Chapter 16:

I'm not surprised when Rachel calls me, as soon as I step out of the apartment building, when I refuse to listen to her shout for me in the halls. I'm not surprised that she leaves me two voicemails and several long text messages about I don't know what – I ignore them all and turn off my phone. I much rather be alone with my thoughts, right now…And with alcohol because that's what fuck-ups do when they get yelled at and are reminded of how fucked up they are…They drink and fuck up more things in their life.

"How's it going Q? Where's the rest of the gang?" The owner and main bartender asks, as soon as I settle on the stool.

"Fuck if I know."

He doesn't say anything for a second, but he looks at me with a worried expression. He's probably wondering if the bar's house band is already about to do the splits, so early into our contract.

"Everything rock n roll between you guys?" He finally asks, as he wipes the bar down.

I nod, not wanting to worry the guy who's paying me. "Yeah, it's not that…Just some other stuff," I reply, while I dig in my pockets for some money. I pull out ten bucks, slide it toward him, and say, "Give me the strongest drink I can get with this."

He looks at me and slides the bill back. "Your drinks are on the house, tonight."

"Johnny, I can't let you do that." I respond shaking my head and sliding the money back in his direction.

He laughs, picks up the ten dollars, and puts it back in my hand. "Just keep bringing in the crowds with your music and we're good, alright?"

Smiling, I say "Alright, thanks, Johnny. I gotta warn you, though…I'm no lightweight."

The guy leans over and pats my shoulder. "You haven't tried my drink, yet, have you?" When I shake my head he laughs and starts pouring and mixing several hard liquors into one big shot glass. "You're in for a treat, then."

I sit and watch Johnny's tricks as he flips and twirls bottles in his hands, so quickly that I can't even make-out half the labels. I just look at the streams of liquor filling the glass and gulp when he pours the mixture into an even bigger glass, squirts some lime juice into it, and mixes it before sliding it in front of me with a cocky smile. "What exactly do you call it?" I ask, a bit hesitate as I wrap my hand around the glass.

His grin gets impossibly bigger, "What's the name of the girl that made you come to the bar at twelve-thirty midnight?"

My eyes jump up from the glass to Johnny, only to find that he's smiling, but seriously expecting an answer. Sighing I slump my shoulders and drag my eyes back to the drink.

"Okay, look," he says, grabbing another glass and pouring himself some whiskey. "I'm not one of those bartenders that like to listen to everyone's problems. I'm no therapist and I give shitty advice. So, when mopey lovers, like you, crawl in here in the middle of the night - obviously heart-broken – I don't ask for a full story and I don't lend no ear; I just make them this drink and I ask them one simple question: What's the name of the girl that made you come to the bar at twelve-thirty midnight?" He leans both hands on the bar and stares at my solemn expression. I'm not big on talking about this kind of drama either. I came here to drink and forget about all that…about her; but I can't ignore him if he's giving me free drinks and a place to play music for money.

After a few seconds I sit up and look back at him, trying hard not to show how miserable I am… "Rachel."

Johnny nods, as if he can read it all over my face, and slowly pushes himself off the bar, grabs his whiskey and lifts his arm halfway. I question him with a confused look, but raise my glass to his, anyway, and when our glasses clank against each other, Johnny says, with another toothy grin, "…To your first Rachel."

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Not even halfway through my second "Rachel" I'm already trying not to slip off my stool like a drunken idiot. Johnny laughs at me and reaches over the bar to pat my rolling head, as I try and fail at not keeping the liquor from dribbling out of my mouth when I groan. If I wasn't so out of it, I would be embarrassed at how quickly I got to this state of, well…drunken idiot.

Johnny hands me a few napkins and I wipe my chin clean of "Rachel" before taking another big gulp and feeling defeated when I still cringe at the strong taste burning down my throat. "Uugghh! Fucking shit, man," I say trying to keep it together, while patting my chest as if it'll help the air move through my lungs faster.

Johnny laughs, again, clearly enjoying watching me turn into a sloppy mess. "So, now do you know why I asked for her name?" He smirks and wipes down the bar where the liquor spilt from my mouth.

I take another drink and rub at my throat, with my tongue sticking out, probably looking like a complete weirdo. I clear my throat and massage my already pounding head, "Because if Rachel were a drink this would be it," I reply a bit groggily.

"And why's that?" Johnny asks, the corners of his mouth nearly reaching his ears.

"Because they both got me all fucked up."

"Ahhaha! Bingo!" He replies, smacking my shoulder and practically knocking me off my stool. The quick unsteady movement almost makes me want to puke right then and there, but I much rather not do that in front of the man that basically owns the band.

"Clever," I remark, and maneuver myself back onto my seat and give him a smile because sarcasm aside it is pretty clever.

"Hell yeah, it is! And you know what? When you wake up I promise you'll never want another Rachel, as long as you live, Q!" He laughs some more and even harder when I shake my head – not amused. "Just trust me. This was for your own good. And don't worry you should only have a weak buzz by the time you play tomorrow night," he smacks me again and is about to laugh some more, but stops and whispers, "Hey, Q…You know that guy over by the door?"

I grunt an "I don't care," but Johnny places his heavy palm on the top of my head and turns it until I can see a large figure that seems to be looking at me from across the bar. "Crap." I say, ducking and trying to hide, which is really stupid and pointless when there's nothing to hide behind, so I drunkenly try to remove Johnny's sasquatch hand off my head and I end up losing my balance on the stool and it's enough for me to fall to the bar floor with a heavy thud. Landing on my back nearly knocks the wind out of me and I groan and roll over on my side like a sad, pathetic drunk. I think I hear Johnny ask if I'm alright between hardy laughs, but I'm more focused on the recognizable shoes that are now by my head. It feels like déjà-vu – a scene that only happened a few hours ago, which ultimately lead to that blow-out with Rachel and me ending up here. Looking up, I'm not surprised to see Finn towering over me and I'm not going to lie – It's intimidating. I quickly sit up and get to my feet hoping I can stand without losing my balance, again. I feel myself wobble and it's like vertigo, but way worse, so when my legs buckle and everything starts to sway, I try to reach behind me to grab the stool or the bar, but instead I'm pulled back up by the intimidating man.

"How much did you drink?" He asks with a more curious tone than a judgmental one.

I hear Johnny still laughing and saying, "She'll be alright, I'm glad she has a friend here, though."

If I wasn't so discombobulated and holding onto Finn's arm I'd turn around and tell Johnny to shut up and to not call this guy my friend. How can he be my friend when I had an affair with his wife, then befriended him and lied about the whole thing to his face?! How can he be my friend when I am such a fuck up that I can't even say that I'm a better choice for Rachel and that's why I did what I did?! How can he even consider me a decent human being, let alone a friend? All that comes rushing back to me and I feel that familiar guilt and shame punch me in my face and stomach and in my chest and I stagger to get a solid footing and squirm away from Finn's hold.

"I'm fine!" I bite out, brushing myself off and realizing that I can barely feel my hands and my arms feel like spaghetti noodles and it's like a million degrees in here. The last thing I want to do is feel like this and then let Finn witness it. "Johnny, thanks for the drinks and I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" I tell him, while making my way to the door. I think I hear him laugh and say "Remember what I said about waking up!" but once I open the door and the cool night breeze hits my face and my sleeveless arms, I sag against the doorway and feel myself being carried to the band room by the stage.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I don't think I'm actually falling asleep – Maybe I'm just blinking in really slow motion…

"Finn?" I think I say rather clearly, but actually it comes out as a slur and it drags out longer than it should – Kind of like "Fhhhhinnnn?"

"Fabray, you're drunk…You know that, right?"

"What? Where's Rachel?" I mindlessly ask, as if he wouldn't take offense. As if he wouldn't be thinking that he can't believe that I'd have the balls to ask that right here and right now. As if he doesn't think that I'd probably have a better idea of where Rachel is than he does.

"I guess not," he says under a heavy breath as he tries to catch me before I slip off the couch, being that I lose all ability to control my sad, sad, sad body when I'm pathetically drunk. It's the thud of my ass on the cold, hard floor that gives me a moment of clarity.

"Fuck. I fucking fucked shit up."

"Kind of why I'm here, too," he replies.

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Ugh."

"Dude."

"I don't umderstand!" I shout, quite louder than I meant to.

"Fabray, calm down, alright…You're safe here," my girlfriend's…not really girlfriend…Is she my girlfriend?...Well, her ex…Excuse me, soon to be ex-husband replies…

"Don't you like…I don't know…Hate me or something?" I mean, because seriously. I'd hate me if I were him. I mean I hate me, right now, even though I am me!

He looks at me through squinted eyes full of concern and honestly it throws me off, but not any more than when he says, "I don't hate you, Qui – I mean Fabr – I mean...Quinn…I don't hate you, Quinn." I quickly pull myself back up and sit on the couch, as if his words have sobered me entirely in just mere seconds.

"Did you just call me…" I trail off, afraid to even say my own name, at the moment.

"Quinn…" he finishes for me. "Yeah, I did call you Quinn because that's your real name. That's what everyone else calls you…You know your friends and…she calls you Quinn, too, so…"

I meet his own confused look and I find no indication on his face that he knows what he's talking about, either. His mouth twists up as he puts his hands in his pants pockets and gives a boyish shrug, "Alright, look… I'm just trying to be…I mean…" he sighs and shakes his head at his inability to string the right words into a sentence. "I'm not mad at you – at least not as mad as I was before. You know?" When I don't respond, due to being utterly confused about what's happening, he rubs his tired face and takes the few steps toward the couch and slowly sits beside me. There's enough space between us for me to turn my head to look at him, without it being more awkward than this whole scene already is. I don't even know what to make of all of this. I should be thrilled that he isn't as angry with me anymore. Seriously, I basically backstabbed him and lied to his face, while I had an affair with his wife! And here he is…Telling me that he's not that upset and calling me by my real first name – The name his wife calls me – The name his wife said out loud when she was in bed with him. Not to mention that he's right freaking here and he's not taking advantage of my drunken state by pummeling me with his fists, not that he even needs an advantage. Come on, I should definitely be thrilled…Except I'm not.

I turn to look at him, again, and he's not looking back. He's sitting slightly hunched over, with his elbows on his lap and his eyes on his hands, as he plays with his wedding band. His brow is pinched and he looks like he's trying to hold back a heavy flood of words, before he just gasps a tired breath and yanks off his ring with finality. He holds the band between his thumb and index finger, examining the heavy wear on it and how dull it looks. After a few seconds he lets out a humorous puff of air and shakes his head; and turning to meet my eyes briefly, he shows me the ring. "Kind of like a…What does she say? Like a metaphor? Or more like a symbol? For our marriage, I mean. And the funny thing is, it's not all fucked up because I have a hard job, you know? Like a job like yours, where you have to use your hands to lift stuff up and build things and use tools…I have a job that keeps my hands clean and safe. And it's not like it's a cheap ring, either. I just didn't take care of it. I'd always take it off when I hung out with the guys. I'd leave it on dirty bars and tables and we'd slam our beer bottles on it by mistake. Or we'd drop it on accident and we'd be stepping on it or kicking it around under the table and I wouldn't notice until I had to go home and I'd find it wedged in a bottle cap on the floor. Sometimes, I'd take it off at work, when new interns came to the office. Most are younger chicks and they look at me like I'm somebody important, you know? And I guess I liked that. I never cheated on her, though…It was just cool to know that other women found me good-looking. Well, anyway…One time, I was in my office, shredding up some papers with that shredding machine thing, you know what I'm talking about and so my buddy comes running in and tells me that I need to come check out the hot intern coming down the hall and...And I don't know why, but I took my ring off so fast that it slipped off and fell right fucking into shredder. I mean, right fucking in there. Of course it didn't go all the way through, but it was stuck and the damn machine kept revving, trying to eat up the ring and I'm like fucking shit, you know?" He looks at me with disbelief, as if he's reliving the moment and he shakes his head. "I finally got the thing out and it was all chipped and scratched and it was pretty banged up, as you can tell…Anyway, when I got home, I figured she'd notice and she'd ask me what happened and I figured I'd make up some story on the spot, but…She never noticed. Or she did notice, but didn't care enough to ask…And I guess I didn't care enough to bring it to her attention." He looks away, at the wall across the room, and seems to be in deep thought. "So, how can I be mad at you for caring so much about something that I never cared enough about?"

I can tell that he isn't really looking for me to reply, so I stay quiet and I look away when he places the worn out ring on the table beside his end of the couch.

There's a long awkward silence between us, while we both look around the room. The last time we were both in here was when Finn found out about me and Rachel and pretty much kicked my ass and nearly brought me an inch away from death when he put me in at headlock. The memory alone makes me short of breath and I pat my chest and cough, trying extra hard to remember to breathe correctly. The harsh coughs hurt my side, where he slammed me into the table by the door and I unconsciously rub at my sore ribs.

As if he can read my mind he shifts in his spot and reaches across the space between us and pats my back like he used to, before the shit hit the fan. "Sorry, about the whole…choking you and trying to break you in half…thing." I turn to look at him and he certainly looks sincere and truly remorseful about the incident. He pats me, again and it's awkward, which is why he gives me a one-sided smile that looks more like he's cringing at the memory of it.

I smile and shake my head, "Don't be. We both know I deserved it." I reach over and playfully hit his leg. "And come on, I almost wish someone recorded it, because you know that shit would be funny as hell to watch," I laugh when he finally cracks a smile and nods along.

"Yeah, maybe a little funny," he replies with a small chuckle.

"More than a little, man. Especially, with everybody yelling and crying and I probably looked like I was gonna shit my pants!" I exclaim. "For a second I thought I was going to!"

He laughs whole-heartedly at that and shakes his head, probably in disbelief at how we're able to make jokes about the incident so soon after. "I'm glad you're alright, though. I didn't mess you up too bad?" He asks, glancing over at me, trying to appear not so concerned.

"Nah, I'm good…Sore, but good."

"Cool."

More silence fills the room, but it's not as awkward as before. It's kind of nice.

"So…What brought you to the bar?" I ask, wondering why he showed up in the first place, knowing that chances are I'd be here, since this is basically my spot, what with being part of the house band and all.

He shrugs and tilts his head not sure of the answer, himself. "I don't know. I was at home and it didn't feel like home, anymore. I needed to get out, you know?" He turns to look at me and I'm positive that I have a stupid guilty look on my face. Whether he notices or not he doesn't say, he just changes the subject. "What about you? I mean, I know you play here, but where's the rest of the band?"

I shrug, "Home, I guess. We don't have a gig tonight, but I…" I'm not sure if I should mention the argument with Rachel to him. It seems really selfish and inconsiderate so I just say "…I just needed to get out, too." He gives me a suspicious look, like he knows there's more to it, but he doesn't try to force it out of me.

"I get it," he says and sits back and lets out a heavy sigh. "It's been a long last couple of days, huh?"

"Hell yeah," I reply, as I get up and go to the mini fridge and thank the lord that there's beer stocked inside. I grab two and sit back on the couch, handing one to Finn, who gratefully takes it. We both take long gulps and let out sounds of satisfaction when we both almost finish half of our cans.

"We can still be cool, right?" he asks, not looking at me, but suddenly taking interest in the beer in his hand. "I mean, we can be friends?" He finally looks up at me from his drink, only to look back down when he sees that I'm already looking at him. "It's just that I don't have many friends…Real friends. Friends I can actually be myself, around." He coughs into his empty hand and his face reddens. "I mean, other than you lying to me and sleeping with my wife…You're pretty cool. I liked hanging out with you and your friends. I feel like I missed that opportunity in my life. You know, to have fun and not have to jump right into being a grown-up. I never got to join a band, even though I love playing the drums and I wish I could get up on a stage and rock out like you guys do. I was honestly jealous of you when I first saw you perform. You were so bad-ass and that chick was all over you and I felt like that could've been me. I just think I grew up too fast and maybe that's why I made such a crappy husband…" he takes another swig of his beer, "…Or maybe I'm just making excuses for being a crappy husband. I don't know…I just feel like I want to feel free from all of it and I don't want to keep feeling like this; and being around you and them, I feel like myself and I'm happy."

There's a lot going on in my head, by the time he's done talking; and I'm trying to figure out what to say first, when he gets anxious and embarrassed about his confession.

"I mean, if you don't want to be cool after all this then yeah, I get it. I'm just letting you know that I'm not mad, anymore…And I'm not going to get you fired and all that other stuff I said I was going to do. I want to be over this whole thing and I realized it's not going to make me feel any better if I take everything away from you and her. It'll just make me feel worse."

I take a long chug of my beer and I run my free hand over my shocked face. This guy…Finn… "Dude…" I turn to face him and he looks nervous. "I was right when I told myself that you were a good guy. That's why I felt so bad about everything. I still feel like a fucking asshole, yet here you are being the nicest fucking person and you don't even have to. I was expecting you to come in and kick the shit out of me, again, but instead you're asking if we can still be cool?" I shake my head in disbelief. "I swear there were a bunch of times when I felt like I was betraying a real friend…Because I was. And I meant everything I told you earlier in the street, when I said that I considered you a friend and that's why I felt like crap…And I still do, especially, now. And I meant it when I said that you deserve a better wife…I just forgot to say that you deserve a better friend, too; and that it's going to suck losing you…" I then reach my free hand over to him and fold it into a fist, which he bumps with his own fist, after a few seconds. We both smile like a couple of dumbasses and clank our beers together. "But, I'm really fucking glad that I don't have to."

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"Fell in love with a girl/ Fell in love once and almost completely/ She's in love with the world/ But sometimes these feelings can be so misleading/ She turns and says are you alright?/ I said I must be fine because my heart's still beating/ Come and kiss me by the riverside/ Bobby says it's fine, he don't consider it cheating!" We both sing out loud, as we play on the old band equipment on the stage. I'm bouncing around with the guitar and seriously…Finn wasn't kidding when he said he loved playing the drums. Honestly, I'm surprised that he's actually really good, but watching him bang it out like he is, it's obvious that he knows what's he's doing.

"Red hair with a curl, mellow roll for the flavor/ And the eyes were peeping/ Can't keep away from the girl/ These two sides of my brain need to have a meeting/ Can't think of anything to do/ My left brain knows that all love is fleeting/ She's just looking for something new/ And I said it once before, but it bears repeating!" We're both smiling by now and I can tell that we're feeding off each other's energy. I feel like the whole bar is vibrating with how strong our sound is, even though it's empty, since Johnny left us the keys to lock up…Yeah, he trusts me like that! Anyway, I can't help but stand by the drums and watch Finn play as we continue.

"Fell in love with a girl/ Fell in love once and almost completely/ She's in love with the world/ But sometimes these feelings can be so misleading/ She turns and says are you alright?/ I said I must be fine because my heart's still beating/ Come and kiss me by the riverside/ Bobby says it's fine, he don't consider it cheating!/ Can't think of anything to do/ My left brain knows that all love is fleeting/ She's just looking for something new/ And I said it once before, but it bears repeating!/

"Hell yeah!" I shout immediately after we finish the song, at the exact same moment, which is surprising considering that we've been drinking for a while, now.

"That was so kick ass!" He says with a big grin, as he stands up and hi-fives me.

"Dude, we have to play another song because we are damn smooth together!" I say, jumping up and down on my toes because I'm so hyped up, right now.

"I know, right!" He laughs, sits back down, and stretches out his arms, as he thinks of another song. "How about –"

"How about someone tells me what's going on here?" A voice interrupts from behind me. I don't have to see the look on Finn's face to know who it is…

I turn and find her standing in the middle of the floor, watching us with nothing but confusion and a hint of betrayal on her face. I notice the way her petite frame shivers under both of our guilty stares…

"Shit…" I mumble under my breath.

/END CHAPTER\