Hey guys hows it going? This is going to be a Quinntana story. It's going to start off with some super angsty Brittana, with poor old Santana getting her heart broken. It starts the summer right before senior year, and Brittany and Santana have been dating for the last two months. Enjoy! Future chapters won't be as depressing as this haha.. Reviews are love people!

"I'm sorry" she breathed, for what felt like the millionth time. I lay there unmoving, my arms behind my head, staring up at never ending sky. Sorry? What does that word even mean? When people tell you that they are sorry, does that mean that they regret what they did, or they regret you finding out?

I knew that a tear was trickling slowly down the side of my face, but I didn't try to stop it. Brittany was almost on top of me, trying to force me to look at her, her baby blue eyes full of pain and guilt, searching mine for some kind of reaction, any. She didn't care if that reaction was intense anger, she just needed something, anything. I let her run her fingers along my skin, and I let her attempt to pull my face toward her, but I couldn't look at her. Because if I looked at her, I'm not quite sure if I would have been able to hold myself together.

Her touch already felt different somehow, like my body instinctively knew that someone else had been touching her. And instead of the usual warm sensation, my skin stung slightly wherever ours met. I'm not sure how long after she told me she had slept with him we lay there. It was long enough for her to whisper apologies until her throat almost closed up. It was long enough for the bright morning sun to set, and leave us in darkness. It was long enough for my heart to break into a million pieces. Even I wondered why I let her lay there with me, and why I couldn't bring myself to tell her I hated what she had done, or that I hated her for what she had done to me, to us.

The truth was I had no anger inside of me. There was no room for anger, because my body was already too full of pain and loss. And as we lay there, her begging for forgiveness and telling me that she loved me, I knew that that's exactly what this was. A loss. Because what had happened was irrevocable. Because all of a sudden everything about her was foreign to me. I continued to stare at the starry sky, knowing that the equally heartbroken blonde next to me was no longer mine.

Knowing that whatever we had had together, so beautiful and innocent, was finally broken. Knowing that even though I still loved her with all my heart, her confession had made me fall out of love with her. And it hurt. More than you could imagine.

I couldn't help the image that was forever burned in my mind. Her and him. In her bed. The bed where we had made love so many times we had lost count. The bed where we had first confessed our love for one another. The bed where she promised to be mine and mine only, for forever, and I had promised the same. I wondered if her eyes had travelled to the photo of us on her bed side locker while she fucked him. I wondered if she was so consumed and eaten alive by guilt that she couldn't breathe. She had stopped any attempts of communicating with me at this point, and instead was looking into my eyes.

She must have seen everything in there, the disconnect I now felt from her, the heartache. I finally turned to look at the eyes I had grown up with, the eyes I had learned with, become a better person with, and fallen in love with. She looked back, and broke into slightly hysterical tears. Because she could see deep in my eyes, the gateway to ones soul, that I was no longer in love with her, and things would never be the same.