Fic: What Rachel Knows Chapter 7 2/2
Chapter 7 - Greener Grasses (The Quinn Interlude) Part 2
Part 1
Since that day, Quinn became much more aware of the eyes that were always on her, constantly judging her actions and her motives. She was happy to be popular, ecstatic even, but she wasn’t quite prepared for the scrutiny from her peers.
But they were always watching. And Santana was the worst. She was the one who saw and heard everything, and, unlike their classmates, she was always ready with a sneering response.
“Hey Quinn, what’d you think of the Midget’s skirt today. Did it show off her ass-ets?”
“Wow Quinn, did you skip lunch today? You’re looking pretty hungr- oh, never mind, you’re just perving on Treasure Trail again.”
“Geeze, Quinn, did your girlfriend dress in the dark this morning? Couldn’t you stop her before you slunk out her window?”
“Have you made it under her skirt yet, Quinnie? If not, I have it on good authority that you’re in for a surprise, if you know what I mean.”
No, Quinn didn’t know what she meant. Quinn didn’t get the implication at all, but she knew it was something dirty and disgusting. She was grateful that Santana kept her appalling, untrue comments between the two of them, knowing that, at this point, it would probably hurt all their reputations, but she just could not relax.
She tried so hard to stop watching the other girl, wishing that it was still the beginning of the school year.
Instead, she found herself sneakily seeking the other girl out. She didn’t really plan on doing anything, but she just wanted to make sure she was okay.
So she would occasionally look for the other girl, just to check in on her and always with an excuse in hand, normally during lunch or Rachel’s study hall. Which, with Rachel, was usually in the same place.
And then one day she was caught.
It wasn’t her fault. Rachel was singing. She had heard her once before, in the locker room, but this was different. She was on a stage, playing the piano, and pouring her heart out and, well, she sounded incredible.
It was enchanting.
So it really wasn’t her fault that she blew her cover.
She was just moving closer to better hear, better see the absolute expression on the other girl’s face.
And then Rachel turned and saw her.
It was their first real conversation, as in, both sides talking to each other and making real human noises.
Although the first half of the conversation is just a long string of words from Rachel, tied together without any stops for breath.
It was certainly impressive. And a little cute. Like a puppy.
But soon, Rachel paying her compliments and Quinn was pulling out her fabulous pre-made excuses, which worked wonderfully.
Soon Rachel was talking about her future and her lofty goals, and Quinn was happy to just hear Rachel talk to her in a happy tone.
With a smile on her face. It was mesmerizing.
She found herself being drawn in, curious to what it would be like to be a little closer. Soon her arm was grazing Rachel’s, like they were close friends and she was feeling that unfamiliar tingling, her senses buzzing.
But Rachel pulled away, spouting out some stuff about Santana or something, acting concerned. Quinn brushed it aside, turned the question back to Rachel. One thing she was learning was that Rachel did like talking about herself. And, honestly, Quinn thought Rachel’s voice was a little bit soothing.
It was like a buzzing bee or a chirping bird, melodious, but different, and Quinn found herself tuning out, letting Rachel’s words fade into gentle background noise. She could already guess what the girl was saying. And if she really listened, she might feel the need to respond honestly, tell the other girl that her life would be so much easier if she would just try a little harder to blend in, be a little more normal.
And she didn’t want to say that.
So she tuned out, watching the curious expressions moving across Rachel’s face. Let herself examine the face close-up, something she’d never been able to do. She saw every freckle, every line. She could finally admire the dark, soft looking hair and the light chocolate eyes without worrying who was watching.
And, when the gentle tingling feeling came back, a soft, fuzzy pulse that made her a little bit dizzy, she let it come. It felt nice, just sitting and staring and then…
There was an unbelievable warmth. It was soft and pleasant and amazing, all at once, but only for a moment.
Then it was gone. And all that was left, after a squeak and flurry of movement, was Rachel staring at her across the piano bench, one hand raised to her lips.
All at once, all these emotions and memories flooded her. She remembered every insinuation and sneer from Santana. The little quips and jabs from people talking in the hallway, about Rachel or that obviously queer boy in their grade. The harsh remarks her father would make at the dinner table. The words of the Priest during sermons.
Crap. Crap! Shit!
Nononono! This was not happening. This was wrong. Every second and moment she stood there, waiting for Rachel to react, standing in her shame, it was all wrong. She was doing everything right. This was her time to shine. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t her future. This wasn’t her.
This was Rachel.
This was Rachel’s fault.
Everything was Rachel’s fault. She had created this mess. She had lured her in her and used- used her voice to get her to stay. Trying to get sympathy or pity or something. Trying to force…something. Rachel did this. Rachel was the one who caused these fee- this!
Rachel tricked her.
Rachel…Rachel…
Rachel kissed her.
“You kissed me!” she yells at the other girl.
“Wh-what?” is the only reply. Like she doesn’t understand what she did. Like she doesn’t care what she did. She probably doesn’t even see anything wrong with it, with her two gay dads.
Her mind flits to her own dad, what his response would be, what he would say…
“You - you filthy pervert,” she cries, thinking of the disappointment, the hatred, the shame. She couldn’t do this. This wasn’t her.
“I most certainly did not,” Rachel denies, as if this wasn’t all her fault. As if she didn’t create this mess. As if she didn’t have two dads who thought this was okay. As if she, herself, didn’t think this was okay. As if she wasn’t already weird and abnormal and hated by the school. As if she wanted to drag Quinn down with her.
Make Quinn just as hated…as disgusting…as shameful.
She felt like she was going to throw up. She clenched her fist, trying to reign in on her rampaging emotions. Trying to hold steady.
She took a step towards the girl, begging her in her head to take it back. Begging time to go back. Wanting to just be gone.
“You disgusting little f-freak. How dare y-you.” She says, glaring at Rachel. Glaring at herself. How could she let this happen. What was wrong with her.
Rachel gets closer, denies everything again, pushes the situation back to her.
“Quinn. I didn’t kiss you. You kiss-”
She couldn’t let her finish. Couldn’t listen to the horrible tr - lies. The gross, disgusting lies.
“No! I didn’t!” she shouts, “Don’t - Why would you- That’s a lie!” It’s a lie. It’s a lie. Rachel is lying. Why can’t Rachel just accept the blame? Rachel’s supposed to be nice. Why is she forcing this on her? Doesn’t she see? Why can’t she see?
“Quinn…” Rachel says, pleading, gentle, reaching out to touch her. Part of her wondered what would happen if - NO!
No part of her wondered anything.
“Don’t touch me, you freak,” yelled pushing away from the other girl aggressively. Freak. Freak. That’s what they were. Freaks and deviants and sinners and hellfire and damnation and -
This wasn’t her.
She didn’t notice how close she was to the edge of the stage. How close she was to falling.
Rachel grabbed back at her even after Quinn pushed her away, not listening to anything Quinn was saying.
“I said don’t touch me. Don’t - don’t touch-” she shrieked, voice going hoarse. Her vision blurred and she hastily turned away, trying to rub away the tears. “Don’t touch me. Don’t, you can’t touch me. It’s wrong…this is wrong. I’m not like that. I’m not like this. This isn’t me.”
She can’t speak anymore, doesn’t even realize the last bit was nothing but harsh mumbles. She can’t collect her thoughts. She can’t bring herself to even look at the other girl. Looking started this.
She can only breath big harsh breaths.
Finally, she gives up, grabs at the few coherent thoughts she can manage, and decides one thing.
She needs to get out of there. Now.
She finally looks at the other girl and forces herself to really see her. Looks at the ugly sweater people are always pointing out. The dull brown hair. The giant nose. The short stature. The lack of any feminine qualities. Rachel Berry is nothing.
Rachel Berry is a disaster.
Rachel Berry is a disgusting freak. Horrible. Meaningless. A waste of time and space.
It’s not working.
She grabs her bag and makes her way out of the room, thankful for every minute the other girl stays quiet.
Before she leaves the room, she turns and gives one final glance. One final warning.
“Stay away from me, you d-dyke,” she orders, willing the girl to finally listen, finally stay in the background, to stay away from her. “Don’t come near me again…and - and don’t tell anyone.”
She barely makes it to a bathroom before she vomits. Before she knows it, Brittany has appeared out of knowing, pulling at her, whispering and coddling as she pulls her to the nurse.
She’s lucky Santana’s not around, thankful that Brittany is.
She feels safe in Brittany’s arms, takes comfort in them, and hates herself for it.
Never again.
She wonders if anyone is there for Rachel right now, like Brittany is there for her, and she hates herself even more.
She shouldn’t care. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t!
Brittany stays with her, expression tense, worried and un-Brittany-like, until her mom comes to pick her up, but Quinn can’t bring herself to talk. Can’t explain.
Not to Brittany, not to her mom, and certainly not to her dad.
She stays in bed for the rest of the day, barely choking down some toast when her mom brings it to her. All she can do is think about the auditorium. The singing, the talking, the touch- the nothing. She shivers in her bed, alone with her thoughts. Nobody to talk to.
Her dad visits her when he gets home from work, worried about her. He’s a good man. He’s a righteous man. He’s her daddy.
If he knew what happened today…
She tells him everything’s fine. Tells him that she’s already feeling better. That she’ll be ready for school in the morning.
Smiles as he kisses her good night.
As she cries herself to sleep, she wishes she could tell him that she wasn’t a huge disappointment.
The next day, she wearily gets up, groggy and upset. She had horrible dreams last night. Horrible, wonderful dreams.
She pretends she can’t remember them. She does a quick morning prayer, apologizing for everything that happened the day before and asking for strength, and continues to get ready for school.
She still doesn’t know exactly what to do, but it has to be something. She knows that words and tears probably won’t keep Rachel away, has to do something to really prove to the girl that she needs to stay away.
She sees another Cheerio-in-training walking down the hall and drinking a slushy. She sneers at the girl, knowing she’ll never really make it, when a horrible, disgusting idea hits her.
Without a word, she tears the frozen beverage from the other girl’s hands, making her way down the hall. She brushes past all the usual crowds, ignoring the ones that choose to follow her.
Soon enough, she comes upon Rachel in front of her locker. Rachel quickly turns away.
She can do this. She has to do this. It’s the only way to make things right. The only way to be right. The only way to get it right.
“Hey Stubbles,” she calls out, grateful to not hear even the tiniest amount of uncertainty in her voice. She can do this.
Rachel turns to face her and looks her right in the eye, and Quinn almost flinches at the fear.
She can do this.
Rachel glances down at the cup, and Quinn can see the moment she connects the dots and begins to brace herself.
She has to do this.
“Just a little reminder on where we both stand,” she says, barely keeping her voice steady.
They maintain eye contact as she hurls the frozen drink at the other girl.
She did it.
***
Quinn cried herself to herself to sleep again that night.
And the night after.
***
She stays away from Rachel Berry for a little while after that, even though she can’t help but watch the effects of her little stunt. Watches as the girl slinks even lower down the social totem.
She doesn’t feel guilty about. Really.
Her relationship with Santana gets easier, and she soon learns why Santana was so quick to lash out at Quinn’s behavior. She also learns how easy it is to ignore her two best friends when they shuffle off together during parties and sleepovers. If she doesn’t notice, she doesn’t have to react.
She gains just as much power and prestige as she always knew she could and learns how hard it is to keep.
Soon, though, she finds herself drifting back to Rachel, sitting near her and watching her, but it was okay, because she used that time to put Rachel in her place. She glared and sneered at the other girl at every possible opportunity, using her wit to think of clever new insults and methods of torture.
She didn’t feel guilty about that either. Really.
Every time she started to feel the slightest amount of guilt, or worse that horrible warmth, she remembered the auditorium. The way the other girl could stand in front of her and calmly accuse her of vile things. Remembered the taste of vomit on her lips.
Eventually, she really did stop feeling any guilt about it. It became another part of her day, and Rachel never really looked all the worse for wear. Always so unaffected. Sometimes, that was the worst part of it.
That she could sneer and tease the other girl, trip her and flush her make-up down the toilet, make up rumors and draw dirty pictures, and the girl could still manage to smile politely at her. Still remain unaffected.
It became a habit. Her day wasn’t complete until she had talked to the girl, called her a name, and at least tried to make her feel as bad as Quinn did.
And all of it only helped her popularity. Soon enough, she was head cheerleader and, after realizing that she needed a boy at her side to really solidify her place as high school royalty, dating the quarterback.
It was like a movie.
And then she made the second biggest mistake of her life - the first was ever associating with Rachel Berry.
-
She had been dating Finn all summer and things just weren’t like she wanted. She hadn’t expected to fall in love or anything, at least not during the summer, but she thought dating would be a little more…fun.
Finn was a great guy. She wouldn’t have chosen him otherwise. But the boy was dull and boring. The first couple of dates he was sweet and nervous, but really made an effort to impress her. But once they were officially going steady, the only time he put in any effort was when he was trying to get in her pants.
And she hated that. Beyond the fact that she was a good Christian girl, therefore nobody would be getting in her pants, she just couldn’t enjoy herself when they…kissed.
He certainly seemed to, but she never really felt anything. She got used to it, even grew comfortable with it, but she couldn’t get those feelings everyone always talked about. She tried different things, growing desperate as the school year approached, and wondered if there was something wrong with her.
Her mind flickered to the auditorium, to the moment she felt something.
There wasn’t anything wrong with her. There must have been something wrong with Finn.
She was his first real girlfriend, just like he was her first boyfriend, so she couldn’t ask anyone else if it was him. But, bolstered by alcohol during Puck’s Back-To-School bash, she came up with a new plan.
Personally, Quinn found Puck repulsive. To her, he was everything wrong with the male half of the human race. But according to everyone else, he was good for at least one thing.
She never meant to sleep with him. Finn had gone home early for some reason, and Quinn just needed to see if it was her. Just needed to prove it wasn’t.
So she let herself be ushered away from the party, thankful for the lack of eyes.
But as he flirted with her, leaning in close and brushing against her, she still felt nothing. So she let him kiss her. Still nothing.
She started panicking, and he must have sensed her growing fear and thought it was a different kind of fear, so he gave her a wine cooler or two or three to help her calm down, not knowing how much she had already drank.
Soon she was letting his hands wander, letting him do more and more, anxious to feel a spark or a tingle or anything. She lost track of herself, so worried about what she was supposed to be feeling.
Lost track of what she was letting him do.
One mistake. One stupid mistake. She tried so hard!
But it was the one mistake that ruined everything she had worked so hard for.
And, for once, Rachel was the last thing on her mind.