Catalyst

Chapter 12

Rachel had, of course, known Quinn since her very earliest memories. Not in the literal sense, but the people that were like what Quinn would become; brave but unsure, half hoping someone would take their lives into their hands to stop them from making decisions, but unwilling to give up their freedom. She knew it in the same way she knew that she was going to be a star someday, that her fathers loved her, that sunsets would always happen, burning the sky orange and red and yellow, and then lightning until the gradual navy blue took over, and night had settled; that night would always come. She knew Quinn, somehow, without ever exchanging more than five words with her in the third grade, most of their interaction smiles and gestures, in the half wild way of children, before the world tamed them. Quinn was a girl with sad eyes, had always been, and sometimes Rachel lightened the sadness, but most times, she did not.

Even now, when so many different things were going on – high school! Pregnancy! Glee club! – Quinn was busy, and she knew because Rachel was busy, but she also remained sad. Maybe Quinn was just one of those people that were all sadness, that were born with melancholia in their bones, and were not depressed, no, but a constant sort of ache surrounded them and perforated everything they did.

Having sex with Quinn that night had been sad, somehow. It was not making love, because she knew that Quinn did not want her, not really, but wanted someone to stay, and she herself had been too drunk and stupid and love-drunk, even, thinking of the beautiful girl who kissed her that once then terrorized her, trying to exorcise her demons in the best way she knew how, and had somehow thought that being with Quinn would help her, would stretch the sadness until it became a thin film, not quite an ache anymore. But her memories of that night were – hazy, indistinct, half remembered sensations of skin on skin and the burning feel when she first entered Quinn and Quinn's fingers had dug into her shoulder blades while her mouth bit at Rachel's bottom lip until she drew blood and the whole time, was aware of Quinn's twisting legs, unwilling to let go but feeling pain at the sensation. She had waited long minutes for Quinn to adjust, for Quinn to thrust her hips and grunt, "Move, stupid."

And move she had. There was the dragging sensation and the fascination of Quinn's exposed breasts, and Quinn seemed self-conscious of that, at the least, would let Rachel touch her below, because there was hair and it was dark, but just barely let her see her bright, rosy nipples, hard in her arousal to match her wetness. For a few, brief moments, she'd given Quinn pleasure, had let herself stop feeling the sense that it was up to her to keep Quinn happy, to make Quinn happy, to make sure that Quinn knew that someone liked her and knew her and perhaps, one day, could even love her. That afternoon in the choir room also meant a lot to her because Quinn was sober and wanting and had touched her first, had seen her and continued to want her. It was an affirmation. Sectionals was also an imperative day, watching Quinn lick her cum off and moan lowly at the taste. It was more than just an emotional connection, but they had physical chemistry as well.

Of course, they were paying for that brief moment of pleasure with nine to ten months of pain. She wondered if Quinn thought it was worth it, but instead turned onto her side and stared at the long, sleeping eyelashes of the woman lying next to her. She counted the freckles of her nose and marveled at the healthy glow to her pale skin, making her almost radiant. Their baby was in Quinn, she thought, and the thought was still not permanent to her. She was stupid, probably, to not only be this invested in something that wasn't born yet or even sure of anything, on Quinn's part. Their half-baked plans were the same as many teenagers, even if the situation was a little more on the unusual side of things, but the swell to her stomach and the dresses stretching across her abdomen and breasts lent reality to this thing, this change.

They were going to graduate high school, they were going to get out of Lima, they were going to raise the baby together to the best of their abilities. Perhaps even beyond that. They'd read the books, they'd go to the meetings, they'd talk to their son or daughter or bi-gendered or no-gendered child and learn what they were interested in and would not feed that child a dream they'd made up before he or she or zim or it could even talk yet.