( it's like being punched in the stomach without any sort of warning. all the air leaves her lungs in a heavy rush and she can only stare, wide eyed and jaw clenched. her brain, and any faint hope of diffusing the situation or playing it off as the pathetic lie of some insignificant someone from her former life, bursting into a static haze in her head. one name, that's all it takes. harmless and seemingly inconsequential, but as the reporter's scarlet painted lips turn upwards (gotcha!) quinn is suddenly back in high school. standing in the hall and clinging to her boyfriend's letterman jacket, sobbing into his chest while he whispers --without any real feeling-- that everything is going to be okay and people who, just that morning, viewed her as the undisputed queen bitch, worshiped and adored, now went out of their way to avoid getting too close. as if pregnancy were a disease that could be spread through simple contact. )
W-what did you you say? ( timid and entirely unlike her. quinn fabray is a rock star, overconfident nearly to a fault --at least to the public eye--, but underneath the bravado and barely there stage outfits, she is still sad little lucy, alone on the playground. )
Is that wrong? ( the woman sitting across from them asks, with an arched brow and smug superiority that says she knows it isn't. ) We've heard from several sources, all very reliable, that you had a child in high school. A little girl, I believe. ( she peers at her paperwork, squints and flips through pages of her notepad while quinn practically comes out of her skin. clings to the arms of her chair, the only thing holding her in place, too numb even to reach for his hand, though she can feel him next to her. every time his gaze shifts back to her. can't bring herself to look at him for fear she might lose the small semblance of control she's still somehow managing to maintain. for now. ) It's Beth, isn't it?
( another blow to the stomach, and this time she nearly doubles over. has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek just to stave off the tears threatening to well in her eyes. an instinct reaction, and one she hasn't had since high school. some things never change. ) That's right, our sources tell us- ( but she doesn't wait around this time, to find out what's being said. doesn't even think to question who exactly these trusted sources are. puck, shelby, jacob ben israel. it doesn't matter.
there's no hope now of saving face, the damage has been done and the story is going to run no matter what she says about it. the only thing she can do now is end it before things get worse. before the story turns into one about a sobbing wreck of a girl. not a bold, strong woman but an empty shell. a child having her own child and never managing to grow up, breaking down and weeping at the sound of her little girl's name. no, her dignity may have taken a pretty fair beating in the last few minutes, but she has more than enough to push herself out of the chair without a word of explanation, though it takes all her willpower to walk out calmly instead of bolting for the door, which is what she truly wants to do. she walks with her chin held high. a faint attempt to mask the fact that she's crumbling inside.
walks without slowing, or glancing behind her. carefully focuses on each measured step and mentally tries to calculate how far away the door is, how long it will take to reach the safety of the bus where she can finally allow herself to break. 100 feet? 200 feet? a pointless exercise maybe, but it gives her something else to focus on. a goal she can accomplish, even with her mind scattered, as it is, to a million different places.
just make it to the bus, and everything will be okay. make it to the bus, and she can figure this out. )
no subject
W-what did you you say? ( timid and entirely unlike her. quinn fabray is a rock star, overconfident nearly to a fault --at least to the public eye--, but underneath the bravado and barely there stage outfits, she is still sad little lucy, alone on the playground. )
Is that wrong? ( the woman sitting across from them asks, with an arched brow and smug superiority that says she knows it isn't. ) We've heard from several sources, all very reliable, that you had a child in high school. A little girl, I believe. ( she peers at her paperwork, squints and flips through pages of her notepad while quinn practically comes out of her skin. clings to the arms of her chair, the only thing holding her in place, too numb even to reach for his hand, though she can feel him next to her. every time his gaze shifts back to her. can't bring herself to look at him for fear she might lose the small semblance of control she's still somehow managing to maintain. for now. ) It's Beth, isn't it?
( another blow to the stomach, and this time she nearly doubles over. has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek just to stave off the tears threatening to well in her eyes. an instinct reaction, and one she hasn't had since high school. some things never change. ) That's right, our sources tell us- ( but she doesn't wait around this time, to find out what's being said. doesn't even think to question who exactly these trusted sources are. puck, shelby, jacob ben israel. it doesn't matter.
there's no hope now of saving face, the damage has been done and the story is going to run no matter what she says about it. the only thing she can do now is end it before things get worse. before the story turns into one about a sobbing wreck of a girl. not a bold, strong woman but an empty shell. a child having her own child and never managing to grow up, breaking down and weeping at the sound of her little girl's name. no, her dignity may have taken a pretty fair beating in the last few minutes, but she has more than enough to push herself out of the chair without a word of explanation, though it takes all her willpower to walk out calmly instead of bolting for the door, which is what she truly wants to do. she walks with her chin held high. a faint attempt to mask the fact that she's crumbling inside.
walks without slowing, or glancing behind her. carefully focuses on each measured step and mentally tries to calculate how far away the door is, how long it will take to reach the safety of the bus where she can finally allow herself to break. 100 feet? 200 feet? a pointless exercise maybe, but it gives her something else to focus on. a goal she can accomplish, even with her mind scattered, as it is, to a million different places.
just make it to the bus, and everything will be okay. make it to the bus, and she can figure this out. )