A/N: So one of my Psych assignments this week was to write a short story about a character with a psychological disorder. Obviously I wrote a faberry fic because half the time it seems like Quinn has multiple personality disorder (or dissociative identity as they like to call it now) with all the complete personality changes she's had over the seasons. I got an A on it, so I must've done something right. Song title, of course, comes from the fantastic musical, Next to Normal, which I was listening to while writing this.

The first one I remember happened when I was eight.

I found myself at the top of a tree with the new girl, Rachel. There were three problems with that. One, I was scared to death of heights. Two, I hated Rachel with every fiber of my being. And three, I had no memory of ever climbing up there.

Being completely terrified, I blamed Rachel and ended up pushing her out of the tree. Not on purpose, I would later explain to my teacher when we all ran in from recess, and then I would flash my angelic smile. She would believe me, as she always did. Rachel, miraculously, agreed with my story, holding back tears as she said she had always been a bit clumsy and she would try to be more careful next time.

Rachel wasn't clumsy; she was in dance class with me. She was the most graceful person out of all of us.

The next time it happened, I was ten.

We were on a field trip at the zoo. I remember wanting to go see the monkeys with Brittany and Santana, but the next thing I knew I was at the lion exhibit with none other than Rachel, listening as she described in great detail the difference between The Lion King movie and Broadway musical, which she went to see on her birthday with her parents. She was holding a stuffed lion, which, when I later examined my pockets and found a receipt for a lion and two popsicles, I had apparently bought her. Except I didn't recall any of this.

As soon as I came to my senses, I ran for it, leaving Rachel behind. It was against the buddy system, which was the only thing that had allowed us to roam the zoo by ourselves, but I didn't care. Being around Rachel obviously made me lose my mind, and I wasn't spending one more second with her.

The bus home was delayed two hours as they searched the zoo for her. They finally found Rachel in some tiny crevice near the lion exhibit, crying her eyes out and clutching her own lion. I didn't get out of punishment this time, and so I had to endure silent snack for a week along with a letter being sent home to my parents (as if that would do anything).

The next one happened at fifteen.

I had avoided Rachel like the plague, as I still thought she was the cause of it. All throughout middle school I had spread rumors that she would steal your memories if you were around her. Because of this, she was friendless and picked on. I felt no remorse as I heard others call her mean nicknames, or scatter her books down the hall. She had stolen my memories and tricked me into being her friend, so I would make sure she had no friends.

One second I was in English, the first class of the day, and the next everything was black. I had no idea where I was. The only thing I knew for sure was that I was kissing someone, and that someone was very good at kissing. So I decided to continue on the path I was on, ignoring the nagging at the back of my head that a certain someone I hated was usually around after memory blackouts.

It was only when we stopped for breath and I heard her voice that it finally hit me who it was. I was instantly scrambling away from her. After successfully tripping over two items, I managed to find a door. I wrenched it open to find an empty school hallway. We had been in a janitor's closet.

"Q,uinn, wait!" she called after me. I ignored Rachel as I dashed down the hall, hoping I wasn't late to Algebra. Mr. Walker was the only teacher who wouldn't buy my excuse of "my English classroom is so far away from yours" and would not hesitate to write me up.

Except when I got there, Mr. Walker wasn't teaching Algebra. He was teaching Calculus, and I don't mean that in a sense that I had no idea what we were doing. I mean he was literally teaching Calculus. Only Calculus was his last class of the day.

I had missed an entire day.

Rachel, having finally caught up with me as I stared at the math class, cleared her throat to get my attention. I turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. "Are you seriously going to run after that?"

"Are you seriously talking to me after stealing my memory?" I snapped back.

She looked confused for a second, but then she must've settled on something. "Really, Quinn? Are we going back to middle school?"

"I wouldn't have to if you just stayed away from me!"

"You talked to me first this morning, Quinn! You flirted with me in English!"

"That never happened!" I yelled in frustration before turning my back on her and running for the door, ignoring the fact that while I had no idea how I ended up there in the janitor's closet kissing Rachel, I couldn't deny that I had liked it.

Over the coming weeks, it would become a regular occurrence, waking up with no memory only to find myself with Rachel in the auditorium or an empty classroom or a janitor's closet. Each time it happened, I was less and less angry with Rachel and more and more accepting of what I would find when I woke up.

Then, finally, it stopped being a thing that only happened after memory lapses. Right after that Rachel dropped a psychology textbook in my lap.

"I think you should read this," she stated seriously.

"Um, I'm not taking Psych?"

"Just the page about multiple personality disorders. I think it'll explain some things," Rachel replied, taking a seat so she could wait for me to finish.

After I had read it, I looked over at her skeptically. "Don't they warn you against self-diagnosing? Like typing in your symptoms on Web MD and convincing yourself you have cancer when you only have a cold?"

"Quinn, I'm serious. I think this is why you have what you described as blackouts. During those times you are always insanely flirty and obviously attracted to me and you're just not… well… yourself. I'm not saying that this is what you have, but I think you should go to a doctor because you could have this, or something worse."

Rachel looked as if she was about to go into speech mode, so I hastily agreed I would go to the doctor. It turns out she was right, as she often is (but don't let her know that I said that).

So now I see a shrink twice a week, even though he doesn't like it when I call him that (hi Dr. Matherson!). He wanted me to write this out, hoping that it would help me in some way.

Don't ask me how, I'm not a shrink.

And before you ask, PLEASE don't ask for a sequel. I'm working on four different faberry fics at the moment and I don't have time to write for another that I only wrote for school. That said, I might do a sequel one-shot from Rachel's perspective if I ever feel up to it.