyes raking the ground for discarded clothing. She zeroed in on a black hoodie hung on her bedpost and made her way towards it, clumsily pulling her arms through the armholes and simultaneously trying to walk. Big mistake. The room started to spin, and she dropped onto her knees, willing it to stop.
"Shut up," she mumbled hoarsely, the harsh ringing making her head hurt even worse. As if to spite her, the noise seemed to grow louder.
With a tremendous effort, she was able to stand again, and somehow managed to hoist herself onto the bed and grab her phone.
The name made her freeze.
Quinn.
Her thumb hovered over the green button, as she tried to decide whether to pick up or not. Before she could, the call ended informing her that she now had seven missed calls. All from Quinn. Along with six voicemails. Two seconds later, her phone was ringing again, and she hastily pressed the reject button. Before she could change her mind, she turned the phone off and threw it back on her bed, hoping that be enough of a hint to the cheerio that she didn't want to talk.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Quinn looked down at her phone, Rachel's voicemail mocking her once again, but this time it had come too early. Rachel was ignoring her call.
"Quinn."
Her head snapped up, and her eyes found Santana, standing in the doorway of the room. Pity was reflected in those dark eyes, and it made Quinn feel even more pathetic. She knew she should stop, that Rachel had made it obvious that she didn't want to talk, and yet she couldn't.
She just needed to do something, anything to stop herself from drowning in her helplessness. Quinn was always in control, but whenever it came to Rachel, she was left clutching at anything to stay afloat.
"I'll just try one more time," she muttered, her voice wavering slightly.
Unsurprisingly, it went straight to voicemail, and Quinn ended the call before she heard Rachel's overly bubbly voice telling her to leave a message for the eighth time.
She sank onto the bed in defeat, clutching the useless phone in her hands. That was that. It looked like Rachel didn't want anything to do with her. She felt the bed dip and heard a soft sigh as Santana sat down next to her.
"Look, I'm not good with this kind of shit," she muttered, fingering the edges of her skirt self consciously, " - but I've got to be honest, Q."
She waited for Quinn to actually look at her before continuing, "There are just some times when you've got to let it go."
"I can't do that," Quinn admitted, her voice cracking, "Rachel...she's…she might…"
Her lip trembled, and she couldn't bring herself to finish her thoughts, to make it that much more of a possibility. It was already enough that she was breaking down in front of Santana of all people.
"I don't think Berry wants to talk to you right now, and blowing up her phone isn't going to help change her mind," Santana said bluntly.
"Well, what else am I supposed to do?" Quinn cried, shooting up from the bed and running her hands helplessly through her hair, "And why are you even trying to help?" she demanded, rounding on Santana, "You don't exactly keep it a secret that you dislike Rachel."
"Yeah, I don't," she shrugged, pausing to think for a second, "it's just...you would've done the same thing for me."
Quinn was taken aback, and she didn't say anything. She just stared at the defiant glint in the Latina's eye.
Santana sighed, and the blonde could detect the vulnerability in her voice when she spoke, "If it was me freaking out about B, I know you'd be there telling me to suck it up and wait it out."
"But it's not the same thing!" Quinn argued, willing Santana to understand where she was coming from.
Santana raised an eyebrow, her mask snapping back into place, "Oh really?"
"All I've done is wait!" she yelled, gesturing helplessly, "I waited for her to let me help her! I waited for her to trust me, and stop looking at me like she expected I was going to turn on her, and I finally got that! And as soon as I do, it's taken away from me! Hell, I'm still waiting for her to admit that - " she slammed her mouth shut, horror struck that she had been so close to mentioning the kiss.
To cover her slip up, she collapsed on top of the bed, her head buried in the pillow, "What am I supposed to do?" she mumbled, turning her head so she was looking sideways at Santana, "Tell me," she pleaded, desperate for an answer.
Santana didn't say anything.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Rachel stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her hands clutching the edge of the sink. She drew a rattling breath and forced her eyes to meet those of the pale face reflected back at her. Why couldn't Quinn just leave her alone? Her eyes strayed back to where her phone was still lying innocently on her bed. It was silent, and yet she could still practically hear it ringing. She knew the blonde was probably worried sick, and she would be even more upset if she found out Rachel had cut again.
She reached for the faucet, cupping the cold water in her hand and splashing it on her face. The brunette winced, but once she had blinked past the droplets of water, she was dismayed to find the reflection had remained the same. The girl with the lifeless eyes, shivering in a hoodie that hung limply around her frame still stood in front of her. Worthless. Stupid. A waste of space. A sudden desire to hit the mirror, to shatter the image that glared tauntingly back at her, over came her, and she had her fist raised, ready to deliver the blow…but what was the point? Breaking the mirror wouldn't make the reflection any less true. Angrily she turned away from the mirror and punched the bathroom wall instead, the pain shooting threw her hand only helping a little.
She couldn't believe that she had been so close to forgetting the truth, that she had let herself believe Quinn when she had told her she was special. Thankfully, Finn had let her see her foolishness. She was a disease, a loser; and she always would be.
One of her hands found the razor on the sink, her fingers running almost lovingly along the cool metal that was still stained with droplets of her blood. Her fault. It was her fault. She whimpered and closed her eyes, but the words echoed tauntingly in her head. Sam. Quinn. Finn. She had messed everything up. One stupid kiss with Puck because she was feeling insecure, and Finn hated her. Quinn tried to defend her from bullies, and Rachel inadvertently cost her a boyfriend.
It wouldn't be long before the cheerio would be looking at her with the same disgust as Finn, and when that time came, Rachel knew it would break her. It was better to leave her now, before that happened. It still hurt, but at least this way it was on her terms.
Her fingers stopped idly tracing the blade, and instead she picked it up and examined it closely. It glimmered with a promise, beckoning her forwards once again. This time, she was in control, and there was no danger of her cutting too deep again. She rolled up her sleeve, and lifted the blade to her forearm, which to her annoyance was still bandaged. She tore them off her arm, slightly pleased that the cuts had yet to stop bleeding.
Again she lifted the blade to her arm, looking for a patch of skin left unmarked. The inside of her forearm seemed promising, and with a shaky breath she pressed down on the razor. Immediately, she felt the burning. Her arm screamed in agony, but she just pressed harder. Her heart screamed in unison, burning with her confusion. Her guilt. Her sadness. Her heartbreak.
No. The blade stopped its work as she gathered her resolve. She had never been loved. Not by him. And especially not by her. The razor took on a new path, shifting from its usual straight lines to form curves. Letters. When Rachel was done, she washed the razor and held her arm up to inspect her handiwork. The message glared back at her, burning itself onto her skin, branding her so that she would never forget. Blood ran from the letters, dripping down her arm and joined the mess on the tile floor.
Slut.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Santana leaned against the car, looking back at the window that she knew was Quinn's, where the blonde was still undoubtedly curled up on her bed. A soft hand brushed against her forearm, and she instinctively reached out and grasped the hand, seeking comfort in the familiar gesture. She looked up at Brittany, who was staring at the window too, lost in thought.
"Santana?"
"Mhm?" she answered, a little distracted by the small patterns she was tracing on the back of Brittany's hand.
"You said Rachel's not going to talk to Quinn, right?"
"Yeah."
"And Quinn can't talk to Rachel because she is ignoring her?"
Santana's hand stilled and she let go of the blonde's hand so that she look at her properly, "Where is this going?"
"Well," Brittany started, chewing on her lip, "If they won't talk to each other...what if Quinn sings to her?"
Santana stood there silently marveling once again at her best friend's ingenuity. Normally, she would have tried a little bit harder to hide her approval of anything to do with Berry, but something definitely wasn't right if Quinn was freaking out this much over unreturned phone calls; the sooner this was fixed, the better.
"That's a great idea, Britt."
Brittany beamed and let out a breath of relief, "I thought so too, but I just wanted to make sure you agreed."
She gave Santana a quick peck on the cheek before nudging her to move out of the way so she could open the passenger door.
"We can tell Quinn tomorrow and she can pick out a song to perform!"
Santana rolled her eyes, but she couldn't keep the smile off of her face even if she tried, "Okay, okay we'll tell her tomorrow, and then she can perform it next week or whatever."
She slid into her seat, and looked over at Brittany who had gone quiet, "What?"
Oh shit. The blonde was chewing on her lip and doing that adorable pout that she knew Santana couldn't resist.
"Ay díos," she muttered, dropping her head to the steering wheel, "what else were you thinking?"