Pregnant.
The word flashes through my mind as I hold the stick between my fingers. I'm dead. I'm so dead. My reputation, my image….it's all going to be flushed down the drain.
Wait a second. What's that song, the one by Green Day? The one Puck turned on right after we…well…you know…
It's not over till you're underground, it's not over before it's too late
I sit there, slumped against the wall, thinking for a moment. The tears are streaming down my face as reality hits me. Puck wouldn't support me and…our…baby if it was the last thing on Earth left to do. How could I have been so stupid to look into those deep, brooding brown eyes time after time after time?
I'm Santana freaking Lopez.
Nobody makes my walls crash.
Well….except Puck.
I don't want to believe this. I've ended up just like Fabray. Damn. That means I can't taunt her anymore. Pretty soon she'll be taunting me. If the secret gets out, anyway.
If…
My eyes water again. If my family ever found out I'd gotten pregnant and had an abortion, there'd be a whole new reason to rejoice at Dia de los Muertos.
My phone beeps with a new text.
Puck: Hey so u wanted to see me? I'm outside. Ur not gonna like, cut my balls off are you?
If only, Puck. But I'm not surgically trained to do that, and if I was, you'd be so cut up it's not even funny.
I take a deep breath, getting up from my spot on the floor and walking through the house to the front door. The faint aroma of spices is enough to make my stomach churn. Great, just another thing to worry about.
As I open the door, Puck turns around.
"Hey sexy." He grins, and I forget why I called him over.
Suddenly, I can't find it in me to tell him. Tears fill my eyes.
"Hey…hey, cariño, what's wrong?"
He softens, seeming a little uncomfortable. I choke out a laugh.
"Do you always have to be so irresistible?"
He stares at me. He knows me. He can see right through me.
"Santana, what's this about? 'Cause I have practice in 20 minutes and Coach Beiste is gonna be on my ass and I can't—"
"I'm pregnant okay?"
Pick up the world and I'mma drop it on your fucking head…
His mouth forms a tiny O.
"What are you….is it….mine? Are you going to….keep….it?" He blinks, trying to make sense of the news. I cross my arms and shake my head.
"So….so you're putting it up for adoption? Santana, I don't want to have to go through that again and…."
That sentence changes everything.
"Then it's settled. I'll get it taken care of."
His eyebrow raises. "Get what…?"
"An abortion, dumbass."
His shoulders slouch. All the life gets sucked out of his eyes. I feel awkward in my Cheerios uniform.
"You're not….serious?" He's cautious. Like I said, he knows me. He knows what pisses me off and what doesn't.
That doesn't mean it's okay for us to raise a baby together. Look at Fabray.
"Does it look like I'm joking, Fuckerman?"
In one stride, he's about 3 inches from me. He reaches out and strokes my ccheek.
"Santana…"
"Puck…I can't do it…"
"Clearly you can if you're at this stage."
He lets out a laugh as I smack him. "I'm serious. There's no support. My family will celebrate my death."
He looks confused.
"God, Puck. Forget it. I'm going back inside."
As I turn, fighting back tears, he grabs my arm.
"No. I'm not giving up that easy. What if I tried to prove myself?" he begs.
I roll my eyes. "What, you won't end up sexting with Quinn?"
That was a low blow. I can tell by the look in his eyes, by the tightness of his lips.
"What Quinn and I had….Shelby now owns. All because I didn't prove myself enough. But that can change." He promises.
He was a wreck after Regionals. Sometimes he'd come to my house in the middle odf the night and just sit there, tears spilling out, which eventually led to stolen kisses and the whole 9 yards.
"Santana, please." He leans his forehead against mine, begging silently.
I hold my breath for the longest time.
"You have one shot. Don't ruin it."
He chuckles. "Okay, Eminem."
And with that he pulls me into a passionate fire I can't resist.
