Disclaimers:
1. I do not own Glee or the show's characters.
2. This story is written in second person from SANTANA'S point of view and hers only. This is NOT an interactive story.
"The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen."
― Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
You've always been territorial. It's who you are. It shows you care, doesn't it? Okay, maybe it only shows that you hate sharing. You always did. It was not really jealousy as much as it was possessiveness. You hated when Puck was with others, even though you never had any romantic feelings for him. You especially hated it when you found out about him sleeping with Brittany for obvious reasons and Lord were you pissed when you found out about Quinn. You loathe sharing. When you were just a little kid it wasn't any different. You never shared your toys. That is until you met the two blondes that would help you form the Unholy Trinity. You shared with them but never with others. Once you possessed something it was yours and yours only.
No, it's not about jealousy. It's control, greed for power. You completely lost it when you heard about Brittany and Artie and it took you only about a week to reclaim her for several hours in your bed. You showed her exactly what she would never have with him. Oh, you were good at claiming and it had nothing to do with feelings. You just liked having everything, or something…anything really. So when you got the chance, you even claimed Finn, knowing that it would aggravate the Hobbit diva to no end.
But that's how you ended up dancing with her that night at the non-wedding. You needed to have a claim on her. Some claim. Anything. Puck must have lost his mind, coming onto her again. The nerve that guy had.
You watch mesmerized as she trails her fingers along your arm before taking a sip from her wine glass again. She is enamoring, absolutely spell bounding. You're sure she knows that. She must know that, right?
You want to say something, want to tell her how absolutely breathtaking she looks tonight but it feels like it isn't your place to say so. She has made it a point to tell you that you look good and you have no idea why but you still don't feel like you can actually tell her the same. A straight woman telling another woman she looks good? Perfectly fine. A gay one? Not quite as innocent. And as you watch her carefully, looking as striking as ever, you sure know that it wouldn't be innocent.
Instead you tell her that the both of you are flawless even though you both know that you're anything but. You both know that in this room, the two of you are probably the most screwed up.
You should have known that drinking yourself into oblivion with your very hot, very single, very frustrated at men best friend slash enemy was indeed not a good idea. You should have known that because as you lie in her bed in the morning, her limbs all over you and her head on your shoulder, calmly breathing into your neck, you know that a mature freak out will come as soon as she wakes up all sobered up and in the right state of mind. That doesn't however stop you from slowly trailing your fingers along the deep scars around her spine. It doesn't stop you from thinking that you actually enjoyed yourself for the first time in so long last night. It doesn't stop you from not regretting. And maybe, just maybe, something inside of you is hoping she won't either, hoping that this can suffice to bring you closer again, close the awfully devastating distance that has come between the two of you during the last years and that you are painfully slowly trying to repair. But of course, repairing things isn't as easy anymore after the two of you have graduated and left Lima.
"I've never slow danced with a girl before," she tells you as you are swaying over the dance floor slowly, with your head softly lying against her shoulder, breathing in the fruity scent of her hair and perfume. You slowly disentangle yourself and look at her questioningly, wondering if this was the point where she has sobered up enough to realize what she's doing. You're positively surprised when she tells you that she likes it and simply pulls you close again.
As you look towards the window you notice the chair next to it, with your wedding attire and clutches thrown over and next to it – you both had your shoes off before you had completely entered the room – you stare at her hideous jacket and then back down at the scars aligning her spine, highlighted by the sun streaming into the room. You had told her multiple times to take the stupid jacket off last night, but she simply waved you off and told you she was cold. When you slowly pushed down the zipper of her dress hours later, you finally realized what the real reason was and before you could stop yourself you had placed your lips against those scars, ignoring the sharp intake of breath and slight flinch that came from the blonde.
You don't think you've ever been as damn close to knowing Quinn Fabray as when you held her close to you and felt all of her, every scar, every bone, every perfectly imperfect inch of skin. And when you held her afterwards and felt her mumble into your skin, it made you wonder if anyone else had ever been entitled to be this close to Quinn before.
"You know, there's one good thing that came from sleeping with my psychology professor," she told you and you wanted to yell at her and shake her because no, there isn't. But then she told you, "I finally started therapy" and you didn't say a word, didn't shake her, didn't move at all. You just held her a little tighter and buried your nose in her hair because for reasons you couldn't understand this meant more to you than you could ever put into words.
You had no idea why you were cuddling or why she told you these things. Maybe it was the alcohol but then again, you didn't feel drunk anymore, maybe you never really were in the first place. Apart from Brittany, you have never been this close to anyone and that scares you. Of course, Brittany and Quinn are nothing alike. You could never compare these two and there is no reason to either. The only thing they have in common is being blonde and God yes, you dig blonde, always have.
Still, you can't help but prepare yourself for the freak out that is sure to come once sleeping beauty awakes in your very naked arms and realizes how very naked she herself is and you don't look forward to it, not at all. You wish you could –
"You're thinking way too loud."
"You're awake," you state, terrified of her reaction.
"I see, it's state-the-obvious day. You're still here." You frown at that because where else would you possibly be? And then it hits you again. This isn't your room. You stayed the night and you have no idea why you did.
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No, you're comfy," you hear her mumble into your neck while she snuggles herself even closer to you and you're stunned beyond belief because this can't be happening. How can she be so calm? This is Quinn Fabray. She should be jumping from the bed and act like you are the most disgusting thing she has ever laid eyes on and yell at you that you took advantage of her, that you seduced her in a weakened state.
"You're not freaking out."
"Why would I?"
"I don't know."
"We were both lonely and decided to have some fun with each other. No harm done. Now go back to sleep," she tells you before you feel her relax against you, the muscles in her back loosening one by one beneath your fingers.
You can feel her breath even out against your neck and let her words register in your mind. You know that this wasn't just fun to you. You don't know what it was but certainly not just fun. You haven't felt this close to anyone in a very long time and you have certainly never felt this close to Quinn.
You close your eyes forcefully, in desperate need for some sleep and your mind to just shut up. You focus on her skin beneath your fingers – the softness, the scars, her spine – and her breath against your neck. But in the end, what lulls you to sleep is the feeling of her heart beating rhythmically against your rib cage.
The last thing you feel is the wetness of a lonely tear rolling down from your left eye to your hair line and you're not sure if it is the beauty and peacefulness of the moment that causes it or the fact that you have no idea when you will be this close to anyone again.
With one last inhale of her fruity scent – the scent of life, because no one knows what life is more than Quinn does – you drift off to sleep again.
First of all, Merry Christmas everyone!
This is my first ever Quinntana fic so I'm a little nervous about it. And I'm actually not quite finished with my last story yet but this seemed a good place to wrap up the chapter, so I might as well upload it already. Let me know what you think :)