Summary: Quinn tries exhaustion as a way to cope, until it isn't enough, and things just spiral.
A/N: It may sound a bit rambly, but this is my first Faberry and it was just kind of forming in my head while I was uh riding a bike after a run but before swiming lol. Also, I beleive a Faberry fic can happen without mentioning
I'm not a medical doctor but I have enough experience with anorexia nervosa to know what I'm talking about...
Please read and review, would really appreciate it.
Quinn Fabray knows it’s summer. She doesn’t need a million and one Facebook announcements to tell her that. Summer means cheerleading and running. Preparation for the first day that really marks next year, when she’ll walk through the doors to appreciative (and envious) glances. A “You look good, babe” and a kiss.
But not from Rachel Berry.
Nobody knows, but Quinn really loves swimming. There’s something about submerging and becoming breathless, sprinting lap after lap and even though it’s back and forth, it feels like an escape. She hurts afterwards and that’s what she needs, pain and sleep to take away thoughts and feelings. She knows what to do when she swims, knows how to eat and sleep. She just lays out afterwards, this tiny smile hiding on her face that isn’t happiness.
But it could be.
Quinn runs because it’s what’s expected. Nobody is a cheerleader and a part time biker or something. Running is a showcase of will and fitness. And you can’t swim away, can’t dive for the pavement and expect it to relent. Because no matter what she said to Rachel in that conversation that’s been on a loop in her head, she is getting out. Whether it’s by running or the end that everyone faces, it doesn’t really matter.
She didn’t sacrifice everything to become chained.
When she is assured of adequate separation from everyone and their expectations, she rides bikes. There’s something about going so fast, tricking herself into believing she's actually going somewhere. There's nothing to grip onto when she runs. If someone saw her white knuckled grip on the handlebars here, it would be nothing at which to remark. Or they would absolutely correctly assume that Quinn Fabray is terrified of falling. She turns off the sidewalk and onto the road at the entrance that marks Rachel’s driveway. She refuses to think about what that means.
That feeling where you’re soaring down a hill and don’t want to hit the brakes, not quite yet? She has it.
She doesn’t know when she lost her period. Quinn also doesn’t know when she stopped eating, for that matter. It’s just that she really doesn’t know how to cope. She knows it’s a sin, and no matter how many websites say God wouldn’t create something He’d just reject, she knows it’s a temptation from the devil in the form of Rachel Berry. Honestly, she just wants to feel something, some kind of pain and this just requires saying no, something she couldn’t do at a party sophomore year. It’s why she will always know when it’s the first day of summer.
It’s the day she looks in the mirror and hits her stomach, fists landing one after the other, because she’s such a disgusting failure.
Quinn took physics, knows that chemical energy decreases as actions are performed (like running or biking or swimming…) and that it reestablishes itself when the object is fueled or at rest for a long enough period of time. She knows it comes back, but she just keeps giving and giving of herself , to the water and the wind and the earth, that she wonders if maybe she’ll eventually just empty out like she wishes.
It’s a good thing her hair is short, because it’s gotten to the point where she can just rip fistfuls out, like she wishes she could do to all this fat.
Quinn knows she should find some other form of distraction while she’s in this condition. Read a book about the Harlem Renaissance or something instead of pounding her body against the pavement until maybe someone (Rachel) notices how empty she is, can see she’s broken by how she appears on the outside. One of the personality types that are common among anorexics is perfection, and she knows there’s nothing perfect about a failing body. But she has to get away from books and Rachel Berry.
The Harlem Renaissance is seriously screwing with her mind.
Rachel finds her on the ground, her music flung off somewhere, supplying the notes flickering between them. Rachel drops to her knees, hands stuttering everywhere, not quite sure what to do, just saying “Quinn, oh my god what happened, Quinn, I'm gonna make sure you're alright, Quinn, please look at me, Quinn, no I can’t, you just can’t go, Quinn, QUINN,” not quite rambling, more of a panicked exhale. There's almost a smile on Quinn’s face, but it’s one of surrender. Rachel’s eyes couldn’t get any wider, yet they do when she makes to grasp Quinn’s arm and her fingers touch each other around the clammy skin.
Quinn wants to feel relief, it’s over, someone noticed, she can be saved and just let go, but all she feels is cold.
She's not sure she’ll ever be completely ‘better’. She still raises her shirt to look at herself in about every mirror and breaks down silently in dressing rooms. This time, Rachel is there is rub her back and draw her into hugs that were merely metaphorical in the bathroom during Prom so long ago. She doesn’t want their whole relationship to be built on dependence and her disorders, but when Rachel twines their fingers and erases the space between them, she knows they're more. They are rolling down grassy hills, catching snowflakes on their noses and wiping them off with butterfly kisses, eating raindrops like they're gumdrops, flinging paint onto each other in warm-colored arcs, singing ballads or pop or rap in front of the Glee club or alone, being encased by another in canopied beds, and maybe, maybe, ice cream and giggles too complete for melting drops.
Quinn Fabray starts the school year as a swimmer instead of a given-up-for-failure cheerleader, wholly in love with one Rachel Berry.