A knock on the door. It seemed so simple. It was just a knock. But really, it was the start of a downward spiral. It was the start of something that would ruin my life forever. The things that happened behind that door were all it took to change everything. I look at the lines of powder separated on the kitchen table under the dim lighting, remembering that night.
I look at the piece of ripped paper in my hand, making sure I'm at the right address. "6200 W Arlington St." Looking up at the apartment complex, I have to admit, it's a pretty nice building. I half expected something way crappier. The girl I met at the Puck's frat party didn't come across as particularly rich. Don't get me wrong, she was drop dead gorgeous. But something about her seemed a bit shady. Why didn't she live on campus? And why hadn't she ever seen her on campus before? Still, I was so drawn to her the very second I saw her. Her perfect features and the way her eyes met mine, sent the most perfect wave of something indefinable, but still so, so amazing through my body. She had the smile of a Hollywood starlet, and the body of a stripper. She was so perfect. I had to know her.
Just thinking about her brought the biggest, child-like, animated grin to my face. That is, until the realization hit that I could be with her right now, as opposed to standing outside her apartment building smiling like an idiot. I practically skip into the building, past the doorman and the man at the desk who didn't look too pleased with the noise I was making, and into the empty elevator. I look at the sheet of paper again. "Apartment 1703 7pm." The top floor. I could feel my stomach twisting into the most intricate knots that it would take a rocket scientist to untangle. With each passing floor, I felt the knots untangling and tangling themselves again in knots far more complex and painful than the last time. I briefly wonder if the people coming in and out of the elevator can hear the whooshing sounds that the knots make because for a second, I swear that I can.
Floor 17. I take a deep breath and step out, too nervous to move towards the door at the end of the hall. My feet had a different idea as they carried me forward down the long hallway. I check my watch. 6:58pm. Good. I have time to adjust my heart rate, which, at this point, is beating a 5 miles per second. I take a deep breath and knock.
There it was—the knock. My biggest mistake. I should have turned around and left her to open the door to an empty hallway. But I know I'm not that strong. I'd probably do it all again, just to see her again.
The door opens, and, immediately, my hopes are shot. Instead of the face of the flawless brunette that I was hoping to see, I'm met with the one of a blonde. She doesn't look old enough to be able to afford an apartment in a building this nice. She's gorgeous. Admittedly, she's not as beautiful as the brunette she was hoping to see, but she was beautiful nonetheless. Speaking of the brunette Latina, where was she? Was this the wrong apartment? Maybe this blonde girl was another one of her dates? I instantly deflate. I'm about to say that I had the wrong apartment, but the other blonde girl must have noticed the unmistakable tinge of sadness and disappointment in my eyes because she speaks first.
"You must be looking for Santana." Honestly, I don't know how to respond to this. The brunette girl had never told me her name. At the party, we just flirted a bit until I was pulled away by Puck, who needed me to drive him to get more beers. She just slipped me a sheet of paper with her address saying "I want to see you again. Next Saturday?" When Puck and I had finally gotten back, the police had cleared the party out and she was already gone. I'd never gotten her name.
I just nod at the blonde girl, who'd been giving me a weird look while I was off in space recalling details of meeting the brunette that hasn't yet made her way out of my head since I'd met her. She holds up a single finger, telling me to wait a minute. I just nod and look down at my feet, fighting the urge to run away. What if this Santana girl was the wrong person? What if it's actually some random woman who'll look at me cross-eyed when she comes to the door and sees a random blonde stranger staring back at her.
My head shoots up when I hear the voice of the blonde girl yell, "Hey, Assface! Your date's here! Come get her before I take her!" After some words I can't make out, the blonde girl reappears at the door, opening it wider this time. "You can wait on the couch," she says, a sly smile lacing her face. I now feel like going into this apartment is a bad idea, but, once again, my feet make the decision for me and I find myself already walking into the apartment.
From the outside, you'd think that the apartment was tiny and cramped, but being in it, I feel like if I was given an eternity, I'd only be able to get to discover half of it. I sit on the couch and instantly decide that it's the softest couch I've ever sat on. It also has to be the most expensive. I suddenly feel out of place in this room full of expensive items. It's not decorated elegantly like you'd see in most expensive homes, but you can still tell that a lot of money went into it. There are guitars on display on the walls and a giant flat screen hanging in the center of them. Under it is every video console I can think of and an extensive collection of movies and video games. On another side of the room, there's a table full of what looks like a bunch of tubes and boxes. I can't make out what they are, but before I can put more thought into it, the blonde girl is sitting next to me.
"I'm Quinn. I'm sorry I didn't get to introduce myself earlier. Santana's just getting dressed. She's such a prick about looking perfect."
"Um, no. It's, uh, fine," I respond, still wary of the relationship between Quinn and my brunette, who I'm hoping is this Santana girl because that name is so beautiful. I think she can sense this because she responds, "Santana is my roommate, by the way. And she'd kill me for saying this, but she hasn't stopped talking about you since that party." A smile darts across my face. Not only is Santana the girl I've been looking for, but she's been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about her. All the excitement and nervousness comes rushing back at once. Quinn just stands up and laughs. "Lovebirds these days," she says walking towards the door, sliding on a leather jacket, and grabbing her keys."Have fun," she winks as she walks out, slamming the door behind her.
As soon as she does, a beautifully distressed girl in jeans and a purple hoodie with sopping wet hair runs out from a room I assume is the bathroom. "Quinn, did you fucking scare her away?! I fucking swear-"she stops as she notices the familiar blonde figure sitting on her couch.
"Hey, Santana," I say standing, my body once again exerting confidence that I can't seem to pinpoint the origin of.
"Hey," Santana says, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. "I-I just, um," the beautiful brunette stutters, not knowing what to even say. Still, she looks so perfect in her own world trying to find the right words to say.
"Let's, um, go upstairs," she finally says.
The morning sun shines through the window above the sink full of dirty dishes that I'd never gotten around to washing. I walk over to close the curtains. I fucking hate mornings. All they do is remind of the times where I could wake up to them, as opposed to stay up all night creating these temporary problem solvers until the sun tells me once again that my days are meshing into one long, continuous, painful one.
I start to pace around the kitchen, replaying the night in my head.