We're all just scattered broken things, all of us.
Santana however, felt that her hurt cut too deep. That the pain was too real, she wondered why they didn't make medication for pain like this until she realized that if they did, life as we know it would stop. For everyone would be taking it and nobody would be feeling.
Anything.
So she put it away, burying her feelings until they started to bubble up as anger showing themselves as arguments at school with girls she didn't know or snapping at kind faces just because she couldn't stop herself. She wasn't living, but it was her life. She took Spanish instead of Psych as her easy class since the idea of learning more about herself scared her. Santana didn't want to know why she acted the way she did, not when she was trying so hard to run away. She hated looking back to the start of it all, of the feelings and the dare she say it, love.
She had always been her favorite, in all their times together she couldn't pick out what she loved best, perhaps it was in the way her eyes crinkled seconds before she smiled dancing with silent but radiant joy. Or maybe is was the softness of her skin. She loved to flit her fingers across her stomach, her shoulders…touching but barely, with the wonder of a child who just discovered the magic of silk. Sometimes she swore she loved her hands the most…. her eyes were beautiful of course, soft yet piercing in a way that made her feel like if her gaze could cut she would be bleeding hidden truths instead of blood. Sometimes they even spoke together with their eyes…but no, her hands were different. They were always warm, as if they radiated love. Whether it was rubbing her shoulders after a Cheerios practice or a gentle touch in glee club, a stroke here, a firm hold there…every touch was words, hundreds of words felt in a second, fleeting flashes of love and assurance that she wished would last forever.
She didn't like to call it love or admit to it, because she didn't believe that love felt this way. Love didn't make your chest burn, it didn't make you forget how to breathe as you tried to swallow back tears. Love didn't lock bedroom doors as you hid yourself from your parents afraid that if they saw you they would bring questions. Love didn't make you look in the mirror no longer recognizing the reflection.