It was the calm before the storm, those few days after they had filmed the commercial. And then all hell broke lose. The New Directions just didn't know that it was about to get so much worse. After Mr. Schue had been suspended for sleeping in his office (Dylan didn't know what to think about the entire fake baby ordeal other than the fact that it was bizarre), they figured they would fix that singular problem and head into sectionals with optimism.
It had all started going downhill when Rachel's suspicions started to raise.
An alarm had been going off in Dylan's head constantly. It mirrored more of a pestering buzz for the majority of the day, but then she would glance Puck's way, or Santana would flash her a devilish smirk, or she'd catch sight of Izzy Jenkins in the girls' locker room, and it would become almost deafening.
It was all just very confusing.
She was lingering by Quinn at her locker when Mercedes and Tina walked by, each with a phone to their ear. It was the forced smiles that awoke confusion in her. "What's going on with everyone? Everyone's, like, acting funny, right? It's not just me?"
Quinn shrugged half-heartedly, "I guess so. Maybe Mr. Schue's suspension is playing on peoples minds."
Dylan eyed Quinn, almost wearily. "Right. Yeah. Maybe." She paused for a moment as Quinn shut her locker. It didn't take a genius to realise something was plaguing her mind. "Are you okay?" She asked.
"Yeah, of course," Quinn replied (almost too quickly, if Dylan was being picky). "Why wouldn't I be?"
It was ironic that Dylan was always pegged as the liar of the group.
She was really one of the only few who could rightfully claim to being honest this week. She had been honest (or more so than usual) about a lot of things with a lot of people in the club.
Especially with Quinn.
Too bad none of them had returned the favour.
"Can I ask you something?"
Maybe Quinn was as wicked as the stereotypical head-cheerleader was commonly deemed as. Maybe she only asked the question then because Dylan was tipsy on wine and clearly gloomy.
"Uh, yeah. Anything," Dylan shifted her laying position on Quinn's bed to look up at the blonde, who was sat by her side. One skim of Quinn's face, one of confliction and hesitation, and Dylan figured it wouldn't be an easy query to answer.
The look of hesitation was true. Quinn suddenly decided that saying it quickly was the best approach. She really had been holding back on asking it for weeks, and her curiosities were growing too much. "Why did you flee before the mash-up? A-And why didn't you just tell me when the story posted about me being. . ?" Dylan sat alarmingly still for a period, though Quinn knew she heard her perfectly fine.
"I don't know," she simply said. "It's complicated. I guess I just. . .got scared," she spoke quietly, almost trailing off into a whisper when the admittance that she felt fear came.
"Scared of what?"
"Sometimes I feel. . .funny, when I have to be—I don't know—vulnerable in front of people. I'm not really used to it," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders as if nothing bothered her. She scrunched her nose then, and continued, "and I sorta felt. . .not really part of the group then, so it feels safer to flee than to just. . .stay."
She wondered if that how her father felt when he left.
He never really was good at honesty and vulnerability.
YOU ARE READING
𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲, quinn fabray.
Fanfiction[𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐞] [𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐱] Dylan Miller is a wild combination of many qualities, and most of them are not on the positive side. A selfish, inconsiderate, stoic outcast with a nasty tongue and rebellious flare, she only jo...
