just two jerks playing with matches
Title: just two jerks playing with matches
Author: Phelipa
Rating: R
Pairing: Puck/Quinn
Summary: She was lying on the floor, counting stretch marks (Title and snippets taken from "Braille" by Regina Spektor. I have included the song in this post - listen to it. I'm blown away by how applicable it is to their situation.)
Spoilers: Through Sectionals
Click to viewand he hadn’t been a God.
*
It hurts more than she’s willing to admit and she seals her eyes shut as he continues to thrust, panting and grunting over her. Fear and pain twist in the pit of her stomach, making her feel ill. She wants to tell him to stop, tell him that he’s hurting her, but she can’t take the yes back now, can she?
He collapses against her trembling chest, sweating and spent, and she longs to push him away. He falls asleep shortly after, rolling off of her with a sloppy kiss on her lips, and she picks her way across his bedroom floor, wrapping herself in a sheet as she steals down the hallway to the bathroom.
Her hair is mussed and her eyes are red rimmed, her hands still shaking as she reaches for the tap. Turning the water warm, she runs a handful of tissue beneath the stream and carefully wipes the blood from between her legs as tears start to spill over her flushed cheeks.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
*
listening to the sound of heavens shaking
*
Initially, she’s under the impression that it’s guilt sending her running to the bathroom every morning. After all, she has to do no more than look Finn in the eye before her stomach turns and she’s losing her breakfast in the dingy bathroom stall at WMHS.
It isn’t until she’s curled around Santana’s toilet while the latina plucks her eyebrows meticulously, that Brittany laughs,
“What if you were pregnant?”
Her stomach turns sour and she’s heaving again, Brittany’s hand light in the small of her back while Santana glares at her, disgusted. She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand before turning to face Brittany and shakily stating,
“I’m not pregnant.”
Only, as it turns out, she actually is.
*
tracing the years on her skin
*
Her belly is heavy and cumbersome, a constant, weighted presence now that she’s reached the 36 week mark. It makes her back ache and her legs swell, it moves of its own accord, skin dipping and stretching when the baby moves and jerks within her. Thin red streaks criss-cross over the bottom, harsh marks against the milk white of her skin and her belly button protrudes, rubbing against the cotton of her plain t-shirt.
She runs a hand over the firm mound and feels the baby prod against her fingertips, a firm heel rolling in her palm. Puck glances up from his bed, watching her swivel back and forth in his desk chair, staring down at the baby’s safe cavern, but she ignores him. She skates her fingers over a subtle imperfection and circles her navel while the baby continues to move, lazily content.
Warmth spills over her thighs and she stares down as a dark spot spreads between her legs, eyebrows pulling up into a surprised expression as she whimpers,
“Oh.”
*
thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes
*
She whimpers, burying her face in the crook of her elbow and grimacing as pain twists in her core. The nurse rubs her back firmly, murmuring soft words of encouragement. She relaxes slightly as the pain eases for a moment, wiping back sweaty hair from her face as tears leak over her cheeks. Puck is in the corner, looking pale and queasy while his mother holds Quinn’s hand and tells her she’s doing a wonderful job.
“I need you to get on your back Quinn,” The nurse says quietly, her voice rhythmic and calm, “We’re going to try pushing again.”
She moans, rolling on her back as the doctor helps position her legs in Mrs. Puckerman and the nurse’s grip while she curls forward and pushes. She swallows a blood curdling scream and keeps her lips pursed, a strangled groan escaping along with a couple tears as she bears down.
“Again Quinn. Harder.” The nurse urges.
Quinn bites back a scathing remark and focuses, arching her back and letting out a strangled yelp as the doctor guides the baby’s head through the barrier. She’s sobbing as she pushes in short bursts and a couple moments later the doctor is holding up a bawling, shrivelled little person and smiling as he says,
“It’s a girl.”
*
blowing out my wishes, blowing out my dreams
*
Her face is a puffy, swollen from crying and pushing and screaming. Her stomach is oddly misshapen, a deflated, smushed mess replacing her formerly toned stomach and then her beach ball of a belly.
She aches from head to foot, still shaky and jittery from the rush of endorphins that had her flying high after the birth. The pain medication is beginning to wear off and the ache between her thighs is borderline unbearable, the stitches tugging painfully if she moves even the slightest inch.
The baby is swaddled in the hospital bassinette at her bedside but she hasn’t even looked at her since the birth. She’s too scared, too hurt. She tells the nurse she wants her out but they just smile and tell her they’ll be back in a little bit, that these first few hours are ‘prime bonding time’. They don’t seem to understand that she doesn’t want her, that she doesn’t even want to be around her.
No one understands.
*
trying to decipher what’s written in Braille on my skin
*
Mother and baby move into the spare bedroom at Puck’s house, because his mother likes to think that it’s easier that way.
She calls her Ada Elizabeth Fabray. She’s a small baby, just 5 pounds, 8 ounces and she has a mess of dark hair and long delicate fingers that curl against Quinn’s swollen breasts when she nurses. She smells of talc and Johnson’s baby formula, a sweet, innocent smell. She has wide, questioning, trusting eyes and Quinn’s core aches guiltily when she looks at her.
Babies deserve to be wanted.
But she holds her and she feeds her and she rocks her and cares for her. She doesn’t do anything to harm her and she guides Puck when he’s unsure around her (despite the fact that she’s only minutely more sure herself), she does everything a normal mother would do but she simply can’t bring herself to love her own child.
*
they were just two jerks playing with matches
*
The baby grows quickly and the paediatrician tells her that Ada is doing beautifully.
Her obstetrician tells her that her emotions are normal and gives her a prescription for a mild antidepressant, urging her to take them to get through the hump. She fills the prescription and lets the amber vial roll around in the bottom of her purse for days before tossing them in her nightstand. She never takes a single one.
Puck goes back to school and she stays home. They start to fight; raucous screaming matches that leave his mother between a rock and a hard place and the baby sobbing noisily. She’s stunned to find herself seeking solace in the baby, holing up in their room and pulling Ada to her chest, rubbing her back and pressing feather light kisses to her wispy, dark curls as her own tears splash over the baby’s cheeks.
She and Puck stop talking, and Quinn finds herself spending more time with Ada cradled in her arms, her soft scent a subtle relaxation for her shot nerves.
*
that’s all they knew how to play
*
The realization occurs a lazy Saturday afternoon, after they’ve moved out of the Puckerman home and into a small apartment (funded by Quinn’s full time position as a receptionist, an alternative to finishing high school that left her crying for days). Ada is lying on her back, propped up against Quinn’s knees as he sits on the couch, Ellen playing quietly in the background.
She runs her fingertip over the baby’s round belly and pride swells in her chest as the baby giggles and smiles widely, kicking her legs out at Quinn’s stomach. She clenches her tiny fist around Quinn’s index finger and pulls it to her mouth, sucking hungrily. Quinn grins and murmurs,
“Sorry, baby girl.”
Ada looks up at her with inquisitive eyes before breaking into another wide grin and Quinn startles herself by laughing and lifting the baby, pressing a mess of kisses to her forehead as she announces,
“I love you.”
*