Hi, guys!
This fanfic took life in my brain a couple of days ago and most specifically after my huge disappointment in the season finale. The disgust at the way that they meanly mistreated both Britt and Brittana basically made me think to an alternative end!
My story starts at the end of the summer after the senior year and it talks about future plans, love, hurdles and all that stuff like feelings that clearly at some point of the season RIB decided that Brittany and Santana didn't feel after all.
Let me know if you like the idea, this first chapter, the start of the story and stuff! I'm waiting for your comments and suggestions!
Enjoy the reading!
the old phib
Chapter 1: Homesick Silence
"All I want is you, will you be my bride?
Take me by the hand and stay by my side.
All I want is you, will you stay with me?" (Barry Louis Polisar – "All I Want Is You")
There are moments in our lives when we think that we spent all the words we possess, when the only freezing sensation that fills our heart is that there's simply nothing left to say, when we desperately would find that fucking something that helps us to break the miserable fatal silence that we're just trying to run away from. But we can't. We just can't.
It's mind-blowing and foolishly crystal clear. The silence, I mean. The immediate way it can knead our mood. And the funny thing is that it's all up to the circumstances. Have you ever thought about it? About the silence and the way it makes us feel? Our reactions merely depend on what is happening around us. The uncontrollable unpredictability of life itself is something that always keeps on surprising and scaring us. And so it works. The silence. The silences. There are two kinds of silences. There's the good one and the bad one. Right like policemen or cholesterol. There's that type of silence that is just relaxing and relieving, that silence when you're all alone under a sky filled by stars in a warm night of May, when you just listen to the distant chirp of the crickets and you let slip a tiny thought to someone you love, a silence that is just quiet and re-birthing, a silence that sets your mind at rest.
But unfortunately their silence is not that kind of silence. Their silence is the aching and destroying one. It's the silence that throttles us till it sees us choking. It's the silence that we try to avoid in all the possible ways, it's the silence that we run away from, the silence that forces us to blab and split some shit out of our mouth just in order to fill our ears with something that takes us away from the ghastly noise of a world that falls down to pieces. It happens when we can't but let the fear possess us, when we can't but think that maybe if we have nothing to say we'll really be at the end of everything, when we can't but fight the need to cry away the pain of that umpteenth goodbye.
The asphalt almost creaks in patches under the coarse surface of the tires of her black Toyota. Or anyway that is the fucking totally unpleasant impression that makes. The radio is airing some stupid kind of country song that none of them likes, but they argued because of the music just less than a couple of hours ago and it seems enough to the both of them. They're not the kind of persons that likes quarrels. Not even Santana. At least not with her. She hasn't ever been able to be mad at her for more than a couple of hours. She simply can't. It's just something that goes against her true nature. She's always hated to be mad at her, at the only one that could really see into her soul and reach that deep well-hidden side that no one else in her existence have never taken the trouble to seek. Astounding surprises are waiting for us when we try to dig under the surface. Brittany had to break so many layers of rock before she could touch the true nature of her girlfriend's intimate self, but the absolute devotion and abandon, that Santana has been taking care of her since that time with, can't but confirm that it was really worth it.
Some people says that the worst thing when we're passing through gloomy times is to remember our happiness. Ironic and cruel like the insensitive notes of "Cherish" begin to thump and slam against the walls of the car that haven't ever seem so narrow. Santana forces herself to swallow the unbearable urge to turn down the volume. Brittany almost hypnotized stares at the letters of the title of the song that flow on the display of the car radio like she can see also their kiss shine in it. Her blue eyes tremble in the exact moment that she feel it again, like it is now, on her lips, so she turns her head to the window and she tries to close her eyelids, part to choke back the tears, part to brand that perfect sadly past image on her eyes.
If only someone who doesn't know them see their distant bodies sitting on the seats of Santana's car now, no one in the earth will be able to guess who they are. Who they are for each other. That essentially is the only thing that really matters. Or at least it should be. Or at least in Santana's fucking point of view. But maybe she was wrong, right? Just wrong. Even if she still refuses to think such an horrible and insane thing. She unconsciously lightly shakes her head, her long brown hair flutters in the air carried by the wind that constantly takes refuge in the passenger compartment through thin draughts from the opened window. The perfection of her features is almost dramatic, but sadly useless in the meantime, since no one is watching. They sit like this, Santana silently driving with a look still full of struggling disbelief, defeat, losing and painful adoration, Brittany silently trying to pretend that she's sleeping, part to kid her own fucking self about the fact that she's okay with it, part to attempt to make Santana at least a tiny bit more comfortable saving her the trouble of keeping her gaze away from her eyes.
If only someone who doesn't know them see their distant bodies on the seats of Santana's car now, no one in the earth will be able to guess how madly they're in love with each other, how madly they would touch or even just lightly brush each other's hand, how madly they would need it right now, but how madly they can't. They just can't. Not after what happened. Not before what will in the space of a few tens of hours. The fresh landscape speeds around the car, the dawn would surely have been a wonderful amazement to look up to, but it's almost 9 a.m. by now and they both forgot even how much they like it. Santana is not the typical beauties-of-nature-addicted, she more a city-girl, but Brittany could make her love even the melting being breathless by a sun that rises on the lake. Even if the lakes that they visited during their summer trip were all fabulous, maybe Moraine Lake, the last one, would probably be her favorite one. Maybe. Yeah. She can't say it now. She can just think about it now, now that the fucking damned notes of "Cherish" finally stops stabbing her suffering heart, now that some stupid other shit begin to fill her ears, now that the only thing that she would hear is Britt's breath, choked by the music, now that the dread of the unforeseen starts to burn harder. She can just think about it. She can just suppose it. That maybe it would probably be her favorite one. Maybe. Yeah. If only it hadn't ended like that.