Water-Proof Mascara
Summary: I guessed that if you cry enough, the makeup wears off. But then, it begins staying again later.
Rating: T for language and suggestive themes
Spoilers: 2X15 ("Sexy") and an added backstory to the scene where dirt falls out of Santana's locker in the 2X16 ("Original Song") promo.
Disclaimer: Anything related to Glee goes to the credit of Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, Ian Brennan and Fox & Co.
Author's Note: If anything in this offends anyone (in terms of language and things of that sort), I am truly sorry. I try to write as realistically as possible and I know that no matter how hard it may be, that these words are used, so please understand that and if you are offended, I truly am sorry. The world is a cruel place.
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Fuck Artie. Fuck Glee Club. Fuck Holly Holliday. Fuck Brittany even though I could never be mad at her - even for this.
So therefore I sat here, wallowing in self-pity. I was missing Algebra II or maybe it's World History or something like that, but I didn't really give a damn. What I did give a damn about though, was that she rejected me.
That's when she walked in.
"Hi San," she said nervously, staring at her hands twitching and intertwining near her waist.
"What do you want, Brittany?" I snapped. "Come to reject me again?"
She hesitated guiltily at my face with its faint glittering tear tracks and dried bits of mascara that was supposed to be water-proof. I guessed that if you cry too much, the makeup wore off. However, the sting never does.
"I'm sorry, San," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I just couldn't break up with him."
I looked up at her, glaring, even though I couldn't bring myself to roll my eyes. "So what?" I demanded. "I'm just your stupid consolation prize so you can come crying to me when Artie dumps you? You think that I'm just going to make you feel better with some Sweet Valley High and sweet lady kisses? Because that's not the way it's going to work from now on."
"I'm sorry, San," she begged again. "I'm so sorry. I love him. I just couldn't do it. Please forgive me."
I'm surprised that she isn't on her knees. "Sit down," I commanded, and she did, sinking to the floor beside me.
I looked up at her regretfully, as those eyes just seemed to kill me. "Do you know how much that hurts, Britt? Being second-best?" I swallowed as I tried not to choke. "Do you know how much you hurt me? Do you understand."
She nodded slowly and I heard her click her tongue up and down in her mouth like she was processing the information. She knew that she's not the smartest person on the planet.
"Yeah..." she began softly. "I do. It's like when you were using me as a sex toy in replacement of Puck. Remember when you got mad at me for wanted to do a duet. That's when I started dating Artie. To make you jealous."
And that was all it took for me to lose it more than I had already. My body conformed into the shape of the front of her shirt and I tried to breathe evenly even though it was proving impossible right then.
"I'm sorry, Britt-Britt. I'm just so terrified of all the consequences. Not only will I be called all of this stuff, I'll also be called a hypocrite for making fun of Kurt a bit."
She rubbed my back up and down softly and lovingly and at that moment I just wanted to reach up and kiss her. But I couldn't. She was dating Wheels.
I took a deep breath. "I have to ask you something, Brittany. What would you compare loving Artie to?"
She looked confused. "Huh?"
"Like," I continued, "do you love Artie like you love Charity, your cat, or rainbow socks maybe? Or do you love Artie like you love me?"
She looked like her system was on overload as she processed the information. "I love Artie like when you come with me to feed the ducks at the park or when I eat pancakes."
She seemed satisfied with her answer.
"That's what I thought," I whispered and looked up at her. "Brittany," I began slowly, "honey, you don't really love Artie."
She looked confused once more. "But I do love him."
"Yes, Britt-Britt, you do love him, but you're not in love with him. You're in love with me."
Her mouth opened slightly, closed, and then opened again. "Oh..." she trailed off.
"Please think about it, Britt-Britt," I asked, my voice cracking once more as another black streak tumbled down my cheek. So much for water-proof. "Please just think."
"Artie," I heard her voice from around the corner. "We need to talk."
He looked slightly nervous as she wheeled him into another room. I rushed to the door to catch the beginning of the conversation. I think she knew I was listening.
"You've done nothing wrong," I could hear her starting off. "In fact, you've been a great boyfriend. You let me ride around on your lap and pass the meatball to you with my nose and you gave me the magic comb and told me I was like magic."
I clenched my fists as realized that he had been treating her like such a child from the very beginning.
"So I take it that you're breaking up with me?" I heard him ask, his nerdy voice staying in place. "May I ask why?"
I could hear her breathing speed up. "It's..." she began, "it's Santana. She's in love with me and I'm in love with her."
"Fine," he said, and wheeled out of the room, almost flattening me when the door slammed open.
However, I was more concerned with the look on Brittany's face. She looked halfway to heartbroken, but she wasn't crying.
I scooped her into my arms. "It's going to be okay, Britt-Britt. It's going to be okay."
She smiled at me and then kissed me full on the lips gently. I took a full advantage of the oppurtunity and kissed her right back, not really caring if there were any witnesses.
We probably should have if we cared about our image.
She told me that she saw it coming before it hit her. The blue ice was shattered all over her clothes, as well as a bag of various insults.
"Faggot!"
"Dyke!"
"Retard!"
"Nice gaydar, freak!"
I cleaned her up slowly in the girl's bathroom. She looked devastated, and I was.
"It's going to be okay, Britt-Britt. We'll get through this. We'll get through this." But I didn't know if I was trying to convince her or myself.
The slushie had spread all over her face, smearing the makeup I had carefully helped her apply earlier just that day. Even the water-proof mascara was smeared.
"San?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Why do they hate us?" She sounded so innocent and naïve that I wanted to start crying again.
I didn't know what to say, so I just smiled. "Oh, Britt-Britt, they don't hate us. They're just jealous of us. They either want you or me."
"Oh," she said, seeming to accept the quickly-formed answer.
The second attack came later that day, to me, and I think I knew who it came from. It didn't come from a homophobe, it came from someone who I could tell Brittany that he was jealous and not have to lie.
Artie.
The dirt fell out of my locker with an astounding amount of force, all over my lightly-colored clothes.
"God fucking dammit," I had murmured, and Brittany came up behind me just as I did.
"Oh, San!" she gasped, and pulled me into a hug, not really caring if the dirt got onto any of her clothes.
I don't think anyone, not even me at first, except for Brittany, noticed that slowly the dirt was washing off of my face due to the tears that were slowly snaking down around my nose and lingering on my chin.
"So are you all staying here?" Mr. Schue was asking one day during glee practice.
"Um," I hesitated, looking at Brittany, "yeah, I assume so. I mean, we're happy here, so why should we leave?"
The whole club looked at us like we were crazy. "The abuse?" Quinn pointed out.
"Yeah," Brittany said, "but none of you abuse us, so it's okay. We know that we're safe."
Mr. Schue smiled at us. "Well, that's nice to hear. Alright, guys, time to move on to Michael Bolton!"
There was a harmonious sigh.
Eleven Years Later:
Brittany and I have been married for six years now. We had decided that it would be better to finish high school and college before getting married.
Brittany's actually a fairly good cook now. She doesn't find the recipes confusing, as I helped teach her before going off to college. I didn't want her plaguing her body with processed foods and pizza every night.
We have two beautiful daughters named Jasmine and Ariel, their male genes thanks to Puck and Artie (who finally got over the fact that Brittany broke up with him for me and was actually happy for us) - we named them after Disney princesses just for Brittany, even though she still doesn't quite understand the full concept of The Little Mermaid. ("Wouldn't they drown?") I gave birth to Jasmine, and Brittany gave birth to Ariel.
I work at a law firm in prosecution. I guess you could say that I'm pretty good at blaming those who need to be blamed. Brittany takes care of the girls all day, and she's one of the most amazing mothers I've ever met. Perhaps it's because she can relate to them more than I can.
But no matter what, I know that my water-proof mascara has not failed me in six years.
Author's Note: So, I hoped that you enjoyed the story. I enjoyed writing it! You know the drill.
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