I thought I would sort out all my problems by writing a story that has nothing to do with the current status of Glee.

It's because of the way the rain falls on the windows that Quinn Fabray finds herself in between the feelings of sad and calm. How even though the sky is grey and flashes with lightening followed by the roll of thunder that she feels safe and yet scared in the confines of her own home. She watches as a black BMW pulls up to the black gates of her Hollywood home, her eyes indifferent as someone steps out, arms in the air, waving to be let in. Their black suit, which probably cost more to be dry-cleaned than it did on the rack, turns darker with each raindrop that seeps into the fabric. She turns away when they spot her sitting by the window.

When she let her life go from glitz and glam to sad and reserved is unclear. The gold statues that sit above her fireplace are a clear sign of success in her field of work, but only sadness and misery fill her now. She hears the faint shout of the man outside and she decides that watching the rain is no longer something she wants to do.

The sound of the buzzer being pushed fills her home. She glances at the small screen on the wall for only a second before walking by it completely. She can hear his voice filter through, raindrops falling harder in the background.

"Babe, let me in. Let's talk about this. We need to talk about this."

They didn't. Her mind was made up for her the moment she walked through the door of their home and noticed a pair of heels that didn't belong to her. Her mind was made up for her when she heard the sounds of laughter and pleasure coming from behind their bedroom door. Her mind was made up when she witnessed both of them pull away from each other, guilt, shame and fear on their faces as they tried to cover up their undressed state. In their bed, with the sheets they picked out together, with their fucking wedding picture on display on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

His voice turns desperate in the background, "Quinn. Open the gate. Babe. Please. I'm so sorry. Please open the gate."

She stops on her journey to the living room, her hand on the wall to hold herself up.

"Quinn. Baby, please open the gate…" The anguish in his voice has her looking back at the screen on the wall. She watches as he stares into the camera. His face turns blurry and almost distorted with raindrops that fall onto the lens. Something within her has her turning around and walking back. Her hand hesitates as it hovers over the numerous buttons. She takes a moment to stare at his face, the way it looks like he is crying but she knows it's the rain playing in his favour. Her finger presses down on a button, her words caught in her throat as his face lights up with hope.

It's silent for only a second before she finds her voice, "Go to hell."

A hand caresses her thigh, gliding higher and higher. The hem of her dress almost to her waist while a body presses against her. Her knuckles turn white as they grip the edge of the wooden table she is trapped against. The sound of uneven breathing fills her ears as her body tries to catch up to the rest of its senses. When the table begins to creak at the weight that presses it against the wall behind, there is a cough from the other side of the room.

"Cut."

Two bodies detach themselves from each other, light laughter between them as hands try to pull the hem of a dress to a more appropriate level.

"Guys, I love the enthusiasm but you have got to tone it down."

The two girls sheepishly duck their heads, a small laugh is exchanged between the two as the rest of the crew sets up for another take.

"Quinn, can you cheat your body toward the camera? Santana, go for Quinn's left as she cheats towards me, I'm going to come in tight for that shot." Both girls nod as hair and makeup tend to them.

"I thought that one was a lot less sexy than the last one." Quinn turns her attention away from her makeup artist to her co-star, "I mean, at least your tongue wasn't down my throat in this one."

"No," she returns, "because yours was down mine." Quinn's hair artist can't help but chuckle. This only leads Santana, Quinn's co-star, to smile devilishly.

When their respective stylists finish, the two stars are quiet as they stand next to each other, waiting further instruction from their director. The lights dim but no one is making a move to start another take.

"So, I know we aren't the best of friends, but I figure since my hands and mouth have been seen on your body more times than anyone can count on television, I can ask how you're doing…"

Santana Lopez, Quinn's tv co-star, had been an unknown when signing onto the show. Quinn, of course, had no idea who she was or if there was going to be any chemistry between the two. Then again, Quinn originally signed on to only guest star for three episodes but then her decision to file for divorce came up and she decided to make the character permanent. Much to her agent's dismay for having other works in the pipeline for her.

It wasn't every day that an award winning actress for movies switched from Oscars to Emmys. In that time, Santana had become a recurring figure in her everyday life. Not just because she was co-starring with Quinn Fabray in a tv show, but she was also playing Quinn's love interest.

Though Quinn's actual love life was on display for the world to see, the real gossip was between her and her co-star. Which even though it is a ridiculous thought to have, she is thankful for the distraction for her fans. It also helps that Santana takes full advantage of the rumours. Something Quinn's management and PR had had several talks about until Quinn had stated that it was easier to work around a co-star's rumour mill rather than her actual life. One could be manipulated far easier than the other.

Over a very short course of a couple months, Quinn can actually say she trusts Santana. Then again, any actor or actress must when there are things like nudity clauses and sex scenes involved.

"What would you do if I told you I was fine?"

"Tell you, you're full of shit."

"If you already know, why ask?"

"Because it is the decent human thing to do."

"You? Decent? I know where your hands have been, Lopez."

Their banter may be Quinn's favourite part of the day, especially because Santana doesn't treat her like a wounded animal. Santana doesn't candy coat their conversations and Quinn is grateful for the fresh slate. When everyone else in her life tends to tip toe around her, Santana for the most part just doesn't give a shit.

"Ah, and you also know where my hands could be."

"You're horrible-"

"-ly awesome. I'm fucking fantastic actually, and the world agrees with me, Fabray."

Quinn has no chance to reply when the director's voice booms across the set, "Everybody quiet on set! Camera one! Ready and action!"

Santana winks before her hands grip Quinn's waist and they start their scene again.

Rain falls with no purpose. The smell that usually tells a person when the skies cry, doesn't follow this time around. Quinn almost feels bothered by how unnatural it feels to hear the rain but not actually see it as it hits the ground. Her eyes have turned dull and the usual shine behind them is gone. She has become a shell of a person sitting in an empty living room.

The tears are falling faster than her hands can wipe them away. Her sobs wrack through her body so hard that she is actually glad she is already on the floor. She'd probably would have fallen and hurt herself if she wasn't. A sob catches somewhere in her chest and the only thing she can do is cry out in pain. Pain in its physical form or pain in its emotional form. She isn't sure, but it's there. Like a knife twisting, ever so slowly, making its way deep into the abyss that now has taken up residence where her heart used to be.

She tries to breathe, she tries to see through the tears, but everything hurts too much to really try. Her body curls and it isn't long before she is curling into a ball on the hardwood floor. Her sobs echoing, as if asking for help.

"AND CUT."

Her body lifts itself off the floor, hair and makeup rush toward her, ready with another round of foundation and mascara. Her breaths come in and out a little slower, but it doesn't help the hiccups that follow. It doesn't erase the pain that she tries to hide from her stylist, who looks at her with such concern that Quinn has to turn away from questioning eyes.

"Okay everyone, that's a wrap. Season 1, done. Quinn, that was amazing. Heartbreaking, but amazing none the less." Her director walks onto the set, his hat hiding his eyes as he sets a hand on her shoulder. She chances a look and she wishes she hadn't. The way he looks at her informs her that he feels sorry for her. If it isn't his eyes, it's the way his mouth barely curls into a smile, "I know that wasn't easy."

She doesn't trust her voice, so she nods, she utilizes a shy smile to cover up the pain still buried in her chest. The knife still stuck, the cold metal making it harder to breathe.

He stands, satisfied with the lie he doesn't even detect. The rest of the crew shouting their thanks from behind cameras, cranes, wooden walls and various props. It's a lie built upon the foundation of her very public life.

Tina, her stylist, applies a little more makeup around her eyes and she is grateful for a reason to close them.

"If you don't get nominated for an Emmy, I don't know who will." Tina says nothing else and leaves her be to sit on the floor.

For a small moment, everything is quiet. No rain machine sprinkling in the background, no shouts for cameras, just silence. And in that silence she feels the cold grip of reality engulf her. Burying herself in work did nothing but numb the pain she had run away from.

"Why you let them write that in there is beyond me, Fabray." Santana's tone for once isn't filled with its lightness and pep like Quinn is used to. No, her tone is low and biting. Even though the scene was only Quinn, the way Santana speaks almost makes it as though it were her scene and not Quinn's. "Emmy worthy or not, that was the shittiest thing the writers could have ever done."

"Pain sells…" Quinn's voice is thick, scratchy and dry. Her eyes never leaving the fake windows in front of her. Water droplets still staining the glass.

"Pain like 50 Shades of Grey, yes. This? No. This was cruel. This was your life written out on paper for everyone to watch at 10pm."

"They needed a scene. I gave them one."

"But did you have to give them a part of you? Look, I'm all for that method shit but for fucks sake, you haven't even divorced the son of a bitch yet and here you are showing the world how you dealt with his cheating ass."

Quinn pauses, her hands playing with the hem of her dress, her eyes not daring to look up at Santana's figure, "How would you know how I dealt with it?"

The moment Quinn does decide to look up, she regrets it. Because for the few short months that she has looked into Santana's eyes, she has never seen this look. The look of pity and sorrow, "Because for an award winning actress, you do a shit job of covering up heartbreak. It's almost painful to watch you cry like that because you aren't acting, Quinn."

line breaks are what nightmares are made out of...