Characters: Rachel and Quinn
Her cell phone pressed against her hip in her pocket. It had been burning a hole against her flesh all day, every day. Every time it rang, she eagerly ripped it out of its confines and looked at the screen.
But she had been disappointed every single time.
"Rachel, what have I told you about personal calls during office hours?" Will was Rachel's boss. He was a tight ass.
He could never understand.
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm just expecting an important phone call, and it could be at anytime." Rachel tried not to sound too hopeful. Or too desperate.
"Uh huh, yeah. Well next time schedule it after hours."
He walked off, and Rachel was left alone again in her cubicle. She placed her hand on her chin as she looked down at her cell phone which was now residing on the smooth surface of her uncluttered desk. Forms that needed her attention sat in the tray to her left. She eyed them in her peripheral vision for a few moments.
As time ticked away her work day and her phone remained resolutely still and silent in front of her, Rachel's mind drifted back to the previous weekend…
The bar had been dimly lit and smoky – in other words, your average bar.
The jukebox in the corner began to play a song Rachel knew, and she hummed along under her breath as she stared down at her martini glass.
Just another Friday night.
"Hello gorgeous," a voice suddenly purred in Rachel's ear. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up and a shiver coursed down her spine. "Are you here alone?"
Rachel turned her head to the right as the most attractive blonde woman she had ever seen straddled the bar stool next to her, purposefully allowing one of her jean-clad knees to press forward against the exposed skin of Rachel's thigh.
Composing herself quickly, Rachel replied, "Yeah, I'm here alone." She grinned shyly at the woman with short, wavy hair and a killer grin. "Nothing unusual about that, unfortunately."
The blonde's hazel eyes sparkled. "I find that utterly absurd." Rachel's eyes, which had shifted back towards her drink, were soon locked with the eyes of this beautiful stranger who had decided to talk to her. "What's your name, gorgeous?"
"It's Rachel," she replied, not able to suppress the slight chuckle that escaped her throat at the strange circumstance she found herself in. Rachel didn't get hit on. She just didn't. With her black-framed glasses, her tight ponytail, her meticulously pressed dress shirt and skirt, and her Mary Janes… Someone had once called her 'jail bait'. She was twenty-five-years old, for crying out loud.
"Well, Rachel, normally I would buy you a drink, ask you for a dance, stare longingly into your eyes and tell you that you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and that you must've fallen straight from Heaven."
"Normally?" Rachel questioned, unable to stop the blush from spreading across her cheeks.
"Yes, normally. But I'm dying to take you home, Rachel. Because you really are the most stunning example of feminine beauty I have ever seen in my life."
Rachel swallowed thickly. She had never been someone's one-night stand. Let alone a woman's one-night stand. Part of Rachel was saying, 'Run away. Get the hell out of here. This is completely ridiculous.'
But another part of Rachel was saying, 'Fuck it all. She's the most incredibly beautiful woman you've ever seen. Live a little, Rach. Just live.'
Rachel turned and locked her eyes with the blonde's. She nodded her head.
"Yeah?" the blonde questioned. Rachel nodded again. "You just made my life, Rachel." She stood up and extended her hand to Rachel. Rachel took it, and the blonde guided them out of the bar and into the cool night air of the city. "My name's Quinn, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Quinn."
The next morning, Rachel woke up first. Quinn's apartment was lovely and simple, and Rachel felt something blossom in her heart as she looked down at the blonde hair fanned out on the pillow and the torturously soft flesh of Quinn's exposed breasts peeking out from the edge of the sheet.
Carefully, quietly getting dressed, Rachel found a piece of paper and a pen.
Rachel taped the note to the mirror in Quinn's bathroom before stealthily leaving. She considered waiting around for the other girl to wake up. She considered searching for a donut shop and bringing back hot coffee and breakfast. She considered closing the door instead, walking back into Quinn's bedroom, and continuing right where they had left off before falling asleep the night before.
But she didn't.
Rachel blew a puff of air out of her lips, and her bangs fluttered against her forehead. She pressed a button on her phone.
No missed calls.
Reaching across her desk, Rachel picked up the first document in her queue and set to work, valiantly trying to push her cell phone – and the lovely blonde woman who had changed her life in a single night – out of her mind.
Postsecret: "You're not going to call me, are you? Damn."
A/N: This "story" deserves an explanation, so here it is! PLEASE READ SO YOU KNOW WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON HERE!
For about 4 years now, I have been visiting the 'art project' by Frank Warren entitled "Postsecret" at postsecret (dot) com almost every single Sunday. For a little over 2 years now, I've been saving the Postsecret images in a folder (I use them as a rotating desktop).
The secrets range anywhere from GLBT-related, confessions of suicidal thoughts or attempts, awkward or embarrassing habits, stories of love lost or found, and sometimes just things that can put a smile on your face because – HEY! – you do that to. :-) It's an amazing project that has spawned several books – full of nothing but postcards with secrets on them that have been anonymously submitted to Frank's mailbox.
I have about 1500 Postsecret images saved on my computer, but I've gone through and selected about 100 of them that I want to share (with my own Glee twist on them, obviously). I want to make it clear that I mean no disrespect to the people who were brave enough to submit these secrets by using them in this context. I think there are few things more powerful than opening a Postsecret book or navigating to the page on Sunday morning and seeing that someone else in the world wrote down your secret – especially when it's a secret that you had never even admitted to yourself before.
There won't be any specific 'pairings' for this story, though I'm sure Faberry will crop up more often than all of the other characters combined.
Each 'chapter' will be standalone and inspired by one Postsecret, and the lengths are going to vary, but I'm sure that most won't be any longer than this one and will probably be much shorter at that.
Because I feel that the Postsecrets are too beautiful for you to not see them (and sometimes just seeing the words of the Postsecret just isn't enough), each time I post a chapter, I will also post the chapter with the Postsecret image on my LiveJournal account. You can find that at: your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com
I promise that I will never ever write an author's note this long again!
Anyway, this is my Glee Postsecret Challenge, and I hope you enjoy it.