Microwave
Title: Microwave
Fandom: Glee
Written: November, 2009
Rating: PG
Words: 1600
Summary: "Gave her half an hour to pack. Her father set the timer on the microwave."
------
She had never seen her father so angry in her entire life. He was always such a kind and gentle person, a little rough around the edges when it came to things he was passionate about, but never once in her life had she seen him so mad. And never once had his anger been directed at her.
Finn had told her to give him the night to cool off. He told her that everything would be just fine, that tomorrow morning they would realize how irrational they were being. Well, admittedly Finn hadn't used the word 'irrational,' but sometimes Quinn liked to imagine that Finn did have a high schooler's vocabulary.
The car ride over had been silent, just as the house had been when she rang the doorbell, Finn standing mere inches behind her. At first she had thought that they might not be home, but before long she heard heavy footsteps that told her, after years of listening, that it was her father who was going to answer the door.
He hadn't said a word, just grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her inside. If Finn hadn't caught onto her hand to give it a squeeze, he probably would have been left outside on the doorstep.
What felt like hours but were really only seconds ticked by, Quinn's father pacing in front of them in the hall.
"Daddy," Quinn started, though she had no idea what she was going to say to him, but was cut off when he held up a hand to silence her.
"You have thirty minutes," was all he said.
"What?" She had no idea what he was talking about. Thirty minutes to what, try to convince him that she loved him and needed him? Thirty minutes to plead her case, to explain what had happened? Thirty minutes of his time before he threw her out again?
"I will not have you living under this roof," her father's voice was cold and he was not looking at either of them.
"Where's Mom?" Quinn found herself asking, feeling tears pool in her eyes and threaten to spill over. Her father did not answer, keeping his back to them as he said, "You have thirty minutes to pack up your things and get out of my house."
"Daddy, wait, can't we just-"
"Don't call me 'Daddy'!" Quinn's father shouted suddenly, shoulders tensing up and back hunching. He turned to face them, cheeks flushed red from anger and brows knitted together. "I am not and never will be the father of a girl who chooses to live in sin. Up to your room, pack up, and leave."
"But," Quinn's argument got lost on its way to her mouth; the look in her father's eyes told her it would be futile to protest.
"Thirty minutes," her father repeated.
"What, are you going to time me?" Quinn knew she should have bit her tongue right then and there, but something in her had snapped. Her anger and sass had gotten the better of her, and the two could only stand by as Quinn's father stomped his way into the kitchen saying, "Maybe I will," as he went.
The series of beeps that followed this statement told them that he had entered a time limit in the microwave. Quinn's eyes widened incredulously; was her father being serious? Was he really timing his own daughter with a kitchen appliance?
"You time starts now," his voice sounded menacing, even when his angered expression wasn't in front of them, and the two heard another beep, followed by one every second. The microwave, and, more importantly, Quinn's father, had started a countdown.
Quinn didn't need telling twice. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she hightailed it up to her room, slamming the door and locking it before Finn could realize she was missing. She didn't want him to help; she didn't want anyone to help.
She skittered around her room, tossing clothes haphazardly onto her bed and lugging her suitcase out from her closet. As she stuffed the suitcase as full of as many clothes as it could hold, she found that her sadness was soon replaced by bitterness, which was soon replaced by anger.
Her father, the man who had loved her and raised her, had given her a measly thirty minutes to wipe her own presence from his life. He wasn't willing to hear what she had to say, and for no reason other than he couldn't handle her making a mistake. She had to be perfect, an example of chastity and purity for others, leaving nobody to be an example for her.
And now he was counting down her time with the same appliance he used to count down how much longer until his meatloaf would be warmed up. How long it would be before he could eat the previous night's pasta or how long until he could start drinking the coffee he had left out on the counter for too long. Was she so meaningless to him that he would put her on the same level as something as trivial as leftovers?
She could see him now, taking a plate covered in a paper towel out of the microwave, sitting down and eating until there was nothing left. He would put the plate in the sink and walk away, as if nothing had happened. Well, she supposed he was doing the same thing here. He was counting down until he was able to put her out of sight and out of mind. He was counting down until it was her time to be devoured, expect it would be the cruel bite of loneliness and homelessness and separation that would be chewing away at her.
She ignored the frantic pounding at her door that she knew was Finn. Quinn just kept going, now taking out her backpack and looking around her room for her keepsakes and prized possessions. She went to fish her diary out from under her bed, grabbing it and shoving it in her backpack between the doll she had held every night until she was five and the scrapbook she and her sister had made detailing a summer they had spent at a camp near a lake.
Her hands froze when they came to rest on the picture of her and her father at the previous year's chastity ball. This picture held the place of honor on her dresser, standing in the center so it was the first thing she saw when she woke up in the morning. She was wearing a pretty white dress and her father had donned a nice suit, standing behind her with a hand resting on her shoulder. They looked so happy and carefree that Quinn could see no similarities between this man and the man that now waited impatiently by the microwave.
She picked up the picture and flipped it upside down, opening the frame so she could tug the photo out. Then she threw the frame to the ground, watching the fragile porcelain crack and break as it hit her floor. She tore the picture in half and let the pieces flutter to the ground.
Quinn knew her mother, at least, would eventually come into her room, and she wanted to leave this as a message. Just as they had disowned her, she was disowning them.
So instead of packing away more family memorabilia, Quinn cleared her room of everything that had so much as indicated that she had friends. The team pictures of the Cheerios were taken, the picture of her and Finn from last year's dance was taken, and the picture of their old dog that she kept taped to her headboard was ripped off. She left the pictures of her parents and all the family portraits be, choosing only the pictures of her and her sister instead.
When she finally opened the door, Quinn had a good four minutes to spare. She roughly shoved her suitcase into Finn's hands, backpack already on her shoulders. With a march that could rival her father's stomping, she headed back down the stairs, coming to a halt in the kitchen doorway.
Her father seemed surprised that she had come down of her own free will and even more surprised when he realized that she had managed to pack. But she didn't give him a chance to speak, she let herself go before he had even opened his mouth.
"I just want you to know that when I walk out that door, I will not be coming back in," her voice was hard and even, and she hated herself for it. "If my parents aren't strong enough to care for their own daughter when she has a problem, then I don't want to be counted as part of such a hypocritical family. You preach all the time about charity and loving others, but you don't have the heart to realize that you never showed an ounce of it at home."
Quinn turned on her heel, saying sharply, "Goodbye Mr. Fabray, it was nice seeing you again. Have a nice life."
It wasn't until Finn had driven her back to his own house and left her alone to settle in to the tiny guest bedroom that she allowed herself to cry.
Fandom: Glee
Written: November, 2009
Rating: PG
Words: 1600
Summary: "Gave her half an hour to pack. Her father set the timer on the microwave."
------
She had never seen her father so angry in her entire life. He was always such a kind and gentle person, a little rough around the edges when it came to things he was passionate about, but never once in her life had she seen him so mad. And never once had his anger been directed at her.
Finn had told her to give him the night to cool off. He told her that everything would be just fine, that tomorrow morning they would realize how irrational they were being. Well, admittedly Finn hadn't used the word 'irrational,' but sometimes Quinn liked to imagine that Finn did have a high schooler's vocabulary.
The car ride over had been silent, just as the house had been when she rang the doorbell, Finn standing mere inches behind her. At first she had thought that they might not be home, but before long she heard heavy footsteps that told her, after years of listening, that it was her father who was going to answer the door.
He hadn't said a word, just grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her inside. If Finn hadn't caught onto her hand to give it a squeeze, he probably would have been left outside on the doorstep.
What felt like hours but were really only seconds ticked by, Quinn's father pacing in front of them in the hall.
"Daddy," Quinn started, though she had no idea what she was going to say to him, but was cut off when he held up a hand to silence her.
"You have thirty minutes," was all he said.
"What?" She had no idea what he was talking about. Thirty minutes to what, try to convince him that she loved him and needed him? Thirty minutes to plead her case, to explain what had happened? Thirty minutes of his time before he threw her out again?
"I will not have you living under this roof," her father's voice was cold and he was not looking at either of them.
"Where's Mom?" Quinn found herself asking, feeling tears pool in her eyes and threaten to spill over. Her father did not answer, keeping his back to them as he said, "You have thirty minutes to pack up your things and get out of my house."
"Daddy, wait, can't we just-"
"Don't call me 'Daddy'!" Quinn's father shouted suddenly, shoulders tensing up and back hunching. He turned to face them, cheeks flushed red from anger and brows knitted together. "I am not and never will be the father of a girl who chooses to live in sin. Up to your room, pack up, and leave."
"But," Quinn's argument got lost on its way to her mouth; the look in her father's eyes told her it would be futile to protest.
"Thirty minutes," her father repeated.
"What, are you going to time me?" Quinn knew she should have bit her tongue right then and there, but something in her had snapped. Her anger and sass had gotten the better of her, and the two could only stand by as Quinn's father stomped his way into the kitchen saying, "Maybe I will," as he went.
The series of beeps that followed this statement told them that he had entered a time limit in the microwave. Quinn's eyes widened incredulously; was her father being serious? Was he really timing his own daughter with a kitchen appliance?
"You time starts now," his voice sounded menacing, even when his angered expression wasn't in front of them, and the two heard another beep, followed by one every second. The microwave, and, more importantly, Quinn's father, had started a countdown.
Quinn didn't need telling twice. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she hightailed it up to her room, slamming the door and locking it before Finn could realize she was missing. She didn't want him to help; she didn't want anyone to help.
She skittered around her room, tossing clothes haphazardly onto her bed and lugging her suitcase out from her closet. As she stuffed the suitcase as full of as many clothes as it could hold, she found that her sadness was soon replaced by bitterness, which was soon replaced by anger.
Her father, the man who had loved her and raised her, had given her a measly thirty minutes to wipe her own presence from his life. He wasn't willing to hear what she had to say, and for no reason other than he couldn't handle her making a mistake. She had to be perfect, an example of chastity and purity for others, leaving nobody to be an example for her.
And now he was counting down her time with the same appliance he used to count down how much longer until his meatloaf would be warmed up. How long it would be before he could eat the previous night's pasta or how long until he could start drinking the coffee he had left out on the counter for too long. Was she so meaningless to him that he would put her on the same level as something as trivial as leftovers?
She could see him now, taking a plate covered in a paper towel out of the microwave, sitting down and eating until there was nothing left. He would put the plate in the sink and walk away, as if nothing had happened. Well, she supposed he was doing the same thing here. He was counting down until he was able to put her out of sight and out of mind. He was counting down until it was her time to be devoured, expect it would be the cruel bite of loneliness and homelessness and separation that would be chewing away at her.
She ignored the frantic pounding at her door that she knew was Finn. Quinn just kept going, now taking out her backpack and looking around her room for her keepsakes and prized possessions. She went to fish her diary out from under her bed, grabbing it and shoving it in her backpack between the doll she had held every night until she was five and the scrapbook she and her sister had made detailing a summer they had spent at a camp near a lake.
Her hands froze when they came to rest on the picture of her and her father at the previous year's chastity ball. This picture held the place of honor on her dresser, standing in the center so it was the first thing she saw when she woke up in the morning. She was wearing a pretty white dress and her father had donned a nice suit, standing behind her with a hand resting on her shoulder. They looked so happy and carefree that Quinn could see no similarities between this man and the man that now waited impatiently by the microwave.
She picked up the picture and flipped it upside down, opening the frame so she could tug the photo out. Then she threw the frame to the ground, watching the fragile porcelain crack and break as it hit her floor. She tore the picture in half and let the pieces flutter to the ground.
Quinn knew her mother, at least, would eventually come into her room, and she wanted to leave this as a message. Just as they had disowned her, she was disowning them.
So instead of packing away more family memorabilia, Quinn cleared her room of everything that had so much as indicated that she had friends. The team pictures of the Cheerios were taken, the picture of her and Finn from last year's dance was taken, and the picture of their old dog that she kept taped to her headboard was ripped off. She left the pictures of her parents and all the family portraits be, choosing only the pictures of her and her sister instead.
When she finally opened the door, Quinn had a good four minutes to spare. She roughly shoved her suitcase into Finn's hands, backpack already on her shoulders. With a march that could rival her father's stomping, she headed back down the stairs, coming to a halt in the kitchen doorway.
Her father seemed surprised that she had come down of her own free will and even more surprised when he realized that she had managed to pack. But she didn't give him a chance to speak, she let herself go before he had even opened his mouth.
"I just want you to know that when I walk out that door, I will not be coming back in," her voice was hard and even, and she hated herself for it. "If my parents aren't strong enough to care for their own daughter when she has a problem, then I don't want to be counted as part of such a hypocritical family. You preach all the time about charity and loving others, but you don't have the heart to realize that you never showed an ounce of it at home."
Quinn turned on her heel, saying sharply, "Goodbye Mr. Fabray, it was nice seeing you again. Have a nice life."
It wasn't until Finn had driven her back to his own house and left her alone to settle in to the tiny guest bedroom that she allowed herself to cry.