Note/ Disclaimer: I don't own Glee – if I did Brittany. S. Pearce and her feelings would get a lot more attention! This one shot aims to rectify that and was inspired by the song Killing Me by the Kooks (italics). As this idea came to me suddenly and since I'm new at this and have a couple of fics on the go now I would HUGELY appreciate any feedback. :)
Enjoy!
Killing Me
It's killing me
Yeah, the things you can do
That no one else can do to me at all
Why did emotions have to be so confusing? As I watched Santana walk away it was like trying to define breakfast all over again… it was bittersweet. But I suppose that's life isn't it? Some things are better left undefined… unlabelled. Santana taught me that.
If only the world took notice of her maybe everyone else would learn too.
Learn that no one should be limited to one word, like 'gay' or 'stupid' – that's like calling a symphony simply a piece of music, when really it's a thousand birds soaring through the sky, the beat of their wings setting the rhythm to our hearts, creating the air we breath.
Perhaps I only feel this way because I'm no good with words, I never have been. They frighten me. When someone speaks, their words don't always match up to what they mean – Santana taught me this too.
Her words told me she loved me when her eyes told me she wanted to love me. The quiver in her voice was begging me to let her go when her words begged me to stay – pleaded me to say I loved her back. And when she yelled for me to get off, she wasn't yelling as loud as her heart, which screamed for my touch.
As confusing as emotions are, words are much worse. All she had to do was look me in the eye, only me, without breaking that honest connection with shifty gazes at everyone else who weren't me, weren't us, and kiss me. If she did that, things would be different. But instead all I got were her words - her lies.
That's all I ever got.
Am I wasting my time?
As I feel that I'll go out
And find someone that's out of luck too
That's why I couldn't just leave Artie. He loved me and even if I couldn't love him back I couldn't just break his heart like that. If I did I would be no better than Santana and what she does to me every time she lets go of my hand for Quinn's arm; discards my love for the fake love of popularity, for reputation – my least favourite word of all.
And if I had to do it all again
I were to feel the love that I know you can send
But every time I feel down about it I think of all the times she does hold my hand; does walk down the corridor with her pinkie secured in mine – this simple symbol of friendship, of ultimate trust, of love, speaking more to me than any whispered 3 syllables ever could.
And all the other gestures that she reserves just for me… like when she smiles; really smiles and the whiteness of her teeth mingles with her dark eyes locked on mine and shines as bright as all the colours in the world put together.
That's why it hurts to hear words, always those illusive words, of hatred, of misunderstanding spoken against her – no one knows her like I do. I know there's love within her; I can feel it. If only she knew how to set it free.
And then start I wonder that maybe I'm the problem? If only I could tell her in words how much she means to me, but is there even a word strong enough for that?
Did I send love?
Did I move too close?
There was no denying that I needed help, that I couldn't go through with this alone. Then again maybe I still shouldn't have pushed Santana into talking about her feelings…I just assumed that she would want to, after all she doesn't view words the same as me. To her they are a safety blanket, a suit of armour - a vicious weapon to cut down anyone who dared cross her. Well they used to be anyway.
I figured this is why it was so hard for her and so easy for me – she got words first while I got emotions.
I thought love when she thought lesbian.
Sometimes I we understand each other better than anyone else in the world. Sometimes I think we don't understand each other at all.
Will the wind blow her away?
When Katy Perry said that people could feel like plastic bags I didn't get it a first but now I do. She was talking about being vulnerable – like Santana. She isn't as thick skinned as she makes out, all it would take is one sharp word to puncture her defences and leave her completely exposed to the world.
And I saw you cry
So I know you didn't mean
To creep into my dreams just to turn me down
This doesn't happen often though, well it never used to, so when I see her break down and the tears flow too fast for her lies to catch them and hold them hostage inside once more, I realise that she had never meant to ever cause me any pain. They let me know her actions aren't really hers; she's as much a slave to her emotions as anyone else.
No one word can carry as much meaning all at once as just one of those water droplets.
Like I said Santana would usually never be caught dead crying, that is until me and my emotions had messed with her head. Could I really be the one causing her all this pain?
You say you feel so used
But it was you who turned it on
And used all of your charms just to bring me in
No; I'm the puppet and Santana holds the strings. But that isn't the right way to lead a relationship is it? How could I have accepted her when we aren't yet on equal ground– when she doesn't even accept herself?
And everybody knows the games she plays
And every time she loses she runs away
Everything's a game to Santana – an illusion. When reality gets too tough she hides behind her reputation, which is why she is so scared of losing it. Why she sleeps around and flaunts herself like she isn't worth anything, like she doesn't deserve any better when really this is what I've been trying to prove wrong to her all these years. Maybe I haven't tried hard enough?
Did I send love?
Did I move too close?
But when it comes down to it I could feel guilty over rejecting her for every second for the rest of my life but it wouldn't change anything, wouldn't make any difference. Truth is I know that when Santana gets over her anger, her frustration, she'll be able to feel my love - the love that's always been there. She has to.
The real question is whether she'll be able to face it and the consequences and still survive?
Will the wind blow her away?
She isn't ready yet. But will she ever be? Especially now after me, Brittany; her best friend, her lover, the only person who is supposed to be able to protect her has possibly damaged her the most. Can I foresee where fate will take her now?
Where will the wind blow her today?
Back into the arms of Puck? Or worse - into a life of self hatred and loneliness.
Will the wind blow her away?
Could I really have lost her friendship forever?
Lost her forever?
No; she just needs some time, space… silence. It's not true what people say about silence, that it helps you think – it helps you feel.
Words can't help Santana now; I just hope mine haven't hurt her so much that it's too late. Although I suppose if she can't find it in herself to look behind my words, into their meaning, into my soul, then we really had no hope to begin with.
You can help me out
I want to love you again
Just love yourself Santana, love yourself for me, so I can love you back.
I know it could take weeks, months, even years but whatever happens I know that I could never stop hoping, never give up on her, and never leave her, not truly…
'cause I feel so cold without sun
And you're the one I can't run from
But I'm scared the wind will blow her away.