This is an AU story about Quinn's drug abuse and how Rachel tries brings her out of her addiction. It may start off a little subtly with Rachel but eventually they will develop a relationship. How it will end for both of them? I have yet to decide.

If you liked books like Crank, Glass, Go Ask Alice, and Tweak, then you will most likely like this story.
My apologizes if there are certain errors in the story. I, myself, do not live in New York, nor do I have a drug addiction. So, bear with me and enjoy!

Warnings: Drug abuse, sex, and swearing.

It's hard to say when I stopped using for fun, and started using to fuel my addiction. Shit, I mean, if 5 years ago you would have asked me where I imagined myself, I sure as hell wouldn't say where I am now. A druggie, barely making it in New York City.

At least I could admit it, right? That's the first step to solving a problem, admitting it, isn't it? See, that's the thing though, I don't want to stop. I don't have a reason to, and stopping for myself never seemed good enough. Maybe that's because I never seemed good enough.

As much as I wish I could blame my problems on other people, it's me who doesn't have the strength to get clean. Thinking of it now, maybe strength isn't the problem. Maybe, it's motivation.

I sat quietly on a bench in Central Park. Brittany and Santana come here often to feed the ducks. They're an odd couple. Complete opposites in most ways, but boy, do they love each other. They're the only thing that keeps me believing in love. One look at them, and you can't call it anything else.

Brittany's tall, blonde, loving, and a dancer. While Santana is a feisty Latina, who holds a certain distaste towards the world and its inhabitants. Santana got lucky, someone saved her.

I, on the other hand, haven't been that fortunate.

It was getting dark and I decided that I should make a quick stop by my dealer before heading home.

I'd have to call Santana too. She has this weird way of going into panics if she doesn't hear from me ever 6 hours or so. I think it's because she think I'll overdose or something.

We all share a place together. Santana, Brittany, and I. I think it's Santana's way of retribution for getting me into drugs in the first place. I know now that she just wanted to help, and I never thought any less of her for it.

"Excuse me!" I hear a soprano voice call from behind me. I make a 180 and turn to look down at a petite brunette. Her face looks familiar and I realize I've seen her on those Broadway posters around 42nd street. Her name eludes me, but reviewers say she has an amazing voice. I wouldn't know, really. I can't say that in the five years I've lived in New York I've been to a Broadway show.

"Yeah?" I asked, eyeing her. She's pretty, really pretty actually. She has flowing brown hair that's slightly curled and bangs that hang just above her lively, chocolate eyes. Pretty may be an insult. She's gorgeous.

"I was wondering if I could use your phone? I forgot mine at home and I need to phone a taxi." She asks quickly and politely as she looks me up and down. I wonder if she can tell that I'm a user.

They say it takes one to know one, but she doesn't look the part.

"Yeah, sure." I tell her as I pull out my phone and hand it to her. She gives me a bright smile, that breaks all my trains of thought, before turning around and dialing a number.

I guess I have it better than most addicts. I have somewhat of a job. I'm a freelance photographer. My biggest success in life? My picture being published in the New York Daily News. It wasn't a big deal. I was at the right place at the right time and I got a shot of some important protest or something.

The job wasn't much, but it was enough to get my addiction by. The fact that I lived with Brittany and Santana helped out too, I guess if wasn't with them I'd be homeless by now. Getting high was more important than having a place to stay, any addict would tell you the same. It isn't us talking though, it's the monsters.

"Thank you." The brunette says as she hands me back my phone.

"Yup." I tell her as I spin around on my heel and started walking away. I didn't have much time to meet my hook up, I wanted to get home before Santana and Brittany. They don't like it when I come home high. I don't blame them.

"Wait. Do you want to ride with me? I figured if we're going to the same place we could carpool?" Maybe she thought I didn't have enough money for my own cab.

"Where are you headed?"

"49th. I have a late show tonight." She explains, confirming my suspicions of her being that Broadway chick.

"Oh, I'm actually heading towards the Bronx. I have to meet a friend." I tell her, trying not to sound too sketchy.

"I see. Well, that's unfortunate. Anyway, thanks for letting me use your phone. I'm Rachel Berry, by the way." She says, flashing a bright smile and extending her hand.

"Quinn Fabray." I respond as I take her hand into my own. It was cool, soft. She must use a lot of lotion.

I suddenly felt a panic wash over me, it was similar to the panic a junkie feels when he's running out of drugs and money. But this feeling felt worse. I realized that I might never see this girl again. She was just too pretty to let go. So I did something I don't usually do.

"Hey, uh, here's my number. If you ever want to get together for coffee, or lunch or something." I said as I handed her my card. Oh, yeah. Get this, I have a card. It isn't much. It says my name, number, and 'Photography' in large print on the top.

"I most certainly will. It was nice meeting you, Quinn." She says as she walks away.

I really do hope that she calls.

I hail a cab and get dropped off in the lower Bronx. My boy Puck always has the hook up.

Similar to me, he had some troubles in high school that sent him over the edge. He got a girl pregnant and she gave the child away. She didn't even consider his feelings or the fact that he wanted to be the girl's father.

Beth's her name. It really destroyed him, never being able to hold his daughter again.

I met him through one of my best friends, Sam. Sam and I, we could be twins, in appearance. Personality wise, we're as different as can be. He has never even smoked a cigarette before, let alone shot up heroin or even tried to do meth. He said he never felt the need to and I envied him, in a way.

"My girl." Puck says as he opens the door to his apartment. It smells like bud, not that I mind, of course. He considers himself to be somewhat of a 'ladies' man.' He says it's the mowhawk and I can't help but agree, but there's more than that. He's a good guy.

"Hey, you got my G?" I ask, taking a seat on his couch.

"Fuck yeah. I'm hooking you up so fat." He responds as he shuffles into his room and comes back out with a little white baggie of white crystals.

"You a want a fix? This is pretty generous, even for you." I say as I twirl the bag in my hand.

"I thought you'd never ask." He says grinning as he walks into his kitchen, filling a jar with a thin layer of water. I toss him the sack and he pouts some of the crystals in, crushing them with a spoon until it's all powder. He lights the stove and holds the jar above it until it starts to bubble.

"Go into my room and grab me some rigs, yeah? The clean ones are in a bag on my dresser."

By the time I bring them to him he's already got the two cotton balls soaked in the meth and when I hand him the syringes he empties the substance out into both of them.

He was careful to make sure they both have the same amount before he handed one over to me. I clenched my fist in an attempt to make my veins pop out more before injecting it into my forearm. A problem most junkies develop is that their veins start collapsing and hiding under their skin, making it impossible to get a fix that way. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, that has yet to happen to me.

I cough as I feel the rush and then settle back down on Puck's couch, letting the high take over. I feel good. I haven't gotten my hands on crystal meth in over a week because Puck's dealer was out of town on some druggie business.

"So, why were you late?" Puck asks, laying down on his other couch, across from mine.

"I was in Central Park. And that Broadway girl, Rachel Berry, asked to use my phone." I explained, my mind rushing back to her. It'd be nice if she were here right now. We could kiss and make love, and make all the painful memories go away, at least for the night.

Not that she'd ever touch meth. She seems like a good girl, and she's got a future ahead of her. I'd never let her destroy that.

"Rachel Berry. She a hot Jew, isn't she?" Puck says knowingly.

I feel a little jealous when he calls her 'hot.' I know I shouldn't, considering I don't know her, and Puck doesn't mean it in a bad way. He's just pointing out the obvious.

"I agree. How do you know she's a Jew, though?"

"Rachel and I, we go way back. We went to high school together." Puck explains. I glance over to him and I'm met with a thoughtful looking face, a pained expression crosses his face almost as quickly as it disappears and I know he's thinking about his daughter.

"You guys still talk?" I ask, trying to keep him from thinking about Beth. Nothing worse than a bad high.

"Yeah. I see her every now and again. She comes to check on me, you know, see if I'm still alive and shit." He laughs, but I can tell it hurts him to say that.

I think Puck wants to get clean, but I think he needs certain motivation to do it. Only one things comes to my mind, Beth. If anyone could make him stop, it would be the person that made him start.

"I heard she's good." I offer.

"Good? Rachel Berry is the best. Her voice is like an angel's. It always has been. Even since high school, we all knew Rachel was going to do great things. And she hasn't disappointed, you know?"

"We should go see her show."

"Would you really do that with me, Quinn?"

"Of course." I answer, trying slightly to hide the fact that I'm not doing it for him, not really at least. I'm the one who wants to see her.

"Thank you, so much. You're the best." Puck says as a genuine smile spreads across his face and he gets off the couch to place a wet kiss on my cheek.

"Now, Quinn. As much as I love you, I can't bone you. So you need to get out. Unless you're up for a threesome." Puck says wiggling his eyebrows. I give him a disgusted face as I get off the couch and grab the rest of my meth.

"Ew. I'm out. Have a nice time." I said winking.

"You know I will." He said walking me to the door and closing it behind me.

The thing about meth is that you can't sleep. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you squeeze your eye lids shut, sleep won't come, at least not until you crash.

I get dropped off by the Hayden Planetarium, only a couple blocks south of Santana and Brittany's apartment. Between Brittany's dance classes and her occasional appearances on Broadway, and Santana's job as a NYPD criminologist they're pretty well off in the money department.

I light up a cigarette and take a slight detour on my way home. I love the city at night, especially when I'm at the peak of my high. It makes it look all the more beautiful.

When I finally walk into the house Santana is sitting at the kitchen table, clearly waiting for me. Or maybe she just got home from work. I think I'll go with the first choice.

It seems more probable that she was waiting for me because she's already in her pajamas.

"Where were you?" She asks, eyeing me suspiciously. I can tell she's tired, yet here she was, waiting for me to come home safe.

"I went to hang out with Puck." I answer somewhat honestly, taking a quick peek at the clock. 3am. I must have lost track of time.

"What did you take, Quinn?" She asked, getting up and walking towards me. Someone's in full mama bear mode tonight.

"That's none of your business, Santana. I'm going to my room. Goodnight." I sigh. I don't feel like having this argument tonight. Hell, I don't feel like having this argument ever again.

It causes unnecessary stress and in the end, it changes absolutely nothing.

"It's not like you'll be getting any sleep." She murmurs and a pang of guilt hits me at the sadness in her voice.

I think she thought I didn't hear, but I did. I know she means well. Both of them do, but what do they know? Brittany always had Santana to protect her and Santana always had Brittany to save her.

I have drugs. For now they save me, even though I know that eventually they'll destroy me.

But I guess that's what I've been waiting for, you know?