Santana Lopez was not afraid of her locker, she wasn't afraid of anything dammit. She just didn't want to see Brittany. The close proximity to her blonde friend left her befuddled and just plain tired. Tired of life, tired of choices, and tired of heartache. How could she ever forget telling her best friend that she was in love with her, only to have been shut down and passed over for some stupid boyfriend? The situation plays in Santana's mind every second of her waking moments, so excuse her for not wanting to see the cause of her tears, standing and waiting at the lockers for her. No, Brittany used to be her best friend. Friends don't break each other's hearts though.
The dark lines on Santana's hand glared back at her as she forcefully made sure to etch the numbers into her palm. The permanent marker used would ensure the long lasting digits to remain on her hand for at least a few days. If she could, she would have them tattooed there, but Santana was unfortunately not of age so she stuck to the next best thing. The point of the sharpie pen bit into her skin as she retraced the numbers persistently onto her hand, completely ignoring the Spanish Mr. Shue tried to teach her, this was definitely more important. She reviewed her handiwork as the dark numbers of 18, 4, and 32 stared back at her from her right hand.
It had been days since the first time Brittany had finally managed to corner her at the lockers. Santana thought she was doing a pretty good job in grabbing her books in the early morning and not returning until after school, thus reducing the time she had to be near Brittany. Glee club could not be avoided but she made sure to sit as far back as possible or at least next to the huge form of Sam so he could block out the view of Brittany and Artie together. Unfortunately she forgot her notebook for class and had to run back to get it, thus caught from behind as Brittany glided next to her before she could even open the locker doors.
How dare she ask, how could Brittany even ask if she did something wrong? Maybe she hadn't but how could she not understand the need right now for Santana to not see her. It hurt her to be even near Brittany, with the images of her rejection still running through her head. Santana tried to get her notebook as quickly as possible but the forlorn looks Brittany was sending her way were confusing and she couldn't fucking remember her locker combo. How could she remember the number if she kept looking at her like that? Santana kept trying to spin the numbers to the point but the damn thing wasn't opening.
What the fuck were the numbers again? Oh great, and here comes Sue. I'm only slightly surprised by Brittany defending us both, the girl always did have a backbone, and the view from the front wasn't bad either, but whatever. Yes,finallygot it open!
Oh what the fucking hell? Dirt in my locker. Just fucking fantastic...
Santana ran off before Brittany could say anything more to her, she couldn't deal with this shit any more. Principle Figgins wouldn't let her switch out lockers so now she was stuck next to her all year round. She continued her acts of Houdini as much as possible, if she saw her coming she'd jet down the hallway in the opposite direction. If they were in the same class, she'd come in late just to choose a seat as far away as possible from her. Santana could only ignore Brittany as long as she never stopped in one place for too long. Her feet kept moving, but her mind and heart felt like heavy anchors every single time Britt sent a sad face. Even the adorable pouts Brittany would give when Santana threw away her little notes in class without looking at them were painful.
Why couldn't Brittany just leave mealone? If she didn't want to be with me, then fine, but how could she ask me to continue being her friend when even smelling her scent and feeling her presence forces a water trail from my eyes. I'm so tired of crying. I'm so tired of heartbreak, when will this pain ever stop?
It must have been Santana's unlucky day again as she woke up late and had to run to school to be on time. Another night spent muffling tears and crying into her pillow along with sad music must've drowned out the sound of the alarm in the morning. By the time she reached her locker, there were only a few minutes left before the bell rang.
God must hate me, because there Brittany was again, dancing close into her personal space but not really touching.
"Hey San…"
Santana ignored her as much as possible as she grunted out her frustration at not being able to open the locker door again.
What the fuck? Is it jammed or something? Didn't I put in the right numbers...?
"Santana, can't you even look at me for a second? I know you've been avoiding me cause at first I thought you just forgot where your locker was but then I remembered that you don't forget things so that's not true. Why are you avoiding me San?"
Santana threw her a quick look, a fast up-down motion before staring back at the baby blue eyes she dreamt about at nights, rendering her motionless. Brittany will always be beautiful; her lithe dancer body would carry her most likely into old age. Santana resented her for that, for always being the beautiful girl she will always be in love with, the kind sweet girl whom she grew up with, and who in the end crushed her heart into small jagged pieces when offered.
"There I looked at you, what do you want Brittany?"
"I just want to talk San, can't we talk anymore? I thought we were friends."
"So talk, but I can't guarantee I'm going to listen."
Santana fumbled with the lock a few times and muttered a few good choice words at the damned thing when it still wouldn't open under her fingers. Her eyes caught Brittany's hands coming close to her own hand on the locker door and before she could touch, Santana sent her a definitive look telling her not to continue her course of action. Brittany's hand stalled a few inches away before slowly retracting and hanging limply back at her side. Santana would never know what she would've done if Brittany had touched her.
"Santana, please. Why can't we just go back to the way things were?"
"You know why."
"I just want my best friend back…"
"Well I want the pieces of my heart back but we can't always get what we want, can we?"
Santana snarled derisively at the stubborn locker and jingled it roughly in frustration.
Fucking thing must be broke. I have to remember to bring in a crowbar tomorrow just in case.
She slammed her left hand on top of the lock and growled at how unfair her life was at the moment.
Fucking shitty locker, god damn Brittany trying to talk to me, getting slushied, what else could go wrong?
Brittany must've sensed her distress as Santana felt the sensation of a pinky poke the back of her right hand and loop into it's twin.
"What are you doing?"
"Did you forget your locker combo again San?"
"What? No of course not."
"San…please? We can start all over again; we don't even have to talk about Artie or Sam, no guys, just us, like we use to be."
Brittany smiled tentatively and she almost gave in to her, she always would. She may have broken Santana's heart but Santana could never deny her anything. Sensing the losing battle to her wishes, she watched Brittany's smile brighten as she pulled their linked pinkies towards her chest and close to her heart. Santana could feel the soothing thump of her heart before deciding that perhaps it won't be so bad just to try and mend their friendship again. But fate of course had other plans. Santana caught the sight of her slightly open palm on Brittany's chest and immediately everything came crashing back down to reality.
18 4 32.
The bold black colors stared back at her, mocking her weak mind and reminding her of the reason behind the numbers. She stood stock still and quick as lightning, ripped her hand away from Brittany and stepped back a few inches.
When did Brittany even invade my personal space and get so close?
Santana watched as the bright blue eyes darkened in confusion and her smile dropped to a frown at her actions. That was the problem, being near Brittany made her forget everything, she made Santana forget herself.
"18. 4. 32."
"What? What are you talking about San, what's wrong? I thought we were good, I thought we could just go back to being-"
"No. No Brittany. I remember, its 18, 4, 32."
"I don't understand Santana, what's that mean?"
"My locker combo, its 18, 4, and 32. I didn't forget."
With that said she looked at Brittany sadly and without even giving a glance to her locker, spun around and walked away from the only person she had ever loved. Not giving two shits about the now forgotten notebook for class and instead heading towards the exit doors at the other end of the school; she walked quickly away from Brittany and the locker. Santana turned her palm up as she continued walking away and stared hotly at the 3 numbers glaring back, mocking her for the lapse in judgment. The school bell rang loudly as she felt the tiny splashes of her own tears flooding the three numbers before clenching her hand into a fist and punching it into the exit doors.
18, 4, 32. Don't ever forget.
A/N: Just a short one shot, small and angsty but not too bad. Working on a new story so a few more one shots might come out before the that one start. As always, read and review, if you haven't yet, check out my other story 'What light through yonder window breaks.' Thanks all :)