Disclaimer: I do not own Glee and its characters.
A shrill sound reached her ears and effectively waking her up from her slumber. Eyes still closed, she reached out to her right and blindingly slammed her hand to halt the infernal device.
The alarm clock is an old-school one courtesy of her mother. She would've been perfectly fine with a digital one—or even her iPhone, for christ's sake—but Judy vehemently insisted that old-school is always effective.
Quinn doesn't get that logic. If it is so effective, then why do most people opted for the new-age, digital ones?
The answer is always a smile and a "Mom knows best, sweetie" answer. She would just roll her eyes at that: Mom do knows best, so she just chose to endure every morning wondering if her ears are bleeding every time in protest.
Well, at least it does its job; every morning, she couldn't wait to wake up just to smash the noisy menace while imagining that it's the last time it'll incur its wrath of shrillness.
Haphazardly throwing her covers, she sat on her bed with eyes still closed. She yawned, trying to fight off sleep. She's not really the kind to just sit in bed, gauging herself if she is ready to take a shower without falling sleep in the middle of shampooing.
No, she is just so goddamn tired for running suicides while keeping the freshman recruits in line.
Keep them in their frightened toes, Goldilocks. That way, they would be battle ready anytime, anywhere, Coach Sylvester always says. Although she's finding it difficult to correlate the importance of terrorizing to cheerleading, she just nodded and complied.
She's always nodding and complying to her coach because team captains always listens to their coaches—especially their seventh time, award-winning cheerleading coach.
A few minutes went by and she felt that she's finally ready. Swinging her legs, her dainty feet touched the ground and she slightly shivered at the coldness of the tiles. She stood up—her eyes partially closed—and proceed to feel her way towards her bathroom.
It wasn't as difficult as it seems—living her whole life in the fairly large house, she can feel her way through blackouts with ease.
The moment that her feet touched the different (but still) cold tiles, she blindly closed the door before peeling off her jammies. With a yawn, she padded her naked self towards the shower and stepped inside. She locked the glass door—a habit she maintains since watching a slasher flick about a girl getting murdered in the shower—and then turned the shower head on.
With the warm water trickling down her body, she sighed in relief—she loves hot showers—before feeling her way through a vast selection of shampoo and conditioner. She picked one bottle, sniffed it, and proceed to lather her medium-length hair.
She started to hum—a habit she picked up from she-who-must-not-be-named—a simple tune under her breath as the scent of strawberry wafted inside the enclosed space. She kept her eyes closed all throughout, just enjoying the warmth, that she didn't notice that something is amiss.
Thirty minutes later and she finally emerged from the shower—a thick cloud of sauna-like smoke billowed from the inside like those special effects in a rock concert—squeaky clean and fruity-scented. Fully awake, she reached out for her fluffy, bathrobe, not looking back to the shower she just left.
If she only spared a glance, she'll see the red-tinted water covering the shower floor.
Singing softly under her breath—a habit she definitely picked up from she-who-must-not-be-named but won't admit—she then proceed to pick up another towel and dried her hair. She was busy wondering what her mom would be serving at breakfast that she didn't notice that her white, fluffy towel is tinted with pink.
She discarded the towel on a nearby hamper—still not looking—and padded to her vanity area. Thinking of the grueling practice later after school, she sighed as she padded towards her corner. She picked her blow drier, humming, and plugged in on the nearby socket.
Now in front of her vanity corner, she looked up and paused. Eyebrows furrowed, she rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, not entirely sure of what she is seeing.
She rubbed again.
Again for the third time.
When she's fairly sure that the reflection is indeed her own, she started feeling anger bubbling within her. A scream is starting to work its way and Quinn could feel it rumbling inside her chest, clawing to get away.
Hazel eyes blazing, she furiously unplugged her blow drier—probably ruining the poor thing in the process but that's irrelevant for now—and stomped her way out of the bathroom. Motivated by anger, she didn't stop until she's now outside her room.
With her naked, slightly wet—but definitely flushed—body covered with fluffy bathrobe and now-pink, wet hair, she stomped through the hallway before stopping at the top of the stairs.
"I AM GONNA KILL YOU CHARLIE!" she bellowed, her angry voice filling the hallway. Her face is contorted with fury, decorated with doodles done in black sharpie.
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Judy Fabray is busy cooking a variety of breakfast: eggs and extra bacon for Charlie, toasts and extra bacon for Quinn, pancakes and extra bacon for Russell, and a couple of fresh fruits to stave off some of the future heart complications that she knows this family will eventually succumb into.
She long gave up her hopes for her family to embrace healthy living. When she was younger, she's an avid fan of vegetarian options in her diet. Although she can never give up meat, she makes sure she at least have a balanced diet.
But when the kids came into her life, Russell somehow passed his "addiction" to them. Her husband—a man so childish that she's wondering if she's raising three teenagers instead of just two—insists that it's a normal diet.
She always roll her eyes at that. Three against one is never a fair fight.
Sighing, she just plated the rest of bacon and waited for her family with a coffee in one hand.
Her coffee is almost done when her youngest came bouncing down the stairs. She is wearing tight pants and a pink shirt with a print saying 'save the Shrödinger's cat'. A pair of chucks completes the look.
"Morning, Mom!" the younger blonde chirped before picking up a strip of bacon to munched on.
"Morning, Honey. Go sit down."
The younger blonde shook her head, the thin-framed glasses getting skewed with the movement. "I have to go to school now."
Judy raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at that. "It's still too early."
"I have some projects in need of finishing," the younger blonde reason before picking another grease-covered, heart-attack inducing strip. "It's a CCTV that's hooked on the stop lights. It'll be automatically activated when someone broke the traffic rule and..."
The older blonde chuckled, listening to her inventor of a child prattle on about her newest, government-funded invention. It still amazed her how a simple set of parents—she's a nurse and Russell is a lawyer—were graced by a high IQ child.
"...and then I'm going to hang with Alexis and Jacob after school. Is that okay?"
The older blonde just nodded. "Okay, honey. Just be careful."
With a nod, the younger blonde skipped to the door. "Bye Mo-"
"I AM GONNA KILL YOU CHARLIE!"
Two heads whipped towards the stairs: one curious and one wide-eyed. Judy turned her attention to her younger and saw her fumbling to open the door.
"Bye Mom!"
"Charlie!"
The door was slammed closed, leaving Judy with a sense of something akin to migraine.
Here we go again... she thought, fingers massaging her temples, as she thought of ways to calm her other daughter down.
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YOU ARE READING
Sibling Rivalry
Fanfiction"Sisters will always be sisters." Charlotte Fabray is banking on that expression because, at some point in her life, she knows that Quinn will eventually kill her in a non-metaphorical way.
