A/N: So, I didn't even know it was Pezberry Week here on FF til after I wrote this, but that's providence for you. It was a weird fic, because I watching Shriya Saran's The Other End of the Line when it just dropped into my head, along with the song at the end. Even though the fic is nothing like that movie. But it's a new pairing I got to play, and I was writing from Santana's POV for the first time, which is always fun.
Anyway, let me know what you think, as always. Reviews are love, and I'd like to know if it works.
.
.
MORE THAN ANYONE
1. The Walking Away.
.
.
.
They say life is just a series of snapshots. Random moments pretending to be a whole. But that's just it… its all pretend.
I'm Santana Lopez, and this is the story of how I pretended for far too long.
.
.
.
It started with Brittany.
First love… well, there's nothing that compares to it. It's a giddy rush. Its that feeling you get when you swallow a bunch of pop-rocks and they fizz in your tummy, and it's like that all the time.
Brittany made me.
Being with her made me a better person. Yeah, yeah, I know everyone says that – and people who know me will probably point to the fact that I haven't shaken the habit of calling stupid people dyslexic babies who've been hit over the head one too many times, and say that I'm not a nice person. But that's the thing. If you had an attention span greater than a goldfish in a bottle of Johnnie Walker, you'll recall that I didn't say she turned me into a nice person. She turned me into a better one.
Believe it or not, I was even bitchier than this, once upon a time.
It was that inner bitch – lurking inside me with a hatchet and a hit list – that I channeled the night I left Ohio forever.
.
"But I don't understand, after everything we planned…"
"You call this planning? Brit, to you a plan is writing a note on the mirror in lipstick telling yourself not to write on mirrors anymore."
"I had to do that. Otherwise, when I wake up in the middle of the night it looks like a bleeding ghost left me a message to brush my teeth."
"Ghosts don't bleed."
"Then how come they're so pale?"
"You're not listening to me. I'm doing this."
"You're serious?"
"Yes."
"I can't follow you."
"I know."
.
Silence.
Nothing but silence.
Brittany was rarely quiet for long. It was one of the things I loved about her. She had no filter. She'd just say the first thing that popped into her head. Usually, it was just something random, like how the teddy bear in that cleaning commercial was really an undercover spy for PETA. But that night, she was so quiet.
And then…
.
"You decided this a month ago."
"What? No, I-"
"Don't lie to me. People think I'm stupid – and maybe I am because I don't know why the president doesn't have a jet-pack, or how Europe managed to swim across the sea – but I see things. That night you were charging something online. You said you were buying bath salts, but you've smelt the same ever since. You were buying your plane ticket."
"Brit, I'm so sorry."
"Just go…"
"No, I want to explain…"
"Why bother? In your head we broke up a long time ago. Guess, as usual, I'm just catching up now."
.
So I left.
And I didn't look back, even though I wanted to.
I wanted to so bad…
.
.
.