The first time Quinn calls me is when I'm in the shower later that day, I miss it naturally but she doesn't leave me a voicemail.
She calls eleven times that first Wednesday night, in the darkened hours after I left her office, no voicemails.
The first time she texts me is Thursday morning.
I didn't cancel our reservations tonight, I'll be there if you reconsider wanting to talk to me.
I don't answer.
She texts me once more later that night.
I understand why you didn't show, please know that I'm sorry.
Friday morning I glance at my watch, 11:01. Our session just began.
The couch misses you.
I find myself unable to keep down my breakfast and almost don't make it to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach. I turn my phone on silent and fall asleep in the bath I draw for myself. Lauren wakes me up an hour later and I have 4 new texts messages.
I delete all of them.
Happy New Years, Rachel.
I stare at the clock, 12:00am. My eyes move towards the bowls of snacks, before glancing at the confetti flying past the camera on the TV screen. The celebration can be heard through the sliding door on the balcony if I listen hard enough. Another New Years Eve alone. There's something eerily familiar about the situation and I can't place my finger on it.
I run my eyes over the text message from Quinn again, feeling the strangest sense of déjà vu and not understanding why. I've seen this text message before. It hits me all at once. Senior year of High school, sitting on a couch, bowls of snacks around me, my father's snoring on their own couch. Every year we'd spend New Year's together as a family and every year I'd be the only one still awake. And although I was very much a part of the glee club and dating Finn Hudson, I still stayed true to my roots, choosing not to indulge in such teenage activities in order to spend the holiday with my family. Quinn's text message came at 12:00am back then too, as if she'd been waiting to send it. We'd never discussed it once school started up and neither one of us acknowledged the random and most likely drunken text. She was the first one to wish me a Happy New Year back then and she is the first to do it again. Of course back then the fleet of text messages came in almost immediately following Quinn's, the ones from fellow Glee members, even Santana took time to send one.
Vibrations break me out of my memory.
Happy new year Berry, maybe you should talk to the medicine woman so she stops sulking, she's pissing me off
Rachel! Happy new year, did you kiss any celebrities at mid night? I bet you kissed ryan seacrest, is he as short in real life? Sometimes I imagine him in flannel pajamas
Sup Berry, you and q, huh? That's pretty hot, why couldn't you have gotten together in high school?
Rachel. Happiest of new years, don't forget I'm working on an original design for you to rock at the Grammys this year!
Almost as if on cue, the tears come. Quinn had them send me text messages so I wouldn't feel left out, and I realize that under her command, the same thing happened Senior year. She was behind the entire thing so many years ago.
I thumb through the keys to send back my reciprocated wishes and responses to my once upon a time friends, thanking them for their thoughts, welcomed or not.
At least I know you're still alive…
I didn't send a response to Quinn, but it appears she got the message loud and clear.
Saturday night I'm dragged out by Jesse. The bars are empty and instead of finding someone to help me take my mind off Quinn, I leave early and curl up in a ball on the couch. I rent the first Christmas related movie that I find on my pay-per-view and fall asleep praying that I'll wake up a week ago in Quinn's arms.
I spend Sunday night talking to Beth on the phone, after I spend an hour talking to my father. Something I haven't done in over a year. I realize once I get off the phone that a week prior the two of us were carefree, drunk and eating Breadsticks without a worry in the world. I order Italian that night.
Please, come to today's session.
I don't go to Monday's session.
Tuesday afternoon I find out from the doorman that Quinn stopped by while I was at a meeting with my lawyers. That's when I began spending my days and nights under Jesse's caring and watchful gaze. Knowing my defenses would wear down eventually if I was left alone, should Quinn show up unannounced again.
I learn from Lauren that she does later that day.
Rach, please. Do I need to get Santana on you?
I don't warrant her with a response even if it gets me to smile.
Sorry, that was a bad attempt at a joke. I just really miss you and I'm desperate to see you again.
Wednesday I watch a marathon of Lifetime movies.
Thursday is when I get my first voicemail.
"It's me. Please give me a chance to explain why I did it, why I requested you. I'll understand if you never want to speak to me again, just please give me one last chance to see you. I miss you, Rach. Okay well, bye."
I don't call her back and it's because she still thinks that I'm ignoring her for manipulating the judicial system, not because she flat out stomped on any hope I had that we could ever be anything more than friends.
"Rachel, this entire thing has blown over; it's been over a week. That's like a year in Hollywood time."
I mumble into my pillow. Lauren opens the dark curtains to the window and it's blinding, I feel like a witch melting under the penetrating stare of the sun.
"Besides, the attention is now on Tristan, it appears he was spotted in Mexico on a weekend getaway with one very out and proud actor, the media is having a field day."
"Good for him," it's not sarcastic, it's literally meant as it sounds. It's about time he's found someone he's willing to be seen in public with.
Lauren begins to pick some things up around the room, throwing clothes into laundry baskets and cleaning up a few take out containers.
"Have you even left your apartment in the past few days? By the way, how was the MTV event on New Years?"
Seriously? It was exactly one week ago and now she asks me?
"I didn't go."
"I figured as much," she replies with her hands on her hips, "Seriously, Rach. This place is a mess."
I wonder if this is what a death bed feels like, helpless with invisible restraints.
"You haven't even unpacked from Ohio!" she shrieks, it's completely unlike me, but then again I haven't really been myself for a while. She hurls the suitcase onto my bed and begins to pull out the clothes I brought with me to Lima, about two weeks ago.
"How about we book you a nice spa day? Since it doesn't appear that you're going to today's session."
"I haven't been to a session since before Ohio," I remind her dryly.
"I'm aware, so why don't you shower and I'll call ahead. You need to relax and be pampered."
She's so good to me. What did I do to deserve her? Nothing.
"I'd rather just lay here until I disintegrate," I reply.
She chuckles, I doubt she's really listening to me or she's not taking my words seriously.
"What's this?" she asks, pulling something out of the suitcase, she's struggling with it, "Oh my god, is this your yearbook?" she's laughing and it peaks my interest. What is my yearbook doing in my suitcase?
It is in fact my senior yearbook.
I flop back down on the bed, "Quinn must have put it in my suitcase while we were packing, I assume she was trying to be funny."
She's completely ignored me at this point.
"This is hysterical. Cute sweater," she smiles, "Did it light up?"
I roll my eyes.
"Amazing," she mutters, flipping the pages some more, "Jesus, how many clubs were you in?"
"Damn," she breathes.
"Fabray was hot."
Was? Still is.
"Don't you have work to do?" I snap.
"You're making my job surprisingly easy when you become a hermit for a week" she replies, not looking up from the book. It's making me anxious. "So this was the girl that made your life a living hell? What is a Cheerio?"
"Did you win any superlatives? I was most likely to be someone's bitch."
I think she's serious before I see her smile.
"Very funny, and I was most likely to be famous, thank you very much."
I was fairly proud of that one. Everyone knows that superlatives tell the future.
"Quinn Fabray, most likely to marry her high school sweetheart?"
Perhaps not all superlatives tell the future.
"Yes well, the one she wanted to be her high school sweetheart was my boyfriend, so I think the reason she was voted that was for the sheer fact that she would settle for the first boy that promised her a future."
It's making me sick to my stomach to talk about this.
Or desperate. But then again, I have no room to talk.
Lauren closes the book and tosses it on the bed before she proceeds to put away the remainder of my clothing, before shoving my suitcase into the back of my closet. The yearbook sits at the edge of the bed, a reminder of everything I've tried to forget. It's taunting me. It's crisp binding, its white lettering contrasted against the red and black, the silhouette of Sue Sylvester in silver outline; it was still mocking me nearly eight years later.
I have half the mind to drive to Quinn's office and chuck the ten pound book at her head, or maybe smash it into the glass protecting her pristine diplomas that hang on her stupid walls in her ugly office. I sit up and with quite some effort, I reach over to pull the book towards me, I can't just very well let it sit at the edge of the bed. I lean against the headboard and pull my knees up, creating a table for the encyclopedia of our senior year. It wouldn't be nearly as heavy if the Cheerios didn't get an entire page for each of their cheerleaders to display their high school resumes. As if they had anything else for people to remember them by other than being able to form a human pyramid.
It infuriates me that Quinn would think that it was okay to send this back to New York with me. She's stealthy and hurtful, just like she was back then.
The only people I truly remember from McKinley are the people that have gold stars next to their portraits, I'd decided to go through and mark them off for when I was famous and didn't remember their names. Ironic.
A picture is a snapshot of reality. No matter how posed it is. It's amazing how every single person's picture is a frozen summary of how I actually remember them. As if everything I ever needed to know about them is staring back at me through black and white pixels.
Puckerman's close lipped smile, almost a pout, parallels the devious and amused look that will never leave his molten eyes. You can practically imagine him nodding.
Santana can convey how intimidating she truly is with just one look, even when she's one dimensional.
Somehow the fact that Brittany's on the same page as her counterpart is a testament to how much power they truly had during their reign of terror, and almost underestimates Brittany entirely.
Finn's innocence is often confused for immaturity, his crooked smile doing a good job of making it seem like he's known what he's been doing the entire time.
The fact that Mercedes clashes with the backdrop in every possible way manageable, is just further proof that she always has and always will do things her way.
Kurt Hummel's tuxedo speaks for itself.
The absence of Quinn's candy apple colored uniform just makes me think the image that I've had of her in my head for all these years has been wrong all along, considering she's the only one on the team not wearing it. That's not what she wanted to be remembered for.
I slam the book closed. I don't even know why I'm looking through it. It's not like I can laugh or even cry at what some of the people wrote to me on that last day of High School. All the pages are empty.
I sigh and rest my head back on the wooden board, closing my eyes. It still irks me that she would send this back with me after we specifically talked about it on our very first session.
"Are you sure you've checked every page?"
Son of a bitch.
Was it an insinuation? A nice way of telling me that I was wrong this entire time? That my grudge was for nothing?
I pull the book up again, turning each and every page as fast as I can without missing anything. It's not that I believe Quinn would write in my yearbook, but there has to be a reason. A reason she said that, a reason that she put it in my suitcase when I wasn't paying attention. If anything, I'm expecting to find her adult script, the words from new Quinn on the white canvas, one last attempt at an apology to me. A better late than never sympathy message. There was ample time for her to write it to me while I was in the shower.
In the back of the book, I nearly lose my breath when I see it, the elegant yet bubbly lettering in black ink. From Quinn.
My eyes trace over a few of the words. It doesn't take me long to realize that it's from high school Quinn, that she did this when I was under the impression that she hated me. My fingertips glide over the impressed words. At first I'm afraid that they'll wither away like some kind of haze of smoke, because surely they're a figment of my imagination. There is no way that this is real and yet it feels so real under my touch. I want to cry, she's always had beautiful penmanship.
It takes me a second to push myself to do this, to read what she's written to me in this time capsule, only because I'm terrified that it will turn out to be hateful and cruel.
First, congratulations of graduating. We did it, huh? I want to start off by apologizing to you, for well…everything that I've done. But most of all, for not being able to say this to your face, like you deserve. I'm a coward, but I couldn't let you leave Ohio without somehow telling you everything that I've kept inside since joining Glee. I'm just going to dive in because I don't know any other way. I'm going to miss you, as crazy as that sounds. I'll miss your drive and passion, your way of handling obstacles, your stubborn way of getting what you want. I'll miss your sometimes questionable methods at approaching things and I'll even miss your ramblings, which I never thought I'd admit. But most of all, I'll miss your voice. It's truly remarkable. When I was pregnant, I'd watch your videos and Beth even seemed to relax to the sound of your singing. I'm glad that she's with someone that shares your genes, she'll be in wonderful hands. I want you to know that I've always kind of considered you a friend, even if I didn't act like it. We rarely got along, and I suppose that it's entirely my fault, but I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me. I know that I don't even deserve to ask you for forgiveness but if you've taught me anything, it's okay to be a little selfish. I sometimes wish that there was a re-do button on life, or at least on high school, I wish that we had the chance to become actual friends. If I ever get the chance to reconnect with you or if I'm ever offered a clean slate, I'm going to take it. You're too valuable of a person to pass up again, and I'm pretty sure you're going to be worth millions one day. Kidding. Somewhat. I have one last apology, I'm sorry for stealing your yearbook and making you worry for 4 periods. And I'm also sorry that I'm about to make it seem like it was a hurtful practical joke. It wasn't, as you can clearly tell. I'd tell you that I took it to write in it but then this would seem like I was doing it to clear my conscience with you. I'd rather you find it on your own and one day realize that I'm not that horrible of a person deep down. If you ever read it. If you happen to, I hope that this can be something we can keep between ourselves. Not because I'm ashamed, but because it's something that only we know about. Kind of like an inside joke that only we get, except not a joke at all. You know what I mean. I see that I'm rambling quite a bit now. Your fault, Berry. Good luck in life, not that you'll need it. Always, Quinn
I read it three more times. Still not believing my eyes and not trusting my fragile state quite yet. One slight move and I may shatter. I don't know how to feel. Emotions mean nothing to me anymore. Relief and hatred seem like one in the same. My double vision is finally clear; I'm just not sure what it is that I'm staring at.
"Not now Erin."
I hold up the yearbook as if it doubles as a back stage security pass into the office, as if it will answer all of her questions.
I shake my wrist until my watch is visible and facing me. It's half passed eleven, my session is coming to the midpoint of the hour. This time I'm sure there won't be anyone in the room with her, this is my time. I don't give a fuck if I've missed the past hundred sessions, it's still my time. I throw the door open, ignoring the protests from the receptionist.
"What the fuck is this?"
A woman, who I'm realizing is the same woman that I barged in on last time, is sitting on the couch. The couch that started this entire thing in the first place, inanimate or not, it knew what it was doing when it decided to show me the comfort it could provide.
"Rachel?" Quinn doesn't know what to do. She's just staring, I feel her wide eyes on me.
She stands, dropping her binder or notebook, or whatever it is that she uses to write down every single word that her crazies talk about. Probably about how they're convinced their dogs are telepathically communicating with them. Like I said, crazy.
My glare never leaves the woman that's starting to literally sweat.
"What's she doing here?" I finally ask, my eyes hitting Quinn's for the first time. I don't let it deter me, if she's cheating on me with this middle aged woman; I need to know about it.
"She's here for her session."
Dare she talk back to me?
"This is my time slot."
"You haven't been here in a week," Quinn's reply is timid, hesitant almost, as if she's going to upset me by merely speaking. She's right.
"So you just replace me? Like I'm an old copy of Wuthering Heights?" my analogy doesn't make sense, I know it doesn't, but it makes me sound more in control when I have them, "And with her?"
Quinn's eyes finally realize that one of her mentals is still with us.
"I'm going to go."
She probably has a straight jacket to try on or something.
"That's a good idea," I sneer.
Quinn wants to argue, wants to protest, wants to stand up for something but she stays silent. Her eyes staring back at me as if she's trying to convey her indecisiveness on what to do. Sorry Quinn, I don't telepathically communicate with you like your other patients do.
The woman slips out without further encouragement from me. Because honestly? I'm at the point where I could yank her out by her ear.
"You should probably leave too Erin, I don't need any witnesses around when I murder your boss," I shout into the waiting area.
"Dr. Fabray?" she squeaks, I raise my eyebrow at Quinn, challenging her to so much as tell her to call 911. I wouldn't put it passed her to have a silent alarm button under that receptionist desk of hers.
"Everything is fine; you can take the rest of the day off."
I don't hear anything happening but I refuse to remove my gaze from Quinn. She could be packing heat for all I know.
"NOW!" I shout behind me.
"Don't talk to her like that."
I scoff, "Don't tell me what to do."
"Don't tell my receptionist what to do."
The elevator dings and I wait a few beats to make sure everyone is off of the floor.
She sighs and runs a hand through her waves. She normally straightens it on Fridays.
Her observation angers me. I stomp towards her desk.
"What are you doing?" she's confused but it sounds frightened, as if I'm about to take her diplomas and literally smash them like I daydreamed about earlier.
"You don't deserve these," I gesture, brainstorming how I'm going to get the frames down off the wall.
She walks toward me and pulls me back towards the center of the room.
"Did you get my messages?"
Is she serious?
"I didn't pin you as a stalker, Doc."
She knows the friendly nickname is now a slap in the face. Especially after I admitted to her that I only called her that to piss her off.
"I wasn't stalking," she mumbles but trails off, realizing that she absolutely was stalking me.
"Why the hell are you cheating on me?" I ask, suddenly remembering there was another person here, sitting in my seat, and taking up my valuable time.
Quinn chokes on air; it would have been funnier if she was drinking something. It also would have maddened me further considering I'm standing directly in front of her and would have gotten sprayed.
"What are you talking about?"
I point towards the door, "Uhm."
"So she has a name?"
I start pacing back and forth.
"Rachel, I don't know how to tell you this but you're no longer my patient."
She shrinks back.
"It's not like I ever thought I'd see you again," she tries.
Now, I think, think, it's meant to be a jab at me. I'm already seeing black and can't afford anymore darkness obscuring my vision.
"So your next logical thought is to replace me?"
There's something familiar about those words.
"Replace you? Rachel, sweetheart, what are you talking about?"
"Don't touch me," I pull my hand back hurriedly before she can fully grasp it, "You and Muriel seem happy together, sitting on the couch, talking about whatever you feel like. Does Erin bring you guys hot chocolate, too? Do you make her go on sneaky dinner dates with you? Have you woken up before her on a Sunday morning just as the sun was coming up and thought she was sleeping so you pulled her closer to you, not realizing that she was only pretending to be asleep, not realizing that it's exactly what she wanted you to do? You write cute phrases on her lower back, too? I bet you guys finish each other's sentences and bicker for the sake of hearing each other's voices, did you have all of your friends send her text messages at midnight, too? Do you get her wasted on tequila so that you can mask your intimate touches as innocent? I bet you wear her favorite hoodie just so you'd feel closer to her."
I'm out of breath.
"Have you gone crazy?"
She actually tries to put the back of her hand to my forehead, as if it was some kind of sickness that I've caught. She has no idea.
"Don't call me crazy!" I pull away from her entirely.
"I'm sorry, it's just, those are the things I do with you. Why are you accusing—" she stops short.
God, she's like Finn.
"For someone with a doctorate, you sure are slow."
She ignores the insult, either because she knows that she's not slow, or because she knows she is. I think it's the latter.
"After our scandal, if you can even call it that, it just didn't seem appropriate to continue seeing you as my patient."
"Yes, so now you and Muriel are free to ride off into your proverbial sunset," I roll my eyes; I've heard it all before.
She huffs out, "Will you stop that? She's 49 years old and has 3 children, why would you ever think any of this?" she whispers the last part, as if someone was still on the floor with us. Doesn't she know that I cleared them outta here faster than shelves on black Friday? See? Analogies equal control.
"Why are you here anyway?"
I raise my eyebrow, did she just? Yeah, I think she did. I'm about to channel my inner Santana Lopez, if only I knew some Spanish. It has a much greater effect if you yell obscenities in Spanish.
"I mean, why are you here, why today? You haven't been here in over a week," she corrects.
Why am I here? I blacked out after reading…ah, yes.
I shove the yearbook into her chest.
"Screw you," I tell her, and immediately back away again.
"I'm assuming you read it."
"You think you're just sooooo clever, don't you Fabray? Telling me everything that I wanted to hear in high school, as if you're doing our relationship some kind of justice. Ha!"
She contemplates it. The being clever part, I mean.
"If it's what you wanted in high school, why are you so upset?"
I surge forward; she unconsciously takes a step back. I would too if I were her. She's trapped between me and her dark mahogany and shiny desk. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Ironically, it's exactly the opposite of what she was able to do in high school by writing her apologies in the yearbook.
"This isn't upset, this is rage. This is blinding anger, pent up aggression finally coming out. Did you think you were doing me some kind of favor by letting me know that you pretty much regretted everything you ever did to me back then? That it would make all of my hatred and resentment towards you diminish? Evaporate into thin air? Because your pretty hand writing admitted eight years ago that you were sorry? It seems to me that you were sorry for yourself because you missed out on getting to know me. And another thing, what gives you the right to miss anything about me? Miss the things that were never yours in the first place, that you never cared to make yours. No. This? This is fury because yeah, it is what I wanted in high school but you were too big of a coward to say anything about it then. So no, I don't want your elegant words or your, or your psychoanalyzing on why I'm upset that we missed out on eight years, or why I hate you so much because you still can't act on anything, even if it's blaringly obvious that you're what I want. And also, you have some nerve—"
"I'm in love with you."
I literally want to deck her in the jaw.
"No," she opens the book and if it takes any longer I'm going to start tapping my foot, she holds up the familiar page that I've read easily 30 times on the way over here. She turns the page to an almost blank page, the words I'm in love with you glaring back at me in the familiar black ink, under it, the words I'm still in love with you taunting me in blue ink.
I can't get to her lips fast enough.
I collide into her and catch her off guard momentarily. The yearbook still awkwardly between us as I grasp onto whatever body part I can. She hisses into my mouth as our teeth clash, I didn't mean to be so forceful but hell, who am I kidding, I meant to be that forceful. She doesn't seem to mind because she's pushing back into me just as roughly. And as hard as she's pushing into me, we're not going anywhere because I'm pushing just as hard back into her. The yearbook still wedged between our bodies magically, because I have no idea where Quinn's hands are, all I know is that I can feel them and they aren't staying in one place for very long. And I know I'm not holding the book because one hand is digging my nails into her shoulder blade and the other one is squeezing her hip. Our bodies are so flush together that the yearbook feels weightless. There are no moans, just heavy breathing and the sounds of her cliché desk decorations crashing to the floor as I push her further onto the desk. Her hand is roughly pulling on my neck, I'll have red marks and potential bruising in under an hour from her grip but I don't care. How could I care? My body is driving into her out of pure want and she's accepting me in pure need. She tastes like hot chocolate with a mint chaser, but her tongue is surprisingly cold against mine. I need to warm it up. It's my new personal mission. Friction the shit out of her tongue.
Quinn groans and I feel her hand near my stomach, I refuse to pull away from her for so much as a millisecond but she manages to remove the yearbook from the vice grip it's locked in between our chests. She throws it and it rattles the clock that's hanging when it hits the olive wall. We're both met with new enthusiasm, finally free of the physical and emotional burden of that damn yearbook.
"Say it," I demand, "Say it out loud."
God, she's a phenomenal kisser.
"I'm," she's having just as much difficulty in pulling away from me, I try not to let the thought go straight to my center, but the way she's grunting at her indecisiveness between telling me what I want to hear and continuing to kiss me is incredibly hot, "in love with," her voice sounds so god damn sexy "you," she finally breathes into my mouth, it feels like it's echoing everywhere.
I push her further onto the desk, the keyboard to her computer sliding easily onto the ground, the papers gliding like leaves through the air until they hit the hardwood floor, sliding further at the smoothness it finds there. Her pendulum is a distant memory as she looks up at me with her smoldering eyes, I probably just knocked the wind out of her but she doesn't seem to mind. I attack her, I'm not even kissing her mouth anymore, I'm just everywhere. It's one of the sloppiest kisses in the creation of sloppy kisses but she's doing just the same. Her wet lips are on the corner of my mouth while mine are sucking her jaw. Her tongue peaks out and tickles my cheek while mine is borderline raping her chin. I roll my hips into her and I praise the holy heavens for Sue Sylvester's rigorous cheerleading workouts because the way she just essentially did a sit up in order to pull me down with her, may have been the sexiest thing that I've ever seen.
"God, Rach. I should have let you read that letter sooner if I would have known," she trails off. At least, she might have. I've tuned her out.
Let me read it sooner? Let me read is sooner? Sooner!
She's moved on to kissing my jaw bone, I feel some skin get pinch between her teeth and I realize how feisty she could get with a hot singer straddling her like a cowgirl.
It's not enough because her words are lingering in my mind and they won't go away.
I practically fall backwards in a haste to get off of her. She's my enemy, she's the reason it took this long. I hate her. I'll always resent her.
"What's wrong?" she questions. I have to look away and I busy myself by straightening my clothes, brushing off invisible lint. I can't look at her face dropping with concern. I won't do it.
"This was a mistake."
She's panicked and I turn away before I feel even more guilt course through my body at the sight of her basically ready to take me on her desk. Her desk. The desk she analyzes and figures out ways to make other people's lives hell at. The desk where she probably cooked up her entire scheme to win my affections. Manipulative and brilliant, that's all Quinn Fabray ever was.
"I just can't, not with you," I tell her and it feels like there is poison in my mouth.
I turn on my heel and practically trip on the area rug at my rush to put as much distance between us as physically possible. I don't trust myself, not with seeing her disheveled and panting like that on the desk, not after knowing how she feels pressed up against me, how delicate her tongue is even in the most violent of passions. I'd need an airport and a one way ticket to anywhere in the world right now, if I'm adamant on staying away from her.
I'm already out the door, almost making a mental note to find some kind of memory eraser drug, or the strongest proofed bottle of alcohol and just funneling it.
I hear more clatter fall from the desk before I hear her footsteps making their way towards me. I'm tunnel visioned on the elevator, I know if I can just get to it, I'll be able to catch my breath.
I punch the button four times before I feel her presence behind me, almost animalistic. She's stalking towards me and it has the same effect as if there was a stranger chasing me with an axe. I'm terrified.
"No, I let you storm out of my office far too many times."
"Go away," I call over my shoulder, shakily. I hit the button systematically. One of these times it's bound to open the gold plated doors.
I'm practically shoved into the doors, so forcefully that I imagine myself breaking through the doors and flailing endlessly down the elevator shaft. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit.
"You would have taken the stairs if you didn't want me to catch up," she tells me, almost smugly.
God damn stairs. Why couldn't they have made their presence known sooner?
I cross my arms over my chest and regain my confidence.
"Good idea, maybe I could hurl you down them."
She presses up against me, a low hiss emanates from her swollen lips simultaneously to the back of my head hitting the doors, my eyes are seeing black as they roll to the back of my head. God, she's brilliantly made.
"You'll move your head if you don't want me."
I have less than milliseconds to register her words before her lips are back on mine, I growl into her at her trick. She knows that if I actually heard what she said I would have ducked out of her way just out of pure spite, not because I didn't actually want her. I want her. I'm just not ready to admit it to her yet.
Faintly, the elevator dings in the background—a little too fucking late— and the doors have trouble opening at first. Both of our bodies crashed so firmly into them that they're struggling to allow access into the elevator until Quinn pulls me into her for the briefest of seconds in order to gain entrance.
Blindly she leads me backwards into the confined space. The melodic music, so fragile in a way, is filtering through the hot air creating such a beautiful contrast to our not so delicate infatuations. I can't bring myself to imagine anything other than what Quinn would feel up against me without any clothes on and I just damn near come undone. Neither of us make a move to press any of the buttons, just along for the ride, much like this entire situation. Eventually the floor shakes from under us.
"Stop," I whisper out breathlessly against her cheekbone, not making any effort to actually push her away, "kissing," words are the hardest they've ever been, I swallow when I feel her tongue take my earlobe in her mouth, "me."
"Not until you admit it."
Her logic is backwards. If I admit that I want her, she'll stop kissing me? That doesn't make very much sense.
"No," I breathe, pushing her shoulders away just enough for me to be able to catch her lips with mine. As if she's on a spring, she bounces back into me with the same amount of force.
"Berry," she growls and I feel her teeth biting down on my lower lip, trapping my mouth where it is, "Berry," she rumbles again into my open mouth, I'm literally swallowing her words. They're hot in my lungs.
Demanding high school Quinn is turning me on beyond belief. I need more of her.
"You're still a bully," I manage to get out, it's a whimper, a low whine. I inhale and exhale quickly as her mouth sucks feverishly on my throat, tattooing me to her little heart's content. "I'm not worth your time."
My eyes slam shut when I feel her hand sneak away from my hip in order to travel down the side of my thigh, squeezing as she burns a hot trail and attempts to bring my leg up to wrap around her.
"I'm below you," I rasp out when I feel her lips begin to make their descent back up to my lips.
Ugh, I wish.
The elevator dings and it's as if we've just been un-hypnotized. Quinn flies away from me as if I'm some kind of disease and I cough uncontrollably as the doors begin to slide open. We're at the lobby and judging by Quinn's flushed appearance and tousled hair, it looks like we just had sex for five hours. I run my hand over my lips, as if any trace of her kisses would actually be visible to the man walking into the elevator. He's wearing a grey suit and is talking rather loudly on his Bluetooth, he just looks like an arrogant douchebag. Definitely cheating on his wife with his secretary. He hits the button for the third floor and I want to attack him. He couldn't have used the stairs? Lazy.
I catch Quinn's eyes and she seems to have the same look of disgust on her face. She sees me staring at her and smirks, we're totally eye communicating and I totally get the hype. We reach his floor and he walks off, unaffected by the fact that he just cockblocked the hell out of Quinn. I think that's why she's mostly disgusted with him.
I start to panic as the doors slide close, realizing that my only buffer had just walked away from me, abandoning me in the lion's cage. It fits; Quinn sure has showed how animalistic she could get. I swallow when I realize that I'm her prey.
"Rachel," it's soft and it throws me, this is not the voice that I just heard minutes ago.
I don't look at her. My eyes are still closed and I'm memorizing the classical music that's restarted itself again. She shakes me by my shoulders as if to wake me up. I don't make eye contact; in fact I go out of my way to look at the ceiling.
"Rach, please look at me."
"I can't do this with you. You're perfect, I'll just hurt you," I answer, still not making any effort to look her in the eye.
I'm being brutally honest but it feels like white hot rage is taking over her body.
"Fine, would you rather this be another one of your one night stands? You have to have meaningless sex with someone in order for this to work? How about someone you hate, it can be out of spite. I'll give you that, I'll be that for you," she sounds desperate and out of options, "… I hate you, Berry. I always have. I lied to you in that yearbook, this is all one big practical joke Santana and I cooked up ten years ago before we joined glee club. I slept with Puck so that Finn would run into your arms, then I made him dump you the night before you left for New York, then I waited eight years, plotting the perfect time to strike. The last two months have meant nothing to me and you've never meant anything to me. Is that what you need to hear?"
She slams me so hard against the wall of the elevator that I momentarily suffer from whiplash, her lips provide me with the fastest recovery known to man.
I break away from her, still inches from her lips, they graze hers as I speak, "Did you mean any of that?"
I push her back, this is a dizzy dance we're doing, "Well why the fuck did you say all of that?"
"Because I was your therapist for two months, you don't think I know one of your defense mechanisms when I see one?"
She infuriates me with her reverse psychologies and backwards techniques.
"So what were you trying to accomplish with all of that?"
She's still pressed against me, her fingers running through some of my hair, before she cups both of my cheeks, pressing an innocent kiss to my parted lips. My eyes flutter close.
"I'll be anything you need me to be, I just need to be needed by you."
I do need you. It's on the tip of my tongue and I want to say it so badly.
"This is just about sex for you," I huff out, surprising myself. That thought hadn't crossed my mind but now it's entirely plausible.
Quinn looks like a blend of a ten year old kid that didn't get any valentine cards and how I looked when Jesse appeared on the stage, announcing his betrayal. I've never been able to tolerate or understand his weird obsession with Queen, even if he's now my best friend and would never think of crossing me again. Not because I'd kill him with a blunt force blow to the head but because we mean too much to each other now.
I'm stalling with my thoughts so I don't have to consider the blow I just dealt Quinn, somehow seeming far worse than the one I would send to Jesse.
"How could you say that?"
"You're unbelievable," she backs away from me, "After everything—ya know what? No. I'm ripping that page out of your yearbook, you don't deserve it."
I want to call her bluff but Quinn Fabray is crazy and the look in her eye doesn't make me want to test her. I reject the notion that I don't deserve it.
"Like hell you are!" I yell, pushing her further away from me, turning immediately to hit that 19 button that I hate.
That's my yearbook.
"It's not like you wanted me to write it, you made that very clear. I'll take my words and be out of your life."
She glares and places her hands on her hips in such a familiar gesture that I feel like I've just gone back in time, all she needs is the red cheerleading uniform to make this image complete.
"You should have thought about that before you wrote them eight years ago!" I shout at her.
She throws her arms in the air, scoffing as if it was out of her control, "Ah yes, why didn't I give it more thought back then?" She's mocking me, "Because I really could have predicted your complete one-eighty, huh?"
Such a bitch.
"Somehow I feel like you actually did know this was going to happen one day."
She narrows her eyes at me and I level her with a glare of my one.
"Finally, an honest opinion from my Therapist," I sigh out exaggeratedly.
"I'm not your Therapist anymore," she grits through teeth, clenching her jaw in a manic kind of way, she looked the same after she found out Jesse egged me.
God, why am I friends with that douche bag?
"I'm retrieving my book and then setting your office on fire," I tell her simply, take it or leave it.
I take a step closer to her, ready to go on the offensive should she piss me off any further. I still have my defenses up in case she tries something against me. After all, offense wins games and defense wins championships. I'll be doing the running man in the endzone after I'm through with her.
"I'll call security," she challenges, "You're not my patient, you're trespassing now," her brow raises, rather pleased that she thought of it all by herself. Oh, I'm sooooo impressed. Puh-lease.
She takes a threatening step closer to me, our bodies meeting in the middle of the elevator as if we're about commence in a serious battle.
"They're going to have to catch me first," I reply.
We stare at each other for a long second, mentally preparing for what awaits us when the elevator comes to a stop. It feels like the seconds leading up to a Nascar race, not that I'd ever watch that god-awful bore fest but I absolutely have new appreciation for gentlemen starting their engines.
Cue the elevator ding, our very own checkered flag.
My feet are moving faster than normal and when I finally gain traction I'm out of there like a bat out of hell. Quinn hot on my trail.
She's literally chasing me.
I lean down, I know there's all kind of tactics to use when attempting to outrun crazed maniacs, but somehow I don't think taking the time to knock over the receptionist's desk into her path will help me. I think it'd take more time to get my strength up to even so much as nudge the desk, rather than crash it onto the floor. Besides, I think it'd be fairly easy for Quinn to maneuver around it, especially because I vaguely remembering her workout regime on the Cheerios including hurdles on the track. Instead, thinking quick on my feet, both literally and figuratively, I spot the magazines on the coffee table. Still the same lame ones from my first session, and push them onto the floor as I run by. Ha, take that Fabray!
"Seriously?" she yells from behind me as she hops over the glossy covered pages; I really imagined it working much like slipping on gumballs or marbles. Lauren needs to purchase them for me, those are trusty things to have on your person at all times, should you be trying to outrun a psycho-therapist or something.
I get to her office and slam the door behind me, I'm expecting her to run flat into it and fall on her ass. Maybe if it was entirely all glass and freshly windexed. Dammit, why when I want cliché movie occurrences to actually happen, they don't.
The door opens behind me just as I get to the yearbook, triumphant in my winnings I hold the book up in the air. She looks defeated momentarily until she realizes the position we're in. I'm trapped. A new look of confidence washes over her face as the recognition starts to make itself visible on my own face.
I'm cornered and my only option is to jump out of the window. Lauren also needs to purchase a parachute. Why hasn't she already done these things for me?
How the hell am I going to get passed her? She's a spawn of Sue Sylvester and as much as I begged to have them, my singing and dancing lessons can't help me here.
I juke to my left and she's there. I consider jumping up onto the coffee table in order to confuse her. I fake to my right and go left and she tackles me towards the couch. This god damn white couch that is constantly in my way.
"Listen to me," she says against my struggling, "Listen," she says again as I start to give up, the icy breath of death upon my neck. It's over, tell my fans I loved them.
"You can have your book, I'm not going to take anything I said back. Ever."
This gets me to stop. Just, entirely stop. I peer up at her through my tousled hair, she looks amused at my struggles before she takes her hand cautiously and swats away some of the hair that's fallen into my face. She should be hesitant, I could bite her. And I should, I still have a tiny red mark on my palm from Ohio and if I squint really hard I can see it, or make believe it's still there. An invisible tattoo and minor battle wound of what we went through that weekend. A smile almost crosses my face; I think she confuses it for my reaction to what she's just said. Or maybe I'm confusing the smile for my memory of the weekend. Or maybe it's both. Regardless, I'm smiling and I don't think she cares why. If I'm honest, I don't care either.
"Look, I fell in love with you in high school, and I'm sorry if you can't accept that I'm still in love with you. Maybe you're right, I'm a horrible therapist and this entire thing was fucked up from the start but you can't deny that you have some kind of feelings for me too. Ohio meant something to you too. I won't take anything back ever, and no matter how much you pretend you hate me, I know you never could, at least not seriously. Do you really want me to go into my psycho-analysis of what it means when someone hates someone so adamantly?" she's smirking but it's an easy smirk, her grip around me has loosened a significant amount and she looks sure of herself but not in a way where I want to gauge her eyes out. She's hoping but at the same time knows that she's right. The yearbook is somewhere on the floor, forgotten when I was practically attacked while attempting to make an escape.
Is she trying to tell me that because I continue to profess my undying hatred for her that I actually am in love with her too?
"You said there was nothing going on between us."
She releases a small laugh through an exhale, "I had a patient in the room, Rach. I couldn't admit that in front of someone else, I'd lose my license and I probably still should. But my feelings for you, they're real. I'm sorry that I made you believe that they weren't."
I surge forward, once again trapping her lips between mine, and it's not as hateful as it was in the previous attempts. Our mouths open simultaneously against one another, both in sync in the moment and it's a different pace entirely. I'm admitting it. And she knows it.
"God! I hate you so much. Seriously fuck you, Quinn. Just fuck you" I mumble into her mouth amidst our rhythmic motions, her tongue sliding into mine as her hand comes up to cup my neck.
God, I don't hate her at all.
"Seriously fuck me, Rachel. Just fuck me."
My body shutters at her words and I pull just the tiniest bit away from her. Enough to look into her eyes. Needing to read them like I always can.
"You seriously want to be one of my faceless conquests?"
She doesn't even skip a beat before answering, "You don't already know the answer to that?"
I do know the answer to that. Why would she want that? She's taking what she can get but for once I want to give her more.
I sigh, "I don't want that Quinn, at all. I want to give you what you want me to be," I stop, regain my breathing and try to get my thoughts under control, "I think I can, I'm just afraid you don't know what you're getting yourself into."
She huffs out a mix between a laugh and a breath as if the very notion is something she finds utterly ridiculous.
She removes her hand from my neck and slides it over my shoulder and down my arm until she's linked with my hand. She tugs me ahead of her as she places a knee on the couch, and gently guides me from a standing position to a sitting position until she begins to push on my shoulders and doesn't stop until I'm laying on my back. She slides up and over me until she's hovering above me, her eyes running over my face before a small smile breaks out on her own face. I stare up at her in bewilderment, it's like I can see her eyes twinkling.
She leans down and places a soft kiss to my lips, I relish in it. It's been far too long since I last felt them thirty seconds ago. My heart rate had finally calmed down from being in the elevator with her but when she looks at me like I'm the only person in the world that matters to her, there's nothing I can do but let it beat right out of my chest. It's not like it's mine anymore anyway.
"I nearly failed Spanish senior year because you sat next to me," she laughs to herself, "Luckily Mr. Schuester cut me a break or I'd have to go to summer school."
I laugh with her, confused with her confession but I know what she's doing.
"I sang The Rose by Bette Midler one time because I thought you would like it," my smile twitches, it was beautiful, but I wouldn't allow myself to dwell on the times that she would make eye contact with me, as if she was singing to only me. I want to cry now that I know she actually was, "You told me I was sharp but I didn't care because it meant you were listening."
I open my mouth to tell her that she wasn't sharp at all, that I was just insanely jealous of whoever she was singing it for and needed to find something wrong with it. Even though there wasn't. She puts her finger to my lips, cutting off what I wanted to say.
She's laughing again, "I pretended to want voice lessons so that you'd show me where my diaphragm was," and it's as if she can't even believe she stooped so low to hang out with me, "Right here." Quinn smiles as she takes my hand in hers and places it exactly where I showed her.
She brings my hand up and places a kiss on my palm.
"I turned in extra credit assignments with your name on them so you wouldn't have to retake pre-calculus," I can't help but laugh, I'd always wondered if the teacher had a crush on me because it was a miracle that I passed, "I told myself it was because you'd simply die if you had to repeat pre-calc but I think it was really because there was a chance you'd be in my Calculus class the following year."
She swoops in to capture my lips briefly before she leans back a little, somehow my coat has been unbuttoned and she's pulling me up with her as she fumbles to get my arms out of the sleeves. It lands with a heavy thud on the coffee table
She leans me back down gently on the couch, my head tilted toward her as it lays on the arm rest.
"I threatened Mr. Schuester when he wanted to give someone else your solo at Nationals," my eyes go wide, partially at the thought of him wanting to give someone else my solo—even though they were most deserving—but mostly because Quinn actually threatened him, she laughs, almost evilly, "I told him Sylvester had video evidence of him and Pillsbury in some very compromising positions on school grounds," I grimace and she chuckles more, "I know."
Her hands slide under my shirt, they're somewhat cold and bring goose bumps with them as her nails rake over my abdomen. I arch my back into her and she leans down again and gives me another kiss, she continues to place kisses across my face as her hands play with my stomach.
"I punched Finn in the nose after he broke up with you at Puck's graduation party," my jaw literally drops open, she giggles into my mouth, "You already know this, but I told you I wanted you to fail in New York so you'd come back to Ohio," she pulls back and looks down at me, as serious as ever, "And I drove to your house the next morning to apologize for what I said but you were already gone," my heart sinks at the thought of her ringing a doorbell to an empty house, for some reason my memory of driving to New York doesn't seem as bad now that I know the truth. She kisses my cheek and then laughs against it, it tickles, "and then I went after Finn again."
I can practically see the devil dancing in her eye in victory. She's quite proud of that one.
"Kate broke up with me the first time in college because I called her Rachel on more than one occasion," I frown, it's not that I'm not flattered by the admission, but I feel guilty for being the reason they broke up.
"Quinn, you don't have to do this," I tell her.
She nods and swallows, "I never make it past the first date with someone because they will always pale in comparison to you and it's not like I ever had you to begin with."
This time I pull her face down and place a kiss on the corner of her mouth, her eyes flutter open and it's pure sincerity and truth behind them. She's never meant anything more.
"Rach, I have never met someone that can hold a room's attention like you do, I have never heard a voice that I thought was better than yours and there is absolutely no one that I'd rather be with then you. I've been taking care of you and have known what I was getting myself into for years, even when you didn't know."
I reach up and level her body on top of mine, eliciting a strangled moan when she falls on top of me. Who it came from I can't be sure. My palms slide up and under her shirt, finding her toned stomach waiting for me, her kisses become more fervent and they're making me dizzy.
"Wait," she takes a deep breath and steadies herself along with my hands, "I need to know anyway."
I close my eyes.
"Am I going to be a one time thing?"
"You don't already know the answer to that?" I smirk when she lowers her gaze at the familiar words reciprocated back to her.
"It'd help if you said it out loud."
I continue to bunch her blouse up in my fists, her hands still encompassing mine like gloves. I inch the shirt up slowly as she sucks her stomach in out of flutters, my eyes are still on hers as she looks down at me. She's no longer preventing me from undressing her but she's still waiting for my actual answer. She ducks her head when I lift the shirt up,
"You're the opposite of a one time thing, you're a many time thing, you're the only thing, you're—"
Her lips cut me off and I whimper into them as her tongue surges into my mouth, I tilt my head up for some air and she continues her assault on my jaw.
"I get it."
"You're the one that wanted to hear it," I reply, "I want to give you a grand gesture of love, like you seem to enjoy doing."
I find it funny that our roles are reversed, her being the dominant one and myself being the one that wants to tell her how much she means to me. I don't have time to argue or further dwell, her lips inch back towards my mouth, she's smiling against me as I feel her hands fumbling with the button of my jeans.
"You're doing it now."
Oh god, she's good.
She leans back and pulls me up with her, her arm circles under my body to lift me off of the couch briefly in order to shimmy down my jeans. I grasp onto her neck for dear life and somehow she finally manages to rid me of the unnecessary fabric that only seems to be more of a nuisance than an essential article of clothing. I fall back onto the couch with Quinn's arm still underneath me and I pull her body down on top of me, frantically assaulting any part of her lips that I can get to. Her hips roll into me. Hard. My head lolls back and a low guttural groan releases from my body, I've never made such a sound before but I wouldn't mind making it again. If Quinn doesn't stop rolling into me, it's going to be the only thing she hears for the rest of her life.
I make a decision in my mind between hip thrusts that Quinn needs to be just as exposed as I am. My fingers fumble against her pants, not being able to get rid of them fast enough but not being able to slow down enough to get the job done. It's a lose-lose situation that Quinn needs to rectify, and fast. I'm about to explode with anticipation. Eight weeks of sexual tension just might turn out to be the sweetest death sentence one could possibly endure. Forget about the lingering and unexplained attraction that started in high school.
"You'd think you were the one waiting ten years for this," she chuckles into my ear, I shiver and I'd have literal goose bumps if not for Quinn blanketing my body.
"I am," I breathe out and finally give up unfastening them, "help me."
Let it be known, Rachel Berry is no quitter. At least, until Quinn Fabray is straddling her to the point of no return.
She plants a kiss on my lips before she moves down my body. She's doing it on purpose, I squirm underneath her.
I realize what I told her in my haste to get her pants off, flustered Rachel is honest Rachel, "You know," I breathe out as I push her body lower, hoping she'll sit upright in order to remove her bottom clothing, "If you would have cornered me in a janitors closet in High school I probably wouldn't have been able to do anything to stop you."
She wiggles out of her pants finally and I hear them drop somewhere behind me, she looks at me hungrily and I can pretty much assume I have the same look in my eyes.
It's amazing how much strength I have even when such a beautiful creature is on top of me. I do a half sit up and as I unhook her bra clasp, she's doing the same. I slowly pull her back on top of me. Her skin pressing up against mine. If you asked me on Graduation day what or more importantly, who I would be doing eight years later, my thoughts would briefly imagine Quinn Fabray writhing and sweating under me but the more logical and expected answer would be Finn Hudson.
Her palm cups one of my breasts, the contact elicits a whole other feeling within me, I've never been this intimate with someone, "Are you trying to tell me that you were easy?"
I roll my eyes, out of annoyance or pleasure, I can't be sure.
"No." I breathe against her forehead, "That I've always had a strange and inexplicable attraction to you."
She smirks and a little bit of cockiness graces her features. She has every right to be cocky if she can make me feel this much heat.
She starts to laugh, "You know when you asked me if this was some kind of fantasy I've had?"
I nod wordlessly, I can't form words right now. She begins to suck on the delicate skin around my nipple and I arch my back into her. She pushes me back down with open palms and continues her sensual assault.
"It is, you and me. I can't even tell you how many times I've daydreamed about it," she tells me, her voice laces with wetness as she moves back up my chest and towards my neck. Her lips are soft and they feel amazing as they continue to coat my skin in moisture.
She doesn't seem like the therapist that I've met with for the past eight weeks. She reminds me of the girl from high school, dominate and certain of herself, and it's turning me on beyond belief.
"God you have nooooo," I get caught up when Quinn's knee starts applying pressure to me and I let the word roll off my tongue, "no idea how badly I've wanted to hear that."
She drags her knee into me again, bringing my body along with her as I ride up her thigh.
"Yeah?" she kisses the valley between my breasts, slowly making her way down towards my stomach.
"I've wanted to take you on this couch since like the third week."
She moans and pushes her leg into me once again, this time with so much force that she lifts her body up off the couch with leverage from her hands on the arm rest behind me. Her head drops down, her hair tickling my face and her hot breath on my chest. I reach my arms up to grip her lower back, helping to guide her towards my body. It's magnificent, the way we're clashing together in pure unadulterated want.
"God, you're sexy."
My cheeks flush hotly at her throaty moan, I can't believe how much damage she's doing to my body and we haven't even begun to do anything. How could I have denied not ever wanting this?
"Did you ever say my name when you were with—" I'm stopped short when I feel her fingers hook under the strings of the black laced thong I'm wearing, it slides down my legs, "um Kate when—"
She chuckles "When we were having sex?"
She takes my hand in hers and drags it down her body until it reaches the one thing separating our bodies from fully joining. I swallow and pull the undergarment further down her toned thighs and it gets lost somewhere along with my own underwear. Probably laying helplessly at the end of the couch, or maybe they're on the floor somewhere. I look up at Quinn expectantly. She purses her lips together and quirks an eyebrow.
"All the time," she finally replies as she settles her body full into mine.
We both shudder at the contact and my eyes roll to the back of my head as her words replay over and over again in my mind on some kind of raspy voiced loop.
"You sure know the way to a woman's heart."
She maneuvers her body and I feel the folds of my center spread open to meet her own wet folds. My eyes slam shut when I feel her warmth mixing with mine, the stimulation sending tiny tingles all over my body. My nerve endings feel like frayed electrical circuits. The slightest movement sending me into a dizziness of satisfaction.
"The only woman's heart that I care about getting to is yours."
I release a shaky breath, "You're going to get me off on your words alone."
"Tell me a secret," she whispers as she begins to move slickly with my body.
I can't even focus right now and she wants me to tell her a secret? One hand grasps at her shoulder blade for dear life while the other rests on her lower back, steering Quinn's thrusts directly into my waiting core.
"I've never let anyone do this to me."
She slows her movements at my confession, almost to the point of a complete halt. She's studying my eyes to see if I'm being sincere. I bite my lip and I feel like I've just exposed my most intimate secret, I kind of have.
"Please, don't stop," I whimper.
She dips down and opens my mouth, kissing me with a renewed drive that accents her hip rolls into my already over sensitive clit. I jump at the contact and meet her with the same rigor. Our bodies are melded together, almost harmonious, as if I was only made to do this with her. She places kisses along my jaw bone as I continue to rotate my body into her. Our heavy breathing and occasional moan of pleasure is the only thing that fills her office, my heart beating wildly against hers, our lips meeting magnetically and delicately whenever they can. Her forehead rests on mine as she grinds into me with such ease that it makes me believe she's built for this. Her fervor sends chills throughout my entire body every time I feel her make contact with me. Her pants are kissing my face when her lips aren't and her eyes are voicing everything that her actual voice can't. Her eyes watching me intently to make sure I'm okay, as if I'll break from under her, as if I'm the most fragile thing she's ever come across.
I am breaking down and it is right in front of her eyes. She's so intrigued with watching me that she doesn't realize that she's unfolding before my very own. I'm covered in her skin, her muscles working into me, her hands clutching onto whatever they can find. It's all so surreal.
I cry out, unable to hold back how good her slickness feels against my own, it feels like I'm seconds from waking up from a very vivid dream. Nothing can feel this good in real life.
"Are you okay?" she whispers like the superhero I've always believed she could be to me, like my life is in her hands, as if she's just saved me from some horrible monster.
Ironic that she actually did.
I nod into her. Gripping her body tighter to me, as if I could never get enough of her. I don't think I can.
It's entirely silent everywhere but between the two of us, it's broad daylight and we're entirely open and vulnerable to the rest of the world. Yet, it feels like we're in high school, sharing our first time together while my parents are away for the weekend. It's memorable and everything I've ever wanted yet it's so careful and somewhat hesitant. The soft music from the elevator is playing through my mind as she kisses my fluttering eyelids. The music has been there all along, almost as if it was building up to this moment, created purposely as a soundtrack to our lovemaking. This isn't sex. This is me surrendering every ounce of my body over to her and already knowing that she's giving hers to me in return. It's me realizing that I can love this woman unconditionally and that she already loves me with or without both past and present flaws. That I already do love her.
"Quinn," I mumble, needing to muster up enough strength to tell her.
I need to tell her.
"Yeah?" she hums.
Her body slides into mine rhythmically, I'm so close to falling off that metaphoric edge and I need her to know, "I love you."
I want to be strong for her, to voice it with confidence and unwavering certainty, to shout it from the 19th floor of her building for every reporter within a fifteen block radius to put it on the front page of their tabloid, for everyone to know who she is to me. She deserves that. She deserves that and so much more. But it doesn't come out with the power I want it to, my voice gets strangled by her pure and mind clouding movements.
She picks her head off my shoulder and before she even has to gaze into my eyes to see the truth, she replies, "I know."
She has a ghost of a smirk on her lips as she presses down and kisses my swollen lips, "I know you do," she repeats.
Of course she does, she's known everything about me from the beginning. She's been able to read me since the start. She picks up on things before I'm even aware that I'm thinking or feeling them. She knew I was failing pre-calculus without me even so much as saying a word to anyone, she sang a song she had a feeling I'd like when in reality it was one of the only songs that I would sing when I got upset. She accepted voice lessons from me, and not because she felt bad that I had nothing better to do on Wednesday nights, but because she wanted her Wednesday nights to be spent with me. She threatened Mr. Schuester without ever knowing that I gave up the solo so that Quinn could have it, but she'd rather give it up than see me without it. She confessed her love for me in my senior yearbook and didn't care that there would be a chance she'd have to live in anticipation for eight years, always wondering if I'd ever read the words she so thoughtfully wrote me.
She consumes every aspect of my mind, when it was welcomed or not. She saved me before I even realized I was dying, she helped me before I was ready to admit I wanted it. She never gave up on me, even when I was worse to her than she was to me in high school. It never mattered to her. She'd rather take the verbal abuse than not hear my voice at all. I'd rather sit in misery those first weeks than not see her at all. She risked losing her license just to get closer to me and I risked my career to be seen in public with her. How does the one person I thought was responsible for killing me end up to be the only person bringing me back to life?
"Oh my god, I love you," I bring her face down, our tongues meet and I faintly taste traces of salt, it either means I'm glistening in a light sweat or I'm crying. Probably both.
She moans into my mouth, our collisions rapidly increasing their frantic pace, almost involuntarily.
She pulls back a bit, close enough for me to feel her lips move as she speaks but far enough for me to accurately focus in on her eyes.
I swallow, my throat has never been dryer. I nod, she always knows.
And as if I'm looking at a mirror, she swallows and nods as well.
"Come with me."
It's husky and demanding, but still has traces of a question.
My eyes slam shut and my insides feel like they're on fire. White flashes of heat roll through my body as I come undone beneath her, moaning her name into her mouth as I feel her shake above me. We ride each other out, not ready for the moment to be over, regardless of how badly we're trembling into each other. My pulse is unhealthily fast while my heart beats in my eardrums.
She finally collapses on top of me, letting her body grow limp against my already paralyzed body. Sporadic jolts of pleasure every few seconds remind me that Quinn is the one that is lying on top of me as if she's owned me all along. I'm still covered in her skin and the heart beat that's matching my own is only beating for me. Mine is beating for her.
We're numb together, liquidly fused to one another for long minutes. Time seems to cease and it's just the two of us, no words are exchanged and neither of us attempt to break out of this perfect world we've somehow created.
My arms are still wrapped securely around Quinn as her hands are buried somewhere under my shoulders. Her head rests on my chest as it rises up and down, my eyes don't open for a long time. And it's true what they say about losing one of your senses, all of your other senses heighten. My closed eyes just makes me that much more aware of Quinn's limp body spread across me, protecting me from any reality that may come at us.
I swallow again, hoping to find some saliva that will soothe my sore and dry throat.
"Are you okay?" she asks hesitantly, she doesn't make a move to look up at me and I think it's because she's afraid to hear my answer.
She stays where she is, her head still tucked underneath my chin, her face away from me.
"Quinn, look at me."
She picks her heavy head up and her hazel eyes pierce through me with such a soft vulnerability that it makes me want to cry, I want to hold her until she's sure I'm not running away from this.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Her face lightens up a little bit but she's still guarded. Afraid that I'll freak out like I've done pretty much the entire time she was my therapist.
I smile and shake my head no, my smile only widens when I see Quinn beaming back at me, she ducks her head in embarrassment. I drag my nails up and down the length of her spine; I feel her shiver above me.
She recovers from her bashfulness and is openly staring into my eyes; we both have growing and giddy smiles as I begin to write Rachel Berry was here on Quinn's lower back.
She tightens her hold on me as she pulls her body up, situating herself so that she's once again looking down at me.
"Amazing," I finish and she blushes harder.
I nudge her head up with my chin and place a kiss on her lips when she finally looks up.
She bites the inner wall of her cheek and thinks it over.
"Whatever we want?"
I smile and pull her up even closer to me.
"When is your next session?"
"Not for another two hours," she smiles wickedly, it's enticing.
"Have I ever told you that I love this couch?"
She laughs into my jaw as she places light kisses up and down it.
"Oh really? Cause I've been under the impression that you hated it."
I scoff playfully, "Me? Hate something? Never. I love it, I've always loved it."
Her brow raises, and then she laughs and shakes her head, dismissing her thought.
She continues to laugh but shakes her head again.
"No, it's stupid."
"It's not to me."
Her laughter is gone but her smile is still in place, not being used to my sincere honesty but thrilled that she now gets it.
"I just find it funny that we just had mind-blowing sex and you're somehow still displacing your feelings. It's adorable."
She lost me at sex.
"Mind blowing, huh? I think we can do better than that."
Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! You're all amazing! The continuation to this story is called Crazy on You, Too and it can be found in my list of stories. :-)