Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez (Get Out Of Town)
Sam doesn't know her, though. He doesn't know that her hips once passed a baby between them. That she knows what it’s like for the stomach to distend with something growing beneath. That she was ever anything other than the perfect picture of a popular cheerleader, with that high voice and those soft hands and the bruised knees from praying and tumbling onto the mats barely hiding beneath the edges of a pleated skirt.
Sam doesn't know that sometimes, when she can't stand the pressure that she's under, when she is starting down at her stomach in the mirror and is unable to recognize it as her own, she drives over to Santana Lopez's house.
She knows she's riding the line, that any moment that Santana ducks her head between Quinn's thighs and makes her see god in a way that kneeling in the pews at church never did.
But for a moment, when Santana's acrylics dig into Quinn's back, when she rides that wave, it's impossible not to chase the closest to euphoria that the ex-head of the Celibacy Club has ever felt.
Quinn's entire life, she has always clung tight to normalcy, to the future that her parents placed before her, holding herself together with iron bands around her ribs, every movement and class and date and nose job perfectly calibrated to get her the Salutatorian position and Head Cheerleader and the perfect boyfriend and the freshman year fiance and the eventual housewife role where she ends up married with 2.5 kids and a perfect picket fence house next to her parents.
If anyone found out the truth, she could claim that this is just an experiment. That this is just girls being girls, letting off some steam.
But if she's honest with herself, really honest with herself and what she sees when she looks in the mirror, she knows that she has never felt more settled in her own skin, more at home in her own body, stretch marks and all, than when she is with Santana, giggling in her bed, nibbling at her skin, tasting the sweat from under a cheerleader's uniform.
-aletterinthenameofsanity, dissect my insecurities (i was never cut out for prom queen)
Written for Day Six of @monthlywritingchallenges' MoonJune: Dream.
