freshman year
Quinn's POV
Am I allowed to look at her like that?
Could it be wrong when she's just so nice to look at?
The first thing she remembered was the sound of her voice. Strong and melodic, beautiful in a raw way that made her throat ache and her vision blur. She'd later learn that if she wanted to climb the social ladder, this was not a girl she'd want to be associated with. But in that moment, it didn't matter. Her voice made her feel things, things she knew good girls shouldn't feel about other girls. So she pushed those thoughts down into the slippery coldness of all her other secrets, and told herself 'what was one more?' When she finally saw her face that feeling tried to jump out of it's cage. It strained against her chest, roaring to be let out. She merely swallowed hard and promised herself she'd do better, be better. She'd keep those feelings better contained in the future. She knew how her father felt about those kinds of people, and with the ghost of Lucy still hanging all over her now skinny body, fitting in was the only way for her to go.
But her face, her beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful face. Her nose which sloped in a way that made her want to trace it with a feather-soft touch. Her eyes which were deep and thoughtful, but eternally sad, so sad that sometimes she wanted to hug her and ask what was wrong. Her mouth, with it's tight upturned smiles, even when cruel words were hurled through the air at her. Her body, the shape of it, which was something she wouldn't let herself think about- she couldn't think about. She couldn't want to run her hands down her back, or hold her tight against her, she just couldn't. But sometimes she let the leash loosen slightly on that part of her, the part she pushed so far down. She let her eyes linger for a moment too long, let her breath hitch slightly with the rising and falling of her chest. In the instant she let herself simply be, it didn't feel so wrong. But the moment would pass, pull back like the changing tides in an ocean. And she'd lash out at her. Cutting her with sharp insults meant to distract from the fact that she wanted her. Yes, she knew from the moment she saw her that she wanted her. But she was a smart girl. So she knew she could never have her.
She had friends, but she ached for something deeper, there was a whole in heart left empty without love. So she tried to fill it with boys. Every boy she compared to her though. Boys were rough in all the ways she imagined she was soft. Their angles just weren't right, and she knew that space in her heart could never be filled by one. But some could come close. If she bent them slightly, smoothed down their battered edges, she might just be able to squeeze them in. She could learn to ignore the uncomfortable pressure they left in her heart, the way their big elbows and heavy knees strained against the sides of that hole. She could live with the discomfort if it meant her father accepting her. So she shoved boy after boy in there, ignoring the fact that none of them fit quite right. She'd tell herself that one day a boy would come along. One day he'd be close enough to fit comfortably in her heart, in her soul, and eventually in her home. One day that strain would lessen and she could finally just breathe. But then again, one day she'd realize just how very good she'd gotten at lying to herself.
Her throat tightened every time she saw her, hurrying down the hallways or singing scales in the choir room by herself. Her whole body was tense from the weight of trying to ignore her, trying to shut off her brain when all it wanted to do was think about her. She needed a distraction, and a release, so with apprehension she signed up for the Cheerios. Practice was hard and grueling, but it kept her mind off of other things. She'd made friends with a Latina girl who had a tongue sharper than a knife and more secrets buried in her eyes than even Quinn herself. Santana, as she quick learned was her name, came as a package deal. Her pinkie was always linked with a tall blonde who had a pension for stupid comments, but a face that revealed she understood much more than she let on. She was curious about those two. They were close in a way she'd always hoped she'd be with her own best friends. But Lucy didn't have any friends, let alone a best one, so she never had the chance to connect with someone like that. Santana was careful about what she said around her, but over a few weeks she came to know that her and Brittany, the blonde, had known each other since kindergarten. Santana's guard was down with Brittany in a way that made Quinn wonder what she was hiding that made her so hard with everyone else.
Spending time with Brittany and Santana was helpful for improving her reputation at the school. Before long her status, both on the Cheerios and in the student body, shot up and suddenly she was the most popular girl in school. She liked having everyone admire her, it was a welcome change from the taunting she endured as Lucy. But the top of the mountain is always the most treacherous. All it takes is one gust of wind to send you spiraling down the slope. With San and Britt flanking either side of her, they tossed out insults to all those they deemed below them. For each barb it sent an oily, shameful feeling into the pit of her stomach, memories of being called names when she was Lucy threatening to rise to the surface. But as with everything else, she shoved it down, down, down, moving on to her next victim. For reasons she couldn't understand, she was increasingly cruel to her calling her 'manhands' and tossing blood red slushies in her face. She didn't know why. Or maybe she did. Maybe it was because she could feel Santana's razor sharp eyes tearing holes in her back as she glanced just a moment too long at her. Maybe it was the way when she forgot who she was supposed to be and slipped into a daydream about running her fingers through silky brown hair, that Brittany's face filled with just a little too much understanding. Whatever it was, it only made her more determined to prove that she hated her, wanted nothing more from her than to make her a laughingstock. Soon enough the whole school feared them, heck even people in the town knew who they were. 'Look out,' they'd whisper with baited breath, 'here comes the Unholy Trinity'.
All this and yet she'd still lose her breath every time she looked up at her with those big brown eyes. She started hating sleeping at home alone. At night it was too easy for her thoughts to wander into that treacherous territory. Whenever she could she'd ask to sleepover at either Santana or Brittany's house. Her own parents hardly noticed whether she was there or not, her mom typically too far gone in a bottle of wine by the time she got home from school, and her dad too busy at work to notice that she spent almost every hour away from the house. Typically she didn't mind, but sometimes she fantasized about doing something, anything to get herself in trouble and finally get her parents attention. But no, Quinn Fabray had been raised right. She'd never do anything bad, and as far as anyone knew she was still a perfect Christian girl. These days she wasn't sure what she believed in though... While she'd occasionally stay with Brittany, her house was far more hectic and full than Santana's. It didn't seem to matter though, because every night she slept at Santana's house Brittany was there too. She didn't always stay the night, but sometimes she did, the two of them together in San's bed, while she slept on a spare mattress on the floor next to her bed.
Being in someone else's bed, tucked into unfamiliar smelling sheets helped keep her mind, and her dreams, off of her. She was asleep one night, when she was awoken from her fitful slumber. Her heart raced and her palms were sweaty as she remembered the vivid images that had filled her sleep just moments before. Flashes of smooth expanses of skin, brown hair twisting with her blonde, deep auburn eyes boring into her very being. It was dreams like these that woke her up at all hours of the night. Most nights she could clear her thoughts, think about the boys she spent the previous day flirting with, and sink back into an uneasy rest. This night however, no matter what she tried she just couldn't help but think of her. She shifted in the bed, twisting the blankets around her before giving up and pushing herself into a sitting position. Her eyes surveyed the dark expanse of Santana's room, catching on the trophies and medals glimmering in the moonlight that filtered through the blinds. Plastered all over the walls were pictures of all sorts- pictures of the Cheerios, of her family, but mainly of her and Brittany. The two of them as little kids, matching toothless smiles and twin plaits in their locks, all the way up to the first day of school this year. Her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness as she glanced over at them. The dark sheets had been kicked off the bed, crumpled in a ball on the floor. The two girls were wrapped around each other- Santana's arm thrown lazily over Brittany's waist and the blonde's head tucked firmly into the Latina's neck. There was something about the way they looked so at ease together, their position practiced and comfortable, that unlocked something inside her. Without any real confirmation, all the moments she'd witnessed with them clicked together. Of course she didn't know for sure, but now that she was looking, it wasn't that hard to tell. She didn't know how to feel, she was shocked of course- but at the same time not- mainly though she felt sad, empty. She recalled how Santana stared at Brittany when she thought no one was looking. Santana always wore the type of expression that made her wonder why she couldn't look at her like that.
After all, she was just so nice to look at.