Helllooooooo! So I'm back (sort of) for my next fic! The update rate will be about once per week, because life/school/exams/shit is getting hectic and I'm lacking sleep (and therefore lacking ideas)

BUT. i do have this fic all planned out, so I believe I can keep updates fairly steady!

This is slightly AU, but Santana and Quinn have grown up together and high school is quite similar to how GLEEEE portrays it (although slightly different. you'll see as the story progresses!)

I vow to make chapters longer (hopefully!) and cut down on the crap i say in my AN (which is already failing)!

Anyways, hope you enjoy! And have funnnn reading thiss! R&R

Chapter 1

Quinn's POV

"So I'm still allowed to flirt, still allowed to fuck other girls. Only difference is I have a few maids, lots of good food, and a big house, big bed to live and sleep in. And a so-called wife?"

"Yes!" The exasperation in my voice clearly frustrates me more than it frustrates the woman who just popped this question at me for the third time in an hour. Where is my usual composed self anyway?

The position I am in now was surely the most awkward position possible for any legal document to be signed. Instead of the usual, professional, and somehow menacing stance I take—leaning across the oak table, lips pursed into a mean frown, eyes squinted, and palms pressed against the hardened wood in a silent threat—I find strong, caramel-colored arms wrapped around my waist, creasing my freshly ironed dress shirt. Damn embarrassing. If any of my employees decided to walk unannounced into my private meeting room at this very moment, I'd be sure to have him castrated. Or have her dealt with one way or another. Actually, just having them removed from the face of this earth seems like a better idea.

Her voice tears apart all of my plans.

"This is a really good deal, Fabray. What's the catch? You rang me up last week, asked me out for coffee practically every day to try to know me again. And now this?"

"Lopez. Can you please sit back down. Stop clinging onto me."

"Awwww, wifey's mad!" I can hear the fucking smirk from her voice even though I can't see her. I want to punch her. Or kill her, that's alright too. Oh wait, I need her. Can't kill her. Yet.

If there is one person that can get on my nerves the split second she walks into the room, it's my cocky ass of an ex-best-friend, Santana Lopez.

"Look," I decide it's time to stop putting up with this shit. I shove her roughly, the direction of my push aimed so perfectly that she falls back onto a swivelling chair. It's a well-practiced action anyway. I near her, this time with the usual mean frown, squinted eyes, and straight back. "I just need you to sign this damn document lying on that damned table." My glare remains unfazed as she tilts her head to the side, with this ridiculous look on her face. Her countenance doesn't change either—no fear, no nothing.

I cant believe I've spent an hour with this insane woman. Such a waste of my time. I could be earning more money this very minute. I don't even want to start calculating how much money I've lost because of this loser.

"Quinn, what's wrong? You don't usually swear like a sailor."

I don't know whether it's her feigned concern or the part of me that wishes the concern wasn't feigned that disgusts me entirely. It's probably the way that she chooses to use my first name for the first time in years for this occasion. It's making me feel more uncomfortable than I already am.

"I'll spit in your face like one if you don't shut up. Can you just sign that damn document," my words sound bitter. They are as much of a command as a question.

"Why do you want a temporary wife by contract? And why me? I thought you were straight?"

I give up, throwing my hands into the air, "Can you stop questioning every thing I do?! I do it for a reason!"

"Oh, of course. I shouldn't be questioning anything at all here. If I sign this thing, I just magically become your fucking wife!" The sarcasm in her voice only makes me roll my eyes.

"Look, Lopez. You sign this thing, and I'll owe my life to you."

"This is some shit about Russel again, isn't it?"

I take a seat across her as I hear the name of my father. The reincarnation of Lucifer. If there was another person that could get on my nerves the split second he walked into the room, it would be Russel Fabray, my biological father, the spawn of hell.

I hate him because I've come to fear him. I'm not in control when he's around. And that kills me inside.

But what I hate more than the thought of Russel right now is how Santana is right yet again, as she often was. That was a fact I never would admit out loud. I don't like letting her know she's right about me.

"I thought mother divorcing him would make some sort of difference for me." I sigh, shaking my head.

"What did he do this time? I thought he was homophobic and everything? Why is he forcing you to marry me?" She looks really really skeptical about the situation at hand, but I really have little that I can tell her. The whole thing barely makes sense to me, so I don't really expect it to make sense to her either.

"He's not," I bite back quickly, smoothing out my black pencil skirt as I speak. I don't look at Santana, but I can tell her eyes are on me. "Apparently when I was 18, he somehow got ahold of me in a not-so-sober state and made me sign a legal document that I never thought could exist."

"Saying…?"

"If I wasn't married by my 25th birthday, I marry a pastor of his choice."

"Wow." She exhales. From the way she's looking kinda funny, I can tell she's holding back a sarcastic 'wanky'.

"Santana," I pause, realizing that I've used her first name to address her. I shake it off, or try to, at the very least. "You know my 25th birthday is three months away. I don't think I can land a Prince Charming on such short notice."

Santana only scoffs at my words, "I'd have thought Lucy Quinn Fabray would have began to plan this as soon as the document was signed."

"I would have if I knew about this contract. I didn't find out till last week." I know my voice sounds poisonous as the words slip through my lips, "That's why I called you."

"Alright, so now I understand why you'd want to get a fake marriage. But why me? I'm the next thing to your worst enemy."

You are my fucking worse enemy. Other than Russel. I grit my teeth again. "If I married some dope of a guy, I'd probably be forced into sex, right? Besides, men disgust me. After the pregnancy thing with Finn?"

I realize how 'lesbian' I must sound as I catch a glimmer of sympathy in the corner of Santana's eye, but it doesn't last long. Her tone is laced with something close to mock-amusement, "So the next logical choice is to call your lesbian ex-bestfriend and ask her to marry you?"

If I didn't need Santana so badly right now, I'd have sent her away with a fractured vagina. If that was even possible.

I know I do owe Santana a better explanation that what I'm giving her, but I really have none to offer. It's not everyday that a client sits in this room bombarding me with questions. Actually, it's never happened until today. Usually it's the standard sit down, read this, sign that, bye, next client please! Today it's more like the sit down, get the fuck on my nerves, ask enough questions to write a fucking book about it, and stay so fucking long that I'm gonna break down.

I try to control my temper. To lose it now, like losing it in front of all clients, is deadly.

"I sort-of know you. He sort-of knows you. You're lesbian. It works out so well." It's not much of an explanation, but it'll have to suffice. I stand up from my seat, walking towards her. I know my logic isn't really logic at all, but nonetheless, I need this thing signed. I put one hand on the table and lean low, until my face is a mere inch from her's. She smells like some tropical fruit. "So are you signing it or not?"

"Only for you, Blondie."

Much to my relief, her slender fingers reach for the pen lying on top of the papers.

But she's Santana, and she will not waste any chance to piss me off more. I know things can't be as simple as this. And I'm not wrong.

She leans up, and before I can react, I feel lady lips on mine.

Instantly, I pull away, "What the hell?!" I hear the drop of a pen and I realize she has signed the contract. It's a relief that this one-hour-and-fourteen-minutes of my life isn't entirely wasted.

"I thought I could kiss my wife." Her trademark smirk is almost more than I can bare. "Shall we consummate our marriage tonight?"

"Out. Now." My voice is as cold as ice, as sharp as the knife I want to stab into her. It's not that I hate her. I always thought the opposite of love was hate, but how wrong I have been! Seeing her again reminds me what the opposite of love is. It's pain. Pure, unadulterated pain.

She stands up as she laughs half-heartedly, and I find it rude and mocking, "When do I move in?"

"Today. This document makes us legal."

"Temporarily legal," her voice softens as she reminds me of this oh-so-very vital point. I nod in silence as I stack up the 58-page packet, glancing down to examine her signature. It's elaborate and professional, each loop and curl seemingly flawless. It's a little like Santana herself, really.

I watch her as she pushes the sanded glass door aside, looking back at me to flash a quick wink. Then she just walks straight out, as though nothing ever happened between us.

Suddenly it all feels too familiar.

I remember things I wish I could forget and feel a little dizzy as a flood of memory drowns me.

This whole meeting up with Santana and marrying her and then being kissed and walked out on makes me wish I could rid myself of the memory of why Santana and I had grown apart in the first place. I wish my brain would forget the first kiss I ever had. I wish I could forget the way she looked when she walked out of my bedroom door of my childhood home for the last time.

I sink deep into a nearby swivelling chair, and sink even deeper into my own past.

In retrospect, I was a damned fool. I hated my father for what he did to me. For what he did to Santana and I. It's a real pity I was raised by a homophobic bastard to be a homophobic bitch.

I had known Santana all my life, and I had known all along she was different. Even in the early days of middle school, when I fantasized about my Prince Charming, or about a first kiss or some prom date or something relating to a boy, Santana never joined in. She'd listen, but she'd look at me a little weirdly. She'd smile from time to time, and tell me that she was capable of doing what I wanted from a guy. But I'd always brush her off. How did I not get that fucking hint.

Our childhood days were filled with 'Santana and Quinn' or 'Quinn and Santana'. Sometimes, I felt like she was part of me. We never spent any recess, any holiday apart. We had grown up together, and somewhere along the lines, we must have vowed to grow old together. Santana and I were practically inseparable. It felt like she was joined to me at the waist. She's the siamese twin I never had.

But that all changed in the summer just before our freshmen year in highschool. I want to forget what happened, but I can't. It's really funny how things you meant to remember seem to slip away with time, but things you wish to forget just never go away. Maybe it's the constant reminder you give yourself in order to remember to forget the event that makes it stay alive.

I remember it as clearly as yesterday, the way she came crying to me, tears falling from the eyes of the strongest girl I knew. I remember the way I held her, and the way I combed my fingers through her hair to calm her like I always did. I remember hearing her tell me she didn't want me to start dating Finn, and she didn't want me to leave her. I remember her leaning up and telling me she loved me. And then there was that touch of her lips on mine. It sent a fire through my body and I felt scared. That became my memory of a first kiss.

I don't remember reciprocating either the kiss or the words, but I do remember pushing her away immediately, telling her to go, and watching her shaking back as she walked out of my bedroom door. Without looking back.

Just like that, she was gone forever.

I didn't hate the kiss. I didn't hate her. Was I supposed to? I was simply confused.

I think it was more of my fear of the unknown that made me run away by making her go. I wasn't scared of her. But I knew we were both girls, and that kiss nearly made me lesbian. To a church educated girl, that was wrong.

It still haunts me, how I so coldly rejected her. I loved her, maybe not in the exact same way… but Santana was my best friend, and she didn't deserve what I gave her. I regret that singular shove I gave her that day, and every time we fought in school after, every shove I sent in her direction made me feel more guilty about the first shove.

To my surprise, she never expressed direct resentment towards me when we met again. Two weeks later, when we were back in school as freshmen, she acted like nothing happened. But something did. It was never 'Santana and Quinn' or 'Quinn and Santana' anymore. It became 'Santana, Quinn, and Brittany' or some form of those three words in another order. I can't even remember the exact moment when Brittany joined our party of two.

I didn't really like that. I've always heard it said 'two's company, three's a crowd'. It's actually surprisingly accurate. Especially since 'Santana, Quinn, and Brittany' very quickly became 'Santana and Brittany' or 'Brittany and Santana'. By the middle of the school year, I was often alone, feeling like the third wheel as I tagged along behind S and B.

I missed the days when Santana would come over for no real reason and hang out. She still that, but not with me. It really didn't shock me when she came out of the closet with Brittany. What else was I to expect?

I had felt hurt, but my pain must have been nothing compared to the pain she felt with that singular push. Although she was civil enough with me to begin with, she became increasingly snappy, increasingly insulting. I don't remember when we stopped texting, stopped talking, stopped communicating. Apart from the occasional insults we shot at each other, we never did say an extra word.

We climbed up the Cheerios pyramid together, but never without pushing the other back down to the bottom at every chance we had. Somehow we had changed from friends to enemies. I don't know how it happened. I wish I did, because if I did, I could maybe undo the damage.

But I didn't know, and I couldn't undo the damage. Santana was just never there anymore.

She wasn't there when I had my pregnancy. She wasn't there when my father kicked me out. She wasn't there when the baby was gone. She wasn't there when I had Finn stolen by Rachel—she wasn't there when I needed her most.

Well, not physically. Sometimes I'd catch a glimpse or something from her. Something so small that no one but I noticed. But it feels so little. I needed a lot more.

It hurt to feel so estranged, but I'd never admit it, at least not to her.

Pure pain.

We just stayed that way in a very strained relationship till we graduated.

After we graduated, I didn't see her again. We didn't talk. I had her on Facebook, and occasionally I'd see a photo she posted or her relationship status (which changed every week), but I never responded, liked, or shared anything of her's. I'd simply keep scrolling.

I didn't want to be reminded of her. I didn't want to think about her, or anything we had or I wish we had now. I didn't want to face the pain again.

She never seemed to miss me, not that I blamed her. I would tell myself I didn't miss her either. It's really just an elaborate lie I've made up to keep myself in check.

That was until last week. I found out about the hell I was shortly about to plunge into. I knew I had to get in touch with her. If there was one person on this earth that would agree to a wedlock by contract to save my life, it would be her. I knew that Santana Lopez was still a far shot from perfection for a plan like this to work out, but she was my best choice. She's a far shot from how I planned my life to be, but with my ship sailing fast and furious into an iceberg, she'd have to do.

I feel rather guilty because I feel like I'm just using her. But they say that when you've loved someone, you always have a soft spot for them. And I absolutely need that soft spot from her.

I'm a calculating bitch. I always have been. There's no other way to be successful in this career.

I am well aware of her playgirl habits, but I also know she can be secretive. She was and is an actress, like me. We'd pull this off. It wasn't exclusive anyway. And when my dad left for good, I could break off this ridiculous marriage.

I know Santana well enough to know that ever since Brittany broke her heart, she'd been playing 'no strings attached' with all her relationships, so the divorce would be easy as hell to complete. I'd send her away with a large sum of money and never see her again.

I pushed open the sanded glass door that separated this room from the main corridor. As I walked through I heaved the heaviest sigh of relief I ever have since the end of the pregnancy ordeal. At least for now, I am safe enough.

Thanks to all the training I had, I had picked out from Russel's documents, one fatal flaw. That one flaw saved me from turning my life into hell again. Well, I was free of Russel-hell, but I was now diving straight into Santana-hell. I knew it wouldn't be as bad though. Nothing could quite compare to Russel-hell.

To cheer myself up a little more about my whole current situation, I told myself it'd just be like living like roommates. We'd sleep in different rooms, and maybe talk occasionally.

I didn't like the idea of being married to Santana, but I secretly relished the thought of the possibility of salvaging the tattered remains of our friendship.

I never dreamed of anything more.

But then again, Santana is well, Santana, and that makes the whole relationship unpredictable.