The Landslide Brought Me Down

Chapter 1: Reflections

A/N: Okay, Just a fair warning, this is a very dark fic. Very VERY dark. Read at your own risk.

Between what happened in 2x15: Sexy, and the spoilers that have been going around, this came into my head. I hope I'm wrong, but I had to get this fic out.

Santana's POV.

S S S S S S

"Please...Tell me you love me, too. Please..."

The words cirlced around and around in my mind, while the rest of my existance came undone.

It had been her, it had always been her.

S S S S S S S S

I was seven years old, running down the street, no shoes, no jacket, in the pouring rain. I had to run away from it. It couldn't be real, it just couldn't be.

Somehow, I found her house, through the tears, and the rain. I don't remember knocking on her door, I just remembered seeing her open it.

"San? What's wrong? Why don't you got no shoes on?"

"Britt... My daddy, he's...he's gone. He left us. Me and mommy have to move. Clear to the other side of town. She showed me the appart-apartment. It's so little, Britt. And dirty, and stinky, and they have dogs, Britt! DOGS. Not cute little kitty cats like yours, big, mean, smelly, yucky dogs. What am I gonna do Britty? I can't move away and live next to stinking dogs!"

She cried with me, she hugged me, and held me, and I felt like this was home.

S S S S S S S

When I was ten, and my mom got sick, she was there. She was always there. No matter what happened, she was there.

When I was eleven, and my dad came back into the picture, she was there for that, too. She held me in my room, while they screamed at eachother. I would hide my face in her hair, and she would just hold me, and tell me "It'll be okay. It'll be over soon."

When I was twelve, and my dad won the custody battles, and I had to go stay with him every weekend, she always came with me. We'd hide in my room, and watch movies and cartoons, and try to ignore the sounds coming from my father's bedroom, when woman after woman dissapeared through the door to his room with him.

When we got into middle school, however, it was my turn to be there for her. People would tease her, as ruthless middle school children do, but once I got my hands on them, they never teased her again. It didn't take long for people to learn that if they did ANYTHING to hurt my Brittany, I would hurt them.

It stayed like that, I protected her at school, she protected me at home.

S S S S S S

It's scary, when you're fourteen, and you start discovering your sexuality, when you start to have feelings you didn't have before. It's even more terrifying when those feelings are for your best friend, your female best friend.

My parents are very religious, despite the problems and shortcommings they had in their marriage. No matter which parent's house I was at, I would always hear the same things when the news came on. Disgusted mutterings about queers, about "aboinations," and things that "went against God," so when I started to feel...whatever it was I was feeling for my Brittany, it scared the everliving hell out of me.

I couldn't be gay. I'd tell myself that over and over again, I couldn't be gay, I couldn't be gay. I had to be normal. I couldn't be gay.

S S S S S

Then, that stupid party... We were almost fifteen at the time, and somehow ended up at the first "bad" party we'd ever been to. Lots of first were lost that night.

The first time I had ever tried alcahol.

The first time I had ever gotten drunk.

My first kiss.

My first experiences with sex.

All in one night.

Britt and I were well and hammered, and stummbled our way into an empty bedroom. She said "San, I wonder what it would feel like to kiss somebody, like really kiss, when I'm all hot and warm and happy like this."

So, I kissed her. She kissed me back. Then we kissed, and kissed... Exploring eachother. It wasn't long before we were exploring more than just eachother's mouthes.

It was mind-blowing. This was my Britt. My Britt, kissing me. My Britt, touching me. My Britt's hands all over me.

It felt right. The voices in the back of my mind that would always whisper "you can't be gay, you can't be gay," had finally shut up for once.

One thing you need to know about me, is that if something happens I can't deal with, I run away from it. If I ran away from it, it just didn't exist.

So that's what I did, the first time I saw her kissing a boy, two weeks later.

I ran.

I didn't stop running for years.

S S S S S S

I pretended to just fool around with her, whever we got bored, or didn't have any body else to fool around with. I pretended like it didn't matter, like it didn't make me feel the way it did. So many times, I'd have to hide my silent tears that would fall afterwords, when she was asleep.

I watched her bounce from guy to guy, clueless as to the effect that it had on me. I was so scared of dealing with my feelings for her, I never, not once, told her how I really felt about her. I just watched in silent agony as she'd throw herself around, like she didn't matter, at anything that would stand still long enough.

I finally locked my heart away, built up walls of bitchiness around me, and stopped letting myself get hurt. I got so good at pretending not to care, that I had even convinced myself.

I tried to do what she did, I just never said no. Nobody really cared about me, they just liked my body. Well, I had to be good at something, right? I only had two things I was good at: sex, and Cheerleading.

At least, until I joined Glee, that is.

I kept myself shut-off, no emotions. I kept my heart locked away, I kept walls up around me to protect me. I refused to feel anything, unless it was a desire for revenge.

Until I had actually watched her fall in love.

Then, I hurt so much I couldn't even make myself run anymore.

I just pulled back. I stopped calling her all the time, the texts stopped, I tried to avoid contact with her as much as I could.

I couldn't avoid her in Glee club, though. Every single day, I'd have to watch her smile and faun over Artie, that stupid, stupid Artie. I had to watch him sing love songs to her, smile at her, do stupid little tricks in his wheel-chair, with her in his lap, giggling.

I had to watch as my Brittany became his Brittany.

I lashed out. I'm not proud to admit it, but that's how I dealt with it.

I went around sabbotaging as many people as I possibly could.

Hurting everybody in my path.

Picking fights, breaking up relationships.

I never wanted to be with Finn, I just didn't want to see Rachel happy.

I never wanted to be with Sam, I just didn't want to see Quinn happy.

I never could bring myself to mess with Brittany and Artie, though, after my one conversation with him about those damned duets.

That night, Brittany turned up on my doorstep, sobbing. Artie had broken up with her, she said. Artie refused to do a duet with her, she said. Artie, Artie, Artie.

Well, damn.

S S S S S S

That brings us back to where I am now, hiding in a janitorial closet, having a breakdown.

Artie.

Artie.

Brittany wasn't my Brittany anymore.

She was Artie's.

She chose Artie.

She chose him.

She loves him.

I'm the consolation prize, now.

If she ever does break up with Artie, then she'll decide she wants me?

I was so stupid.

So so stupid.

I exposed myself.

I knocked down those damned walls around me, and let that girl in.

I let her straight into my heart.

Hell, I ripped it out of my chest and handed it to her on a silver platter.

I've lost everything.

The only thing I've ever known was Brittany.

She was my everything.

She was my rock.

She was my best friend.

She was my true love.

And she doesn't want me.

She doesn't want me.

I'm a freak.

I'm dirty.

I'm nothing.

I should've listened to those voices in my head.

"You can't be gay. You can't be gay."

I was weak.

I gave into those feelings, and look where it's gotten me.

I just want to stop hurting.

I just want the pain to end.

I just want to stop feeling.

Broken, shattered; an empty shell sitting in a janitorial closet.

I just want to stop hurting.

I just want the pain to end.

I just want to stop feeling.

I don't realise my hands are searching around the dark closet, until I look down and see them. I have no control over them.

I just watch as the flit around the shelves, like somebody watching very large spiders, as they search for prey.

I just want to stop hurting...

How are my hands moving?

I'm not controlling them.

I just want the pain to end...

My hands have picked something up.

They've found whatever it was they were searching for.

What is it?

I can't think.

The pain of feeling myself shatter...

I can't think...

I realise what it is I'm holding, and all at once, I understand.

I just want to stop feeling...