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Name and Age: Leigh, 19
Time Zone: GMT (but flexible)
Activity Level: 9
Character Desired: Quinn Fabray
She’d lost track of how long she’d been laying there.
On her bed, having not bothered to change out of her school clothes or even take off her shoes. She couldn’t remember whether it had been five minutes or an hour, or what she’d had for lunch that day, but she remembered fighting. Every word was clear in her befuddled mind, useless but holding the weight of the world. Yelling, then silence. A clash of good intentions. Each argument had loosened her grasp on him; he was slipping through her fingers like sand on her family’s annual trips to California. He was her first best friend, and she was losing him.
She didn’t even want to close her eyes; that final look of heartbroken defeat would be there, waiting to haunt her. His voice in her mind made her stomach clench, the exasperation and anger and frustration. This was just one more thing she’d managed to destroy in her life. She couldn’t break down. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the numbness seeping through her muscles, but her eyes were dry. When she’d heard about Santana’s accident, she’d cried. But she couldn’t will any tears to come.
The last thing she wanted to think about anymore was the accident. It was a mess, and that was all there really was to it. Santana and Sebastian and Rachel. At the time, the names meant nothing. Except maybe Rachel’s, but it was purely out of spite. It’s not my fault that the baby is dead. Her own stupidity caused it. That disrespectful good-for-nothing vain little.. No words came to mind that were appropriate enough. It was all just a bitter jumble, anyway. Someone would be going to carry her back home anyway. One of her besties, probably Sebastian or Noah. Someone who cared. Her nails curled into her palms. She didn’t deserve all of the attention. She didn’t deserve to get what she wanted for cheating on a man with a child on the way. And still she’d acted so innocent and doe-eyed. Don’t mind Rachel Berry, she’d be back to her good old everybody-loving self in no time. All at once, she felt nine years old again, watching Franny get all dolled up for dates and crying to come along. Crying to be part of something mature, something special, something.
She’d tried. Really, she had. She’d sympathized with Noah, defended Santana, helped Sugar stand up against the rumors. But nothing she could ever do would make her a Pink Lady. She would never be able to go through a photo album full of childhood memories and be able to see the way everyone had grown up. She’d be the plus one. The outsider. Her fists tightened, and the tears that she thought would never come seeped out from the corners of her eyes.