.-.
teardrops fell from her eyes and landed at her feet with an inaudible splash. she raised her head and, with her jaw trembling, whispered two words.
"it's over."
santana shook her black mane of hair. "it's not over," she whispered, lips tantalizingly close to rachel's, "it's never over."
she bit her lip and let her eyelids flutter shut as santana's greedy hands roamed down to her butt and her greedy lips sucked on her neck.
she was just so sick of it; of all of it.
but not enough to leave, a voice whispered.
i tried, she muttered, her eyes closing to slits. i tried.
not hard enough, was the reply.
.-.
"do you ever think about marriage?"
santana turned, raising her head up from her book and raising a perfect eyebrow.
"i mean, not as in us getting married. but, well, you know," she said hurriedly, dipping her fingers into the dishwater and examining the bubbles.
"no," came the cutting remark. and so rachel bowed her head and quietly hummed to herself as she washed the dishes.
she knew it.
.-.
she buried her head in the silk lining of her pillow, trying to block out her thoughts. santana had said she was going to be late at work, and she knew what that meant. she just didn't know with who.
the blondes: brittany or quinn? or that redhead who got a boob job? maybe that asian girl?
she decided it didn't matter and touched a finger to her cheek, wiping away a stray tear.
you don't matter.
i know.
.-.
an hour later finds her standing at the counter in her bathroom, holding up a razor.
she brought it to her shoulder, making a slight incision. blood slowly trickles down and she stared at it for a minute.
cutting just isn't for her.
.-.
"come on, smile; everyone's looking at you." santana growled through gritted teeth as she pushed rachel along beside her.
she forced a smile and waved at the paparazzi. being a trophy girlfriend made her exhausted.
santana's fingers made their way to her shoulder and stayed there for a minute too long. she flinches but continues walking, her steps almost automatic. if santana noticed, she doesn't show it.
.-.
she stares out the window with lifeless eyes, touching the glass and clinging to it with her fingertips, scared it will come away if she removes them. a door handle clicks and she's suddenly carried away and into the bedroom, where santana presses urgent lips along her collarbone, a hand gliding along her thigh.
she doesn't need to look down to know that santana's going to leave bruises. she doesn't even move. she just lays there.
.-.
the river is wide and inviting; santana giving it a wide berth. rachel finds herself sticking her legs in and disappearing beneath the water. kicking aimlessly to stay afloat, she holds her breath, counting in her head.
1
2
3
she holds her breath for a whole minute, coming to the surface with a wet face and wet hair.
santana yells at her for a while, her eyes flashing. she steps out and walks ungracefully to her side, head full of dreams.
.-.
"i love you", she whispers, her words soft in the still air.
"i know," santana replies, letting her hand drop to her side.
but you don't love me back.
she swallows, turning around as tan hands cover her own.
maybe one day she'd be strong enough to leave. but that day is not today.
.-.
santana sits at a bench, arms wrapped around rachel. they can almost hear the clicks of the cameras surrounding them.
lips press against hers, filled with warm vanilla and sugar. she kisses back as hard as she can, because she knows that santana needs her for the press.
even if it's not for her.
.-.
she lets the water lap at her feet. she takes a step forward and then takes the plunge. this time when she stays underwater, her head doesn't come back up.
she doesn't need you, the voice whispers.
i know, she says, i know.
.-.