A/N: This is a little something I wrote a while ago, and just found in my email drafts! haha. It's ridiculously autobiographical, and I only realize now. So, it's not really AU, because we know of the Brittany/Santana situation, and it's very possible that all of these things happened to them, but they weren't put on the story line. If that makes sense? lol. Anyway, I wrote this randomly and it made me realize how alike Brittany & Santana's relationship is to that of me and my best friend, and everything is real (except the characters ha). As you'll gather from reading, the time line is completely different to the one in Glee, and Brittany doesn't reciprocate Santana's feelings. Angst ensues! It's un beta'd and unedited, so it's most likely crap. Sorry!
For those who read "Don't come back for me", I just got my laptop back so I'm working on new chapters atm and am hoping to update shortly, full Author's Notes included.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Glee belongs to RIB and Fox, songs belong to Ke$ha.
I watch her walk down the corridor from behind my locker door. She stops at her locker, two down from mine, and glances at me standing just inside her periphery vision. I lower my gaze and turn back to my locker, slamming it shut and throwing my bag over my shoulder. I walk by her - or attempt to - staring straight ahead at the double doors that are acting as a barrier, holding the awkard air into the corridor. As I pass, she grabs my left arm. I freeze. She hasn't been within two feet of me for so long, and hasn't touched me for even longer. My eyes flicker to her hand wrapped around my elbow, before sliding shut as she speaks. "I miss you" and "Can we fix this?" drowned out by the rushing of blood through my ears, signalling the kickstart of my heart at her touch.
I look up into her bright eyes and clear my throat. "There's nothing to fix. You wanted this, you did this."
"I never said that. You broke this off, stopped talking to me." Her words are strained by emotion, and I think it's probably the only time she's ever shown me any. I laugh.
"Yeah, that's true. But don't pretend I wasn't killing you just as much as you were me." I wrench my arm out of her grip, and leave her alone in the hallway, head bowed and fists clenched.
Two weeks later, I'm standing in Quinn's room, Ke$ha blaring through her iPod speakers as we get ready to go to a party with a few other friends. She walks through the door, having broken away from the group of new arrivals downstairs, and I shoot Quinn the filthiest glare I can muster. She ignores it, and turns to the newcomer with a bright smile and a greeting, "Britt! I'm so glad you came! Where's everyone else?"
Quinn scurries out of the room, leaving us alone except for two other girls. Mercedes and Tina speak quietly with her, before shooting each other worried glances as she looks at my back. I see them in the mirror, but don't say anything. Suddenly, Quinn's baby sister runs into the room, squeeling with delight when she sees the make up cases scattered everywhere.
"Santana! Santana, will you do my make up please?" The five year old begs, and I turn to her with a smile.
"Of course boo, just give me one minute to finish my own."
I turn back to the mirror, and the five year old is clearly oblivious to the awkward air about the other occupants of the room, because she huffs and turns to Brittany, "B! Will you start while Santana finishes her make up?" My hand stutters on my eye lid, smudging my liner, and I gaze at the tiny blonde in the mirror. Brittany starts her make up, shooting me a timid glance, and I change the song when "Dancing with tears in my eyes" comes on, hitting the next button and thinking nothing of it. I stroll out of the room when I finish my eye liner and Quinn, recently returned, follows me.
"Are you okay? I'm sorry I didn't tell you she was coming. It would have seemed weird if I invited everyone, but left her out."
"I'm fine. I don't care that she's here, I care that you told me she wouldn't be. Next time, don't lie." Someone changed the song again in the room, and I turned and stormed down the stairs, forgetting I had alienated myself from everyone else in the group also.
When I walk into the kitchen, though, it hits me like a tonne of bricks. Everyone looks at me, some even stop talking. I ignore them and move immediately to the double doors leading to the back patio, pulling out a cigarette. Coming out tonight was such an awful idea.
This all started about six months ago. I've known I love Britt for a very long time. But telling her was something else entirely. She didn't love me back. She looked at me, stony faced as I cried, and didn't say anything more than "I'm sorry... I don't feel the same." I walked away and left the party immediately, tear tracks down my face. Sam stopped me, asked me what was wrong, but by the look on his face and the stare he gave the back garden, I know he knew. I told him I was fine, and continued on my intended path home.
Ten minutes into my journey, I received a text from Brittany:
Please don't let this ruin us. I know what you think I'm thinking, but you're wrong. I don't and won't ever think any less of you for this. Please come back and talk to me.
I snapped the phone shut and kept walking. That was the last contact I had with her for about a week. Then I texted her drunk while at a new years party before Sarah, a friend from a different school, ripped my phone out of my hands and shoved it down her top. I burst into tears and eventually fell asleep.
We decided to talk about it. We met up the next day, and I showed her all of my scars, bore my soul to her and begged for a response to my tears. She told me she was sorry for everything I had been through, that she wanted to be friends again, put everything behind her and work at our friendship. I agreed, delighted at the time, but soon after I realised that she didn't show any sort of reaction to my secrets. She didn't tell me any of her own, didn't cry when I confessed my plans to kill myself, didn't console me when I cried. She merely stood there, stony faced again, and waited for it to be her turn.
Eventually this lead to me telling her again that I wanted her out of my life.
We spent months ignoring each other. Texting when we were drunk and being overly dramatic and catty, then pretending it had never happened the next day. It broke my heart every time I saw her. She broke my fucking heart. Because for everything I had given her, all the love I harbored for her, and all the things I would do for her, she never reiprocated. And never would, she had made clear.
Which brings me back to now. We're both drunk, not having even arrived at the party yet, and it's my job to organize the taxi's there and back. I'm collecting money, and she's started helping me. We act cicvil, but it still breaks my heart. I'm laughing a ridiculous amount, talking to everyone in the room, and singing like my life depends on it. I know I'm showing off. I wonder if she does too.
Later, we're left alone in the back of a taxi coach together. Her boyfriend is up front, unable to fit down the narrow, tiny aisle. We're still drinking, cradling our cans of beer like lifelines, and even laughing together at our mutual drunkness. Everyone in the taxi has high spirits, and I'm smart enough to know it's because they think we're working things out, and that everything will go back to normal in the group.
We get out of the taxi, and she pulls me into a park to talk. It's unexpected, and I stumble before her hands steady me. The touch sends a spark of electricity up my spine, and I straighten up immediately. She looks stone cold sober when she looks at me, her eyes boring into mine and pupils blown (by the darkness not the alcohol, I know somehow.) and her voice is as clear as a bell as she speaks.
We sort things out, and I think back to the other week in the locker room. I think she planned this. She didn't have to walk into the room earlier, she knew I'd be in there. She didn't have to help with the taxi's, she knew I could do it myself. I'm hopeful. She's actually showing me her emotions, and I hope this time she really does want to sort it out.
We go back to the group, and Quinn shoots me a delighted smile upon seeing our linked pinkies. She walks over when Britt walks away and laughs.
"Obviously Britt didn't care as much as I thought she did when you put "Backstabber" on earlier and walked out." She laughs again, and I realize what Brittany must have thought when I changed the song and stormed out. I laugh too, because we've fixed things, so there's no point feeling guilty about it.
Months later, and I'm confused again. We're nowhere near best friends again, that'll take a while, but she's getting clingy. She's flirting with me even though her boyfriend is always around, she's hugging me and touching me unnecessarily, going out about how she misses "us" and inviting me everywhere. I don't know whether to be happy or sad, but I am downright confused. After everything we've been through though, the heartbreak, the awkward silences and splitting our friends up, the screaming and crying, the harm I've inflicted on myself, the alcohol we both turned to that almost ruined us both, everything, I won't make the mistake of letting her go again. Because it hurts way too fucking much, and I don't think either of us would survive it a second time. I'm head over heels in love with my best friend, I don't know if she reciprocates, and it's tearing me apart bit by bit.