Author's Note: New, strange story. Not my typical genre at all.

Title: What am I? (Just a body in your bed.)

Honestly I couldn't think of a better title so its basedvery loosely after the song Body by Thao + The Get Down Stay Down. This story has a supernatural element to it, which is odd since I enjoy writing realistic stories. But this was based on a dream and I tweaked it. They'll be some humor, hopefully everything will be in character. Rachel's made it on Broadway. Please review if you care to. Going through editing now so if you've given this story a try-thank you.

There's always some reason why anyone would feel alone in New York, the city that never sleeps. She couldn't see why it wouldn't be inevitable anywhere else, no matter how large the city. Everyone keeps to themselves; no one allows others to see their true motives, thoughts, and feelings, if they had them, unless they'd known them for years. It becomes second nature for people to be defensive and guard their minds and hearts. Self-preservation can do that.

For some odd misunderstanding she kept coming back to this certain diner with its bare walls and its almost boring aesthetics, but it was comforting. There wasn't anything special about it, it didn't have any charm, and really-it was a hole in the wall without having any perks. Maybe she liked the simplicity.

On a plus side there weren't a lot of people who came there so it was usually quiet.

Right now its eight o'clock in the morning and it should have been busy, if it were a Starbucks with their typical, generic attempt at seeming homey, but still having that corporate vibe. Thankfully it was relaxing which was wonderfully ideal since she hadn't gone to sleep yet knowing that she wouldn't have to work and that the insomnia wasn't about to wear off, sadly that wasn't out of character.

After college she found herself a small apartment and decided to do easy work before throwing herself into the competative world of job searching. She'd had her share of being cut throat in high school after the cheerleading from hell. Quinn wanted a break, a pause on her life to take in the beautiful things in life instead of letting them float by or get weighted down by the monotony of everyday activities.

She looked into the long mirror that was placed on the wall in front of her noticing how pale she looked and with her long hair that had soft curls that were typically parted to the side it made the contrast of her eyes stand out even more against her black shirt. She gazed at herself a little longer trying to decide what she could do to make myself not look so exhausted, but decided that it was a pointless notion to keep mulling over. Really she just looked like an average person who was tired, which was the point because usually she had this dark aura around her as one Brittany S. Pierce pointed out after she had graduated. College and New York had hardened Quinn a little. In high school most of the class wanted her, the ice queen act was alluring to most and it hadn't exactly thawed over time, though maybe she had become a little more mysterious in reaction.

Santana with her brutal honesty and sometimes too intuitive, intelligent comments once said if she believed in vampires Quinn would be the ideal charming one, but without the Twilight crap. Then the Latina went on a mini tangent how anything that sparkles isn't badass and Stephanie Meyer should be slapped-with a two by four or a car. The conversation ended with Santana nodding to herself saying Buffy vampires were better, end of story. Shaking her head had been the only response seeing how they weren't in a debate, it was just her friend being her usual confrontational self until the tan woman looked at her like you better agree or at least comment. But Quinn was busy watching her friends interactions. Brittany and Santana had been together for years, they were the couple that would always be that couple she had decided. Like now, they were so in tune with one another that Quinn felt like the typical third wheel even as her snarky friend commented about her.

"Good to know," she had replied, recalling the memory but stood suddenly realizing she had to go walk a dog, a nice leisure job she enjoyed greatly even though she didn't need the money. After Russel Fabray's death her immediate family was shocked she and Frannie were given a large sum of money. Quinn safely assumed it was out of guilt or because he was a god fearing man that felt that he needed to make things right in any way he could. Never one to give affection, money was easiest for him to supply. However she didn't attend his funeral, classes (they were good for something) being an easy excuse to not have to go back to Lima.

Now she had a small but nice apartment she was living in. Alone. And she liked it that way, but the guilt money didn't push her to talk to the remainder of her family. Counting her blessings she considered the fact that she was lucky enough to have inherited a large sum and had invested some that grew with various businesses. She was able to have relaxed jobs and stay asleep until eight am. She had majored in interior design but after the economy took a sharp, downward turn she had little desire to find a job that paid dismall with long hours seeing how people weren't about to pay a designer to alter their homes. People were doing things themselves now and she had to do the same.

Finishing her coffee she got up, surprised to see the owner who rarely seemed to be in the shop and took a step towards the door, breathing in a deep breath to prepare myself for the loudness of the city when an intense migraine hit her making her grab the dull counter and return to a seat.

This was the worst one yet, she thought in annoyance. Should I go to the doctors? No, it's a waste of time. Should I call and cancel? No, it's a really sweet dog.

Ever the stubborn girl she stood up again, slower, and headed towards the door. This time the blonde got a few steps until she had to quickly sit down in the comfy chair that was conveniently next to the door. She was almost asleep, the headaches always taking her energy, when a cold gust of wind breezed past her as a customer came in. She opened her eyes groggily and lifted her pale wrist to chest level.

I'm going to be late. As much as this job isn't necessary in terms of having a huge load of responsibility I still have standards.

Trying to rise from the chair again a sharp pain hit her temples causing everything to lose focus and then the room was becoming blurred. It was too surreal, it was nothing like the time when she almost fainted in high school from not eating and doing too much cheerleading.

One of the last thoughts was how blackness closing in was a cliche. Her head snapped up, more alert as she heard a commotion and some shocked screams or gasps as crashing dishes and silverware clammered dramatically to the floor.

When she started to wake up she didn't realize where she was. This doesn't look like my apartment but it looks familiar. She started to lift her head and then rotate her neck from side to side to see if anything was off. Relieved, she let out a sigh but feel the migraine slip back into her building awareness. Quinn closed her eyes tightly once the little black dashes of blurred bits disappear and bright lights hung directly above her. The momentary blinding made her shut her eyes again.

On instinct she lifted her hand which she didn't realize felt bizarre. It felt heavier...not the same weight as it usually did…and then she saw her hand.

It looks foreign and not as smooth…much bigger than usual. Maybe they're swollen, maybe…but then she saw that she wasn't wearing what she was before. Am I in a hospital? Did they take my clothes?

She looked at her arms more and noticed how they weren't her arms, not at all…

Finally standing, shocking some of the people who were crowded around her, she looked around distractedly trying to find a mirror.

I'm still in the coffee shop she tried to rationalize, finding some comfort in anything routine, anything remotely around, knowing a mirror was there she saw it, more felt it before it sunk in that this was a twisted nightmare.

It made sense. She's spent years wishing she had a different life. That high school had been different. She still would have had...Beth, but everything else she wanted a redo. Still her brain didn't catch up to her eyes as she touched her face. An almost scruffy face that looked tired with small circles under blue eyes. And as she took a step closer she slowly realize that she knew this face.

It's…god what's his name? I don't pay attention enough. He's rarely here..come on...Chuck..no..mmm...Charles...no...Charlie! The guy who owns the coffee shop. Why am I…is this a dream? What is fucking going on, this isn't possible. And I'm allowed to curse. This is fucking insane!

Not knowing how to put it all together Quinn ran her shaking hands through her hair and took a sharp breathe of air as she took her hand away from her head and looked at her fingertips. There's a little blood on them. That hadn't scared her though, she was still too shocked.

This isn't possible. Its just not possible. Where am I? Oh my god, really where am I? Where's my body? She quickly glanced around the room and saw people still staring at her worried.

"I'm fine…I just…has anyone seen a woman sitting in that chair," she said pointing to the chair she knew she was sitting in before...

I was just there. Me...this is...is this what an out of body experience feels like? No..people are floating..right?

A few people shook their heads and one person, sitting next to the chair, in another large oversized seat said, "Yeah, she left about ten minutes ago. She was really freaked out…but she didn't say anything and everyone was busy attempting to wake you" the nice man said in a confused rush as he looked at the chair briefly. "Oh, but she left this," he continued and grabbed the bag, Quinn's bag, her bag.

"Oh... great," Quinn said, taking it, hearing herself with a masculine voice adding a thank you while trying to understand that the voice wasn't in her mind. Manners, luckily were still reflex and heavily ingrained. "I'll be sure to give it back to her if she comes in again," and before she could finish the sentence the man just nodded and sat back down. Typical New York-blase and not able to be shocked.

Someone else looked at Quinn intently, more honed in than the others, someone in an apron and asked, "Man are you ok, you took a really hard fall."

Eyebrows came together as she looked at him with confusion, I don't know him but…oh! He works here.

"Uh yeah…I think I.." she said trailing off.

"Hey, go lie down upstairs, I can clean this up, no problem," he said taking her by a shoulder and leading her towards the back door behind a corner of the shop that was well hidden. "Clean yourself up and come down if you want to close up," he said considerately. Quinn looked at him then, his entire face, instead of just letting him lead her to the door. He looked around twenty-five but still young with a laid back tone. Her head nodded to him, unable to form words, the shock slowly wearing off as she took the door handle, feeling its solidity, that it wasn't a nightmare. Again the headache was building. Oh!

"Ah…would you mind putting the bag somewhere hidden behind the counter?" She asked exhausted, not feeling up to carry anything, only making her feel more pathetic and overwhelmed knowing she couldn't hold herself together in public.

"Sure, boss," he replied with a light joking tone and then took a step back to let Charlie open the door and head up the stairs. She closed the door quietly behind herself, not knowing if loud noises would make the pain increase. Taking a deep breath wasn't enough. Assessing the situation and how insane it was she made the journey slowly upstairs, absorbing how the lighting was low and the stairs looked at though they had been worn out only made her more weary. Reaching the top that felt like a damn hike, her thoughts became more confused and layered as she opened the door. Standing in the door way, taking in the the surroundings she felt unable to move.

This is a typical bachelor loft. Jesus.

She brushed the large hand through hair again hitting the gash, having forgotten it was there and let out a small, painful gasp. She walked over to the kitchen which was only about fifteen feet away and officially considered it a studio. Glancing around Quinn found clean paper towels and wet some under the faucet while noticing again how foreign the hands and body movements were. Hell, they were hard not to notice.

Finally once she was slightly calmed, likely due to the running water, she brought the towel to the gash to take the blood away. Once that was over she completely looked around the place and noticed the couch. It looks surprisingly clean, considering the dust and papers thrown carelessly around the place… but I have to lie down.

After she threw the towel away, finding the trash in the corner, out in the open, and overflowingm of course, she grunted when a few objects fell out but didn't have the mind to care.

I need ..I need to figure this out. Where am I? Me...My body?