A/N: Yes, I started the sequel. And it's multi-chaptered. Please keep in mind that I'm an inconsistent updater. Other than that enjoy. (Oh, and no, I don't own Glee.)
Santana Lopez was a bitch. She was rude, spiteful, proud, hot-headed and packed a serious left hook. She was aware of all this. When these attributes were pointed out to her (and they frequently were) she'd either laugh and agree, or demonstrate that left hook. Santana Lopez was not, however, heartless. A fact that even she was unaware of, until now.
Santana tucked her knees tighter to her chest, buried her face deeper into her legs. She rocked slowly back and forth. Her short panting breaths and the squeaking of sneakers were the only sounds filling the deserted hallway. The lights had been turned off, and the janitor had gone home. He had been by earlier, quietly explaining, "I'm, uh, heading out now… you should be able to go out the gym doors. They're exit only. Don't worry about the alarm, Figgin's had to cut it from the budget last year, so it's pretty much just for show. But I'm not rushing you, just wanted to let you know. Right… so, 'night." He then quickly turned away and left the corridor.
The cheerleader was only dimly aware of all of this, her thoughts were too centered on a conversation that had occurred hours ago.
"Santana, please. Please look at me."
Santana dragged her eyes away from the wall directly across from the bench she sat on and reluctantly met the watery blue eyes next to her.
Brittany reached out to grasp Santana's hand, squeezing it tightly, "This doesn't change us, okay? We're still best friends and we-"
"No," the brunette shook her head. She pulled away, both arms now free to wrap around herself protectively. "You don't get it B, I-" Santana choked back a sob. Internally she berated herself. The situation was bad enough already. She wasn't going to lose her last shred of self-respect by breaking down into some pathetic, crying mess. She wasn't Quinn.
Santana took a steadying breath and steeled her gaze, "I can't just be friends with you anymore, Brittany. And I can't keep pretending that I'm happy with my life- the random hook ups and sleeping around. I want more. I want us."
Tears finally gave way, spilling down Brittany's porcelain cheeks. "I'm sorry, S. I'm so sorry, but I can't give you that. I'm not-" the blonde cut herself off. She shook her head, and wiped the wetness away from her face with both hands. "I don't feel the same way."
And just like that Santana felt her heart, the heart whose existence had been questioned by many (mom, dad, brother, Puck, dentist, herself), shatter.
She clamped down on her emotions quickly and felt her well-worn mask slip back into place. In the coldest voice she could manage, she ended the conversation and, as far as Santana was concerned, friendship, "You can go now."
Seconds, minutes, hours had ticked by as the normally callous teen wallowed in self-pity and shame.
She was at war with herself. One side wanted to die, while the other wanted to murder the first side for being so emo. Santana Lopez was not emo. Santana Lopez was a bitch. Santana Lopez did not mope. She was rude, spiteful, proud, hot-headed and packed a serious left hook. Santana Lopez thanked the second side of herself for getting her ass into gear. You're welcome.
Santana Lopez needed to stop referring to herself as Santana Lopez.
The cheerleader shook her head clear as she finally uncurled and stood up from the bench. She needed to get out of her own head and around some other people before 'Santana Lopez' drove her insane.
Only there wasn't anyone to call anymore. Brittany was obviously not an option, and Quinn lived with Brittany. Even if somehow she was able to get a hold of Q without the other blonde finding out, Santana was certain the pregnant teen wouldn't be happy to hear from her. Not after everything that went down in the bathroom with Berry. She couldn't go home either; she was supposed to stay over Brittany's that night. If she showed up at her own house her mom would know something was up, and then she'd make Santana drink hot chocolate and share.
After a brisk walk across the building and through the gym, Santana was finally outside. She drew in deep breaths of frigid winter air and strode towards her car on the opposite side of the lot. She pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket and started scrolling through her contact list.
What the- who programmed all the gleeks into her cell? Sure, she pretty much liked all of them now, but when would she ever need to have a conversation with Artie? About something that couldn't wait until school, anyway.
When she reached Puck's number, her thumb hovered for a few seconds before moving back. That was one level of desperation Santana was never sinking to again. Only two more clicks and she was pausing once more. This time to unlock her car, hop in, and start the engine before her thighs went numb. She looked down at the screen once more and felt the corners of her mouth tug up slightly at the highlighted name.
Mind made up, Santana pressed the call button and brought the phone up to her ear.
She was definitely not humming along to the callback tone ("Tell Him"- Streisand, of course.) when the line picked up.
"First you molest me in the bathroom and now your calling me on a Friday night? This keeps up and I might just think you like me or something, Lopez."
Santana's smirked a little at the playful tone in the other girls voice. "Don't hold your breath, Berry," she replied.
"I could though, I have very impressive breath control."
"I know. I heard you speak for three minutes without pausing in history today."
There was a small chuckle on the other end. "Well, to what do I owe this unimaginable honor?"
"You better be honored," the cheerleader joked. Santana pulled the elastic out of her hair and ran her fingers through the strands, trying to relieve some of the tension she was feeling. She cleared her throat before answering, "I kind of ran out on you there, in the bathroom. I just wanted to check up on you. And. Well. I'm sorry or whatever. For leaving you like that."
"It's okay," Rachel replied with laughter in her voice. "Well, it's not okay. It was actually one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, but I completely understand your reasons for having to leave so abruptly." There was a slight pause before Rachel continued, her tone more serious, "How did it go with Brittany? Were you able to catch up with her?"
"Yeah, she didn't run too far," Santana answered quietly. "We kind of, well, I don't know if you can break-up with someone you never dated, but I definitely feel dumped."
"Oh, no! Santana, I'm so sorry. Was it because of what she walked in on? Because I can talk to-"
"No," Santana all but yelled. After a calming breath, she continued, "It wasn't that. She said it didn't bother her, she left because she thought we wanted to be alone." She let her head fall back against the headrest, and looked up at the sky through the moon roof above her. "She doesn't- It was just sex to her."
There was a long lapse as Rachel tried to formulate an appropriate response, giving the cheerleader time reel in her flaring emotions. Again.
Santana recouped first, "It's whatever. How did things play out with you and Q? Tell me at least one of us got a happy ending."
The change in topic seemed to have given the diva back her voice, "I hate to disappoint, but the only happy ending I got was the one you gave me." Santana heard the unmistakable sounds of a spring creaking and Rachel letting out a sigh. She could picture the tiny brunette flopping dramatically onto her bed, and rolled her eyes at the image. Rachel continued in a blasé tone, "Apparently, Ms. Fabray is as straight as an arrow, and all that 'unresolved sexual tension' I was feeling was just actual tension."
"Huh." Santana frowned, she had been sure that Quinn was into the other brunette. Had she mistaken heated stares for, well, heated glares? Her gaydar was taking some serious hits today. "Didn't see that coming," she admitted.
"Unfortunately, neither did I."
"Well, then why'd she look so pissed when she busted in on us getting down and dirty?"
"Oh, um," Rachel chuckled uncomfortably, "Quinn was under the impression that I was trying to steal you from Brittany. After explaining my true intentions, she told me that my feelings were not reciprocated and yelled at me for toying with Finn. Oh, and then she called me a hussy."
"Hold on, she yelled at you for toying with Finn?"
"I think the irony of the situation was lost on her."
Santana scoffed, but didn't say anything else. The easy flow of conversation was ebbing out, and it was because Santana was questioning why it had been so easy in the first place. This was Rachel Berry, one of the most hated people in the school, and someone who Santana was supposed to despise. Only, for the life of her, she couldn't remember why.
"What are you doing tonight," the cheerleader asked abruptly, bringing the conversation back to its original purpose. Rachel might not have been Santana's ideal Friday night companion, but it's not like the masses were lining up around the block to be her friend. For some reason, the other students at McKinley High found Santana unapproachable.
Rachel responded with an exaggerated sigh, "Well, I'm not allowed to practice at home until the injunction is lifted, and I've already finished my assignments, so a resounding amount of nothing. Why?"
"I'm bored," Santana replied. Trying for nonchalance, she added, "We should hang out."
"Seriously?"
Santana took a moment to consider what she was getting her self into. Rachel Berry was a drama queen. She was long-winded, brutally honest, petulant, borderline psychotic and dressed worse than Santana's grandfather (Socks with sandals? No. Just no.). Aside from the argyle and legwarmers, there really wasn't any reason why the two shouldn't get along.
"I'm always serious."