Forever (sequel to The Hostage)

12

Santana's POV
I take my time getting dressed. Quinn's sobs stop after a while, but she hasn't left the room.

I'm a horrible person. Why couldn't I just stop? And then I hit her, even though it was my fault. Now she's hurt. And we were doing so well. I was getting to know her, and we were creating a sort of friendship.

But now I've fucked it all up.

When I'm ready, I tentatively walk back in. Quinn is curled up beneath a mountain on blankets, sniffling. I feel another pang of guilt, for doing this to her.

"Quinn? I'm sorry." I say to her, keeping my voice low. She doesn't respond, but the sniffling stops, so she heard me.
"Go away. I don't want to talk to you." She says. Her voice is hard, and any kindness that was in it over the past few days has long gone.
"Can we talk?" I try.
"About what? How mental I am? Do you want to hit me again, is that it?"
"No. God, no. I want to check that you're okay."

She laughs, but it's bitter.

"Well, I would think the answer is obvious. But I'm never okay, so don't blame it on yourself."
"Really?"
"Of course not. It's obviously your fucking fault."

I sit on the edge of the bed, and peek under the duvet. Quinn glares out at me, her green eyes red-rimmed. She looks raging.

"I really am sorry." I say, again. She shakes her head.
"It's just not fair. I try so hard, but then there's always someone who ruins it all for me. You, Rachel, Kitty. I try not to get angry, or sad. But you ruin it."

"Maybe it would help to talk about it. I don't know, this is al new to me. But it could help."

Quinn shuffled around, and eventually breaks free from the blankets. She looks cute, with her flushed cheeks and messy hair.

"Talk about what?" She asks, curious.
"I don't know, whatever seems right."
"I never talk about anything. I can't."
"Not even to Brittany?"
"I don't want her to feel even more sorry for me. I hate being pitied."

I don't reply, and just nod.

"Why am I even talking to you. You don't care. You don't even like me."
"I do-"
"You just bitch slapped me. Stop even trying to save yourself. It's no use."

She turns around and buries herself further down in the duvets. And starts crying, real, heartfelt, sobs, that make me feel even more guilty.

"Please don't cry."

She doesn't hear me, or chooses to ignore me. Either way, she stays completely covered up with blankets.
I lie down beside her, and just close my eyes. I don't want to be here anymore.

Quinn stops crying after a while.
"I'm sorry." She whispers. It's such a change in mood from earlier, I'm wary it's a trap.
"Why?"
"I shouldn't have said those things. I made you angry, and then I cried like a baby. Sorry."

She's obviously not in a good headspace, or whatever. Maybe hitting her triggered a flashback to her parents or something, and that's why she freaked out and said sorry.

Her voice is small, and cracks. I find her hand, and hold it tight. She squeezes back.
"Maybe you should come out from under the blankets. You might suffocate."

She surfaces, her face even more tear stained than before. She tries to cover her eyes, but I pull her hands away.

"It's not your fault. I'm sorry I was such a bitch."
"S'okay." She mumbles. A few seconds pass, and then she flings her arms around me.