Chapter Text
Quinn woke to the faint light creeping through the edges of her curtains. She groaned into her pillow, clinging to the hope of a few more minutes of sleep. But the stillness around her buzzed with warning and she knew it was already too late.
A moment later, the alarm screamed to life. With a sigh, Quinn rolled onto her back, half-convinced she might be psychic.
“I wish I was in a coma,” she muttered.
She slapped the alarm off and forced herself out of bed, feet hitting the cold tile with a jolt. The warmth of her sheets already felt like a distant memory as she trudged to the bathroom.
Quinn rubbed her temples, trying to ease the pressure building beneath her skin. She moved on autopilot, wrapping the towel around herself, drying off, pulling on clothes. Each motion unfolded without thought, part of a routine she couldn’t pause.
There was no opportunity for a break, no off button, no play/pause option for her. No, Quinn would have to remain in the ever-obstinate on selection at all times to avoid her deep fear of failure.
Failure wasn’t an option. Quinn had clawed her way to the top and she intended to stay there. No one would push her around or drag her down. Being perfect was the only protection she had. She wasn’t just a cheerleader. She was the cheerleader. Good grades. Quarterback boyfriend. Volunteer hours. Every piece fit into the image she had manifested for herself.
Her fingers fumbled as she dragged the brush through her damp hair, each stroke more forceful than the one before. She gathered it into a ponytail, pulled it too tight, then loosened it, only to tighten it again. Her eyes darted to the clock. Two minutes left. Her pulse pounded at her temples. Panic crept in as she tugged at her hair once more, desperate to make it perfect.
Shit. She was out of time.
Her reflection stared back at her, flawless to anyone else. But the longer she looked, the more the tiny imperfections came into focus. The faint shadows under her eyes. The uneven strands in her ponytail. She tore her gaze away, afraid of what her mind might lock onto next.
Her breaths turned shallow and quick, as if the room had run out of air. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms, welcoming the sting. It gave her something to focus on, something to hold her thoughts back from the edge of panic.
The last time she lost control, they sent her to the guidance counselor. She still cringed at the memory of that pamphlet. A tiger walking out of a cage beneath the words, 'Don’t let anxiety control you.' As if a few deep breaths could erase the feeling clawing at her chest.
"Don't let anxiety control you! Employ these simple techniques to free yourself!" As if the zookeepers had relented and told the tiger to go ahead and walk itself out of the fucking zoo.
She hadn’t even made it out of the office before dropping the pamphlet in the trash. Letting anyone see her anxiety would be a mistake. Her peers would call it weakness. Quinn refused to give them the chance. That night, she dug through the internet until she found her own techniques to try in private.
Quinn added the final touch of mascara, then grabbed her bag from the chair and hurried down the stairwell. She moved quietly, focused on slipping out without disturbing her father. Or letting Finn do it for her. Another lecture would push her over the edge.
She jumped off the last step and turned the corner too fast. Her breath caught as she nearly collided with her mother. Shit.
“Quinn!” her mother gasped, steadying herself against the wall while Quinn fumbled to regain balance.
Her father’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Where are you going in such a rush? You nearly knocked your mother over.” Double shit.
Her mother gave her a light, playful swat with a dish towel that read Trust in His work. Quinn barely flinched. Her mother turned back to the stove. The smell of breakfast filled the air, but Quinn didn’t stop.
“She barely moved,” she said under her breath, picking up speed as she grabbed something for the road. A granola bar from the pantry. The breakfast of champions.
She thought she might make it out. She was almost to the hallway when two things happened at once: a pan clattered into the sink while Finn’s horn blared from outside.
Both of her parents snapped their heads toward the front door. The kitchen froze.
Her heart stopped. She hovered in the doorway, body stiff. “Triple shit,” she whispered. Her father’s footsteps were closer now, each one laced with heat. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails pressing into her skin. She tried to focus on anything other than the dread building in her chest. Of course this happened. It always did.
Her father’s voice filled the space behind her. It was low and weighted, making the air feel heavier. Quinn held her breath and tried not to shake.
It wasn’t just that he disliked Finn. That would’ve been easier. He despised him.
Just as she expected, her father walked in with stiff steps and a face full of irritation. Her mother gave her a wide-eyed look that clearly said this was her mess to deal with, then lifted her coffee and took a slow sip.
Quinn had nearly reached the door when her father’s voice stopped her cold. “Hold it, Quinn.” Her foot hovered mid-step. She turned her head back toward the kitchen, pasting on a sweet smile that didn’t match the tension twisting in her gut. “Yes, Daddy?”
His tone didn’t soften. “That boy’s no good for you. He pulls you off course. He keeps you from your goals. He pulls you away from God.”
Her jaw clenched. Her eyes threatened to roll before she caught herself and forced the smile to stay in place. The lie came too quickly, slipping out before she could stop it. “We’re not really together. He just drives me to school sometimes. Motion sickness on the bus, remember?”
She picked at a loose thread on the chair, the small distraction just enough to hold herself together. Her teeth pressed into the inside of her cheek. Her foot tapped the floor, quick and quiet, the only sign of the frustration rising in her chest.
Silence stretched. Quinn held her breath without realizing it.
Finally, her father spoke. “You may go, but remember your promise. Not just to me. To the Lord.”
She did not wait. “Yes, Daddy,” she muttered, brushing a quick kiss to his cheek before spinning toward her mother, who smirked into her coffee without a word.
Quinn climbed into Finn’s truck and slammed the door harder than she meant to. Her heart was still racing, her father’s voice echoing in her mind on a loop she could not turn off.
Finn, unaware, turned down the volume and cut Taylor Swift off mid-chorus. He flashed her a wide grin. The kind of grin that should have made her stomach flutter. It barely registered.
“Hey.”
That grin might have lifted someone else’s mood. Today it grated on her nerves. She looked out the window, fingers tugging at the seatbelt strap. She forced herself to respond.
“Hey back.”
Her voice was flat. Finn didn’t seem to notice.
Car rides with Finn always followed the same pattern. He would dive into yet another dramatic retelling of how he destroyed a group of strangers on Xbox while playing with Puck.
Quinn slipped into her part without thinking. She gave the usual responses: 'wow,' 'that’s crazy,' 'very cool.' He never needed more than that, and it gave her plenty of room to let her mind wander elsewhere.
When the car stopped at a red light, Quinn blinked back into focus. Finn had gone silent and was watching her. She realized she had missed something. “What did you say?”
Finn smiled and set his hand on her knee. A jolt of discomfort shot through her, but she forced herself to stay still.
“I know this stuff sometimes bores you, babe.”
His gaze lingered on her lips, stirring that familiar knot in her stomach. She swallowed it down like always because what choice did she have?
His kiss pressed harder. The touch of his lips turned urgent. When his hand slid farther up her knee, the unease grew stronger. She jerked away before it could go any further.
He stared at her, confused, but she pointed toward the windshield. “The light’s green.”
“Oh,” he said, scratching the back of his neck as he hit the gas.
Finn was attractive in a way most girls would find irresistible. His dark eyes, his goofy grin, all of it should have made her stomach flip. But it didn’t.
Quinn felt guilty for not wanting him the way he wanted her. Sometimes she let him kiss her. Sometimes she let him touch her beneath the edge of her bra, hoping she would finally feel that spark Santana always described, that low burn spreading from the right kind of desire. It never came. All she felt was disappointment.
She felt his touch, but her thoughts drifted between discomfort and distraction. It wasn’t that she disliked him. She felt comfortable enough when things stayed platonic. She even enjoyed being around him sometimes. But she could not want him, no matter how much she wanted to.
When he tried to push for more, usually by mentioning friends who were already having sex, Quinn always refused. It was never just about her so-called promise to the Lord, even if that was the excuse she gave. The truth was harder to admit. That promise acted like a shield, something she could hide behind. When she thought about what it would actually be like—the feeling of him inside her, his body pressed against hers—her stomach turned. The idea made her feel sick.
Santana made it sound simple. Effortless. But rarely enjoyable, at least from Quinn’s point of view.
They pulled into the school parking lot, and Quinn felt a wave of relief. She unfastened her seatbelt and turned to say she would see him at lunch. But Finn hesitated and grabbed her hand. She sat back, uneasy, her chest tightening.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Quinn, we’ve been together for a while now, right?”
She considered the question. They had been a thing long before they were officially a couple, and if she added it all up, it had probably been a year. Still, she frowned, unsure of the exact timeline.
Finn let go of her hand and placed his on her thigh. He shifted slightly, just enough for his pinky to brush under the edge of her skirt. Her thoughts scattered. She suddenly understood exactly where this conversation was headed.
Her pulse jumped. Her skin felt too warm, too tight. She tried to focus on her breathing exercises, but her attention locked on the pressure of his hand against her leg.
This was supposed to be normal. Expected. She knew that. But no matter how often she reminded herself that this was what girlfriends did, all she felt was the panic rising in her chest.
Then came the question. “Do you love me?”
Back to this. The words she could never say.
She wanted to tell him that love didn’t have to come with desire. That what she felt for him was something else. Not the hunger or fire he seemed to need. But how could she say that when she didn’t even know what love was supposed to feel like?
She wanted to admit that she had never felt the kind of love he meant. She wasn’t sure it even existed.
But instead, Quinn did what she always did. She nodded.
Finn’s voice softened, his hand tracing slow circles on her thigh. His words carried a quiet pressure, heavy with expectation, as if love meant she owed him something in return. “I love you too, Quinn. My mom is staying with my aunt next Friday. I was hoping you could come over. Just the two of us.”
Quinn’s fists clenched at her sides. Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to calm herself with the damn breathing exercises, but by the time she counted to eight, the anger had only grown. It wrapped tighter around her chest with every second.
She exhaled, trying to suppress the heat rising in her throat. Her thoughts raced. She reminded herself of everything at stake—her image, her reputation, the version of herself she worked so hard to maintain. She could not afford to let any cracks show.
Her voice trembled, but she held firm. “Finn, we’ve had this conversation. I told you I’m not having sex before marriage. We can’t do this. You know how my dad is. If he found out, it would ruin both our lives.”
She hoped he would hear her, hoped he would understand. She lifted his hand from her leg and held it gently between hers.
Finn shook his head, frustration tightening his features. “Come on, Quinn, this is stupid! We love each other.”
The words landed like a slap. She flinched, the sting sharper than she expected. Shame and confusion surged in her chest, but she forced them back and leaned into practiced calm. Her voice came out colder than she meant. “So you’re saying my choice is stupid?”
Finn looked down, shrinking under her gaze. His fingers picked at a small tear in the leather steering wheel. “No, babe, it’s not that. I’m just saying, all the other guys on the team are hooking up with girls they don’t even like. I actually love you.”
Quinn folded her arms tightly over her chest. She had no answer. No defense. Her fingers reached for the lock. The car felt too small, too close, like the air had thinned. She opened the door and stepped out, her breath catching as she shut it behind her with more force than she intended.
At the front of the school, her two best friends were waiting. Loyal as ever.
Her anger must have been more obvious than she realized. Santana and Brittany kept a small but noticeable distance as she approached, their expressions tense with concern. Quinn stormed past them without a word, gripping the front door of the school and yanking it open with force. The startled students who stumbled out of her way gave her a flicker of satisfaction. At least someone still knew not to mess with her.
Santana’s glare was sharp enough to slice through steel. Her body was tight, ready to spring into action, as if daring anyone—especially Finn—to make the wrong move. “What did Frankenteen do now, Q?”
Brittany drifted up beside them, calm as ever. Her fingers found one of Santana’s and linked their pinkies together. Quinn caught the immediate change in Santana. Her jaw relaxed. Her shoulders dropped. A flush of color touched her cheeks, and something heavy settled in Quinn’s chest.
Brittany reached for Quinn’s arm, her hand light and warm. “He tried to pressure you into having sex again, didn’t he, Quinn?”
Quinn blinked. The accuracy of the question knocked the air out of her. “How did you guess?”
Santana stepped around a student who had wandered too close and gave them a shove for good measure. Brittany barely needed to move to avoid the collision. She shrugged like the answer was obvious. “You only wear that I’m-about-to-kill-Finn look when he pulls something.”
Then she turned to Brittany, her eyes soft with something deeper. “My girl, always so observant.”
Quinn looked away. She pulled her arm back from Brittany’s grasp, suddenly hyper-aware of the students watching them. Judgment always seemed to trail behind affection, especially in the crowded halls of McKinley.
When they reached Santana’s locker, Brittany leaned in with an affectionate look and puckered slightly, aiming for a kiss. Quinn already knew what was coming. Santana tilted her head, letting the kiss land on her cheek instead. Brittany frowned.
Santana whispered something to her, too low for Quinn to hear, which she was grateful for. Whatever it was, it seemed to work. Brittany’s usual brightness returned in an instant.
Quinn took a step back, watching from just out of reach. Her grip on her bag tightened as she stood on the edge of their tenderness, unsure where she fit. She heard Brittany murmur, soft and sing-song, “But I really want to kiss you.”
Quinn’s stomach twisted. Her fingers dug into the strap of her bag as she scanned the lockers nearby. No familiar faces. No gossip hounds. She let out a small breath of relief. Some mornings, it felt like getting out of bed had been the worst decision she made all day.
Still, her breath caught again when she saw Santana smirk and slip a hand around Brittany’s waist. “I promise,” she whispered, “I’m all yours after school.”
The intimacy of the moment sent a flush to Quinn’s cheeks. She coughed loudly to remind them she was still there. Brittany smiled brightly at her but stepped back. Santana rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand.
Santana shut her locker with a snap and changed the subject. She threw on a fierce expression, almost convincing if not for the blush still clinging to her cheeks. “You want me to kick Finn’s ass? Say the word, Q.”
As they walked toward Quinn’s locker, she giggled. She remembered a time when Santana used to intimidate her, but now it was hard to take her seriously.
“You know, S, those are some tough words for someone so whipped,” Quinn said with a grin, weaving through the busy hallway and purposely avoiding eye contact with anyone watching.
Santana launched into a defense of her badass persona, but Brittany leaned in and whispered something that made her stop mid-sentence and sigh in defeat.
As far as Quinn could tell, love had a way of turning even the strongest people into fools.
The three of them kept joking as Quinn collected her books from her locker. After shutting the door and turning back toward her friends, she started explaining what had happened with Finn.
“So, then I told him—” Her sentence stopped short.
Already on edge from the morning, Quinn felt irritation flare in her chest as someone bumped into her from behind. She turned fast, eyes narrowed and posture sharp, her best bad bitch expression in full effect. “Uh, ow?”
On the floor in front of her was Rachel Berry, scrambling to gather Quinn’s scattered books in the middle of the crowded hallway.
Rachel’s face turned bright red. Her hands shook as she scooped up the books, moving with a kind of frantic energy, like a deer caught in headlights. She glanced up, wide-eyed and anxious, and muttered under her breath, “Oh, shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot.”
If Quinn was the most popular girl at McKinley, Rachel was at the very bottom of the food chain. There was a part of Quinn that felt a flicker of sympathy, even a quiet urge to just let her go without a scene. But she could feel eyes on her. The hallway had quieted just enough to make her role impossible to ignore. Everyone waited for the queen bee to strike.
Quinn sighed, the weight of expectation pressing down. The irritation bubbled up again before she could stop it. She stepped forward, hands on her hips. Her voice cut through the air. “What, Berry? Are you going to sit there staring at me all day, or are you actually going to pick up my books?”
Something in her expression faltered for a second. Her sharpness softened, eyes landing on the book in Rachel’s hand.
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
Quinn blinked. Of all people, she had never expected Rachel Berry to be someone she could relate to.
Behind her, Santana and Brittany exchanged a glance. Their usual confidence flickered into hesitation as they hovered in place, unsure how to react to Quinn’s sudden pause.
Rachel’s fingers hovered protectively over the book as she placed the others on top of the stack. Her voice wavered. “I—I’m sorry, Quinn. I was just really into the story and I didn’t see you and I’ve read it three times and it gets better every time and I—”
Quinn’s irritation faded into something lighter. She almost smiled. The chaos of the hallway started to move again as students drifted past, losing interest in the scene. Santana and Brittany were still watching, waiting, as Quinn considered whether to say something. Maybe even share that she had read the same book more times than she could count.
Before she could open her mouth, Santana tapped her lightly on the arm, pulling her back to the moment.
Quinn took the books from Rachel’s hands. Rachel, still avoiding eye contact, gently pulled the Harry Potter book from the top of the pile and gave a small nod before slipping back into the crowd.
Santana crossed her arms and let out a scoffing breath as Rachel disappeared. “Only Berry would be so into a book she forgets how to walk. What a dork.”
Quinn couldn’t look away as Rachel disappeared into the crowd, unnoticed by everyone else. What would it feel like to walk these halls without the constant weight of expectation? To lose yourself in a book and not care who saw? That kind of freedom was hard for Quinn to imagine. She couldn’t remember the last time she had moved through the world without pressure pressing down on every step. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt that free.
Brittany tilted her head, tapping her chin with a dreamy smile. “I think she’s cute, San. I like to eat berries. But really mostly yours.”
Quinn nearly choked. Her eyes widened as Brittany’s words hit her, casual and shockingly public. Her heart leapt into her throat as she scanned the hallway in a panic. If Jacob Ben Israel had overheard, it would be plastered across the school by morning.
Santana let out a nervous laugh, her eyes darting away as a flush spread across her cheeks.
Panic bubbled up in Quinn’s chest, and the words flew out before she could stop them. “Can you please keep that to yourselves? I can’t have the school thinking I hang out with… with people like this.”
The moment she heard herself, regret slammed into her. The anger hadn’t been meant for them. It was herself she was mad at. But the words were already out. And there was no undoing them.
Santana’s face went cold. She leaned in and said quietly to Brittany, “Brit, you know we can’t say that kind of stuff here.”
Brittany didn’t argue. She never did. But her disappointment showed clearly in her eyes, and the sight of it hit Quinn harder than she expected. She nodded without speaking, guilt twisting in her chest.
She wanted to believe this was for their protection too. That staying quiet was the safest thing for all of them. She clung to that thought, even as it rang hollow in her mind.
Santana rubbed Brittany’s hand gently, her gaze lingering on Quinn. Everyone knew Brittany had a way of softening Santana’s edges, and Quinn was well aware that she had never inspired the same tenderness.
Just as Santana pressed a quick kiss to Brittany’s knuckles, the warning bell rang for first period. Quinn swung her bag over her shoulder and started toward English class. Santana and Brittany followed without hesitation, their pinkies still linked.
Quinn tried not to be dramatic, but it felt like the student body shifted around them. As if the hallway parted just enough to let the three of them pass untouched.
Up ahead, she spotted Rachel Berry leaning against the glass trophy case, completely absorbed in the book. She stood still amid the chaos, her eyes fixed on the page, unconcerned with anything or anyone around her. In that moment, she was invisible to the world, and somehow still entirely herself.
Except to Quinn.
A strange feeling rose up in her chest. Maybe it was jealousy. Rachel moved through the world without pretending to be someone else, and Quinn envied that. Maybe it was something simpler. They both liked Harry Potter. They could talk about that, maybe even laugh about it. Something beyond roles, beyond expectations.
Then Rachel looked up.
Their eyes met across the hallway, and everything else dropped away. The noise, the movement, even the presence of Santana and Brittany beside her. For one brief, startling second, something shifted inside Quinn. It was raw. Unfamiliar.
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t guilt. It was something far more dangerous.