It's not as if she didn't know.
It's not as if she couldn't see the smiles, touches, glances. Goosebumps and shivers and loose strands of hair. It's not as if she didn't see them sit a bit too close, their eyes locked for a moment too long, lost in a world just slightly too far away. It's not as if she couldn't see fingers linked in a hallway, intertwined underneath a desk. It's not as if she didn't pretend to close her eyes.
It's not as if she didn't notice the red marks starting to appear, bruised lips, wandering hands, patterns subconsciously traced on exposed skin. It's not as if she didn't notice the whispers, smirks, moments alone. It's not as if she didn't notice the boys fading into the background, but never completely gone.
It's not as if she didn't know she could, should, would, break them. It's not as if she didn't know they would falter and die. It's not as if she didn't know the night would be a little darker and the day a little less bright. It's not as if she didn't know Brittany would get so lost she could never be found, as if she didn't know Santana would grow so cold no fire could melt her, burn her, hurt her.
It's not as if she could stop the tears when she saw pale, strong arms wrapped around a tan torso, white sheets covering their legs, blond locks tangled in a wilderness of black curls, even breaths and swollen lips with smiles that didn't falter.