Love is Mean
Title: Love is Mean
Author: only_because3
Rating: T?
Word Count: 414
Author's Note: I've been angsting a lot today and this is sort of been something I wanted to tell for a while. Not sure if I did what I wanted to do but *shrug* Takes place after season 2 but before season 3. Quinn centric (you're shocked, I know)
--
You’re trying in vain to smile as the Evans’ loaded station wagon drives away from the sad motel they’ve been living in for months. You’re happy for them; they’re going to a huge house and both of Sam’s parents found jobs. But you’re having a hard time shaking the feeling of Stacey pressed against your chest, hugging you as tightly as a six year old could and Stevie pressed against your legs, clutching at the fabric of your dress.
You haven’t worn this dress in a year.
It’s been sitting in the back of your closet, along with a bunch of other sun dresses three sizes too big for you now. You oh so fondly referred to it as your tent during the last month of your pregnancy, even though it was one you owned prior to your fall from grace. You never wore it before then because it was low cut, too low cut to be made modest with a cardigan, and truthfully only purchased it because Santana didn’t think you would.
It’s a simple black dress that reaches your feet and the straps are thick enough that they supported your swollen breasts. The fabric is light, airy almost, and it reminds you of the beach even though you’ve never even seen the ocean.
You shoved it to the back of your closet as soon as you got home that day, just like you shoved the last eight months to the back of your mind. You weren’t able to escape waking up in puddles because your body doesn’t know what to do with all the milk it produced for a child you gave away. You weren’t able to erase the stretch marks lining your stomach and breasts.
You were determined not to be a mess but you were. You were suffocating behind your carefully crafted mask but you didn’t want to let Sam, or anyone for that matter, rip it off your face. But Sam needed help, those kids needed help, and this time, doing the right thing felt good. It felt right.
But now you’re standing in front of a motel in the blazing sun, alone. Just like you were almost a year ago to the day. You feel the sudden urge to burn this dress and if you’d known you had to say goodbye today, you would’ve left it on the hanger to collect dust.
You’ve just discovered rock bottom and you’re not sure it’s worth it to crawl back up.
Author: only_because3
Rating: T?
Word Count: 414
Author's Note: I've been angsting a lot today and this is sort of been something I wanted to tell for a while. Not sure if I did what I wanted to do but *shrug* Takes place after season 2 but before season 3. Quinn centric (you're shocked, I know)
--
You’re trying in vain to smile as the Evans’ loaded station wagon drives away from the sad motel they’ve been living in for months. You’re happy for them; they’re going to a huge house and both of Sam’s parents found jobs. But you’re having a hard time shaking the feeling of Stacey pressed against your chest, hugging you as tightly as a six year old could and Stevie pressed against your legs, clutching at the fabric of your dress.
You haven’t worn this dress in a year.
It’s been sitting in the back of your closet, along with a bunch of other sun dresses three sizes too big for you now. You oh so fondly referred to it as your tent during the last month of your pregnancy, even though it was one you owned prior to your fall from grace. You never wore it before then because it was low cut, too low cut to be made modest with a cardigan, and truthfully only purchased it because Santana didn’t think you would.
It’s a simple black dress that reaches your feet and the straps are thick enough that they supported your swollen breasts. The fabric is light, airy almost, and it reminds you of the beach even though you’ve never even seen the ocean.
You shoved it to the back of your closet as soon as you got home that day, just like you shoved the last eight months to the back of your mind. You weren’t able to escape waking up in puddles because your body doesn’t know what to do with all the milk it produced for a child you gave away. You weren’t able to erase the stretch marks lining your stomach and breasts.
You were determined not to be a mess but you were. You were suffocating behind your carefully crafted mask but you didn’t want to let Sam, or anyone for that matter, rip it off your face. But Sam needed help, those kids needed help, and this time, doing the right thing felt good. It felt right.
But now you’re standing in front of a motel in the blazing sun, alone. Just like you were almost a year ago to the day. You feel the sudden urge to burn this dress and if you’d known you had to say goodbye today, you would’ve left it on the hanger to collect dust.
You’ve just discovered rock bottom and you’re not sure it’s worth it to crawl back up.