Prologue

Desire is the root of all suffering.

As a Christian and type A know-it-all, Quinn Fabray found it imperative that she learn the fundamentals of other religions to strengthen her own convictions. One all too tedious day at the Fabray summer home, a passable bungalow thirty minutes from Miami purchased using three of daddy's Christmas bonuses and a hefty tax return, Quinn Fabray rolled down the Google search result page.

She skipped the inaccurate Wikipedia link that first popped up, scrolled through the images of Buddha and finally decided on the fifth or sixth result. Introduction to the Buddhism faith.

She pressed her finger down the mouse pad and stretches her back, waiting for the page to load.

Crappy AT&T internet service.

Finally, a gaudily themed web page with a GIF of a Buddha takes on the page, a point form introduction being the first semblance of information that caught her eye.

Nirvana, karma, samsara... She took in, pressing her cheek against her newly fisted fist. An hour ago, Quinn's presumably pink brain would be enraptured in the contrasting beliefs of other faiths. Certainly Hinduism and Sikhism stimulated her brain, but with any research topic, one grows bored of the same continuous process that comes with learning the basis of certain religions.

Just as her free hand found its way towards the mouse, already planning on slipping into the all too inappropriate neon pink bikini she's been itching to put on, a link on the left hand side of the website caught her eye.

The Four Noble Truths

To summarize, Buddhists believe desire is the root of all suffering. To end suffering, one must end desire.

Now, Quinn doesn't believe in poking holes in other beliefs. Well, that isn't entirely true. Being a Fabray, defending their religious and personal beliefs through undermining others' has become a regular practice within the family, but she tried her best not to do so when she can help it.

But in that moment, at least, she can't help it.

In her thirteen-year-old mind frame, amid the fascination with the Jonas Brothers and the latest Juicy Couture handbag, she believed it to be false.

No one has ever suffered for wanting things.

She thought of Frannie Fabray, figuratively, of course, for her over-achieving big sister would sooner receive a root canal or a Gatorade bath than see her and her "small minded, small town residing family." Frannie's desire for power and wealth and glamour is what led to her becoming a high profile agent for some large agency in South California.

Unless receiving deep tissue massages across the ocean at the hands of a muscular, wildly charming man was suffering, Quinn had to conclude the statement false.

Desire is not the root of all suffering.

Desire is natural. Without desire, humans would not have moved past pharaohs and kings and 80's perms. Without desire, she would not be in line to be the newest, youngest flyer for the McKinley High Cheerios this coming Autumn. Without desire, and the pursuit of one's desires, Quinn Fabray wouldn't be Quinn Fabray.

For, you see, Quinn Fabray was the epitome of fulfilled desire.

Not mere desire; anyone can want things.

It took truly extraordinary, impeccable women such as herself to fulfill desire.

And to grow a head so big, she wouldn't fit into the Volkswagen Beetle that daddy already has lined up for her when she receives her driving license.

Ergo, desire is not the root of all suffering.

If it were, Quinn would be on the verge of a nervous breakdown or the Golden Bridge.

But she wasn't.

And she never will.

She cannot think of a single scenario where she would ever, ever, ever suffer from her ambition. Because at the end of the day, she'll get what she wants, as she inevitably does, and she'll be the happiest girl there is.

July and August passed by smoothly and before Quinn could properly digest it, high school had come. To think, Quinn had devoted all of her middle school years to all the right parties, right friends, right crushes and right cheer camps for this. This big, large institution filled with low IQ, blue collar bred losers.

She doesn't think it was worth it. As she stands before the large school, a mixture of disappointment and ambivalence overcame her. And she wishes to this date, oh she truly, honest to Christ wishes, that would have been the moment when she realized desire is the root of all suffering.

But it wasn't, for when she walked past the large doors and into the halls, her fleeting sadness disappeared when her desire to rule everything past these large doors kicks in. Just like she hoped it would.

No, it came later.

It came when the inevitable school bell rang and Quinn had finally found herself the perfect seat in her first period Math class. She was a master strategist in social situations. Anyone wishing to get enough exposure without derailing their education sits in the middle. It's a subconscious thing people take in. Sitting in the middle of everyone makes you the center of everyone. And before you know it, you're the center of attention. The center in which all revolved around, like planets to the flaming sun and now Quinn Fabray to her fellow freshmen.

She flexes her ankle, her Ralph Lauren ankle sock peaking out from her bleach white Pumas. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots an excessively large chest practically tempting her to look. Not out of attraction (although no one could deny the appeal of a large rack when she sat on a never rising pair of itty bitty titties) but out of curiosity. As much as her conservative upbringing would like to deny it, girls of darker reputation and personality did have a claim to the top of the social ladder. Finally, her hazel eyes cast upon the eye-catching bosom with as much subtlety as possible.

They belonged to an equally eye-catching girl. Not necessarily the classic, timeless beauty Quinn prided herself in being, but pretty in her own right. She's accessibly beautiful. This girl had the kind of beauty that could be found in every other page of Seventeen magazine or primetime hours of the CW. She is a Hollywood actress in terms of beauty-commercial and passé. And Quinn? Quinn was Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly. Quinn was a real life Mona Lisa, a modernized Juliet. Quinn was vivid literature to this stranger's BluRay DVD movie. Both contradicted and complimented the other, fighting for number one.

Of course, Quinn knew she was number one.

Because, in the grand scheme of things, Kim Kardashian pales in comparison to Marilyn Monroe.

It takes two minutes of subtle glances and mental check lists for her to decide this girl, the movie to her book, the Kardashian to her Monroe, would be a suitable second-in-command.

Queen Bees needed worker bees, and noticeably yet not gravely less attractive girls made the perfect worker bees.

"I'm Quinn. Quinn Fabray," she extended her hand, making sure to flash the brand new ruby red ring mommy got her for her confirmation just a few months ago. It was a gem, much like her, and needed to be respected and admired. Quinn had a thing for, well, things. Materialistic, self-obsessed and vain; a classic Fabray.

"Santana Lopez," the Latina takes her hand and grips it tightly. A little too tightly. The girl measures her up with her stone cold, brown eyes. Finally, she gives a quick nod and releases her tight grip. As if she had evaluated her character by a simple once over and how she hadn't flinched at her tight grasp. This Santana Lopez character doesn't bend easily.

"I'm Rachel Barbara Berry," a high-pitched, overly enthusiastic voice breaks the wordless meeting of her and her potential lackie. Quinn's eyebrows shot up; just enough to give off an air of importance but not enough to completely make enemies on her first day. Both she and Santana's gazes move to a short, dark-hared girl staring at them expectantly.

"Oh?" asked Quinn, her sarcasm lost on this Rachel girl.

"Did you get dressed in the dark or did they run out of tarps in the shire? Either way, you look about as fashionable as a bird without its feathers," quipped Santana harshly. Quinn doesn't find it coincidental in the slightest that a pack of girls had seated themselves behind her, already alert at the sight of a fascinating, "popular" girl in the making.

The beauty of high school.

"Now, Tana, let's not be too harsh," soothed Quinn. Rachel's eyes widen in slight relief, contrasting with her flushed cheeks.

"It's not her fault her beak blocks her vision. We can't all be born human." It was the first of the many harsh insults Quinn would say to Rachel Berry, with a stone-cold face and a wry smirk to match.

Santana laughs, the wannabees follow, and Rachel finds the door.

It was a pattern that would transcend through semesters.

And then it came. That defining, life altering, all too cliché moment for the Quinn Fabray chronicles. The game changer.

Dark brown eyes, filled with indignant rage and pity, are the first to catch Quinn's hazel eyes. It's all she sees for a few milliseconds. They're filled with diamonds and fire. Her eyes drift to his cheeks and his nose and his chin, and finally she takes in his face as a whole. Oh God, his face was even more glorious when completely taken in as opposed to pieces.

Some people remember dates; anniversaries, birthdays and holidays. Some people remember moments; like one's first sip of alcohol or vacation to the beach. And Quinn? Quinn remembers this.

Since this moment, she cannot remember anything before or after it.

All she remembers of her life, of herself, is this moment.

The moment when she sees him.

And she cannot help but wonder, how on fucking Earth and heaven and hell and Mars did she even care for any memory before him? How would she remember anything after him?

She's a girl hell bent on being her own girl; free to sail the seas as her own captain and take on adventures without being weighed down. And boys?

They were anchors, who weighed you down with their lustful gazes and empty promises and the need to play prince charming without committing to it. They're about as valuable as pennies and sturdy as tissue paper. Others planned for their leading man to stumble into their lives and play out an all too cliché 80's teen movie whereas Quinn planned for her rise to the top of the social and Cheerio pyramid.

Good thing, too, because planning for mere boys would be worthless.

This isn't some boy.

This is the boy.

For some unfathomable reason, seeing him reminds her of Romeo and Juliet. She recalls laying down mommy Judy's lap, braiding bits of her sunflower hair as she recited passages from Shakespeare's famous love story. And although Quinn appreciates all things literature, from poets like Edgar Allan Poe to the sweet words of Jane Austen, and praises Shakespeare most highly, the whole idea of falling in love for what seems like a fleeting moment? Highly unrealistic.

Until now.

She knows just how pathetic this entire ordeal may seem to any unbiased, third party observer. Maybe it is. But when you're thirteen, you really don't give a rat's ass for how pathetic you are for just falling in love.

"Nice," his voice is fiery and silky, like sweet tasting honey. Of course, the ever-narcissistic blonde doesn't hear the harshness and anger in his voice. She just hears the tone, the notes and gets lost in it. Like a sweet melody. Her sweet melody.

"I'm Quinn," she choked out, not at all masking the awestruck expression on her typically calm and collected face. Her face broke out into a quick, natural grin. Quinn smirked. Quinn smiled. But Quinn never grinned. She never felt such desire for someone, for anything.

"And you are?" she presses on.

"Mike,"

"Beautiful name," the sound of Santana snorting from behind her didn't escape her. She's very well aware her flirting techniques were far from developed, but she'd do anything, say anything, to get her point across. He watched her, eyes shifting from her own hazel orbs to those around her before finally back at her.

"Are you hitting on me?"

"Simply put; yes"

"Dumb blonde," and he walked away, and to this date, he walks away.

In that moment, the first of seven hundred or more, the ever devout Christian truly believes when the Buddhists say that desire is the root of all suffering.

Because for the past three years, Quinn Fabray has done nothing but suffer from her desire for Mike Chang.

Author's Note: Yes, I am truly back with another Fabang fic! I wonder if I'll ever get enough of these two. This is probably completely different from my other Fabang stories. As you can clearly tell, Quinn is incredibly unlikable. She's vain and a bully and full of herself, and just waiting to be developed through the next few chapters. A few couples have inspired this. For one, there's the book Flipped which you should definitely read as well as James/Lily from the Harry Potter fandom. I love the idea of Quinn being the one to pursue Mike and do so in such a comical if not slightly deranged manner. Note that this was written in her point of view, and Quinn is a crazy romantic, hence it being far more dramatic and sentimental than it would typically be. I've got a rough idea for where this story will lead to, but for now, take the prologue!

I love reviews :)