Junior year had been rocky at best.
In truth, a nightmare best described it.
September, Quinn had told everyone about her surgery and gotten her moved to the bottom of the pyramid. That alone was bogus. It was none of Sue's business if she wanted bigger boobs. She had the money. Her dad had payed for it all, no problem. It was her body, her life.
Still, Sue's words still stung.
"Well, the big deal is that a person who has to pump her nonnies full of gravy to feel good about herself clearly doesn't have the self esteem to be my head cheerleader."
Santana didn't have the self esteem to be head cheerleader. She'd known that from the minute she put on that Cheerios uniform two years ago. She had just hoped that maybe becoming head cheerleader would automatically instill that confidence in her, that maybe it would make her comfortable in her own skin.
It didn't work.
October, she and Brittany fought, like, really fought, for the first time ever. It really was all her fault. She had freaked out on Brittany when she confused their sexual and romantic relationship. There was no way for Santana to truly deny that she did want the two to mix, she was just... not ready. At this point, she was beginning to wonder if anything would make her ready.
They made up a week later. Immediately afterwards, Brittany told Santana that she was dating Artie, really exclusively dating just him. Santana just had felt trapped, hopeless. Some small part of her had been hoping that the Artie ordeal would open a window for Santana to really tell Brittany how she felt. By sticking with Artie, Brittany had efficiently shut that window on Santana's fingers, taping it shut, too.
Santana had shut back up after that. The small bit of confidence that she had, that maybe being a lesbian was okay, maybe loving Brittany was okay, maybe she would be okay, shattered. She and Brittany returned to their friends-with-benefits status, and nothing more. She became prickly around Brittany, though. She had less tolerance for Brittany's little confusions or airheaded remarks. Santana never realized what she would say to Brittany until afterwords, and could never figure out why. The last thing she had ever wanted to do was hurt Brittany.
March, their friendship became an issue again when Brittany demanded to know Santana's true feelings. Santana really couldn't blame her. She'd known she couldn't carry her masquerade on for much longer. She knew that Brittany wasn't stupid. She was going to see through Santana's skin sooner or later. Really, she was lucky to have held it in for so long.
Singing that song in front of the whole glee club had been humiliating. She couldn't believe the had even thought for a second that it would help. She had walked in to the room with a lump already in her throat. At the end of the first verse, her eyes began to burn, and before the end, tears were freely flowing down her face. Every loser in that room had this dumb smile on their face, like they were proud of her for taking some step that none of them could even comprehend the significance of. She wanted to smack them all upside the head. She had never felt more embarrassed in her entire life. And at the end, with Brittany looking at her with those sky blue eyes and just barely whispering, "Is that really how you feel?" Santana nearly left the glee club, to never come back. It was how she felt, exactly how she felt. She was confused about everything but her love for Brittany, and she knew the clock was ticking. If she didn't step up to the plate soon, Brittany would get in too deep with Artie, and she would never have her again. She was afraid it had already happened.
The next day, she told Brittany. She told her everything.
The words burned coming out of her chest. Her head spun. She felt like she was going to vomit. She didn't even feel fully there; she couldn't hear half of what Brittany told her over the blood roaring in her ears. She could only understand one thing.
Brittany rejected her.
Santana dug the singular most private thing out of her stomach and offered it to Brittany, and she didn't take it.
That night was the first time Santana did it.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been in the shower. She was crumpled on the tiled floor, head in her knees, shrill, hiccuping sobs wrenching out of the pit of her belly. The water was ice cold, making her skin crawl. The hot water had ran out long ago, but she couldn't be bothered to move. She didn't even feel like she belonged in her body. She needed to feel something more, something to at least make her feel human. She grabbed her razor and rapped it against the wall, hard, breaking the head in to pieces. She pulled a single blade out of the head and leaned back, examining it. Did she really want to take it this far? She'd never thought about this. She'd never specifically told herself that she wouldn't self-harm. She'd never thought she'd even feel so low. Sliding her knees down to the floor in order to fully expose her stomach, Santana shut her eyes and held her breath.
When she opened her eyes, there was a gash right above her left hipbone, about 3 inches in length. Blood welled out of it and seeped out in every direction, diluted by the water. In a weird way, it calmed Santana. Without a second thought, she cut again, and again. She didn't stop until her entire left side was dripping watery, bright red blood.
She set the blade down and leaned her head back against the wall, letting the icy water splash against her face. The pain in her side drew away from the reeling in her head. Her mind finally felt clear, and she was able to breathe.
It became a habit over the next month. Some nights she wouldn't cut at all. Some nights she would only leave one or two scars. About once a week, she would totally tear herself up, like she did that first night.
No one noticed. She wasn't in the locker room nearly as much as she used to be, since she was no longer on the Cheerios, and when she did have to change for gym, she made a point of not removing her camisole. She didn't have sex at all. Brittany's touch hurt too much, but anyone else's made her want to vomit. Sam was a nice guy, so he didn't have a problem with her not putting out. She started spending less time with Brittany and more with Sam. Brittany was just her friend, Sam was the one that she was supposed to love.
They're not that different, Santana would tell herself. Sam was almost like a male Brittany. The blonde hair, the blue eyes, the athleticism, the goofy smile and endless cheer.
Still, Santana knew she would never be able to fully replace her true love. Sam's hands here too rough, his jaw too square. When they kissed, he didn't taste like strawberries and cream like Brittany always did. When he rambled about things Santana didn't care about, she didn't think it was cute or endearing. It annoyed her.
Deep down, Santana knew that she only wanted Brittany.
They still hung out and had sleepovers. It was just different. There were rules. Clothes stayed on. They didn't even change in the same room. When one of them was showering, the other stayed out of the bathroom. They didn't talk about girls at all, only boys. Santana wouldn't dare bring up her sexuality, of course, but Brittany would. Santana would quickly shut her down, blowing off a hypocritical comment about how she respected her and didn't care that she liked girls, but didn't want to hear about it. Brittany would swallow and nod, knowing that Santana was actually saying that she didn't want to talk about her own orientation.
Brittany was respectful of Santana's boundaries. She knew that Santana wasn't in to guys, but she talked about them when Santana wanted to. She couldn't figure out why Santana was trying to hide it. She was gay, plain and simple. Santana had straight up told her that she was a lesbian. Now she was trying to take it back in, and Brittany didn't get it.
April, Santana was woken up in the middle of the night by Brittany.
"Santana. Santana, wake up," Brittany said in an urgent whisper, gently shaking Santana's shoulders.
Santana opened her eyes slowly, narrowing her eyes at Brittany.
"What do you want?" she asked groggily.
Brittany just stared at her with wide, concerned eyes. She opened her mouth to respond, but shut it soon after, unable to find the words. Her eyes flicked down to Santana's torso and then back up to her eyes.
Santana then noticed that her shirt was pushed up, revealing her scar-riddled hips and stomach. She quickly pulled it down, sitting up and jolting away from Brittany.
"Jesus, Britt! What kind of shit were you trying? We're not doing that anymore, remember?" she hissed.
"I didn't, I swear, I didn't even touch you!" Brittany quickly exclaimed. "I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I came back, I saw that!" She motioned to Santana's torso.
Santana exhaled shakily, putting her head in her hands. She shouldn't have let Brittany around her when she wasn't awake, she shouldn't let anyone around her like that. Her secret was just too easy to find.
"Santana," Brittany started, quiet, gentle. "Did you...did you do that?"
"You'd better not fucking tell anyone." Santana didn't dare look at the blonde, her voice thick with tears.
"Look at me," Brittany softly said.
Santana shook her head, her hands slipping in to her hair and gripping it firmly.
"Come on," Brittany urged, setting a hand on Santana's knee. Santana jumped, as though her touch had burned her. "Santana...why would you..."
"Because of you!" Santana burst out. Brittany's eyes widened and she shifted back. "You, and- and Artie! I trusted you, Brittany, I told you- I told you that thing! That thing I've never told anyone else! I did it because I trusted you, and you blew me off!"
"I didn't blow you off! I still care about you! I just, I can't be with you. I can't do that to Artie."
"Can't do that to Artie?" Santana sneered. "What about me? What about me, Britt? If you really cared about me, If you really loved me like you said you did, why would you put him above me?"
"I hurt him too! Santana, we had sex. We have sex. I can't leave him now!"
"You fuck guys and walk out all the time! Why is he any different?"
"You know why!" Brittany huffed.
"I want to hear it out loud."
"Because he's crippled."
"So his feelings are more valuable than mine, just because he just so happened to get hit by a car?"
"Santana! Have some compassion. He's never going to be able to walk again! I took something away from him that he didn't know he could ever have at one point! Did you even consider how hard this is for me?"
Santana shook her head, tears now flowing freely down her face. Brittany sighed.
"Let's just... let me start this over again. I love you, Santana. I love you so much, it hurts sometimes. I can't stand to see you like this. I hate that you feel like you have to hide, I hate that you...that you'd even consider doing this to yourself. Stuff's really confusing for me right now, though, and I want more than anything to- to..." Brittany started to tear up, and stopped.
"To what?"
"To be with you," Brittany whimpered. "You just, you don't get it. Artie's too nice for me to do that to him."
"I get it," Santana sighed, having calmed down.
Brittany looked at her wearily.
"I really do," Santana insisted. "It's just...at this point, I don't care if you're with Artie. No one has to know. You're the only one that I want."
Brittany stayed quiet. Slowly, she leaned in and gently kissed Santana. Santana's hands moved to Brittany's waist, gripping her shirt.
"Britt," Santana rasped, quietly.
"You have to promise you won't cut yourself anymore," Brittany said.
"I don't want to, I never wanted to," Santana murmured.
"Promise," Brittany repeated, firmer.
"I can't," Santana objected. "I want to promise you that, but I don't know if I can stop."
"Then I'm getting you help. We're talking to someone."
"Holly's not here anymore, Britt."
"Then we'll have to go to Miss Pillsbury."
"She can't handle shit and you know it," Santana grumbled.
"Santana, we have to try. None of this is okay, you need professional help. You can talk to Miss Pillsbury for free, and no one else will know," Brittany insisted. "I'll go in with you, we can fix this."
Santana gave in and nodded her consent. Brittany pressed another small kiss to Santana's lips, then pulled her back down on to the bed.
"I love you, Santana."
"I love you, too."