Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters. I also don't own the lyrics to the song used for the chapter title.
Author's Note: Yeah. I know. Yet another side project. I promise I'm working on the next chapter of LBUT though. Look at it this way: At least you have something to read while you wait. Unless you hate this. In that case, then I'm sorry. Also, this shouldn't be too long. Maybe three chapters at the most, but that's subject to change.
Rating: R (mentions of drug use, Santana has a potty mouth, and my OTP takes baths together. Possible sexual situations later.)
Part 1: I ain't got no type of drugs, but I got some soda pop
Fuck cock-sucking balls! I have read the same paragraph three times now, and I still have no idea what I'm reading. This fucking English class can blow me. I grab my phone off the coffee table in front of the couch and slide it open to check the time. Fuck. It's almost nine, which means I only have twelve more hours until the analysis of this book is due, and I can't seem to focus. I groan and toss the phone onto the other end of the couch. Frustrated with my inability to absorb anything from reading, I smack myself in the forehead with the thick paperback hoping to gain some kind of information through osmosis. All I get for my efforts is a headache.
"Shit," I mutter with a shake of my head as I push myself off the couch. It only takes a few seconds to reach the kitchen, where I make a beeline for the coffee pot on the counter. Caffeine is definitely necessary for the all-nighter I am about to pull. Unfortunately, Sam or Puck must have finally finished off the coffee that has been chilling in the pot for the last three days. And of course, neither of them had the brain cells to make more.
"Note to self: It is frowned upon to kill your friends over coffee," I remind myself with a sigh as I open the cupboard above the counter. After shoving aside a bag of sugar and the creamer, I come face to face with a post-it note stuck to the coffee can. My brow furrows and I pull the paper off the tin for a closer look at the chicken-scratch.
"Satan, ran out of coffee this morning. Me and Puck will buy more when we get back from the campsite. – Sam"
I read the note three more times, hoping I misunderstood it the first time. Maybe it's a code. Those idiots wouldn't leave me without coffee while they spend the weekend getting their bromance on in the woods. When I pull the lid off the coffee can, though, my lip curls into a scowl because Sam's note isn't a cruel joke. All that's left of the one thing that can help me through my paper is the sweet aroma of coffee grounds.
"Fuck it. I am going to murder them both as soon as they walk through that door Sunday morning," I say as I snap the lid back on the can and slam the cupboard shut. I lean my forehead against the cool wood, trying to think of a way to get more coffee. I pull away from the cupboard to search for my wallet and find it buried beneath a pile of bills on the kitchen table. I can't stop the low whine that escapes my throat when I open it and only find two crumpled dollar bills.
Fuck fuckity fuck fuck. First no coffee, now no money to buy more coffee. And I don't know where the fuck my credit card is. The night has certainly taken a turn for the worse. At least, that's what I'm thinking until I glance out the window behind the sink and see the empty parking space in our driveway. Normally, the tenants below us park their car on our side of the duplex, but the empty spot suggests at least one of them has taken the ugly red Bug out for a drive. I've never seen the two girls leave together, so I'm hoping one of them is home as I hurry to another cabinet and pull out a coffee cup.
I rush to the door next to the kitchen that leads to the staircase. My quick footsteps echo against the wooden walls as I take the stairs two at a time. Hopefully they alert anyone below that I'm on my way down so I won't have to wait forever in the stairwell.
When I reach the door that separates no man's land from the other tenants' apartment, I raise my hand to knock, but I hesitate when I remember what time it is. Nine isn't too late to pay your neighbor a visit, right? While I'm debating with myself over knocking, I listen for any signs of life from the other side of the door. I smile when I hear the muffled sound of a television. I rap my knuckles against the barrier and the wood shakes slightly.
I stop after several seconds, a little worried I'll knock the door right off its hinges if I continue, and wrap my arms around myself. I'm wearing a heavy grey hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants, but the stairwell isn't heated, so it's filled with winter air that slips in from beneath the front door. I take a moment to rub some warmth into my arms before I decide to knock again, just in case whoever is inside is ignoring me.
"Come on! I know you're in there. I can hear the TV!" I call out when knocking doesn't work. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to ignore people?" I shout before I kick the bottom of the door. I probably shouldn't be the one preaching about the importance of manners, but I just want some coffee, damn it!
I know my shouting pays off when I hear movement over the sound of the television. The smile on my face is short-lived, however, when I realize there is a fifty-fifty chance that the door will be answered by the short, dark-haired girl who likes to talk in paragraphs. Fuck. I pray to whoever is listening that the blonde girl is the one who opens the door, and not the loud brunette. When the door finally squeaks open, my prayers are… sort of answered.
"You're not the dwarf or her keeper," I point out to the girl who answered the door. My eyebrows scrunch together as I study her. She's taller than the blonde who's usually here. Skinnier, too, from what I can see. And I can see a lot, given that she's only wearing a black halter top and underwear.
"Rachel and Quinn aren't here."
Her quiet voice pulls me out of my observations and tugs my attention to her face. Her blonde hair is streaked with purple in several places. Her eyes are a dull blue, and dark bags have collected beneath them. Droplets of sweat cover the pale skin around her eyes, and her lips are chapped. I briefly wonder if Trouty Mouth left any of his lip balm in the bathroom before I remember my reason for knocking.
"I can see that," I respond, and she takes a step back, although she continues to hold onto the door. She sweeps her free arm out, inviting me to come in, and I take a small step forward onto the white carpet of the living room. She closes the door behind me, but continues to cling to the handle. "I was wondering if I could get a cup of coffee grounds," I explain. I hold up the ceramic mug and dangle it from my finger. Her eyes follow the cup as it sways back and forth, and her grip on the door handle tightens. "I can buy you guys some more when my roommates come back."
"Okay," she says in the same quiet voice she greeted me with. She snatches the cup from my hand and I open my mouth to object, but she's already taking slow, unsteady steps toward the kitchen. Instead of following her, I allow my gaze to wander around the living room.
The first thing I notice is the brown pull-out couch placed against the wall closest to the kitchen. The only reason I know it's a pull-out couch is because the bed has, in fact, been pulled out. Several comforters are piled on top of the thin mattress, but I don't see any pillows. A flat screen television hangs from the wall opposite the couch. An infomercial is playing, so I doubt the girl was actually watching it when I knocked. My stomach tightens into a knot when that thought crosses my mind. I probably woke her ass up and, from what I can tell, she really needs the sleep.
The sound of glass shattering against tile pulls my attention from the television to the kitchen, where the stranger kneels by a pile of coffee grounds and shards of what used to be my coffee cup. Her hand hovers over the mess before she curls it into a fist and drops it down to her thigh. I mentally count to twenty, trying not to freak out, before I cover the short distance between the living room and the kitchen. When I crouch beside her, she turns her head away.
"I'm sorry," she says. Her voice cracks in the middle of 'sorry,' and any residual anger I may have had over the broken cup leaves my body with a sigh. I place my hands on her shoulders, but I almost jerk them away when I feel how hot her skin is.
"It's fine. It was an ugly cup anyway," I assure her as I rub my hands along her upper-arms. They're covered in sweat, and the way my hands slide over the slick skin makes my face contort into a grimace. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not contagious," she replies in a shaky voice. I have to lean in to hear her since the answer is muffled by the thick curtain of hair that separates us. My attention is pulled away from the back of her head when my fingers touch the inner elbow of her right arm and she jerks away from me. She tries to cover the area with her left hand, but she isn't fast enough to hide the red scars, and suddenly her behavior makes sense.
"How long has it been?"
"What?"
"I said how long has it been since you shoved a fucking needle in your arm!" I repeat a bit more forcefully as I grab her wrist and give it a tug. She whimpers, and I feel a pang of regret in my chest, but I quickly push it away. "Don't try to play stupid with me. Just answer the damn question."
"Two days," she says in a whisper, but I barely hear the answer. I'm too busy focusing on the limb trembling in my grip. "Two days since I called them to come get me," she explains. By them, I assume she's talking about the hobbit and what's-her-name.
"Fuck. And they left you here by yourself?" She nods her head and I curse under my breath. Who the fuck lets someone detox alone? As if sensing the unspoken question, she finally turns to look at me.
"They had an art showing in Chicago," she says with a nod. The action makes her swallow, and she places her free hand against the side of her head. "I told them my mom would come, but…" She squeezes her eyes shut and turns away. "She said no. She said her daughter died a long time ago. And I don't get it because I'm alive. I don't understand." A low whine interrupts her babbling, followed by a sniffle. "I just want my mom."
Before I can think of a response, she engulfs me in the hottest hug ever, and not in the good way. Her skin is so warm I can feel it through the fabric of my hoodie. I bite my lip as I try to decide what I'm supposed to do with the hot mess in my arms. Shit. Maybe cooling her off will help.
"Do you think you can stand up?" There's a long silence before she shakes her head against my shoulder. Great. At least she's being honest. "Okay, well, I'm going to help you stand and you're going to lead me to the bathroom," I explain. I don't move until I feel her nod. Then I sling her arm around my neck and wrap my own around her waist. I count to three before I lift us both to our feet. She slips sideways when I move my hand from her hip, so I quickly put it back and gently will her to walk.
The journey to the bathroom takes longer than I would have liked, but we eventually make it. I lower her to the floor next to the toilet so I can start running the water for a bath. The water level barely covers my hand when I hear the girl puking.
"Fuck! I put you next to the toilet for a reason!" I turn away from the tub and lift the toilet seat up. Blondie doesn't seem to get the message though, so I grab her by her armpits and pull her over so she can stop throwing up on the floor. Unfortunately, I get caught in the line of fire, and I find myself thankful I wore a hoodie. "Gross," I mutter as I tug the soiled garment off and throw it somewhere it won't be in the way. Of course, it ends up landing in the puke on the floor, but I choke back my disgust so I can help Blondie.
I rub small circles over her back with one hand and brush the sweat-soaked hair out of her face with the other. I occasionally look at the tub to make sure it isn't about to overflow, but most of my attention is focused on the girl with her head hanging over the toilet bowl. By the time she's finished, the tub is half full, so I reach out to turn off the water while keeping one hand on the other girl's back.
"I'm going to put you in the tub, okay?" I receive an answer that sounds close to a yes, so I take that as a good sign. "Then I'm going to get in behind you so you don't drown, alright?" The girl pulls away from me and looks over my outfit before settling her gaze on my face. "My clothes will be fine," I assure her. She seems to accept my answer because she leans against my chest again. I try to forget she just spent the last few minutes vomiting as I stand us both up.
She sways, but I tighten my grip before she can fall. Once I'm sure she's steady, I maneuver her to the tub and help her step into the water. She hisses and jerks away from the tub when her foot touches the lukewarm surface. I shake my head at the action, and gently coax her into the bath. She gasps when she sits down, and her frail body shakes beneath my hands. I make her lay back against the wall while I strip off my t-shirt and sweatpants. I raise an eyebrow when she stares at my almost nude form, and she quickly turns away. I can tell she regrets the movement when she whines and raises a hand to her forehead again.
"I'm coming in now," I warn her before I tilt her forward and slip in behind her. Even through the water, her body is still burning against mine, and I have to fight the urge to pull away from her. I don't know why I'm doing this for a girl I've never met. Maybe it's the future doctor in me. Or maybe it's the good person Sam insists is inside of me, fighting to get out. Whatever the reason is, fifteen minutes drags by, and I'm still soaking in the tub. The girl is sleeping against my chest and I don't want to move her, but she should really be resting in a bed.
"Hey, it's time to get out," I whisper against her ear. She sighs, so I carefully push her forward so I can free my legs. She groans in response to the movement, but I ignore the sound and hook my arms under her armpits again so I can pull her up with me.
For one horrifying second, my foot slips and I'm afraid I'm going kill us both. Fortunately, I manage to catch my balance and stumble out of the tub. It isn't the most graceful exit, but at least we didn't fall. I find two towels hanging from metal hooks on the wall. The one I grab has the name 'Fabray' sewn on the end, but I figure the girl won't mind being wrapped in someone else's towel. Besides, it's better than the one covered in gold stars.
When I turn to face the blonde again, her head is resting against the bathroom counter and her eyes are closed. I drape the towel over her shoulders and help her stand on shaky legs. I lead her out of the bathroom, avoiding the mess she made on the floor, and walk her to the pull-out couch. She's about to lay down on it, but I tug her back when I see how damp the bed is.
"I am not about to let you lay in that after we just took a nice bath together," I explain. "Would one of your friends be okay with you sleeping in their bed?"
"Quinn wouldn't mind," she replies after several seconds tick by. I nod in response before I let my eyes sweep over the living room again. They find what they're searching for in the form of a black duffel bag beneath the television. I let the girl sit on the mattress while I go grab her some new clothes. I end up tossing her a new pair of underwear and a grey tank top.
"Do you mind if I borrow a shirt?" I ask when I remember my own t-shirt probably smells like vomit. She hums in what I assume is approval, so I grab the first one I find. I unclip my bra and let it fall to the floor before I slip the loose t-shirt over my head. When I turn around, the girl's face is bright red and she can't meet my gaze. I roll my eyes and walk back to the mattress so I can help her change. My plan hits a snag, however, when my hand reaches for the hem of her shirt and she jerks away from me. "Let me help you," I say in a soft voice when I see her eyes darting back and forth.
"I can do it," she snaps. I startle when I hear the aggressive tone in her voice. She's been compliant the whole time I've been with her, so the change in attitude catches me off guard. I step back from the mattress and turn away so she can change. I turn back around a few minutes later when I hear her cough.
"Should I help you to your friend's room? Or do you want to do that on your own, too?" I can't stop the agitation from leaking into my voice. I instantly regret the snippy tone when she drops her gaze and stares at the white carpet. "Sorry. Come on."
She lets me help her to Quinn's room, where I lay her down on the clean bed and cover her with two thin sheets. I'm about to go get my sweatpants when her hand grabs mine with strength I'm sure is born from desperation. I place my free hand on top of hers and rub a circle over the skin.
"I'll be back soon, I promise," I assure her. She stares me down for several seconds before releasing me. I give her a thin smile before I leave.
The acrid smell of bile assaults my senses and makes my eyes water as soon as I open the bathroom door. I'm tempted to clean it up later, but I know the longer I leave it, the worse it will be. I sigh, grab the towel covered in stars off its hook, and wipe up the mess. I throw the towel in the tub when I'm done, unsure of where else to put it. I then take off my underwear and hang it from one of the towel hooks before I tug my dry sweatpants on. I grab my ruined hoodie from the floor and throw it in the garbage while I'm in the kitchen.
When I return to Quinn's room, I find the girl curled up under the white comforter, which is the opposite of what she needs. She protests and tries to fight me off when I start to tug the heavy blanket away, but she backs down as soon as I give her a warning glare. After I throw the blanket on the floor, I climb onto the bed and get under the sheets with the blonde. Her body has cooled down since the bath, but it's still too warm for my liking. Maybe I should go get a wet washcloth to put on her. I'm about to put that plan into action when she rolls over and scoots closer to me. Soon, her head is tucked under my chin, which is an impressive feat considering she's taller than me.
"What's your name?" she mumbles against my neck. I try to ignore the way her breath tickles my skin and how I can feel her heart drilling into my ribcage. I focus on the question instead. … Which was what again? Oh, right. My name.
"It's Santana," I reply, and I can feel her smiling against my skin. It's not much, but I can still feel it. I can only guess how much worse she was feeling before I came downstairs, so it surprises me that she still has the energy to smile.
"Thank you, Santana," she whispers. There's a long pause where all I can hear is our breathing, before she says, "My name's Brittany."
"It's nice to meet you, Brittany." The polite response is automatic, but the sentiment behind it isn't forced for once. She chuckles before she shifts onto her back and looks up at me.
"It's nice of you to lie. I don't think throwing up on someone is the best way to make a good first impression."
"Hey. It worked on me." My remark evokes a real laugh that fills the room and makes her shoulders shake. When she laughs, her face transforms. It's more relaxed, and there's a sparkle in those blue eyes that had appeared so dead the first time I saw them. For a second, I am able to see the girl Brittany is supposed to be, and I can't help thinking she's beautiful.
The laughter cuts off when I feel her body tense next to me, and she rolls onto her side. I can hear her grinding her teeth together. I try to help by running my hand over her thin arm. I've read enough health books for my major to know muscle cramps are a large part of withdrawal, but I've never witnessed someone going through detox until now.
"Ouch," she says with a whimper as she leans her back against me. Her body is shaking so hard I'm afraid she's going to make herself sick again, so I slip my arm over her and tug her closer. It takes me a second to notice I can feel her ribs through her tank top. She's way skinnier than I originally thought she was. I snap out of my observations when her voice breaks the silence between us.
"Do you believe people can change?"
The question takes me by surprise. I think it over for a moment, remembering all the ways I've changed since high school. The changes I've made to my life definitely outweigh the things I've kept the same. It's quite possible the girl I was in high school wouldn't recognize the person I am now.
"I like to think so, yes," I finally say with a nod. "Otherwise, what would be the point in doing this to yourself?" My eyes narrow and I pull away so there's a small chasm between our bodies. "You are doing this to yourself, right? You're not just too poor to get more?"
"Don't you think I would have robbed Quinn and Rachel blind by now if that was the problem?" she asks in a small voice, and regret twists my stomach into a knot. "No, this is all me. I just need to know I'm not the only one stupid enough to believe it's possible," she says with a sigh.
I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. Instead, I move my hand from her stomach and run it through her hair. My hand snags in several places, especially in spots hardened by dried sweat, but it isn't coming away drenched. My hand stills after the fifth knot I untangle.
"If I was still the same person I was in high school, I would have left you here even if I knew what was wrong," I admit. My voice is so quiet I can barely hear myself speaking. It's still difficult for me to reconcile who I was with who I am. She is someone who needs to know, though, just so she can be sure change can be worth it. "I would have yelled at you for breaking the cup. I'd make up some story about it being a family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation, just so you would feel worse. And then I would come back a few days later, demanding you reimburse me."
"That's a lot of trouble for a cup."
"I know. I wasted a lot of energy being angry and making other people feel like shit when I was younger. It was so much easier to deal with anger than the other feelings. At least anger, I could do something about," I explain. My hand starts to smooth out her hair again, and I smile when I feel her body relax against mine. "After I graduated, I realized I had pushed all my real friends away, so when all my fake friends left, I had no one."
"So you changed?" She slowly rolls over to face me after she asks, as if she needs to see my answer to know it's true.
"It took a while, but yeah. I changed," I say with a small smile. "Okay, so I'm still working on being a nicer person, but I like to think I'm a lot better now than I was back then," I amend as my smile transforms into a smirk.
"I'm glad 'now' you found me instead of 'then' you," she whispers into the hollow of my neck. "I like…" Her voice trails off, though, and whatever it is she likes is replaced with a quiet sigh. When I look down, her eyes are closed and she's taking long, even breaths through parted lips.
I wait a moment to see if she's going to wake up, before I slip out of the covers. She whines when I get out of the bed, so I placate her and put the pillow I was using next to her. She burrows her face into it and releases a content sigh. Once I'm sure she's okay, I leave the room and head to the kitchen to search for some aspirin. Or, better yet, caffeine.
Brittany is still asleep when I come back with the garbage can in one hand and a rainbow mug of coffee in the other. If I'm going to spend the rest of my night here, I'm sure as hell going to drink the shit I came down for in the first place.
I set the empty trashcan on the floor and take a seat on the edge of the bed. The blonde sighs and burrows further into the pillow when the mattress sinks, but she doesn't wake. I blow on the coffee before I take a long sip and study the girl who has somehow become my responsibility.
I don't know why I'm still here. I have a book to finish and an analysis to bullshit my way through. I should be focusing on my schoolwork, not some strung-out junkie I just met. The thought of leaving her alone, however, makes my stomach twist. So instead of doing the practical thing, I settle into a cross-legged position and watch over her as I sip my coffee.
The cup is half-empty when Brittany's body jerks, and one of her legs ends up catching me in the shin. I startle, and the remaining contents of the mug spill onto my lap. I swear this girl is going to ruin all of my clothes. A low moan from the head of the bed grabs my attention before I can worry about that thought too much.
"Brittany," I say as I put the empty cup on the floor, "if you need to barf, there's a garbage right next-"
I'm cut off by the sound of her gagging. Yep. She definitely needs to hurl. And fuck, she definitely isn't facing the garbage can. I curse under my breath as I lean forward and roll her over. Just in time, too, because the motion dislodges whatever she has left in her stomach. Apparently, all that's left is mucus. It doesn't surprise me, considering how much she threw up in the bathroom. Still, I hold her hair back until she pulls away from the garbage can and slowly shifts onto her back.
"You didn't-" she starts, but her voice is hoarse from puking, so she turns her head and coughs into the pillow before she tries again. "You didn't have to stay," she says, and her lips curve into a weak smile, "but I'm glad you did."
"I didn't want to leave you here to puke all over your friend's bed," I say with a shrug. My response makes her eyes narrow, but they widen a few seconds later when she looks down at my crotch. Wait. Why is she looking there?
"Did you pee?" Oh. That's why she's looking there.
"No. Some blonde chick made me spill coffee all over my pants when she kicked me," I explain. I receive a blank stare in response. "You kicked me."
"Oh. Sorry." Her face turns pink as she whispers the apology. She bites her lip for a moment before she moves the pillow that covers the other side of the bed. "Could you…" She trails off and looks at the bed instead of me. It's funny how shy she suddenly is about me laying with her. I know what she's trying to ask, though, so I climb over her and crawl under the sheets.
She scoots closer until her arm bumps into mine. She whispers another quiet apology and starts to move away. I grab her wrist before she can get too far, and lay it across my stomach. I trail my finger along the under part of her forearm, getting closer and closer to the scars on her inner elbow with each stroke. Her breath catches when my hand finally touches the first mark.
"That's an old one," she states, as if she's talking about a worn toy. "It's like, three months, I think," she clarifies. She gingerly sits up and the sheets pool around her hips.
I sit up with her, and she holds her arm out to show me the scars up close. Most are no more than a pin prick, especially the recent ones that are still red. They almost look like bug bites. One of the larger circles stands out, however, and my finger traces its raised edges. I look up from the scar to find Brittany watching me through half-closed eyes. She turns away when our gazes meet.
"Please don't ask," she whispers as she pulls her arm out of my grasp and rests it on her lap.
"Give me a good reason not to, and I won't."
"Because I won't be able to do this if I think about why I started in the first place," she responds. Her voice cracks the way it did when she apologized for breaking the cup. It's like she wants to tell me, but she physically can't, and for that, she's sorry. She finally looks at me again as she says, "I promise I'll tell you. I just… I'm not strong enough to think about it right now."
"Another time then," I say as I lay down on my back. She hesitates before she slides back under the sheets with me and rests her head on my pillow, just above my shoulder. I wait for her to get as comfortable as she can under the circumstances before I talk again. "Just so you know, I think you're more than strong enough to do this."
She doesn't ask me how I can possibly think that. She doesn't point out that I just met her. In fact, I'm starting to think she didn't hear me because she doesn't say anything at all. But then her arm slips over my stomach and gently squeezes. It's the last thing I feel before my eyes close and I fall asleep in a stranger's bed next to a girl I barely know.
AN: I hope this wasn't a horrible decision and that you all enjoyed it. Thank you for taking the time to read it! I'll have the second part up some time after I update LBUT and On Ice.
Title lyrics taken from Sex and Drugs by Hyper Crush
