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"Dirty little secret."
Sep. 11th, 2012 01:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
justbeingaqueenWho: Santana Lopez and Kurt Hummel
What: Survival Celebration and Sordid Secrets
Where: Kurt & Santana's apartment, New York
When: Just after the end of summer
It turned out that Kurt's Hot Dog of Doom was more like Hot Dog of the Gastrointestinal Apocalypse. He had been so sick, with his body completely betraying him from all angles, that Santana ended up dragging him to the nearest ER where he had to spend a few hours on IV fluids for dehydration and they pumped him full of anti-puke medication and Imodium. It was only after that did Kurt manage to finally get some rest. Before, he kept being woken up by his stomach that it made it near impossible to rest. Santana dragged him back home in a cab, he crawled into his bed wishing like hell Blaine could be there to snuggle him, and crashed out in a deep sleep. And he pretty much slept for almost three days straight, save for getting up to go to the bathroom and getting bottles of Gatorade into him when he still had no interest in touching food ever again. Santana had just left him to it, staying close to make sure he didn't die in his sleep.
He had no finally re-surfaced, flopping out of bed and shuffling into the kitchen of the little apartment he shared with Santana. His pyjama pants had slipped down over his hips to reveal the top of his butt cheek and when he found Santana in there making coffee, he yawned, rubbing over his face sleepily with one hand whilst hitching his pants back up with the other. He was less than fabulous-looking right now, hair all in a disarray and crease marks from his pillow up the side of his face. He had paused only long enough at the bathroom to pee and quickly brush his teeth, but he was sure he had still be half asleep for that. On the upside, despite feeling weak in the wake of the food poisoning, the nausea seemed to have abated and in its place was just a sore stomach from the strain of throwing up.
He dropped down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "I didn't die," he announced, voice husky from sleep. "And apparently Puck nearly had to handcuff Blaine to a bed in Lima so he wouldn't get on a plane here right before school's about to start. I woke up to 73 text messages from Blaine. I think his next step might have been carrier pigeon."
What: Survival Celebration and Sordid Secrets
Where: Kurt & Santana's apartment, New York
When: Just after the end of summer
It turned out that Kurt's Hot Dog of Doom was more like Hot Dog of the Gastrointestinal Apocalypse. He had been so sick, with his body completely betraying him from all angles, that Santana ended up dragging him to the nearest ER where he had to spend a few hours on IV fluids for dehydration and they pumped him full of anti-puke medication and Imodium. It was only after that did Kurt manage to finally get some rest. Before, he kept being woken up by his stomach that it made it near impossible to rest. Santana dragged him back home in a cab, he crawled into his bed wishing like hell Blaine could be there to snuggle him, and crashed out in a deep sleep. And he pretty much slept for almost three days straight, save for getting up to go to the bathroom and getting bottles of Gatorade into him when he still had no interest in touching food ever again. Santana had just left him to it, staying close to make sure he didn't die in his sleep.
He had no finally re-surfaced, flopping out of bed and shuffling into the kitchen of the little apartment he shared with Santana. His pyjama pants had slipped down over his hips to reveal the top of his butt cheek and when he found Santana in there making coffee, he yawned, rubbing over his face sleepily with one hand whilst hitching his pants back up with the other. He was less than fabulous-looking right now, hair all in a disarray and crease marks from his pillow up the side of his face. He had paused only long enough at the bathroom to pee and quickly brush his teeth, but he was sure he had still be half asleep for that. On the upside, despite feeling weak in the wake of the food poisoning, the nausea seemed to have abated and in its place was just a sore stomach from the strain of throwing up.
He dropped down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "I didn't die," he announced, voice husky from sleep. "And apparently Puck nearly had to handcuff Blaine to a bed in Lima so he wouldn't get on a plane here right before school's about to start. I woke up to 73 text messages from Blaine. I think his next step might have been carrier pigeon."
"I kissed a girl... and I liked it."
Sep. 11th, 2012 12:27 amusedtohaveabsWho: Just Quinn Fabray
What: Private Blog
Where: Yale University, New Haven
When: Start of fall semester
So, I made it to Yale, but honestly, it all still feels like some sort of alternate reality or dream. New Haven is so different to Ohio and there's no doubt about it that Yale feels like it's full of people way, way out of my league. I spent so many years trying to be on a pedestal in Ohio and perched up on top of the top rung of the popularity ladder that it feels really odd being here where I'm just another face in a crowd. No one knows who Quinn Fabray is. No one knows her past and all her stupid mistakes. But most importantly, no one cares, either. No one is immediately judging or pointing fingers at the chick who stupidly got knocked up at sixteen when her biggest worry should have been balancing at the top of the cheer pyramid of the squad she headed.
Some days, I can't believe just how much I fucked my life up. Not that it didn't turn out for the better, and here I am... Yale student. But all those mistakes, you think I would have learnt a lot sooner than I did. I floundered so much, and what I never told anyone - not even Puck, who was probably entitled to know - was that I was diagnosed with post-natal depression after Beth and spent my junior and senior years on antidepressant medication. The times I was a complete bitch, I tried to go without the medication, thinking I was better than it. I wasn't. I was sick and I needed it. I could have spared a hell of a lot of people a lot of heartache if I just listened to people who tried to help me once in awhile.
But all that is old water under the bridge. It's baggage I'll always have, but that doesn't mean I have to carry it around with me wherever I go. I can grow up, I can move on, and I can leave the baggage in a safe spot in the past which is where it belongs. Giving my baby up for adoption was ultimately the best choice I ever made in my life. She's happy, she's healthy, and she's safe. Things there was no one I could ever guarantee her when I didn't even know how to be happy myself. And now life has yet again thrown me another curve ball, but this time, I have no idea how I'm supposed to tackle it. I'm sitting here at Yale trying to find my feet and my head and my heart are in an entirely different state.
The thing is, it's not the state that it should be and home isn't where the heart is. The heart is in a place I never thought it would be, and I'm confused. What does all this mean, and why didn't I see it sooner? Is it just because I'm lonely and everything has changed around me? Not even Google can help me with this one. Maybe we made the right choice. Maybe we really should just pretend nothing ever happened and leave it back in Ohio. It was the right choice for everyone, and there was so much alcohol involved. Alcohol is my biggest enemy. It not only stole my virginity, but now has it stolen my sexuality too?
What: Private Blog
Where: Yale University, New Haven
When: Start of fall semester
So, I made it to Yale, but honestly, it all still feels like some sort of alternate reality or dream. New Haven is so different to Ohio and there's no doubt about it that Yale feels like it's full of people way, way out of my league. I spent so many years trying to be on a pedestal in Ohio and perched up on top of the top rung of the popularity ladder that it feels really odd being here where I'm just another face in a crowd. No one knows who Quinn Fabray is. No one knows her past and all her stupid mistakes. But most importantly, no one cares, either. No one is immediately judging or pointing fingers at the chick who stupidly got knocked up at sixteen when her biggest worry should have been balancing at the top of the cheer pyramid of the squad she headed.
Some days, I can't believe just how much I fucked my life up. Not that it didn't turn out for the better, and here I am... Yale student. But all those mistakes, you think I would have learnt a lot sooner than I did. I floundered so much, and what I never told anyone - not even Puck, who was probably entitled to know - was that I was diagnosed with post-natal depression after Beth and spent my junior and senior years on antidepressant medication. The times I was a complete bitch, I tried to go without the medication, thinking I was better than it. I wasn't. I was sick and I needed it. I could have spared a hell of a lot of people a lot of heartache if I just listened to people who tried to help me once in awhile.
But all that is old water under the bridge. It's baggage I'll always have, but that doesn't mean I have to carry it around with me wherever I go. I can grow up, I can move on, and I can leave the baggage in a safe spot in the past which is where it belongs. Giving my baby up for adoption was ultimately the best choice I ever made in my life. She's happy, she's healthy, and she's safe. Things there was no one I could ever guarantee her when I didn't even know how to be happy myself. And now life has yet again thrown me another curve ball, but this time, I have no idea how I'm supposed to tackle it. I'm sitting here at Yale trying to find my feet and my head and my heart are in an entirely different state.
The thing is, it's not the state that it should be and home isn't where the heart is. The heart is in a place I never thought it would be, and I'm confused. What does all this mean, and why didn't I see it sooner? Is it just because I'm lonely and everything has changed around me? Not even Google can help me with this one. Maybe we made the right choice. Maybe we really should just pretend nothing ever happened and leave it back in Ohio. It was the right choice for everyone, and there was so much alcohol involved. Alcohol is my biggest enemy. It not only stole my virginity, but now has it stolen my sexuality too?
