It was freshman year. The year where you said holding hands was for babies. The year you said that boyfriends were a necessity. The year you said that I didn't mean that I like liked you. The year you lost your virginity. The year you started to tell me things that were and weren't acceptable. The year everything just got too loud.
It was one of those nights. One of the ones where you climbed up my favorite oak tree and crawled through my window. I once asked you why you didn't just use the front door. I told you that my parents love you. That they wouldn't care. I didn't mean about just the window. You didn't get it. Instead you shrugged and said that this was more fun.
Today is different though. Today, you aren't wearing your usual confident smile. Today, you don't have that gleam in your eye. Today you look broken. And for a second, seeing you so torn apart-so destroyed- so NOT Santana, I think that I may be broken as well. You stare at me for a brief moment causing a cold shiver to course through me. You aren't you today. It's not just the smeared mascara, the red eyes, the puffy face. It's your eyes. They aren't full of...of Santana. Of life. Of joy. Of everything that makes me love you. I want to comfort you. I want to say the perfect words. Maybe something about Lord Tubbington will cheer you up? Maybe a sly jab at Rachel Berry? You hate her. Maybe something that nobody but you would get? Last year, I wouldn't have had to think about what to say. I would've just known. But this year is different. This year is full of 'girls don't like other girls' and 'we have to be popular' and 'guess who I just made out with?'
I open my mouth to at least attempt to say something but nothing gets the chance to come out because, before the sound manages to escape, you're rushing into my arms, a fresh wave of water flooding down your cheeks. I've seen you cry before. I've seen you cry plenty of times. There was the time Quinn got head cheerio. You had practiced on your routine for months. I know because I helped you work on it. Day after day of continuous labor. You refused to give up. You refused to hold back. But, then, Quinn swooped in and got the head position despite all of your effort. Despite how little she tried in comparison. There was the time when we were eleven and your dad forgot you at the grocery store. You didn't smile until you saw me, bounding up to you with a megawatt smile. We linked pinkies like always and then everything was alright again. There was the time Puck called you ugly in sixth grade. I remember you asking to go to the bathroom. When I followed you in, there you were, sitting on the floor crying your eyes out, saying you'd never be as pretty as me. I smiled at you because you've always been the prettier one and then plopped down beside you. You buried your head in my shirt and cried for what felt like forever and yet not long enough. Not long enough of us just being together. After you were done, you linked our pinkies together and we walked back to class, as strong as ever.
I've seen you cry. But never like this. There's something wrong with your tears. You look more panicked. More desperate. More broken. I don't really know what happened. I don't think I want to know what happened. What could have possibly made you like this. Yet, at the same time, I NEED to know. I need to stop it from ever happening again. From ruining you like this. Everything is different. Your eyes, your smell, your aura, you. And I so desperately just want to plant a kiss on your forehead and tell you that it's going to be okay because I love you and we'll get through this. But I don't say that. Instead, I hug you tighter as you gasp for air, desperately trying to explain yourself. I don't need an explanation though. Not yet. I just need you to be you. So I shush you softly and keep hugging you until the tears eventually stop. I told you that we could just sleep for now and talk about it in the morning. You agreed, allowing me to kiss you oh so briefly on the forehead, telling me that I was too good for you, that you didn't deserve me. Yet, when I woke up alone, I couldn't help but wonder if you meant it.
Before you left, you told me you loved me, but you said it too quietly. I didn't hear you.