Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dear God,

Please fix this. Please fix my parents, fix me. Please fix our family.

Amen

Quinn unfolded her hands and he climbed into bed, pulled the comforter up over her chest, and waited.

A few minutes later, her mom appeared in the doorway. Her voice was slightly strained as she asked, “Did you say your prayers?”

“Yes, Mom.” Quinn answered, a smile slipping onto her lips as easily as if it was real.

A tense smile was given in return, followed by a quick glance to the living room. Her mom cleared her throat, trying to cover her dad’s angry grumbling. “Goodnight, Quinnie.”

“Goodnight.”

Lying in bed, in the dark, the white duvet almost too warm for the weather outside, Quinn squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the sounds of her parents’ yelling. Her dad’s yelling. It had always been bad, but it had only gotten worse after the baby. After her mom caved and let her dad move back in, a few months after Quinn herself was allowed to come home. They hated each other even more now and it was all her fault. She knew it was all her fault. She rolled onto her side, clasping her hands under the covers.

Dear God,

Please make everything okay.

Amen

– – – –

Quinn looked at the mirror in her locker, adjusting her cross necklace until it sat perfectly in the center of her chest. Carefully, she tightened her ponytail, until it just gave her a hint of a headache. As she was about to close the locker door, a hand tapped her shoulder.

Rachel’s face appeared in the lower corner of the mirror, her signature expression of determined annoyance catching Quinn’s eye. “Quinn. What song are you singing for this week’s lesson?”

Quinn stared into the mirror, eyes tracing the wisp of hair flying away from Rachel’s headband. The fluorescent lights made it look like she was glowing.

“Quinn!” Rachel’s eyebrows shot up in annoyance.

“Sorry.” she mumbled, her words tripping over themselves. “I-not sure yet.”

“Well, I have several suggestions that I think would fit your vocal range. I’ll give them to you in Glee club later.” Rachel turned around with a huff and hurried off in the other direction.

“Uh-huh. Perfect.” Quinn nodded, turning slightly to watch her walk away. The longer she watched, the further a strange, buzzing feeling crept into her stomach, so she squeezed her eyes shut. She took a deep breath.

Dear God

Please make me not feel like this anymore-

“Fabray!”

Quinn whirled around, her heart pounding. “Santana.” The irrational fear that maybe Santana could read her thoughts - because if anyone could read thoughts, it would be her - snuck into her mind, but she pushed it down.

“You good?” Santana raised an eyebrow. “You look like you have a fever. Mono again?” She prodded, smirking.

“No.” she blurted, much harsher than intended. “Nope. Just hot.”

“Well yeah, I’m sure every guy here would agree with that.” Santana joked, unaware of the way that the comment felt like a kick in the stomach. Or a slap in the face, a feeling that Quinn had more experience with identifying.

“See ya at Glee.” Santana rolled her eyes, linking pinkies with Brittany as they continued down the hall.

Quinn nodded, gripping the edge of her locker. She made eye contact with herself in the mirror, clenched her jaw, and tried to stop her mind from replaying Rachel’s voice saying her name over and over and over and over again.

Amen

– – – –

Sitting in the back row of the choir room, still clutching the sheet music that Rachel had shoved into her hands a few minutes ago, Quinn stared down towards the front of the room.

Rachel stood front and center, singing another solo, and while everyone else had complained about it, Quinn really didn’t mind. It gave her such a nice feeling, watching Rachel sing. It felt almost like the same buzzing from earlier, but without the anxiety, and she never wanted it to stop. Plus, Rachel being at the front of the room gave Quinn a chance to look at how nicely that headband framed her face, and how her nose perfectly fit between her shining eyes, and-

The last notes of the song ended, taking Quinn’s thoughts with them. Suddenly, she was all too aware of how red her cheeks were, and she crossed her legs, looking down at her skirt. Instantly, her fingers went to her necklace, rubbing back and forth and back and forth.

Dear God,

Why am I like this? Nobody else feels like this. Please just make me not feel like this anymore. Make me normal. Please.

Amen

She opened her eyes again, half listening to Mr. Schue ramble on about how nicely Rachel’s song fit this week's theme while trying to keep her eyes from straying down to the center of the first row, where she knew Rachel was sitting, soaking up the praise.

– – – –

“Did you get your homework done?”

Quinn nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.”

The table was silent, except for the quiet clinking of forks and knives.

“How are your grades?”

“I’m getting all A’s.” As she spoke, she looked up from her plate and smiled at him.

He nodded, satisfied. He looked almost pleased, and Quinn relished that. She loved that she could still make him happy.

Her mom cleared her throat. “So, Quinnie. Have you talked to Finn recently-”

“Judy!” Her dad slammed his fist on the table, making both the silverware and Quinn jump.

“Russell, please.” Judy sent him a sideways look, pleading with her eyes for this dinner to stay peaceful.

Quinn just stared down at her plate, counting the number of bites she had left.

Her dad took a deep breath and another bite of chicken. Then another. He took a sip of his beer. After a moment, he let his fork clatter onto the plate, making Quinn jump once again. “I can’t do this right now.” He stood up and pushed his chair back. “Quinn, go to bed.”

She glanced up at the clock in the kitchen. 7:30. “Okay.” She nodded and stood up, taking her plate to the sink. Once she’d washed it, she hovered in the doorway of the dining room. Turning back to look at her parents, she bit her lip and murmured, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Glancing up at her, his face softened. “I know, sweetheart. It’s not your fault. You’re a good girl. It’s just hard.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“Goodnight, Quinn.” He sighed and turned his attention back to the television.

“Goodnight, Daddy.” Quinn turned and walked towards her room. Slowly, she changed out of her dress and into her pajamas, picking them up from where they’d been neatly folded on her dresser. She brushed her teeth while staring at herself in the mirror. She fixed her hair, even though there was nothing left to get ready for. Once she was ready, she knelt by her bed. As she bowed her head to pray, she could make out the beginnings of yet another fight.

“Judy, I can’t believe you would ask that-”

“Russell, he’s the father of our grandchild-”

“That’s no grandchild of mine!”

Quinn bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. The words “you’re a good girl” sat heavy on her mind. If he only knew, she thought. If he only knew how wrong he was. Knew how she thought about Rachel. If he knew, it wouldn’t just be her mom he yelled at. If he knew-

She shuddered, quickly clasping her hands.

Dear God,

Please fix my family. Please make me the good girl they need me to be. Please just make me normal. Please.

Amen

She climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling and focusing on pretending not to hear a glass shatter on the floor of the kitchen. Just breathe, she reminded herself, just breathe. Everything is okay. It’s all okay. Quinn shut her eyes tightly and lay perfectly still, waiting for her mom to come in.

A while later, after a door somewhere else in the house slammed, her bedroom door cracked open. Quinn turned her head to look at her mom. Her eyes were red-rimmed and there was a new band-aid on her finger, but she looked as composed as ever.

“Did you say your prayers?” she asked, keeping their unspoken agreement to never acknowledge what happened in their house at night, after Quinn had been safely sent to her room.

“Yes, Mom.” Quinn nodded, forcing a pleasant smile onto her face.

“Oh, Quinnie.” Judy smiled sadly. “Your dad is right. You’re a good girl.”

Quinn bit her lip and forced a smile. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Goodnight.” Judy flicked off the light and closed the door.

Quinn closed her eyes again and counted her breaths. “I’m a good girl.” she whispered to herself. “I’m a good girl.”

As she drifted off, a hazy image of Rachel appeared in her mind. Brown hair flowing over her shoulder, that tiny smile that she got when she was focused, slightly furrowed eyebrows-

Quinn dug her nails into her palms. “Stop it. Just stop it. Please.” she mumbled. Wiping her eyes, she rolled over and pressed her face into the pillow. Eventually, she fell asleep, tossing and turning uncomfortably.

– – – –

She slept until noon. The only reason she finally dragged herself out of bed was to use the bathroom.

It was Saturday, so her dad was playing golf and her mom was at her knitting group, meaning there was no one to stop her from going to the family computer and opening Google. She hesitated, fingers frozen over the keyboard, until she forced herself type: ‘why am i am girl who thinks about girls’

A dictionary definition came up first: Lesbian; a gay woman.

Quinn bit her lip. She typed again: ‘how do i know if im a lesbian’

An article: Early Signs You Might Be a Lesbian.” Sign one: “When you’re on a date with a guy, you’re thinking about your female best friend.

She swallowed, remembering sitting across from Finn at Breadstix, picturing talking to Rachel.

Sign two: Your eyes are drawn to women.

She took a deep breath, mentally flashing through all the times that she’d looked at one of the Cheerios before noticing their boyfriend.

Sign three: You’ve questioned your sexuality.

Quinn clenched her fists. She didn’t want to be questioning anything. She wanted it to be obvious, wanted some website to answer with a big, red, flashing, “No.” Instead, a new question sparked in her mind. One that terrified her, but one she needed an answer for. She typed again again: ‘is being a lesbian a sin’

A church website popped up, and she clicked on the link. The highlighted section read: The Scriptures teach that homosexuality is an immoral and prohibited sexual orientation.

Her breathing started to pick up and she could feel tears forming in her eyes as she typed: ‘will being a lesbian send you to hell’

A different church website appeared, and it read: Practicing homosexuals will not go to heaven.

She froze in place, staring at the screen as her vision blurred over, tears fighting for a way out. The cross around her neck felt like a lead weight.

She forced her fingers to move again and typed: ‘how to erase search history’

Once Quinn was sure that no one would be able to find what she’d read, she stood up. Her hands were shaking, so she clenched them into fists. She felt like she couldn’t breathe right, like the walls were closing in around her. She already knew from a lifetime of sermons that fags were going to hell, but this was the first time she’d ever let herself think that maybe it applied to her too. It couldn't. She was a good girl. Right? She squeezed her eyes shut. Without warning, her mind began replaying the night she’d told her parents about the baby. She could hear her dad shout, “You’re the disappointment here.” as clearly as if he was right in front of her. Her breaths came quicker and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. They’d gotten past all that, hadn’t they? He thought she was a good girl now. He said so. She was a good girl. She couldn’t go to hell. She couldn’t be a lesbian. There was no room in this house for another betrayal. For another failure. She needed to be good, to be perfect.

“I’m a good girl.” she whispered. “I’m not going to hell. I’m not. I can’t.”

Her eyes were open now, and she was walking. Pacing. Around the living room, through the dining room, into the kitchen. Staring at her reflection in the shiny doors of the fridge. It was distorted slightly, warped around the edges. It looked like she was crying. She traced her fingertips over her cheek, then pulled them away to find them laced with water droplets – she was crying. Why was she crying? Good girls never cried. If she cried, her mom would know something was wrong. Her eyes would be red at church tomorrow. Everyone would know something was wrong. Everyone would know she was going to hell. “I am not going to hell.” she whispered, the words sharp and forceful. She wasn’t. She wouldn’t. She needed to stop crying.

Almost without meaning to, she reached into the silverware drawer. Blinking the tears out of her eyes enough to see straight, she realized she was holding a knife.

“I’m a good girl.” she mumbled. “I’m not a les-” she choked on the word. As if it had a mind of its own, the knife tip dragged across her arm. A thin line of red trailed behind it. The sight of it startled her enough to make her drop the knife onto the counter. She stared at her arm, equal parts shocked and horrified. She couldn’t move. Her arm was dripping blood and the knife was dripping blood and her cheeks were still dripping with tears and she needed to stop crying, she needed to not go to hell.

The pain hit her all at once, shocking her out of her trance. Her arm stung and there was blood on the white countertops and the white tile floors and her white pajamas and her parents would be home soon. Suddenly in a rush, she grabbed a wad of paper towels and dropped them onto the floor, using them to wipe up the blood. Next was the countertops, and then she rinsed the knife in the sink and shoved it into the dishwasher. She grabbed fresh paper towels and pressed them to the cut on her arm, trying to stop the blood flow. Once she was sure there was no incriminating evidence left in the kitchen, she turned and practically ran to the bathroom, letting the door slam behind her. Carefully, so as not to get blood on anything else, she flushed the bloody mess of paper towels down the toilet. She stared at herself in the mirror, watching her chest rise and fall with each panicked breath. Her cross necklace was askew, and without even thinking, she fixed it. She swallowed hard, leaning on the edges of the sink. “Get it together. Get. It. Together.”

In her reflection, she could see that the bottom hem of her pajama shirt was tinged red, and so she ripped the shirt off. Her parents couldn’t find that. She had to hide it. Leaving the bathroom, she firmly shut the door to her bedroom and glanced around, desperately searching for a hiding place. Her mom insisted on doing her laundry, so the hamper was out of the question. If she put it in her closet, her mom would surely find it while cleaning during the week. Her gaze landed on her backpack, sitting unzipped by her desk chair. No one would check there. She shoved the shirt inside, burying it underneath her books and binders and zipping the bag closed. A couple papers flew out, but she didn’t bother to collect them. They were probably just old worksheets anyway. After she’d pulled on a new shirt – with long sleeves, to cover the cut – she crawled underneath her covers, hoping to not get any blood on her white sheets. Once the comforter was pulled over her head, she closed her eyes and prayed.

Dear God,

I’m so sorry. I am so, so, so sorry. Please fix me. I don’t want to be broken. I don’t want to go to hell. Please just make me normal. Make me normal. I know I’m a bad person. I know I’m a sinner. But please. I’m a good girl. I pray and I respect my parents and I go to church every Sunday and I read the Bible. Please just fix me. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just make me okay again. Please.

Tears began to soak her pillow and quiet sobs spilled out from underneath the heap of blankets, but she didn’t stop.

My parents couldn’t take it. I already got pregnant, I can’t be…I can’t. Please. Please. I can’t do this. Please fix me. I’m begging you.

Amen

– – – –

The next thing she heard was the front door unlocking and her dad’s footsteps in the hallway.

Panic coursing through her, she jumped out of bed and pulled a sweater on over her pajamas. If she wasn’t dressed, she knew her dad would tear into her about laziness and wasting time. Besides, if he was home, that meant it was late afternoon already. Good girls didn’t wear pajamas all day. Now dressed, she went into the bathroom. She splashed water on her face, hoping the redness underneath her eyes could be brushed off as tiredness. Taking deep breaths and staring into the mirror, she plastered on a calm, easygoing smile. “You’re okay.” she whispered. “You’re a good girl. Good girls don’t go to hell.”

Once she was confident that no one could tell anything had happened, she smoothed the wrinkles out of her sweater and went out into the living room. “Hi, Daddy. How was golf?”

“Fine, fine.” He nodded, already getting settled on the couch. “How was your day?”

“Good. I studied.” She smiled, lying.

He grinned. “That’s my girl. Do you have a nice dress clean for church tomorrow?”

Quinn nodded. She checked the wall clock. 6:30. He’d gotten home even later than usual, and where was her mom? She knew that after knitting, her mom went to book club, but even that wasn’t supposed to go this late. She kept her face perfectly still, watching her dad click the television on and flip through the channels until landing on Fox news, the same way he always did. She couldn’t bear the thought of sitting out here with him, watching the news and waiting for her mom and pretending everything was perfect. So, she lied again. “Daddy, I already ate, so would it be alright if I went to bed?”

He sighed, tearing his eyes away from the television to size her up. “Well, seeing as your mother’s not home yet…alright. Are you feeling alright?”

Quickly, she pulled a smile onto her face. “Yes, Daddy. I’m just tired.”

“Alright then. Get some rest. See you bright and early tomorrow.” He waved her off, turning back to the television.

“Goodnight.” Quinn didn’t let her smile drop until her bedroom door closed softly behind her. Like she did every night, she knelt by her bed.

Dear God,

Please fix me. I don’t know what else to ask for. Just please, fix me. My parents can’t handle it. I can’t have them find out.

Amen

She pulled off her sweater, dropped it into the hamper, and crawled back into bed. Her pillow was damp from crying, so she flipped it over. Huddled under the covers, she tried to sleep. She couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes, images of hellfire and her parents' devastated faces flashed through her mind, over and over until she could hardly breathe.

Staring at her ceiling, she exhaled slowly, shakily. There had to be a way for her to not go to hell. There had to be a way for her to stop thinking that way about Rachel, about girls. There had to be. God wouldn’t just abandon her like that. He had to have given her a way to be perfect again. She could ask at church tomorrow. Pastor Ted would know. He would know what she should do.

Clinging to that shred of hope, she finally managed to fall asleep, the cut on her arm throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

– – – –

“Quinn, straighten your skirt.” her mom whispered as they slid into their pew. “You look unwashed.”

“Sorry, Mom.” she mumbled, pulling at the wrinkles. She tugged down the sleeves of her sweater, fiddling with them anxiously.

“Good morning,” Pastor Ted’s voice boomed out over the rows of pews. “I’m so glad to see all of these familiar faces here. As usual, I would like to begin today’s service by seeing if anyone would like to ask a question for us to speak about today. While we’re passing out the paper, the donation basket for the local homeless shelter will be coming around as well, so please, if you feel able, give a little back to our community.”

Quinn worried the cross on her necklace back and forth. After a few minutes, the basket and the paper made its way to their pew, and she grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen. Hardly daring to breathe, she scribbled: ‘will being gay send you to hell/is there a way to stop being gay?’

Terrified of her mom reading over her shoulder, she folded the paper into a tiny square and put it back on the tray. Before her mom handed it to the next person, she pulled a neatly folded ten-dollar bill out of her pocket and slid it into the donation basket.

After the tray had made its way all around the room and back to the pulpit, the pastor cleared his throat. “Alright. Let’s see which questions we can answer today.” He sorted through the papers until he came across one that had been folded several times. He unfolded it and scanned the writing before looking back up to address the room. “It seems that we do have one very important question. This question addresses the topic of homosexuality. A member of our church as asked, ‘will being say send you to hell?’”

Next to her, Quinn’s mom sighed, shaking her head slightly.

Quinn stared straight ahead, silently begging for an answer that would wipe away the things she had read yesterday, some kind of magic cure to guarantee her well-being in the afterlife.

“The short answer is yes, all fags who do not repent will go to hell.”

All her breath was sucked out of her at once. Her chest felt hollow. There was no air.

“However,” he continued, and Quinn started to breathe again. “The sin isn’t in the temptation of homosexual desires. Everyone will experience temptations of some kind. What matters is how you handle them. A sinner who never acts on their feelings and regularly asks God for forgiveness will be allowed to enter the kingdom of heaven.” He paused, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “I do have an issue with the phrasing of the second part of this question: ‘is there a way to stop being gay?’ This seems to imply that a valued member of our congregation has been experiencing homosexual desires, and possibly even acting on them.”

On the other side of Quinn, her dad shook his head, muttering something about “Those damn fags, invading our church.”

She tangled her fingers together and tried to keep her face blank.

“As we know, the Bible clearly states, in Leviticus 20:13, among others, ‘If a man lies with a man as one lies with woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They must be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads.’ There is no way to interpret that other than what is correct: that homosexuality is a sin, and those sinners must be punished.” Pastor Ted continued, staring out at the rows of people hanging onto his every word.

Quinn felt like he was staring directly at her, warning her. Those sinners must be punished.

He continued speaking, “Now, as it is May, we are all too aware of the upcoming, so-called ‘Pride month’, where good, God-fearing people are forced to watch sexual deviants parade around, passing off their sins as something to find joy in, flying rainbow flags. Rainbow flags!” He pounded his fist on the pulpit, spit flying from his mouth. “The rainbow is God’s sacred symbol, given by Him to His followers, and these-these degenerates are trying to take it from us. We cannot abide this! It is our duty to uphold good values and to teach our children – some of whom are here today –”

At that, Quinn’s mom reached over and squeezed her hand, and Quinn forced herself to squeeze back, feeling like she was about to vomit.

“-which paths to follow and which paths to not take. We must listen to Jesus’ teachings and God’s warnings, and abide by them carefully. So, in final answer to this question,” He held the sheet of paper up high, over his head, “yes, homosexuals will go to hell unless they repent and get God’s forgiveness for their sins, and are sure to not find pride in their depravity.” That said, he nodded authoritatively and refolded the paper. “Now, before we move on to the rest of our service today, let’s take a moment to pray for the member of our congregation who asked this question, and hope he or she can find the right path to God.”

Quinn’s parents bowed their heads along with the rest of the congregation, and Quinn hurriedly followed suit. She felt numb. It was as if someone had taken a sermon-shaped knife and stabbed right through her chest. Tears pricked at her eyes as she clasped her hands.

Dear God,

Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Pleas-

“Alright, my friends. Let us move onto today’s reading.”

Amen

Quinn raised her head, nails digging into her palms, trying to not let the devastation show on her face. “Bathroom…” she mumbled, standing up and pushing past the rest of the people in the pew. “Sorry, excuse me, sorry…”

– – – –

Quinn stared at herself in the cheap church bathroom mirror. Her perfectly curled hair hung down past her shoulders. Her best dress, just for Sundays and holidays, fell just below her knees. Her green eyes shone in the reflection of a perfect Christian girl who was slowly being obscured in a haze of tears.

The words, “They must be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads.” slammed against the inside of her brain. The longer she stood there, the louder the words got, until she couldn’t take it anymore. Asking that question was supposed to fix everything. It was supposed to fix her. She needed to be fixed. She couldn't be like this anymore. A couple of tears dripped onto her cheek and she shook her head sharply. No. She couldn’t cry. Good girls didn’t cry, especially not at church where everyone would see and whisper and pry. Good girls looked perfect, and if they couldn’t be happy then they should be mean. Nothing else. Especially not terrified. More tears began to work their way out and she rushed to wipe them away. She needed to stop. She tore her gaze away from her reflection and it landed on the paper towel dispenser attached to the wall. Frantically fumbling with it, she ripped the thin piece of serrated metal off of the edge, turning it over and over in her hand. She needed to be perfect. Before she really knew what she was doing, she had rolled the sleeve of her sweater up over her elbow. The sharp edge collided with her skin, intersecting the thin line that was already there. A steady trickle of blood dripped into the sink, staining the perfect white stone a dark red. She stared down at her arm, a different kind of reflection. Something that had been almost perfect, marred by something that could never be erased.

She stayed there, unmoving, until a knock on the bathroom door cut through the fog.

“Quinnie? Are you in here?”

“Yes, Mom!” she yelled, panicked. “Don’t come in! Just…washing my hands!”

“Your father is already outside with the other men in the congregation, so please hurry up. We’re going to attend the picnic after the service.”

“Be right out!” Quinn called, frantically scrubbing at the blood with the faucet turned on full-blast. She could hear the tension in her mom’s voice. She must have missed the rest of the service, and she could only imagine what everyone was saying about her. She couldn’t afford to screw up anything else. Her family’s reputation was in enough danger already without her making it any worse. She grabbed several paper towels – ripping them out haphazardly, now that the metal piece of the dispenser was lying in the sink, tinged red – and pressed them against the cut. After a minute, the blood finally stopped and Quinn pulled down her sleeve, balling up the paper towels and shoving them down to the bottom of the trash can, along with the strip of metal. She took a few deep breaths and readjusted her necklace before opening the door and smiling at her mom. “Picnic time?”

Judy nodded tersely. “This will be our first time attending one of these since…” she trailed off, staring down at Quinn’s stomach. “Well. You know.”

“Right. I’ll be on my best behavior.” She forced a smile. Her family was counting on her.

“That’s my girl.” Judy smiled slightly in return, draping her arm over Quinn’s shoulders and guiding her towards the exit.

– – – –

“Ah, Barbra!” Quinn’s mom greeted one of the other women, a big smile firmly plastered onto her face. “It’s so good to see you! How have Rhett and the kids been?”

Barbra pursed her lips, scanning her up and down. “Judy. It has been a while, hasn’t it? Not since…” She glanced purposefully at Quinn, turning up her nose. “Well. You’re certainly trying to get involved with the community again, aren’t you?”

Judy nodded sharply. “We’ve just been wanting to get in touch with all the families we used to be so close with.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Rhett you were here today.” Barbra added, voice dripping syrupy sweetness. “He’ll just be so glad to hear it.” She ended the conversation with a smirk and turned around.

Judy closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose before sighing and looking over at Quinn. “You’re very quiet today, aren’t you?”

Quinn didn’t respond, she just stared down at her black Mary Janes. On the outside, she looked lost in thought. Inside, she was hearing “homosexuals go to hell” and seeing fresh blood dripping from her arm, on repeat. All her focus was on not letting her thoughts show on her face. No one could know.

“Quinn!” Her mom tried again, voice shrill.

“Sorry!” Quinn jumped, looking up. “Sorry. Just…thinking about today’s question.”

Her mom’s face softened. “I feel awful for the family of whoever asked it. I can’t imagine having to deal with such a thing, especially on top of…everything we’ve gone through this past year.” She looked at Quinn, a soft smile flicking across her lips. “Luckily, I have you for a daughter, so it’s not a concern.”

Quinn nodded, feeling somehow more hollow than before. “Right. Of course.”

“Caroline!” Her mom burst out, spotting another one of the church wives. “How wonderful to see you!”

Caroline’s eyebrows shot up. “Judy. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” She laughed, high pitched and uncomfortable, trying to hide the fact that she was staring at Quinn with a near bug-eyed expression. “And Quinn, so soon after…that whole ordeal. Well, give my regards to Russell.” She forced another laugh before quickly walking away.

The picnic went on for a few hours, with each interaction getting progressively more uncomfortable and Quinn getting progressively more distant. Every fake pleasantry exchanged between her mom and those other women, all ending with a dig – in varying degrees of subtlety – about “How thin Quinn looks now!” or “Where’s the bab-oh, nevermind.” felt like a stab through the heart.

At some point they worked their way over to a picnic table laden with food, and Quinn automatically reached for a paper plate. Quickly, her mom hissed into her ear, “Not too much, Quinnie. We wouldn’t want anyone getting any ideas.”

“Of course, Mom.” Quinn nodded. This wasn’t anything new. The food she ate was just as regulated as the way she dressed and the way she curled her hair. Her mom had just been a little stricter about it after the baby. Quinn had to lose the extra weight she’d put on, after all, and if she was still fat at this point, people at church would start to speculate. Speculate about what, she wasn’t sure, but she knew it was important to her mom to avoid it. And right now, Quinn needed to do everything possible to please her mom. She selected an apple and a scoop of salad and sat down to eat, not realizing who she’d sat across from until she glanced up.

“Oh, Quinn, how nice to see you back and…” Nancy, an older woman who’d been going to this church since before Quinn was born, scanned her up and down, her gaze coming to rest on Quinn’s stomach. “Back to normal.”

Quinn just nodded and took a bite of her apple. The longer she could put off this conversation, the better. The thought of making small talk about the food or the weather or her body made her even more nauseous than she already was.

“Well, now why are you wearing that sweater? It’s such a nice day out, don’t you want to get some sun?” Nancy prodded further, setting her fork down in order to focus more of energy on her interrogation.

Quinn twitched, images of the cuts criss-crossing her arm flashing through her mind. Forcing herself to stay calm, she swallowed and conjured up a convincing smile from somewhere deep inside herself. “Oh, I’m just a little chilly. I run cold.”

Before Nancy could say anything else, Judy appeared behind Quinn and dropped a hand onto her shoulder. “Quinnie, come with me. Everyone wants to say hello to you.”

“Okay, Mom.” Quinn waved her goodbyes to Nancy as she stood up and followed behind her mom, leaving her untouched salad on the table. She bit her lip to keep from losing her cool as they approached yet another gaggle of church wives staring at her with nothing but judgment in their eyes.

– – – –

By the time the Fabrays made their way back to the car, Quinn’s arm stung from the cut and her pride stung from the awful conversation and her mind stung from the harsh words of the pastor. All she wanted was a quick, silent ride home, and then to escape into her room.

“So!” Her dad announced as he pulled the car out of the parking spot, his spirits clearly lifted after the time spent catching up with the other men. “What did we think of the service today?”

Her mom piped up, “Quinnie and I started to discuss the question from the beginning a bit earlier.” She sounded eager to please, as though she really thought that pleasant conversation about church was the solution to all of their problems.

“Ah, right.” Russell nodded. “Quinn, what did you think?”

Quinn locked eyes with him in the rearview mirror. Every time she thought about it, thought about everything that had been said, all she wanted to do was vomit and cry. “Um.” She swallowed hard, pinching the skin of her thigh as she spoke. “I just wondered, um, what you thought about it, Daddy?” Maybe there was some hope there. Maybe he would disagree, or he’d tell her it didn’t matter what the Bible said and that he’d love her no matter what. Maybe.

“Well,” he began, “first of all, I think Pastor Ted was absolutely right.”

Quinn drew in a breath, concentrating as hard as she could on keeping herself composed, keeping her face neutral. She honestly didn’t think his words could hurt any more than they did right then.

“And secondly, like I was talking about with the guys earlier, I’m just glad that it’s not my child running around being a fag and asking these kinds of questions, because let me just tell you, there would be some serious consequences.”

She was wrong. The rest of the horrible day paled in comparison to this. She just managed to nod and squeak out, “Of course, Daddy.” before turning her head and gluing her focus to the scenery passing by. The view was soon obscured with tears, but she was able to blink them away before they dripped down her face. Putting all other thoughts out of her head, she focused on just one: Be a good girl. Be a good girl. Be a good girl.

– – – –

As soon as Russell parked the car, Quinn asked to go to her room, excusing herself under the pretense of needing to study for a – made up – history test tomorrow.

She closed her door and lay on top of her bed, not even bothering to pull down her comforter. Her perfect blonde hair spilled across her perfect white pillow and her whole body shook as she cried.

She didn’t move until her mom called her name for dinner, at which point she dragged herself off the bed and fixed herself up in the mirror. Straighten the necklace, fluff the curls, wipe the last tears off her cheeks. Everything was perfect. Everything was fine.

– – – –

Dinner was a silent affair.

Her dad focused on his plate, cutting up his steak with ferocity that bordered on aggression.

Her mom drank too much wine, presumably in an attempt to drown the shame from her old friends.

Quinn didn’t touch her plate, just stared down at her arm as if she could see through the clean fabric of her sleeve to the jagged scratches underneath. As if she could see through her clean exterior to the horrific sinner she knew she really was.

She went back to her room as soon as her parents finished eating and the plates were cleared away.

– – – –

Dear God,

I’m so sorry. Please fix me. I need you to fix me. Please. Help. Help me. I don’t know what to do.

Amen

Quinn got under the covers, eyes shut as if that could stop the torrent of thoughts from flying through her mind.

Outside the perfect quiet of her room, the yelling was louder than usual. And longer. She couldn’t make out any of the words, but it felt like forever until her mom was standing in the doorway.

“Did you say your prayers?”

“Yes, Mom.”

Judy glanced over her shoulder before stepping into the room. She shut the door behind her, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of Quinn’s bed.

Quinn couldn’t remember the last time her mom had come into her room for a reason other than cleaning. A silent moment passed before she tentatively asked, “Is everything okay?”

Her mom nodded quickly, straightening the corner of the white comforter. “Everything’s just fine.”

“Okay.” Quinn nodded hesitantly. She wasn’t sure what to do, so she did nothing.

A few moments later, Judy cleared her throat. “I love you very much. And so does your father.”

Quinn managed a slight smile. “I love you too.”

“There are just some things,” Judy continued, “that we and others with our beliefs cannot accept.” She looked deeply into Quinn’s eyes, trying to convey the meaning she was too afraid to say. “And I hope you know that.”

Quinn’s smile dropped, and she swallowed hard. “Yeah. Of course.”

Judy patted the comforter once more and stood up. She crossed back to the doorway but hesitated before pulling the door open, turning slightly over her shoulder. Her eyes looked almost watery as she smiled and said, “Goodnight, Quinn.”

“Goodnight.” Quinn waited for the door to shut before rolling away to face the wall.

Lying in the silent dark, she shivered. The comforter was no help against the cold that her mom’s words had left in the room. With her eyes closed, her mind wandered to a memory of Rachel singing in Glee club. Desperate to fall asleep and so worn out from the day that she couldn’t even cry, she was tempted to let it happen, but after a few seconds she managed to force her thoughts back on track.

– – – –

Every class period on Monday felt the same. Nothing any teacher said could push its way through the cold fog that had taken up permanent residence in Quinn’s head. The only things she could seem to think about were Pastor Ted’s words, her dad’s words, her mom’s words. And how much her arm hurt underneath yet another perfectly clean sweater. And Rachel. Every time her mind wandered to Rachel, it was immediately pulled back to all the things that had been said and to how much her arm stung, and thinking about that inevitably led her to thinking about Rachel. On and on and on and on it went. The only thing she could think to do was silently pray. She prayed in class and in the hallways and the bathroom, when she hid out there to reapply the makeup she’d put on to hide the dark circles under her eyes.

– – – –

Dear God,

Please fix me. I can’t be like this. They’ll never forgive me. Please just fix it.

Amen

– – – –

Dear God,

I don’t understand why I have to be like this. Can’t you just fix me? I don’t want to be like this. I just want to be a good Christian girl like I’m supposed to be and forget all about everything that happened before. Can’t I just forget about this too? Find a new boyfriend and be happy with him? Please?

Amen

– – – –

Dear God,

Why won’t you help me? What did I do wrong that I haven’t already asked your forgiveness for? Are you still angry about the baby? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. What can I do to fix it? Please just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Please just fix me.

Amen

– – – –

Dear God,

Are you listening? Did I do something wrong? Please just tell me.

Amen

– – – –

Dear God,

I’m begging you. My parents would hate me if they found out. If you’re listening please, just please, fix me.

Amen

– – – –

Dear God,

Please.

Amen

– – – –

After the last period bell rang and Quinn walked into the choir room, she took her usual seat in the back. Still lost in her thoughts, she watched Kurt and Blaine enter, holding hands and talking too loudly about the latest musical they were both obsessed with. Brittany and Santana followed soon after them, pinkies linked as usual. Quinn couldn’t stop herself from staring. Looking at them made something deep inside her ache for…something, but she didn’t know what. She wasn’t like them. She couldn’t be like them. Looking harder, watching Santana whispering something into Brittany’s ear before kissing her on the cheek, Quinn bit down on her lip, hard. She wasn’t supposed to want that. Wasn’t supposed to think about doing that with…her eyes drifted over, down the center seat that belonged to no one else but Rachel Berry. She especially wasn’t supposed to want that with her. Forcing herself to look away from Rachel, her eyes landed back on Kurt and Blaine and she heard Pastor Ted in her ear again: All fags who do not repent will go to hell. As hard as she thought about it, she couldn’t seem to reconcile that fact with the boys sitting one row down from her, laughing together. How could they be going to hell? How could she be going to hell?

Kurt, seemingly feeling her stare bore into his neck, turned around and made eye contact with her. “Quinn, you okay?”

Quinn, startled out of her own thoughts, blinked at him. He tilted his head, clearly expecting her to say something. In her panicked haze, she lost control of her body. What should have happened was that she nodded, smiled, and said, “Yeah, of course.” Then Kurt would have turned back around and everything would have continued as normal.

Instead, what actually happened was that she shook her head. Her mouth opened, but, “Yeah, of course,” did not come out. What came out, whispered so quietly it was hardly audible, was, “Can I talk to you? Privately?”

Kurt looked surprised, but he agreed. “Yeah, sure. Right now?”

Quinn nodded, getting up from her seat and rushing out into the hallway. She was sure everyone was staring at her as she left.

Kurt followed closely behind and leaned against the wall of lockers. He waited for her to say something, and when it became clear that she wasn’t going to, he prompted, “What’s going on?”

She wanted to just brush it off, to say everything was fine and go back inside the classroom. She couldn't stop herself, though, and her mouth opened again. Looking at her shoes, her dress, the floor, everywhere but at him, she mumbled, “Well. You know how you…you and Blaine…you’re…”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, puzzled by the direction this conversation was taking. “Are dating?”

“No.” Quinn shook her head. “Well, yes, but. But you’re…you’re…”

Even more confused now, he asked, “You mean that I’m…gay?”

Ever so slightly, Quinn nodded. “And. If I. I mean, I’m not, but if I…if I was…” She dug her fingernails into her palm and tried to force the word out, but couldn’t., “If I was. What…um, what would I…what should I do?”

Kurt’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, Quinn. Are you gay?”

Quinn froze. Are you gay? She couldn’t breathe. All fags go to hell. “I…”

“Oh my god, Quinn!” Kurt broke into a warm smile. “Am I the first person you’ve told?”

It was all she could do to shrug, every part of her feeling numb. Her voice was ragged as she whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do about what?” he asked, face clouding with confusion.

She took a shuddery breath, tangling her fingers together. “My parents.” She held herself back from saying: My parents, my church, my entire life. Everything.

“Oh.” Kurt nodded slowly. “They’re…are they homophobic? That’s awful.”

Quinn just stared wordlessly, looking through him. She’d never thought about her parents like that. As homophobic. Like maybe they were the problem. Like maybe she wasn’t the problem. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. It came faster and faster as she stood there, glued to the spot in front of Kurt.

He reached out to touch her arm, and she instinctively jerked away. His eyebrows furrowed as he asked, “Quinn, are you okay?”

Her rational brain snapped back into action and she smiled, a warm, full smile. The same smile that fooled her parents, her teachers, Ms. Sylvester, Mr. Schue, everyone at church. The classic Quinn Fabray smile that could almost fool herself, if she didn’t look too closely in the mirror. As she smiled, she replied, “Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry to bother you. You can just forget I said anything.” Punctuating the lie with a sharp little nod, she turned and started back into the classroom. She glanced over her shoulder as she entered the room and watched Kurt stare after her, a mixture of confusion and concern evident in his eyes.

She brushed past Rachel as she returned to her seat, refusing to let herself look at her. She sat down in time to watch Kurt come back into the room. He paused by Santana’s chair, leaning down to whisper something to her. Santana started to turn her head to look up at Quinn, before Kurt grabbed her shoulder and shook his head. Santana nodded and Kurt took his seat, just as the bell rang and Mr. Schue stood up.

“Alright, guys! Let’s get into this week's lesson.”

– – – –

The bell rang and Quinn grabbed her backpack and headed for the door, determined to forget her talk with Kurt, determined to forget everything that had happened in the last couple of days. Everything was fine. She just needed to put all of this behind her, pretend nothing ever happened-

“Quinn.” Santana stepped in front of her, blocking the door. “Walk with me.” Without another word, she turned and left the room, striding through the hallway with the expectation that Quinn would be behind her.

She scoffed and followed Santana out the door. “Hey, wait. What’s going on?”

When they reached a somewhat deserted corner of the hallway, Santana abruptly stopped and pulled Quinn over to the wall, into a little alcove between lockers. “So. I know you’re the queen bitch around here, but I’ve been hearing some concerning things about you.”

Quinn took a breath, trying to keep her composure. Trying not to show the panic that was rapidly building up inside her, she asked, “What did Kurt tell you? He’s freaking out about nothing-“

“Stop.” Santana held up her hand. “It’s not about what Kurt told me. I’ve known.”

Quinn froze. She knew? She knew what? The way that Quinn looked at Rachel? The way she thought about Rachel? Santana couldn’t know that. No one could know. “What are you talking about?” she managed to ask, summoning her best stare of blank confusion.

“Quinn. Puh-leeze.” Santana rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Everyone knows I have the best gaydar in Lima.” She paused for a moment, looking Quinn up and down. Then, more quietly, “This part sucks. I know. And you know I’m not one for touchy-feely ‘oh I’m here for you’.” she made a face as she spoke. “But y'know. I’ve been through it. On a massive, national television level scale.”

“Santana…” Quinn shook her head. This wasn’t happening. There was no way Santana knew. She shouldn’t have said anything to Kurt, she shouldn’t have ever said anything to anybody about it. Everyone was going to know now and it was all going to be her fault. She dug her fingernails into her palm, trying to reply. “It’s not…I’m not…I’m-I’m not-“

“Oh, really?” Santana snickered. “If you say so. But just so you know, hiding it doesn’t help. It actually makes everything worse. Trust me.”

“That’s not true.” Quinn muttered. She needed to end this conversation, needed to leave. She wanted to just turn and go, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from adding, “You don’t get it. Even if I was-” she exhaled, quickly tacking on, “I’m not. But it would make everything worse if I told people. Especially my parents.”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure they’d be happy you won’t get knocked up again.” Santana teased, cocking her head to the side.

Quinn bit down on her lip until her mouth tasted metallic. “It’s not funny.” She spat out the words, her mouth twisting into a scowl. “Leave me alone. You don’t get it, okay? You don’t know my life.” Finally, she managed to turn around and leave. Walk away. Just walk away. Quinn forced herself to breathe, her heartbeat pounding furiously in her ears. Just leave, and she’ll forget all about it. No one will know. No one can know.

“Quinn!” Santana yelled after her. “Who else better to get it than me? You know any other lesbians?”

“Shut up!” Quinn screamed, not looking back. She broke into a run, pushing her way through the front doors and out onto the street, sprinting past the bus stop. She didn’t slow down until she couldn’t breathe, and even then she kept walking. She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t get home late. That was the last thing she needed right now.

– – – –

The dinner table that night was even icier than usual, if that was possible. Quinn tried her hardest not to make a sound, keeping her head down and staring at her plate. Everything was normal.

“So, Russell. How was work?” Judy tried, looking at him hopefully.

“Fine, Judy.” He nodded. “How was…whatever you were up to today?”

“Volunteering at the soup kitchen was fine, thank you for asking.” She huffed, then continued, “Quinnie-”

“School was fine. I finished my homework. My grades are good.” Quinn recited, flashing a quick smile without looking up.

“Wonderful.” Her mom nodded slightly. “Oh, don’t forget, we have that church gathering to attend tomorrow. Can you meet us there after school?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And make sure to wear something nice.” Her dad added.

She nodded, subconsciously rubbing her fingers over her sleeve, where she could feel the cuts under the fabric, could feel the scabs that had started to form. “Yes, Daddy.”

Her mom’s head snapped up. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Nothing.” Quinn pulled her fingers back like she’d been burned. “Just had an itch.”

She sighed. “Well, we’re all just a bundle of fun tonight, aren’t we?”

“What is that supposed to mean, Judy?” Her dad muttered, his voice taking on a hard tone. He looked up from his plate, clenching his fork tightly in his fist.

“Just that we’re not exactly acting like a happy family, Russell.” Her voice was uncharacteristically sharp, accusatory.

Quinn exhaled slowly, trying very hard to disappear. Her mom had to know better than to provoke him like this. She had to know what was coming.

Russell glared at her, his eyes harsh and unforgiving. “What, exactly, are you trying to insinuate?”

Setting her fork down firmly, Judy countered, “Nothing, just maybe that if you stopped being so obsessed with your work and actually paid attention to your family-”

And then all hell broke loose.

Russell stood up abruptly, slamming his hands down on the table. “I will not be spoken to this way in my house!” he roared.

“This is my house too!” Judy screamed back.

Someone shoved the table, knocking over plates and sending silverware careening off onto the floor. Someone threw a glass into the wall and it shattered, flinging shards through the room. Someone grabbed the lamp off the sideboard and lobbed it across the room, and it smashed into pieces as it hit the couch. Someone screamed, and it wasn’t until Quinn had run into her bedroom that she realized it had been her. She crumpled to the floor and leaned back against the door in a frantic attempt to keep it closed. Her fingers trembled violently as she curled herself up to take up the least space she possibly could, covering her head with her hands. The room filled with the sound of hyperventilation and she rocked slightly back and forth, back and forth. She could hear the screaming as clearly as if she was still in the living room and she desperately pressed her hands over her ears. It did nothing to suppress the noise, so she heard her dad scream, “Fuck you, you bitch!” and her mom yell back, “You’re pathetic!”

Withdrawing her hands from her ears, Quinn squeezed her cross necklace between her shaking fingers. Crying too hard to pray properly, she just held it tightly and choked out, “God, please.”

It didn’t help. Outside her room, the worst fight she’d ever heard raged on, and inside wasn’t much better. Quinn sobbed and pinched her wrists until black and blue bruises formed, and when that didn’t work, she clawed the scabs off her cuts until blood trickled down her arms. She stayed there for as long as she could, using her nails to cut new scratches when she ran out of scabs to pick.

Eventually, the pain and the blood forced her to untangle herself from her knot on the floor and crawl over to her desk. She pulled tissues out of their box and pressed them to her arms, tears still pouring down her face. The blood gradually stopped, but her light pink sweater was stained in ways that she didn’t think could ever be fixed, so she pulled it off and stuffed it underneath her bed. She knew her mom would find it at some point, but she couldn’t stop crying long enough to think of anything else to do with it. Without changing into pajamas, she dragged herself into bed and curled tightly into herself, facing the wall. Her tears slowed to a trickle, but they didn’t stop until the screaming did. Only then did she start breathing almost regularly again, feeling the freshly opened gashes on her arm throb.

The complete silence that followed was almost worse than the screaming. Based on what she’d been able to hear of the fight, anything could have happened. Quinn was too afraid to leave the relative safety of her room to check, so she stayed frozen, waiting. Waiting for her mom to come in like she did every night. Waiting for everything to be okay.

Just when she thought that this was going to be it, just her and the silence, her door creaked open.

“Quinn?” Her mom’s voice was hoarse and she spoke so quietly that Quinn almost didn’t hear her.

She couldn’t bring herself to respond.

“Are you asleep?”

Again, no answer. Quinn kept perfectly still, holding her breath.

There was a long silence. Quinn could imagine her mom in the doorway, staring at her. Was she okay? Was she hurt? She couldn’t bear the thought of turning over and looking to confirm.

Still barely audible, her mom whispered again, “I’m so sorry.”

With that, the door shut. Quinn closed her eyes and concentrated on her mom’s footsteps fading away.

– – – –

No one was home when Quinn’s alarm woke her up. There was a note on the dining room counter next to an apple, reading, Hi Quinnie – gone shopping. Your dad is at work. Take the bus, okay? We’ll see you at the church after school. - Mom

Quinn shoved the apple back into the fridge and retreated to her room. She dressed quickly and grabbed her backpack, then stopped in front of the mirror. She looked like a zombie. Her hair was flat and tangled, all the curls knocked out long ago. Her eyes were bloodshot and lined with heavy dark circles. Her cheeks were pale and sunken in. She didn’t have to lift the sleeves of her sweater to know that her arms looked even worse. A glance at the clock told her that there wasn’t nearly enough time to fix all of it, so instead she took a deep breath and straightened her necklace. She had makeup in her bag, she could put it on at school. She would look normal. No one would have to know.

– – – –

She’d just stepped off the bus and into McKinley when she was intercepted by Kurt.

“Quinn. I was thinking about yesterday, and-” He cut himself off, clearly taken aback by what he saw when he looked at her. “Oh. Are you-are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Quinn growled, pushing past him and forging on towards the bathroom. As soon as she took her place by the sink and looked up at the mirror, she sucked in a breath. Behind her, Mercedes smiled as she came out of one of the stalls.

“Hey, Quinn.” Mercedes turned her head to look at Quinn as she washed her hands, then raised an eyebrow. “Girl, are you okay? You look-”

“Leave me alone.” Quinn spit the words out and stuffed her makeup bag back into her backpack, hurriedly turning to leave. She pushed her way through the packed hallway, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor to minimize the amount of people who would see, and stare, and talk.

– – – –

Quinn managed to escape to the bathroom between first and second period to put on her makeup. She applied it quickly, careful not to be late for her next class. Before she left the bathroom, though, she gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection in the dented mirror. She looked a little more like herself now. Composed, pretty. Expressionless.

The bell rang and she pulled herself away, heading for the stairs.

She couldn’t focus. Teachers kept mentioning homework assignments she hadn’t even remembered had been assigned, let alone remembered to do them. Several teachers pulled her over to their desk as class ended, saying something along the lines of, “This is so unlike you, Quinn. You always do your work. Is there something going on?”

Each time, she smiled and shook her head. “I’m so sorry, it just slipped my mind. I’ll have it for you tomorrow. It won’t happen again!” Nothing was going on. If she didn’t talk about it, it didn’t exist. Her smile and her words were always enough to convince anyone of anything. Each and every teacher let her go, saying that as long as she got the work in tomorrow there wouldn’t be any consequences.

If she was being honest, by the time Quinn left each class, she’d already forgotten what work she was supposed to be completing by tomorrow. The only thing she could think about was last night. Every time she blinked, she saw it happen all again. Blink. The glass shattered. Blink. She screamed. Blink. The yelling, the insults. Blink. Her arms ripped open, blood staining her sweater. Blink.

“Quinn? Are you listening?”

Her head snapped up. “I’m sorry. Say it again?”

Mrs. Carlisle slighted deeply. “I expect some people to be off in dreamland, but Quinn…not you. What I said was that we have a test next week, and it’s going to be serious business. So make sure to start studying. That’s all.”

Quinn nodded along with everyone else as the bell rang, then gathered her bag. She had absolutely no idea what was going to be on that test, and while that would have normally terrified her, she couldn’t seem to feel much of anything.

On autopilot, she made her way towards the cafeteria for lunch. Halfway there, though, she stopped in her tracks. If she went to lunch, she’d have to sit with Brittany and Santana. Have to talk to them, make up something about what she’d done the night before, but more than that, have to sit there and watch them link pinkies and share a soda. Have to sit there and know that she could never do that. Know that even wanting to do that was enough to earn eternal damnation. She couldn’t deal with that, not today.

Instead of continuing on to the cafeteria, she turned and disappeared into the nearest bathroom. As she closed the stall door, she pulled her phone out of her bag and texted Brittany and Santana, Hi, sorry I’m missing lunch today! I have to meet with my group for a history project.

She sat down heavily on the toilet seat, bending forward and dropping her head into her hands. Spending lunch in a bathroom stall. “How the mighty fall.” she muttered under her breath. This was unbelievable. She was Quinn Fabray. She sat at the table in the center of the cafeteria, surrounded by cheerleaders and football players. Sure, she’d lost all of that for a while during the pregnancy, but even then she’d never had to hide out in the bathroom.

There was a packed lunch in her bag, put there like it was every morning by her mom, but she didn’t take it out. There was no point, really. Eat lunch, don’t eat lunch. Her parents would still hate each other and she would still be a disappointment. Still be going to hell.

She closed her eyes, listening to people come in and out of the bathroom. Time seemed to drag on as she sat there, the lunch period that usually felt like ten minutes somehow lasting forever.

Finally, the bell rang and she left the stall, scanning the hallway before stepping out to ensure no one would see her.

She faked her way through math, scribbling random numbers on her worksheet to look busy and giving Mr. Brady the same excuses for her missing homework. He bought it, of course.

The only period left in the day was Glee. Quinn made it almost to the choir room door before remembering that she was supposed to have a song prepared for today. She did not have one. She couldn’t even remember the theme for the week. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She couldn't walk in there with nothing. Mr. Schue would be worried and he would ask questions. Everyone would stare. Rachel would stare. Before she could think any more about it, she was walking the other way, down the hall and out the main door.

The warm spring air felt nice on her face.

She kept walking. She passed trees and parked cars and fire hydrants. Her footsteps pounded on the sidewalk almost as loudly as her heartbeat. None of this mattered. Not the homework, not eating in the bathroom, not skipping Glee. Skipping school. She’d never skipped school. She’d been at school, at Glee, nine months pregnant. She’d gone to school the day after her dad kicked her out. And now here she was, crossing the street and leaving McKinley far behind.

She didn’t know where she was going. She could vaguely remember something about her parents going to an event after school, but nothing more than that. It was probably just one of her mom’s things. Bingo or something. Her dad would stay at work late if her mom was going to bingo, or he’d go out with his friends to the bar and get a drink. Either way, he wouldn’t be home. She could just go home. The thought of being in that house, though, made her want to vomit. Having to sit in her room and stare at the same ceiling she stared at every night. Having to look at the framed picture of Jesus over her bed and know that she was a sinner. Sit at the dining room table watching the endless fights replay in her mind. Stand in the kitchen and see the blood run down her wrist.

She didn’t go home. She kept walking.

Eventually, she ended up at the elementary school playground. Not thinking, at least for the moment, about the potential for trespassing, she pulled herself up and over the short fence, landing heavily on the other side. Walking through the playground, she ran her fingertips over the edge of the slide and the posts of the monkey bars. She’d never played here, never gone to school here, but it felt almost familiar. She found herself in front of the swingset and sat down. Her feet grazed the asphalt beneath as she shifted back and forth. If she closed her eyes, she could just make out a memory of being a kid. Sitting on swings like these ones and laughing with her friends. She almost smiled.

But that was before. Before the bullying, before the move, before the baby, before…now. Her eyes flew open. She gripped the swing chains tightly, kicking at the loose stones beneath her feet.

It was nice to be alone. She didn’t need to pretend. Didn’t need to smile and twirl her hair and keep her face free of any hint of real emotion, any hint of anything that wasn’t contentment or judgement. She didn’t need to think about anything, either. Not her parents or the cuts on her arms or church, and certainly not Rachel.

She kicked harder, propelling herself higher and higher, faster and faster, until the only thing she could feel was the wind in her face.

– – – –

By the time her legs got tired and forced her to stop swinging, it was getting kind of chilly and dark. Quinn pulled her phone out of her bag to check the time, but was first greeted with a train of missed texts from Santana.

> where are you?
> mr schue is gonna be pissed
> yo you remember you have a solo today right?
> hello????

More pressing than the texts, though, was the time. It was nearing six o’clock. She’d somehow managed to spend four hours in this stupid park. If it was six now, by the time she walked home it’d be almost six thirty, which meant her mom would be basically home from bingo and her dad would be getting in the car to come home from work, and if either of them got home before she did-

Quinn shook her head, jumping up and stuffing her phone back into her bag. No, there was still time. Plenty of time for her to get home, go to her room, and pretend she’d been there doing homework all afternoon. They’d never know.

She kept a brisk pace on her walk back. It would all be fine. She’d get there in plenty of time. Besides, maybe bingo would run late or her dad would stay out drinking for a while. There was nothing to worry about.

– – – –

As she rounded the corner onto her street, she checked her phone again. Six-twenty. She exhaled slowly. It was all fine. She was plenty early, her parents probably weren’t even on their way home yet.

Although, as she approached the house, it did look like there were two cars in the driveway. Getting closer, she saw that the lights were on. They were home.

Swallowing hard, she kept walking, right up to the front door. Before she unlocked it, she took several deep breaths. “It's okay. You’re okay.” she whispered. “You…you stayed at school late to work on Glee stuff and had to get the late bus, and then there was traffic. Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Her story set, she pushed the door open, hung her bag on the hook, and entered the house. “Hi, Mom! Hi, Daddy! Sorry I’m so late!” she called as she walked down the hall towards the dining room. “The late bus got caught in so much traffic!” She rounded the corner into the room, apologetic smile out in full force. “I had to stay at school for…” she trailed off, taken aback by what she saw.

Her parents sat at the dining room table, facing her. Their faces were unreadable, which already set Quinn’s nervous system into high alert. Even more than that, her dad had his hand clasped around her mom’s. She couldn’t think of the last time they’d held hands, the last time they’d touched each other gently at all. Trying to keep her breathing steady, she smiled wider. “How was bingo, Mom? And, Daddy, how was work?”

Her mom pursed her lips. “I wasn’t at bingo, Quinn. We were at the mixer. At church.”

Quinn drew in a sharp breath. Now she remembered. The note on the dining room table, the instructions for her to meet them there. She was supposed to have gone right after school. Immediately, apologies poured out. “I’m so sorry. I had to stay after school for a project. I really wanted to go, it must have completely slipped my mind, I’m so so sorry.”

Her mom just stared, her face unchanging.

“I really didn’t mean to miss it.” Quinn continued, stepping closer to the table. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll-”

Her dad held his hand up, cutting her off. “That’s not the issue we’re concerned about.”

Quinn blinked at him. What was he talking about?

Slowly, without speaking, he held up a piece of paper that she hadn’t noticed on the table.

Her stomach dropped.

The paper was a page from her notebook. A paper she’d doodled a sketch on in class a few weeks ago.

“Oh, Daddy, that’s just…” For the first time in her life, Quinn couldn’t find an excuse. The drawing was of Rachel. Not just Rachel, but Rachel singing, surrounded by hearts. In the bottom corner she had written: QF + RB. “It’s-” she floundered, her breathing quickening. How did they find it? She could remember tearing it out of her notebook and burying it in her backpack…her backpack. In a flash, Quinn remembered when she’d hid her sweater in her bag, knocking some papers out in the process. This must have been one of them. She curled her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms. What could she say to clean this up? To keep them from finding out? Oh, God, they were going to find out.

“Did you draw this?” Her dad’s voice was hard, cold.

She couldn’t find a way out. Slowly, Quinn nodded.

Her dad slammed his hand on the table and Quinn flinched, involuntarily taking a step back. “Don’t walk away from me.” he growled. “Come back.” His eyes bored into hers, icy and unforgiving.

Quinn’s heart roared in her chest and she wanted nothing more than to turn and run, down the hallway, out the door, and into the street. But instead, she stepped forward until she was right in front of the table. Right in front of her parents.

For a moment, there was silence. She glanced back and forth between them as they sat, neither of them moving. Quinn couldn’t think, couldn’t process anything. All she could do was stand there, frozen like a wild animal caught in the scope of a gun.

Russell pushed himself up so that he was standing, towering over her with the paper still clutched in his hand. He walked around the table to stand next to her. Quinn’s whole body trembled and she grabbed onto the table in an attempt to steady herself.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke again. Every single word sounded like a weapon as he asked, “Were you the one who asked that question in church?”

Oh, God. Quinn clutched the table harder. They weren’t supposed to know about that. They weren’t supposed to know. It was a secret, it was her secret. They could never know.

“It’s a yes or no question, Quinn.” Russell leaned forward, his voice dangerously low.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. She was a good girl. This didn't happen to good girls.

He slammed his hand on the table again, even more harshly than before. “Dammit, Quinn! Answer the goddamn question!"

“Yes.” The word was out before she could stop herself, the confession an instinctual reaction to his anger.

Without another word, he pulled his hand away from the table and slapped her across the face. The blow landed hard on her cheek and she crumpled to the floor. She gasped and instinctively brought her hand up to her face. He stepped forward until he was right over her, staring down with nothing but contempt in his eyes. Glaring down at her, he barked out the words, “Get. Out. Of my house.”

Quinn’s gaze flicked from him to her mom, still seated behind the table. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and she looked like she could burst into tears any moment, but she made no move to stand up. “Please, Daddy.” Quinn whispered, forcing herself to look back at him. She couldn’t feel anything besides sheer terror – not the pain from her cheek, not confusion, nothing.

“Get out.” he repeated, raising his hand and pointing to the door for emphasis.

“Daddy.” Quinn’s voice broke as she started to cry. “Please. Please. I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t ask any more questions or draw any more pictures, and I’ll marry a nice boy and be a good wife, I promise. Just please.” Every word was raw with desperation and she gasped for air between sobs.

“Get out!” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth. “I don’t care what lies you tell me, I will not have a fucking dyke living under my roof! I have given you as much grace as I possibly can, and this is too far. We raised you better than this.”

“Daddy.” Quinn whimpered, pulling her hands over her face to protect herself as he got closer and closer.

“Shut up. Get out.”

Frantically, desperately, Quinn looked back to her mom. “Mom. Please.”

Judy’s hand flew to her mouth and her shoulders started to shake. “Quinnie…”

“Please, please, Mom. Please, I need you.” Quinn could barely get the words out, but she didn’t stop begging until her dad stepped sideways, blocking her view to her mom.

“Shut your goddamn mouth.” He bent down, hands on his knees, to get even closer to Quinn as he spat, “You will not corrupt anyone else in this house. You will leave, and you won’t come back. Do you understand me?”

Quinn was crying too hard to respond, so Russell grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her to her feet. “Do you understand?” he screamed, shaking her forcefully.

Somehow, Quinn managed a nod. With that, he released her and wiped his hands on his pants, as if brushing off any trace of her. “Go now.”

“Daddy, it’s dark outside.” she whispered, using the only other tactic she could possibly think of. “Can I please stay tonight? I’ll go-” she cried harder, forcing out the words, “I’ll go tomorrow.”

Her mom nodded slightly, opening her mouth as if to speak, but her dad shook his head. “No. Now.”

A final glance from her dad to her mom and back again told her everything she needed to know. There was going to be no sympathy here. No help. This wasn’t like last time. There would be no packing, no timer set on the microwave. No coming back. Unable to stop crying, Quinn turned and ran out of the dining room, down the hallway, and to the door. She grabbed her backpack off the hook and dashed outside, spilling out onto the driveway.

She didn’t stop there.

Her feet pounded on the concrete and all she could hear was her own sobs and shallow breaths. The night sky was so all-encompassing that she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her face. She ran as far as she could, turning down sidewalks and crossing streets until she couldn’t force her legs to move any further.

Only then did she collapse onto the sidewalk, curling herself into a tight ball on the ground. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t do anything but sit there.

– – – –

Sheer exhaustion was the only thing that made her stop crying. Her body eventually gave out, and her sobs turned into gasps. As her breathing slowed, she managed to pick her head up and glance around. She caught a glimpse of a street sign: Cherry Street, not far from her house. Just thinking the words ‘her house’ felt like a punch to the stomach. It wasn’t her house anymore. God, what was she going to do? The longer she sat huddled on the street, the colder it got. Her cheek had begun to hurt and the sting radiated intensely, making it painful to blink or turn her head. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands to her chest.

Dear God,
…
…
…
…

Her eyes flew open. She couldn’t think of anything. Nothing to beg for, nothing to ask. There was nothing to be done. It was too late. They knew. They knew, and she was being punished for it. She would go to hell for it. It was over.

In lieu of prayer, Quinn did the only other thing she could think of. She dug her phone out of her bag and dialed the number of the one person who might have a chance at helping.

Four rings later, the line clicked to life and she whispered, “Santana?”

– – – –

“Yo, Quinn. Where the hell were you today? You skipped out on lunch and Glee.” Santana’s voice sounded the same as it usually did, teasing but not harsh. She was chewing gum and Quinn could hear it pop in between her words. “You know you had a solo today, right? I had to tell Mr. Schue you had some kind of appointment after school to get him to drop it, and then he just made Rachel sing again, which was so lame. Anyway, where were you?”

Quinn sniffled, wiping her nose on her sweater sleeve. She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

“Hello? You alive?”

“Santana.” Quinn could only get her name out before the tears started again, cutting her off.

Santana dropped the magazine she’d been absentmindedly flipping through onto her bed, shifting her focus fully towards the phone. “Hey, you good?”

“Um…” Quinn shook her head slightly, but of course Santana couldn’t see her. “Can you-can you come pick me up?”

“Pick you up?” Santana repeated. It sounded like Quinn was crying, hard enough that her words bordered on unintelligible. “Where are you?”

“Cherry Street. By…by my house.” Quinn was shivering, and she pulled herself into an even tighter ball, holding her knees to her chest.

“Yeah, okay.” Santana pushed herself off the bed. “Am I taking you home?”

Quinn couldn’t answer that. She could hardly talk, let alone get into all of it. Instead, she whispered, “Can you just come?”

Santana didn’t hesitate any longer before agreeing. Something was clearly wrong. It had to be, for Quinn to be calling her like this. Usually when they talked after school it was just to complain about the latest outrageous thing from cheer or Glee. “Sure. I’m on my way.”

Quinn hung up without saying anything more. Still clutching her phone, she ducked her head to her chest, resting her forehead on her knees.

– – – –

“Mom, I’m taking the car!” Santana called as she walked past the kitchen towards the front door.

“Hold on!” her mom called back. A second later, her head popped out of the kitchen doorway. “Where are you going?”

Santana shrugged slightly. “Quinn called and asked me to pick her up. She sounded really upset. I think she just needs me to take her home.”

Her mom furrowed her eyebrows in concern. “Is she alright?”

“I don’t know, Mom. I’m gonna go find out.” Santana gestured towards the front door. “Can I just take the car?”

With a sigh, her mom nodded. “Text me when you get there and when you drop her off, alright?”

“Yeah.” Santana shot her a quick thumbs up before rushing out the door and to the car. Once inside, she turned the headlights on and pulled out of the driveway, headed straight for Cherry Street. This whole thing was weird. Cherry was so close to Dudley, where Quinn lived, so why couldn’t she just walk there herself? Was she hurt or something? And, anyway, why wasn’t she home? It was almost eight and already dark, and Quinn’s parents never let her go out after sunset. Worry gradually creeping in, Santana gripped the steering wheel harder and sped up.

Fifteen minutes passed before Santana turned onto Cherry. Her headlights illuminated the dim street, and she slowed down to make sure she’d be able to see Quinn waiting for her.

Even so, she almost missed her. She’d been expecting to see Quinn standing on the sidewalk, maybe leaning on a lamppost, maybe waving as she got closer, so at first she didn’t recognize the person huddled on the ground. But no, that was distinctly Quinn’s sweater and Quinn’s hair, so Santana pulled over. She pushed the door open and jumped out of the car, quickly walking around the front of the car towards the sidewalk.

Quinn, feeling the glow from the headlights, picked her head up. She had to squint to see Santana approaching through the glare.

Any worry Santana had been feeling before paled in comparison to the sick feeling that appeared in the pit of her stomach when Quinn looked up at her. Her left cheek was black and blue with a bruise that spread across her face. Her green eyes were totally bloodshot and mascara tracks ran down beneath them, mixing with tears. She looked…small. And afraid.

“Jesus, Quinn.” Santana knelt beside her. “What the hell happened to you?”

Quinn blinked at her. What could she say? “I…” She shook her head. Santana’s eyes didn’t leave her face, and she knew she had to answer with something, so she mumbled, “You were right.”

“What? Right about what?” Santana reached out to put her hand on Quinn’s shoulder, but Quinn instinctively flinched away.

“You were right.” Quinn repeated. “About me. Being…” she stopped before saying the word. It felt dirty. At this point, though, what was there to lose? Her parents knew. Everyone at church would know. She was a disgrace. A disappointment. She was going to hell. Admitting that wouldn’t change it. So, she continued, “Being gay.”

Santana sighed heavily. “No shit. I always know. But,” she gestured to Quinn, bruised and shivering and still crying a little bit, “What happened?”

Quinn bit her lip, desperately trying to keep what little composure she had left. She took a shaky breath before answering. “My parents found out. I, um.” her voice broke, but she pushed on, “I can’t…go home.”

Instantly, Santana’s face hardened. She didn’t need any other information to draw her own conclusions. “Your dad did this to you?” Quinn nodded, almost imperceptibly, and that was all the confirmation she needed. She shot upright, her hands balling into fists. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna fucking kill him right now.” As she spoke, she started walking, away from Quinn and down the street, as if she intended to march over to Quinn’s house and murder her dad that instant.

“Santana, wait.” Quinn called after her. “Please.” The word tasted sour in her mouth from how much begging she’d done that night, and snot and tears dripped into her mouth as she spoke. “Can you just take me to your house? Please?”

The desperation in Quinn’s voice was just enough to pull Santana back around. Anger pumped through her veins at the thought of anyone doing this to Quinn, of her dad doing this to her, let alone for the reason she knew he’d done it. How could someone be that cruel to their own kid? Her abuela had broken her heart, but this…Santana clenched her jaw. She was going to make him pay. Then, Quinn sniffled, and Santana blinked, dragged out of her revenge fantasy. Below her, still curled on the ground, was Quinn. Her friend – most of the time, anyway. She needed her. Forcing thoughts of murder out of her mind for the moment, Santana nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” She put her hand out and Quinn grabbed it, pulling herself up. “Get in the car.”

Quinn stumbled towards the passenger side door. Santana bent over and picked up her backpack before following. Once they were both inside, Santana turned the car around, towards home.

– – – –

The ride was quiet, mostly. Quinn sniffled continuously and inhaled sharply when she went to wipe her eyes and accidentally brushed her hand up against the rapidly forming bruise, but they didn’t speak.

Santana kept her eyes laser focused on the road. All she wanted to do was beat Quinn’s dad into a pulp, but she couldn’t do that. She needed to get Quinn to her house, where she’d be safe, and then she could go kick that man’s ass. He deserved to suffer for this. She would make him suffer. She gritted her teeth as she turned the car into the driveway and clicked the headlights off.

“Santana.” The word broke the silence, and Santana’s head jerked over to look at Quinn.

“Yeah?”

Quinn swallowed, twisting her fingers together on her lap. “Your mom. She’s gonna…have questions. About-about what happened.” Her eyes darted up to meet Santana’s, then she glanced away. Under her breath, she finished, “I can’t do that right now.”

“Yeah.” Santana nodded, reaching over to take the keys out of the ignition. “I know. I’ll handle it. Just go in and go to my room, okay? You know where it is.”

“Okay.” Quinn nodded slightly. She cracked the door open and got out, waiting to walk up to the front door until Santana led the way.

Santana opened the door and burst inside, jingling the keys loudly to signal her presence.

“Mija, welcome back. Is Quinn okay? You didn’t text me.” Her mom reappeared from the kitchen, then stopped abruptly in her tracks. All her focus was pulled towards Quinn, who half-stood, half-cowered in the doorway, bruised and shaking. “Oh my God, are you-”

“Quinn, can you go open a window in my room? It’s hella hot in this house.” Santana interrupted, her voice as loud as possible.

Quinn ducked her head and started down the hallway, whispering, “Hi, Mrs. Lopez.” as she passed.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Santana grabbed her mom’s arm and pulled her back to the kitchen.

“Is she okay? What happened? Who hurt her? I’ll call her parents-”

“Mom, no.” Santana shook her head firmly. “Her dad did that to her. You can’t call him.” Before her mom could interject, she continued. “She’s a lesbian. Just figured it out. Her parents are Evangelical. She’s not really talking much, but I think they kicked her out. She has to stay here, okay?”

Maribel learned on the kitchen counter to steady herself. She didn’t say anything for a long while. Eventually, she exhaled; a slow, careful, breath. “She can stay as long as she needs to. We’ll take out the inflatable mattress. Has she eaten dinner?”

Santana looked at her, equal parts relief and confusion showing on her face. “You’re okay with it?”

“Of course I’m okay with it.” Maribel reached forward and rested her hand on Santana’s cheek. Her eyes were tinged with worry as she added, “This kind of violence is exactly what I was scared would happen to you. I just never thought…” She shook her head, “her parents, I just…”

“I know.” Santana clenched her jaw, pulling back from her mom. “I’m gonna kill him. And her mom. Both of them.”

“Santana-”

“No, Mom. Did you see her face?” Santana leaned closer and pointed behind her, towards the bedroom where she knew Quinn was waiting. “He fucked her up. He fucked her up for being gay. I’m gonna fuck him up.”

“Santana.” Maribel grabbed Santana’s hand with her own. “Mija. Listen to me. I know this is personal for you, and I know that you want to help her. And I love that about you.” Her voice was gentle, and she ran her fingers over the back of Santana’s hand. “But I think Quinn has probably had enough violence for tonight. I don’t think she needs any more. Do you understand?”

Santana flared her nostrils, biting down on her tongue. As much as she hated to admit it, she could see her mom’s point. “Fine. Yeah.” She walked through the kitchen and pulled the freezer open, grabbing a couple ice packs and a hand towel from over the sink. “I’m gonna go check on her.” Then, in answer to her mom’s earlier question, “I doubt she had dinner.”

“Alright.” Maribel turned towards the oven. “I’ll heat up some leftovers.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Approaching her bedroom, Santana could hear the sound of quiet crying spilling out from underneath her door. Pausing for a second to wrap one of the ice packs in the towel, she then pushed open the door. “Hey.”

Quinn’s head snapped up and her hand went to cover her face. “Hi.”

Santana sat on the bed beside her, keeping a safe distance between them. She kept thinking about the way that Quinn had flinched away from her outside. She was so scared. “Here.” She slid the ice pack across the bed. After a beat, Quinn stretched her hand out and picked it up.

She pressed it to her cheek gingerly and winced, removing it immediately.

Santana traced her fingers slowly over the geometric pattern on her bedspread. “My mom’s making you dinner.”

“Really?” Quinn bit her lip, glancing over to look at her.

“Yeah, she’s gonna make sure you’re taken care of.” Santana offered her a slight smile.

Quinn’s eyes started to well up again and she hurried to wipe the tears away. She winced again as her fingers grazed her cheek.

“Hey, lemme see that.” Santana reached out and gently pushed Quinn’s hand away from her face. The bruise looked darker now, whether it was from the brighter lighting or because it was still getting worse. It covered a good part of Quinn’s left cheek and the redness around it took up most of that side of her face. The part that made Santana pause, though, was that as Quinn’s hand moved away, her sleeve rode up. Underneath, she caught a glimpse of jagged red lines running up her arm. “Hey.” Santana’s hand shot out and grabbed Quinn’s wrist. She started to roll up her sleeve and Quinn tried to jerk away, but Santana held fast. She pulled Quinn’s perfect, pink cardigan sleeve up to reveal several cuts and gashes, each in different stages of healing. “What the hell happened here?” She questioned, shaking Quinn’s arm slightly. “Your dad do this, too?”

Quinn didn’t respond. She couldn’t, really, because as soon as the question left Santana’s lips, she burst into tears. Not sniffling anymore, but full blown sobs. She couldn’t catch her breath, she couldn’t stop. She flung Santana’s hand off of her, pushed herself off the bed and onto the floor. She yanked her sleeve down and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Hey, hey.” Santana threw her hands up in the air. “Quinn. Hey. I’m not gonna do anything.” Carefully, she lowered herself off the bed and onto the floor. “It’s okay.”

Quinn gasped for air between sobs, her whole body jerking with the force of her meltdown. She couldn’t even tell why she was crying anymore. The whole night, the last few weeks, felt like it was slamming into her. A wall of exhaustion and fear and pain and all of the nights she’d spent praying in her bed while her parents raged outside.

Quinn’s sobs got louder and louder, until Santana was sure everyone in the apartment complex could hear them. She didn’t know what to do. She’d known Quinn for years, known her through so much of the shit that had gone down in her life, but she’d never seen her like this. Ever. The most Quinn ever let slip in front of her was a few tears here and there.

Gradually, Santana scooted herself closer and closer to Quinn, stopping every couple of inches so as not to overwhelm her. When they were side by side, she reached her hand out and rested it on Quinn’s knee. “Hey. Breathe, okay? You’re gonna hurl if you keep crying like that.”

Right on cue, Quinn coughed, choking on her tears and spit. Then, slowly, she dropped her head onto Santana’s shoulder. Santana breathed out slowly, careful to hold her body still, careful not to scare her away again. Quinn’s sobs gradually faded back to sniffles, then to hiccups.

Neither girl moved for a while. They let the silence wash over them as they sat together, head and hands resting on each other.

– – – –

Eventually, Santana started to speak. Quietly, wary of making everything worse, she said, “Let’s go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up.”

“Okay.” Quinn didn’t try to fight it, just let Santana pull her up and lead her into the bathroom.

“Sit.” Santana instructed, before disappearing back to the bedroom and reappearing a moment later with the ice pack clutched in her hand. “Here.”

Quinn, now seated on the toilet lid, took the ice pack and held it to her cheek.

“Give me your other arm.” Quinn complied, holding out her free arm with the sleeve pushed up. Santana tried to not react to the cuts, instead just taking the washcloth from the side of the sink and dousing it with warm water and soap. Gently, she rubbed the washcloth over Quinn’s arm, not letting up even when she winced. She thoroughly cleaned it, then had Quinn switch the ice pack to her other hand so she could get to her other arm. When both were done, Santana put her hand underneath Quinn’s chin and tipped her head back, using a fresh corner of the washcloth to wipe her face. She scrubbed the smudged mascara from underneath Quinn’s eyes, careful to not press too hard on the bruised areas.

When she was satisfied that Quinn was clean again, she took her hand and led her back to the bedroom.

Quinn curled herself onto Santana’s bed, still holding the ice pack to her face. Her tears had stopped by now and she was breathing more regularly. She sat quietly and watched Santana cross the room and rummage through her dresser. After a few moments, Quinn let her eyes wander around the room. She'd been here many times before, for dinner after Cheerios practice and extra work time on group projects. She hadn’t realized, though, just how much of Santana was in this room. On the wall beside the bed there was a corkboard with pictures: Santana on top of the pyramid at Cheerios nationals, Santana on stage at Glee regionals, Santana and Brittany at Breadstix, Santana and her mom, and – Quinn noted with a tiny twinge of happiness – Santana with Quinn, posing in their cheer uniforms. The rest of the walls held posters from movies Santana liked, as well as more pictures of her with Brittany. Quinn couldn’t help but compare it to her own room, with its pristine white walls, white desk, and white bedspread. The only decorations on her walls were the painting of Jesus over her bed and the framed photo her mom had picked out of her from freshman year, holding the Cheerios’ nationals trophy with a big, fake smile. A good girl’s smile.

“Here ya go.” Santana shattered Quinn’s reverie by tossing a handful of clothes onto the bed. Quinn reached over and pulled them onto her lap, realizing they were a set of Santana’s pajamas. “I figure those’ll fit.” she shrugged. “And you can wear some of my stuff to school tomorrow.”

Quinn held the pajamas close to her chest, staring at Santana. Thinking about everything Santana had done for her tonight made her want to start crying all over again, but instead she just clutched the fabric.

“You can change. I’ll go get the food.” Santana shot her a quick smile before heading out of the room.

Quinn slid off the bed once again. Quickly, she pulled her cardigan, shirt, and bra off, replacing them with Santana’s pajama top. She was sure that every pajama set Santana owned included a slutty tank top, but this one was long-sleeved and Quinn was grateful for it – she didn’t need her body to be on display any more than it already had been. She finished changing into the matching pants, then curled back onto the bed, pulling one of Santana’s pillows onto her lap and holding it tightly.

The door creaked open, and Santana came through with a bowl of pasta held out in front of her. “I hope you’re hungry. My mom takes feeding people very seriously.” She plunked the bowl on the bed in front of Quinn, handing her a fork.

Quinn took the fork and cautiously picked at the food for a moment before realizing that she was actually hungry. She couldn't remember the last time she’d had a full meal. Without her mom there, judging her from over her shoulder, she dug into the pasta.

Santana smiled to herself as she sat on the bed beside Quinn, reaching for the magazine she’d been reading earlier. Quinn never ate much, and tonight had been such a shitshow that she was relieved to see at least one thing working out.

They sat for a while, Santana reading and Quinn eating. When she could tell the bowl was almost empty, Santana set the magazine down again and turned to look at Quinn. She’d been patient, but she was never one to avoid hard conversations, so she couldn’t hold herself back from asking, “You’re the one who cut your arms up, right?”

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut briefly. The last thing she wanted to do was get into all of this; the what happened, and the why, and the how, but she figured she at least owed Santana some kind of explanation. So, she nodded.

“Yeah.” Santana pursed her lips and leaned back against the pillows. “I figured.” She scrubbed her hand over her mouth for a moment before asking, “Why’d you do it?”

Quinn flinched, turning so that her back was to Santana and her legs dangled off the bed. “Can we please not talk about this? It’s been a long day and I’m tired and-”

“No. Cut the shit.” Santana reached out and grabbed Quinn’s shoulder, forcing her to turn back around. “Clearly, you have a lot going on. And we’re friends, right?” She waited for Quinn to nod before continuing, “But you haven't told me about any of this. Any of it.”

“We don’t talk like that, Santana.” Quinn interjected, making piercing eye contact. “We’re friends, sure. But we don’t tell each other things.”

“Maybe, but I thought you’d at least tell me about this!” Santana crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not like the baby or any of that stuff. I’ve done this before. And, I don’t know if you remember, but I didn’t go through all that shit just for the fun of it. I did it so I could be out and so I could be happy. And I know you also want that, so why the hell wouldn’t you come talk to me about it?” She was yelling and she didn’t want to be yelling, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Because I don’t want that!” Quinn raised her voice to match. “I don’t want to be-be out, or whatever. I want a boyfriend. Okay? I don’t even care who, I just need a man so I can forget all of this ever happened."

“Wake up! You’re gay!” Santana threw her hands up, gesticulating wildly. “You’re a goddamn lesbian, Quinn! I know it, clearly your parents know it, it’s time that you-”

“Don’t talk about my parents.” Instantly, Quinn’s tone dropped. Her lip quivered as she spoke. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Okay? Your mom clearly doesn’t care that you’re…”

Raising an eyebrow, Santana filled in, “A lesbian. Don’t be a coward, say the word.”

“Fine! You’re a lesbian! And your mom doesn’t care! She lets you put up all these pictures on your walls of you and Brittany, and that’s great. For you.” Quinn could hear her voice starting to break, but she refused to start crying again. “I don’t have that. So I can’t-I can’t be like you. I need to like boys. Understand?”

“No, I don't.” Santana shook her head, ponytail swinging. “I don’t get you. What are you so afraid of? You’ve already lost your popularity, lost your perfect body, lost your perfect boyfriend, so what the hell are you losing by admitting you wanna make out with girls?”

“I don’t want to go to hell!”

The words seemed to reverberate off of the walls. Even Santana didn’t have a snappy comeback at the ready. She just sat there, staring at Quinn, whose shoulders had started shaking again. Her illusion of the idyllic Quinn Fabray, the girl who only cared about her popularity and her appearance, was cracking. The girl in front of her now, sitting on her bed and wearing her pajamas, didn’t look like she cared about either of those things. She didn’t look like she cared about anything, really. She just looked so goddamn afraid.

“Sorry.” Quinn took a deep breath and smoothed out her shirt. She swallowed hard, pursing her lips. “Let’s just-”

“Why would you go to hell?”

Quinn furrowed her eyebrows, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Santana cocked her head to the side. “Why. Would you. Go. To hell?”

“It’s a sin to be gay.” Quinn whispered the words. “It’s a sin.”

“So?” Santana shook her head, a scowl rapidly forming on her face. “Is Kurt going to hell? Is Blaine? Is Britt?” She paused. This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. But here Quinn was, deriding her whole life, the life she’d fought so hard for. “Am I?”

“I…” Quinn dropped her head into her hands, running her fingers through her hair. It felt like she was back in the choir room yesterday, staring at the couples all around her and trying to comprehend how they could possibly be sinners. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense. She could feel Santana’s stare biting into her but she couldn’t bear to meet her gaze. Quietly, under her breath, she answered, “I don’t know.”

Santana pressed, “If you don’t know, then why do you think you’re going?”

There were fresh tears dripping down Quinn’s cheeks by now, but she didn’t bother wiping them away. She shrugged, finally dragging her eyes up to meet Santana’s. “Because my parents told me. And my pastor. Everyone knows it’s true. It’s a sin.”

“Isn’t premarital sex a sin?” Santana asked, crossing her arms again.

“Yes.” Quinn nodded. “It is. See? I’ve already done enough. And I’ve been trying to fix it. I’ve been going to church every Sunday and Bible study every Wednesday since I had the baby, and my parents and my pastor were just starting to see me as a good girl again, and now…” she scoffed, shaking her head. “I ruined everything. It’s all gone. I’m going to hell.” Her voice was hollow and her tears came more quickly, and she grabbed the comforter tightly in her fists.

Santana forced herself to take a deep breath. As much as she loved a fight, she could tell this wasn’t going anywhere. It was just going to make Quinn cry harder, make everything worse. As it was, she was already trembling badly enough that if Santana didn't know better, she would have thought she was going to crumble to pieces right there in front of her. But she couldn’t exactly stop, either, so instead she asked, “How’d they find out?”

“What?” Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to get herself back under control. She was sick and tired of her own constant crying.

“Your parents. How’d they find out?” Santana leaned back against her pillows again in an attempt to keep the atmosphere calm. “I mean, I assume you didn’t tell them.”

“No. No, God no.” Quinn shook her head firmly. “They…they found a drawing I did. Of a girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” Santana smirked, reaching over to elbow Quinn playfully in the ribs. “You have the hots for someone, Fabray?”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “No.”

Santana, not letting up, poked her harder. “Then who was the picture of? C’mon, if it was steamy enough to get you kicked out, I'm sure it's good. What's the point in drawing a horny picture if you won't even talk about it?”

“Ugh.” Quinn dropped her head into her hands. “It’s stupid.”

“C’monnn. You know you wanna tell me.” Santana had moved from poking to tickling, and Quinn suddenly squealed with laughter.

“Okay, okay! Stop!” She wriggled free, still giggling slightly. “Okay.” Avoiding eye contact, she mumbled, “It’s Rachel.”

“Sorry, what?” Santana leaned back, away from Quinn. “Did you just say, to my face, that you have a fat crush on the hobbit?”

“I know.” Quinn’s voice was muffled, since she’d once again hid her face in her hands. “Trust me, I know.”

“Q. What the hell? You’re getting kicked out of your house over that gremlin?” Santana’s eyes opened wide in mock horror, and she shoved Quinn’s shoulder, hard enough to make her look up. “Imagine making out with her. She’d probably make you stop kissing to lecture you about Barbara whatsherface.”

At that, a smile broke onto Quinn’s face. A real smile. She tried to hide it, ducking her head, but Santana saw. So, of course, she continued, “Or no, she’ll invite you over for sex and you’ll end up filming her singing for her idiotic MySpace page. Or she’ll give you scathing criticism on your dance moves even though you’re clearly a superior dancer. Or she’ll make you wear matching animal sweaters! Wait, no, she’ll cut those fuckass bangs into your hair!”

By then, they were both dying of laughter. Quinn cackled, rolling back against Santana’s pillows. “Oh my God.” she gasped for air in between bouts of giggles. “You gotta stop, oh my God.”

“She’ll drag you out to New York just to stand under a Funny Girl poster!” Santana crowed, kicking her feet on the bed. “I can’t stop, it’s too fucking funny.”

Quinn reached over and slapped her playfully on the arm. Through her laughter, she insisted, “You have to stop, I’m gonna die.”

Santana sighed, still laughing under her breath. “Yeah, okay.” She flopped back, lying next to Quinn. Her hair, come loose from her ever-present ponytail, intermixed with Quinn’s, spreading across the pillowcases. They lay there for a moment, both girls’ breathing regularly interrupted by giggles. Santana slid her hand across the bed until it met Quinn’s and squeezed it tightly. Quinn squeezed her hand back.

“Can we go to bed?” Quinn whispered. “I’m really tired and we have school tomorrow. I have so much missing homework to catch up on.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Santana dropped Quinn’s hand and pushed herself up and off the bed. “I’m sure Rachel would be happy to help with your homework.” Before either of them could devolve too far into laughter again, she added, “I could help, too. If you wanted. Especially for picking your make-up solo for Glee.”

“Ugh, yeah.” Quinn rolled over, burying her face in the bed. “I don’t even wanna think about it.”

Santana chuckled, opening her closet. “Fair enough.” She dragged the folded up inflatable mattress out of her closet and plugged it into the outlet by her bed. It blew up slowly, making loud hissing sounds the whole time. While they waited, Santana pulled the extra sheet set out of the top of the closet and tossed a pillowcase and a bare pillow to Quinn. She started dressing the pillow as Santana tugged the fitted sheet on over the inflated end of the mattress.

Eventually, the bed was made, and Santana flung a couple blankets down on top of it. “Ready for bed?”

Quinn nodded and tossed the pillow on top of the mattress, then moved to get off the bed.

“No, stay there.” Santana clicked the light off and in the dark, Quinn could hear the sounds of her settling down onto the mattress and getting under the blankets.

“Santana, come on.” Quinn protested, kicking her foot against the side of the inflatable mattress. “Sleep in your bed. You’re already letting me stay here, I don’t need to take your-”

“Shut up. Go to sleep.” Santana muttered. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

Quinn bit her lip. In the dark, she could just make out Santana, her head smushed into the pillow. It felt strange, this…kindness. Not that Santana wasn’t kind, she just wasn’t the type that Quinn had ever figured for picking her up late at night, cleaning her up, giving her food, letting her stay, and giving up her own bed for her. But she did. Part of Quinn wanted to thank her, wanted to slide down onto that mattress and wrap her in a huge hug. But, as usual, she couldn’t make her body do what she wanted. Instead, as she rolled over, she whispered, “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Whatever.”

The room was silent. Quinn breathed in deeply. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to bed in a quiet house. No screaming outside, no glasses shattering, no mom standing in her doorway carefully avoiding everything painful. She also couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to bed without saying her prayers. For a second she considered crawling back out of bed to do them, but she just couldn’t muster the will. After today, she just couldn’t. She closed her eyes, pulling the blankets in closer to her chest.

Before the dark managed to completely overtake her, voices started playing in her mind.

All fags go to hell.

Those sinners must be punished.

I will not have a fucking dyke living under my roof.

You will not corrupt anyone else in this house.

Now. Go.

She tried, really tried, to stop the tears from coming. She’d cried enough tonight to last for several lifetimes, and it’s not like crying more would fix any of it. That logic didn’t help, though, and despite her best efforts, she was crying again. Crying forcefully enough that her whole body was wracked with it. She was so tired. So, so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she couldn’t stop sobbing. It wasn’t the quiet kind of crying, either. Not the kind she could hide from Santana in this small bedroom. She tried to muffle it by rolling onto her side and pulling the pillow over her face, but she knew it didn’t matter. She needed to stop. She needed to shut up, be quiet, be grateful that she had somewhere to sleep at all. This wasn’t the time for mourning everything that had gone wrong.

And then, the bed creaked.

Slowly, Quinn registered Santana’s arm sliding over her body, wrapping around her waist. Behind her, Santana had climbed up on the bed and was now lying there, holding her. “Shhh.” she whispered, gently tracing her fingers over Quinn’s arm. “It’s okay. Go to sleep, okay? You’re okay.”

Quinn whimpered, grabbing onto Santana’s hand. It felt weak, needing this. Needing her. But she did.

“I know. I know.” Santana murmured. “Breathe. We’ll figure it out. Just sleep.”

“I can’t.” Quinn choked out between sobs.

“Yeah, you can. Just breathe.” Santana kept it up, whispering gentle words into Quinn’s ear until her crying slowed, then faded out entirely. She could feel Quinn breathing deeply against her chest, and she was almost positive she’d fallen asleep, when she heard,

“Thank you.”

The words were so quiet that Santana almost doubted she’d actually heard them, but no. She had. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, determined not to let the emotion get to her. It was no big deal. It was just Quinn. Just Quinn, crying on her bed. Just a quiet thank you. “Yeah.” Santana whispered back. “Anytime.”

– – – –

After a while, Santana was really sure Quinn was asleep. There had been no crying, no movement, for a long time. Just steady breathing. So, careful not to disturb her, Santana rolled over until she could reach her phone on her bedside table. She opened it, the light from the screen making her squint. Moving as little as possible, she opened the messages app and clicked on Mercedes’ name. She typed,

> hey
> youre prob asleep
> and i dont wanna get into it rn
> but youre christian right
> quinn had a bad night
> tomorrow could you like give her a talk
> about how god loves everyone or whatever

Santana hesitated, her fingers poised over the keys. She didn’t want to repeat her own history of coming out through rumors and whispers, but she needed to make sure Mercedes understood. After a moment, she added,

> including gay people

Messages sent, she clicked her phone off and slid it back onto her bedside table. She rolled over, still moving as slowly as possible, and wrapped her arm back around Quinn.

A while later, when Santana herself was asleep, her phone lit up.

> Yeah, of course. I’d be happy to.

– – – –

Quinn did her makeup in Santana’s bathroom, wearing Santana’s clothes. Her reflection in the mirror looked exhausted.

Santana’s mom made them breakfast and drove them to school before she had to go to work. In the backseat of the car, Quinn stared out the window. She just needed to make it through the day. Fake her way through her classes, start on the mountain of missed work, make her apologies to Mr. Schue for missing Glee. Then go home. Well, not home. Back to Santana’s. She just had to keep it together.

Beside Quinn, Santana stole glances in her direction. It was eerie, seeing Quinn this quiet.

In the rearview mirror, Maribel looked back at both of them. She’d heard all the noise coming from Santana’s room last night; the yelling, the laughing, the sobbing, and the eventual silence. She hadn’t had a chance to ask Santana how it had gone, but the answer didn’t seem like it would be positive. Although, as she watched, she caught a glimpse of Santana reaching over and touching Quinn’s leg. Quinn twitched slightly, shifting to put her hand on top of Santana’s. Maribel smiled slightly. Maybe they would be alright.

“Alright, girls. Have a good day. I'm working late tonight, so feel free to order pizza or go to Breadstix for dinner.” Maribel explained as she pulled the car up to the curb.

“Thanks, Mom.” Santana hopped out of the car, her Cheerios skirt flying in the wind.

Quinn paused by the car door. She forced a quick smile and mumbled, “Thank you, Mrs. Lopez.”

“Of course, Quinn.” Maribel turned in her seat to lock eyes with her, making sure she understood. “You’re always welcome in our house.”

– – – –

By the time last period came around, Quinn’s emotions were already on thin ice. Her makeup had not been able to hide the bruise on her cheek and everyone had been giving her double takes all day. No one had been bold enough to actually ask about it, but the stares were bad enough. Throughout the day, she’d managed to pull herself together enough to make a list of all the homework she was missing, but not enough to get started on it. At lunch, she’d sat with Brittany and Santana again. She didn’t have to talk much – Brittany rambled on about Lord Tubbington for long enough that she didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong.

The three of them walked to the choir room together, Quinn trailing behind. Santana pushed the door open and led Brittany to their seats. As they walked up the steps, she brushed past Mercedes’ shoulder. When she looked up, Santana tipped her head in the direction of Quinn, and Mercedes nodded. She stood up, intercepting Quinn before she could sit down.

“Hey.”

Quinn looked up, startled. “Hi.”

“Can we talk?” Mercedes asked. The first thing she noticed was the bruise on Quinn’s cheek, but she tried not to show the concern on her face.

Quinn took a deep breath, conjuring up a friendly smile. “Sure, yeah. Hallway?”

Once in the hallway, Mercedes made sure they were out of earshot from everyone in the choir room. The first thing out of her mouth was, “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay, I just-”

Quinn scoffed quietly, cutting her off. “I know I look terrible, trust me. Just…a bad day. What do you want to talk about?”

Mercedes scuffed the toe of her shoe against the linoleum. She’d spent most of the day trying to figure out what to say to Quinn when she saw her, and now here they were. At first, when reading Santana’s message, she’d been shocked by the implication that Quinn might be gay, but then she’d thought about it more. From the boys that Quinn dated – usually more of a status grab than anything else – to the way that she tended to sit in the back of the room staring at Brittany and Santana holding hands, it all kind of made sense. And from what Mercedes knew about her family, she could only imagine how Quinn’s sexuality would have gone over in that house. If teen sex was a big enough crime to justify evicting your pregnant daughter, then she could easily see queerness being even worse – maybe even bad enough to explain that bruise. “So.” She cleared her throat. “You’re a Christian, right?” The answer was obvious, but it was the only place she could think to start from.

Quinn’s hand subconsciously flew to her cross necklace, worrying it back and forth. “Yes.”

“Me too.” Mercedes flashed her a quick smile before continuing. “And I just wanted to tell you that, from my perspective, God loves everyone.”

Quinn blinked rapidly, an anxious feeling rapidly forming in the pit of her stomach. “What is this about?” Did she know? How could she know?

Mercedes held her hands up. “Wait, okay? Santana texted me last night.” Seeing the look of horror cross Quinn’s face, she quickly added, “She just said that you…had a hard day and you might want to talk about it with another Christian.”

Quinn shook her head. She didn’t buy it. There was no reason for this conversation if Mercedes didn't know. Santana must have told her. How could she do that? “You know, don’t you.” She whispered the words, more an accusation than a question. “She told you.”

“Hey.” Mercedes reached out and put her hand on Quinn’s arm. “Don’t get mad at her, okay? She’s trying to help. And I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Okay? It’s your choice, who you tell. I just…Santana thought, and I think, that it’s important that you hear it from another Christian.”

“Hear what?” Quinn’s heart was racing. Mercedes knew. She knew, and Santana knew, and Kurt probably knew, and soon enough everyone would know. She would never be Quinn Fabray, perfect girl, again.

“That God still loves you.” Mercedes cut right to the chase, her voice soft but direct. “He doesn’t care who you like. He doesn’t care that you’re gay.”

Quinn could feel the panic rising in her chest. She tried to step away, to pull back, but Mercedes wouldn’t let her.

“And I know it’s gonna be hard.” she continued, still holding onto Quinn’s arm. “But between me, and Santana, and Brittany, and Kurt, and all the people in that room,” she pointed with her free hand back towards the choir room, “there are so many people who get it. And so many people who care about you. But you have to let us in, okay?”

“I…” Quinn tensed up, her eyebrows furrowed. It felt like her brain was about to explode, trying to reconcile the words she’d heard all her life with the words Mercedes was saying now. All she managed to get out was, “But…it’s a sin.”

Mercedes shook her head firmly. “I don’t think it is. My family doesn’t think it is. My church doesn’t think it is.” She lifted her head so she could see Quinn’s eyes. When she was sure she was looking back at her, she continued, “It doesn’t have to be.”

Quinn swallowed hard. She could feel tears welling back up in her eyes and she blinked them away. Before she could say anything else, Mercedes leaned forward and wrapped her in a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.” she whispered. Quinn, completely at a loss for words, just let it happen. The hug didn’t end, and eventually Quinn brought her arms up to hug her back.

They only pulled apart once the bell rang. Quinn hurriedly brushed the last tears from her eyes and Mercedes offered her a smile. “Ready to go in?”

“Yeah.” Quinn nodded. She smoothed out her shirt, just looking for something to do with her hands. Before they crossed the doorway into the choir room, she snuck a quick look at Mercedes. She mouthed, “Thank you.” and Mercedes just smiled.

As they took their seats, Mercades caught Santana’s eye and nodded. Santana nodded back, her expression one of clear gratitude.

– – – –

Quinn took her usual seat in the back row. One row down from her, Brittany and Santana linked pinkies. On the other side of the room, Kurt and Blaine held hands. And, in the first row, front and center, sat Rachel. Quinn stared down at her. Her mind was buzzing with thoughts. Everything from the past few weeks. Everything people had been saying. Her parents, her pastor, Santana, Mercedes. Everyone had a different opinion, a different idea about how she was supposed to feel. It was too much. She couldn’t sort through it all, couldn’t figure out what she thought. What she wanted. The only thing she knew that she wanted was to look at Rachel. She was so beautiful. Even looking down at her like this, where all she could see was her sweater and her neatly combed hair, she was beautiful. It made Quinn’s stomach flutter, to look at her like that. And for the first time, she didn’t force herself to look away. She let herself watch, and she smiled.

When Mr. Schue started the lesson, she closed her eyes and clasped her hands on her lap.

Dear God,

Please help me find a way to be okay with this. With being a lesbian.

Amen