Author's notes: I don't have any new chapters for anything just yet, so here's something I wrote up a few days ago for a prompt on the angst_meme.

"It's disgusting."

"Momma, be quiet. She can hear you, you know. She's just in the other room."

"Well, good. Maybe she'll finally get some sense into that fool head of hers and realize that her little friend is a gay. A gay, Georgia, and you know—"

Mercedes twisted the dial on her iPod and jacked the volume of her music up so high that it thrummed through her whole body. It had been a mistake to bring Kurt here. She'd known that, but it had only been for a little while. Not even a minute. They'd just had to swing by her house on the way to the mall because she hadn't bothered to carry her credit card on her that day. She really should've asked Kurt to stay in the car.

Mercedes curled up tighter on the couch and tried to focus on the way the soft cushions felt against her feet. There were so many days when she wished that her Gramma J would just curl up and die already. She'd been living with them for what felt like forever, and Mercedes loved her to bits, but she really wished that her grandmother would approve of even one of her friends. It was so rare that she had any friends at all, and it hurt that there wasn't a single one that her grandmother liked.

She wished Jared was back home. He could always make her feel better, but her brother was off at college, probably having the time of his life, so she would just have to make do with her music.

She closed her eyes and hummed along to the melody pounding from the tiny earbuds shoved deep into her ears. Music always helped.

"Hey there, baby." Soft, warm arms scented like honey and lavender encircled her, and she felt herself melt into the embrace. "What's wrong, sweet pea? Why do you look so sad?"

"It's nothing, Gramma J. I'm okay."

Her grandmother pulled away and looked her straight in the eye. "Now, Mercedes Marion Jones, you know that's a lie." Her stern face cracked the tiniest hint of a smile. "And you know how I feel about lying. So really, baby, tell me what's wrong."

"You won't tell momma?"

"Depends on what you're hiding, darling."

"There's this boy. And I really want him to notice me, but I don't think I'm what he's looking for."

Her grandmother's lips turned down into a frown, and she placed her hands on her hips. "And what exactly is he looking for?"

Mercedes looked away, trying to lose herself in the patterning of her comforter. "I don't know. Kurt's not…" she hesitated, not quite sure what to say. Kurt was so far back in the closet, he was probably leafing through her mother's old outfits from the eighties, no matter how adamantly he denied it, and Mercedes wasn't quite sure how to word this to her grandmother. She knew her crush on Kurt was hopeless, but it was a nice fantasy, even if it broke her heart to think that he'd never love her. She fumbled quickly for a lie. "He wants someone prettier. Someone not me."

She felt her grandmother's warm hands on her face and she locked her eyes with the ageless ones in front of her. "Oh, baby." She was drawn into another hug, and something in her chest broke. It was stupid to cry over something like this, but she couldn't help it. It hurt too bad. "This boy's a fool if he can't see how beautiful you are."

She rubbed one of her hands up and down the expanse of Mercedes's back, and Mercedes clung to the back of her grandmother's shirt. She silently sobbed under the soft whispered murmurs of comfort flowing from her grandmother's mouth. "God broke the mold when he saw just how pretty you were, baby. Because He took one look at you, and he knew that He couldn't make anything more perfect."

Mercedes wasn't entirely truthful when she said she didn't know how to cook. Sure, she didn't really know much about cupcakes and that sort of thing, but she could make a mean sweet potato pie with a little bit of help and her grandmother's secret recipe. Something like that might sell if they advertised to the right people.

She just wasn't on speaking terms with her grandmother right now. Nobody else needed to know that.

"You were sharp, you know." The words came tumbling from her mouth just as she placed her fork into her mouth, so the last few words were muffled by chicken and potatoes.

"What?"

"In practice today. You were sharp." Her Gramma J pointed the fork in her hand pointedly at Mercedes and she felt herself shrink just a little into her chair.

"I know. I was just—"

"Excuses will get you nowhere. You need to practice more."

"But I practice enough as it is. And I have other things to do besides singing, you know. Like homework and Cheerios and—"

"Hanging around that little gay friend of yours."

She rolled her eyes, not willing to start up this particular argument again. "Whatever, Gramma J."

"Don't you sass me, young lady. I may be old, but I can still take you over one knee and beat that attitude right out of you."

Mercedes grabbed her plate and stood to leave. "I'm not really hungry anymore. I'm going upstairs."

"Sit your big ass back down and finish that. We don't waste things in this family."

Mercedes didn't budge. "But I'm not hungry anymore."

"That doesn't matter. You took it, and now you have to eat it. So sit." She gestured harshly at the wooden seat of Mercedes's vacant chair.

Mercedes looked at her father, but he was engrossed in his reading. She turned instead to her mother, her eyes pleading and her stomach rolling at the thought of having to eat any more. "Momma…"

"Do as your grandmother says, Mercedes."

She lowered her head and sat back down, not really sure what to do anymore. She picked up her fork and began to nudge the limp cylinders of green beans back and forth across her plate.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, child, eat! Don't play with it! And when you're done, I'll run through the song with you again. You're going to get it right this time."

She trundled into her room and let her heavy backpack slip from her shoulder to land with a loud thump on the floor. It was true that Mr. Schue's choreography skills had improved dramatically, but these dances were killing her. That and being on the Cheerios were wiping her out, and she'd only just gotten home. She still had all of her chores and homework to do, and really all she wanted right now was to collapse into her bed and sleep for a month.

She sighed and wandered over to her desk, removing her earrings as she walked. As she set the gold hoops on the smooth wooden surface of her desk, she noticed the new addition to her room. There was a little stuffed bear sitting there beside her jewelry box, its tiny plastic eyes bright and its little white face permanently stitched into a tiny smile. In between its outstretched paws was a colorful little package wrapped in crinkled blue paper and gold ribbon.

She plucked the package away from the bear and inspected it. It wasn't heavy at all, and she could hear something sliding around inside. Mercedes frowned and backed over to her bed to flop down on the comforter, the package clutched tightly in her hand. She carefully peeled back one end of the paper, and a gold chain slid out onto her lap, followed by a tiny square of folded printer paper. A note.

She set the wrapping paper down beside her hip and picked up the chain that had spilled onto her legs. It was a necklace that spelled out her name in big gold letters. She ran her fingers over the smooth edges, her lips curling up in a smile.

She suddenly remembered the note and set the necklace down. Maybe this was an early birthday gift from daddy. She unfolded the note and felt her eyes water a bit as her gaze swept over the squat cursive script.

I heard that you got a solo in that glee club of yours.

Congratulations, baby! I'm so proud of you.

Love,

Gramma

Her arms dropped to her sides, but she didn't let go of the note. The gold links of the chain in her lap glittered through the hazy film of tears that was blurring her vision.

Proud. Her grandmother was proud of her. And it felt good. It really did.

Mercedes just wished her grandmother had had the courage to tell her in person.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"I'm meeting up with some of the glee kids to practice our dancing. Rachel's going to give us some tips."

"Why haven't you practiced your music for choir yet? I know this little club of yours is important, but you know that your music comes first."

"I did practice. You were helping momma with her hair; you probably couldn't hear me over the dryer."

"Then you weren't practicing good enough. You've got a powerful set of lungs on you, and we should be able to hear you over the hair dryer."

"But I need to—"

"You need to call up those little friends of yours and let them know you can't make it."

It was strange, bouncing back and forth between her friends' houses. Each family had its own set of rules, its own unique dynamic, and Quinn had learned to fit herself into that as quietly as possible. It was her own fault that she was in this mess, and it wasn't fair that she suddenly become the center of attention because of her mistakes.

She sat quietly on the comforter of her new bed and inspected the room. It was plain, empty. Mercedes's brother had apparently liked to live as simply as possible, and their parents had emptied out what little he'd left behind when they'd agreed to let Quinn move in.

She brushed her bare feet against the carpet and eyed the little film of yellow light creeping in from under the door, trying to ignore the raised voices downstairs.

Fights happened all the time in families. Quinn had certainly heard enough of them from her parents when they thought she wasn't listening. This, she supposed, wasn't much different. It was just a little feud between Mercedes and her pushy grandmother.

Quinn laid back and tried to ignore the almost painful press on her bladder from the baby in her belly. She really didn't want to get up and go out into the hall where she might cause a scene. The dark and quiet of this room was too comforting, and the last thing Quinn wanted was to intrude. She closed her eyes and tried to will herself into sleep, ignoring the shouts coming in from downstairs.

This wasn't her battle to fight. It was between Mercedes and her grandmother. It had nothing to do with her.

She never really liked washing the dishes, but it was something that had to be done. She hummed lightly to the tunes pulsing into her ears through her headphones. Listening to music helped make this go by so much faster.

She scrubbed the sponge around the plate in her hand, and the song switched over. She had such a love-hate relationship with music. It was something she was good at—what she was best at, if she really thought about it—but it consumed so much of her life that she had grown to resent it. And she tried to keep as quiet as possible around her grandmother. The woman couldn't tolerate a single wrong note, and Mercedes knew it. It was best just to keep silent rather than incur her grandmother's wrath.

She rinsed the plate and placed it on the drying rack, moving back to the soapy water for another one when her headphones were suddenly yanked from her ears. She felt her iPod slide out from her pants pocket, following the white trail of chord latched to her headphones.

"What on earth are you listening to?" It was her Gramma J. Mercedes felt herself deflate a bit.

"Nothing, Gramma. Just some music."

Her grandmother held one of the earbuds close to her ear and scowled. "You call this white trash nonsense music?"

"Gramma!" Mercedes's eyes flicked toward the stairs. Quinn was still asleep in Jared's room, and it really wouldn't do to have her friend wake up to her grandmother spewing hateful things in the kitchen.

"I'm serious, Mercedes. Is this the kind of thing that show choir director of yours is making you sing?"

"No, just—please, Gramma. Give it back." She held out her hand, tiny drops of bubbly water falling onto the linoleum.

"You shouldn't be wasting your time with this crap! You're better than this, Mercedes!" She waved the device around wildly, and Mercedes felt her heart leap up into her throat as it flew from her grandmother's hands.

"Gramma, no!" But she wasn't fast enough. It fell into the sink with a quiet splash. Mercedes reached in and fished it out, praying that she could get to it in time.

She felt the smooth metal in her hand and she dashed over to the hand towels, rubbing one against the device with hard purpose, but the screen remained dull and grey. It was dead. All of her songs were gone. She wanted so badly to cry, but she wouldn't give her grandmother the satisfaction. She looked up at the woman to see a horrified look flash across her face before she steeled herself back to indifference.

"Why would you do that?"

"It's better this way. You shouldn't be listening to things like that in the first place." She backed away, out of the kitchen, Mercedes's eyes never leaving her retreating back.

The soft tap at her door startled her out of her thoughts, and she smiled a little as Quinn timidly made her way inside the room.

"Hey."

Quinn didn't respond. She just tiptoed over to the bed and sat down, the mattress sinking a little with her added weight. Mercedes studied the girl's dainty feet and curled her own toes inward. Even that piece of Quinn was prettier. Better. It really wasn't fair.

Quinn laid one of her little hands on hers and Mercedes looked up into the girl's blue eyes. "You can't keep doing this, Mercedes."

Mercedes looked away, and her fingers tightened around the device in her hands. Her grandmother had apologized for yesterday, had even gone out and bought her a new iPod, the one she was holding now. It showed that she was sorry. She was always sorry.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled.

"Yes you do." She was quiet for a moment before drawing in a deep breath and continuing. "I can hear you, you know. When you argue."

Mercedes jerked her hands out of Quinn's grip and she jumped to her feet, her face purpling with rage. She flung the iPod onto the bed where it bounced once, twice, before coming to rest. "What would you know? You know nothing about my family. You know nothing about me, Quinn, so butt out."

"I know that the Mercedes I see at school wouldn't put up with this from anyone."

Mercedes looked away and let her shoulders drop. Her hands were shaking. "She's not always like that." Quinn fixed her with a hard look, and Mercedes felt her hackles rise once more. "I mean it, Quinn. She's just…opinionated."

"It's abuse, Mercedes."

Mercedes shook her head. "No, it's not. She doesn't hit me or anything."

"She threatens to."

"That doesn't mean anything. People do that all the time."

"She's always making you sing."

"I like singing, Quinn."

"And you're really good, but she's never happy with anything you do, is she?" Her blue eyes bore into Mercedes like knives, and she couldn't face the blonde girl anymore.

"That's different. She just wants me to be as good as I can be."

"By making you practice until you can barely talk?"

"Just—just go away, Quinn."

"If that's what you want."

"It is."

Quinn barely made a sound as she walked across the carpet and out into the hall. "Just think about it, okay? I'm here if you need me," she whispered before quietly shutting the door.

Mercedes let the silence wash over her and she made her way back to her bed. She fingered the gold letters resting against her throat, and her eyes flicked over to the little white teddy bear on her desk, the blue iPod on her bed. Her grandmother loved her. It wasn't abuse. Her parents would have said something, put a stop to it, if it was, right?

She sank down onto her soft mattress, her thoughts racing. Her grandmother loved her. Quinn was just seeing things where there was nothing, trying to create as much drama as she could. And it was only words. They didn't mean anything in the end.

She curled herself onto her bed, tucking her socked feet up against her thighs. Her fingers never left the smooth metal of her necklace. It alone was proof that her grandmother loved her. Sure, she said mean things, but she was always sorry later.

Her eyes sought out the crinkled edges of the note propped atop her desk.

Congratulations, baby! I'm so proud of you.

She closed her eyes and tried to keep the tears at bay.

They were only words. They didn't mean anything.