Quinn felt a beat of sweat travel down her forehead as she reached over to her hairbrush. She had a routine every single morning, and it felt so odd to her that she was going to break it, the moment her foot hit the outside of the bathroom.
The flat edges of her brush rubbed against her scalp, and she felt a tingle go down her spine. She gave one last long gaze at herself in the mirror. For probably the longest moment in a long time.
She saw how her blonde hair grew out, her usual bright eyes were sunken in, and how there were more wrinkles in her skin then she was used to. She picked at them, wondering when she became older. Well, older as in 26. She wasn’t youthful anymore, but she was still far from looking old. Quinn didn't know when her clothes started looking so ashy. Her dresses were all modestly cut; skirt length all the way to her knees and sleeves up until her mid upper arm. Cut like the 60s. Floral and pale printed fabric and she’d even accompany her outfits with gloves to keep it even more modest.
She felt old on the inside. She felt incredibly old. Like her years were all behind her.
She was married, with her parents-in-law begging for her to give birth already, and she didn’t have a job to work for. Unless being a housewife counted as one.
She lowered the brush into her handbag and zipped it up. She wondered how she got to this place. When the Quinn she used to know and love disappeared and how she became like this.
The handbag weighed her down heavier than she was used to. Her right hand rested against her suitcase, which was filled up to the top of things she needed, and the other was gripped onto her handbag, so tightly that she swore she was strangling it.
The last thing she had to do was leave a note by the doorway for her husband to pick up when he got home from work. At exactly 5PM every night. Except on Saturdays where he had social nights with his coworkers, and Sundays where he rested at home, mostly within the confinements within his own study.
Her nude fingernails rested against the top of the paper, and she felt it graze against her skin slightly. Maybe the cut would serve as a constant reminder for her. Of what she was doing and the risk that was associated with it.
I’m terribly sorry to say this. I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while, but I realised that I could no longer stand to stay at home by myself for days on end. I wish I could have told you another way. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and I don’t know where I will be. Please don’t come looking for me.
With all the love in the world,
“Good news, your show’s running for the 5th time today,”
Rachel’s hands were searching around her bedroom cabinets, finding the most comfortable sweaters she found so she could shove the into her suitcase.
“Bad news, your agent called for the 15th time today,”
In the other room was her roommate, who was spread over the couch, his eyes glued on the TV and his hand stuck in a bowl of popcorn. He chewed a handful as he lazily yawned.
She finally zipped up the bloated bag, the fabric stretched to its farest limits. It looked so much bigger than her petite body. She held it up against her torso and stared at herself in the mirror.
Her brunette locks looked frizzy nowadays. Dead, mostly because of all the heated straightening and then the heated curling. She also wasn’t used to looking at herself with non-professional makeup. How undone she looked when she had to do her own face. She sighed heavily and rested the bag on top of her suitcase.
“Tell him that I’m busy.”
She rolled her luggage up to the foot of her bedroom, staring directly at Kurt with the most confident look she could muster up.
Popcorn fell from his parted lips.
“What are you doing Rachel?” he flicked off the TV and slowly rose to his feet.
“I-I’m leaving,” her voice lowered. “Not forever. Just for a little while.”
“Back to my hometown,” his eyes darted to her phone.
“Your boss isn’t going to like this,”
“I know, but,” she ran her fingers through her hair. “I need some time off. By myself. Just tell him that my dads died or something and I’ll be back in a few months.”
“No, Rachel,” his voice firmed. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, have you seen the TV lately? Your show’s all over it! You’re so famous and you’re about to win another Tony and-”
“Kurt,” she cut him off immediately. “I’m really sorry but...I just need this. For myself.”
Kurt’s eyes guided over her belongings, and gave a long sigh.
“Okay, just let me drive you to wherever you need to go,”
“I need to go to the train station.”