Santana Lopez is not a person who makes verbal apologies. It's not that she never feels regret for the things she does- although generally, she can justify her actions to herself or others to the point that any guilt she feels can be lessened, if not entirely done away with. It isn't that she really believes she never makes mistakes; she knows, despite what she wants others to think, that she is hardly flawless, that she seems to screw up on a regular basis, whether with good or bad intentions in mind. But it is difficult for her to admit to someone out loud that she was wrong, or that she wronged them, to swallow her pride and humble herself to the point that they could hurt her back, so Santana made it a personal practice to never apologize aloud, where her own words could be used against her.
She had never apologized to any of the Glee kids about all the names she had called them to their face and behind their back, for trying and sometimes succeeding in hijacking their dates or making plots against them. She had never apologized to Rachel for the slushies she had either organized herself to be thrown at her, or even for those she stood back witnessing and laughing over, without doing anything to help her out. She hadn't apologized to Mercedes for all the times she had tried to slip things into her food for an embarrassing outcome, and she hadn't apologized to Quinn for all the times they had gotten into slap fights together, for not sticking by her as much as she should have through her pregnancy, for all the times she had thrown Beth and her one-time transgression with Puck in her face to make a point. She hadn't apologized to any of the boys she had used and discarded along the way while she tried to figure out her own feelings, her own sexuality- and how to stop feeling so much and so deeply about Brittany.
Even with Brittany, Santana had never outright apologized for hurting her, and Brittany above all others, Santana always regretted hurting in any way. It made her sick to see that wounded look shadow Brittany's face, the way her blue eyes darkened and her lips turned downward like a kicked puppy. But even more so than seeing Brittany hurt, Santana hated seeing her look disappointed, like she had expected Santana to rise above the vindictive bitchiness everyone else expected out of her and to show her the buried- if sometimes deeply- kind, gentle, even sweet girl that Brittany saw her as, the girl that Brittany loved. Here they were, nearly twenty years old, and Santana had never apologized for breaking up with Brittany, for making her think for so long that she was only a warm body beneath her own. She had never apologized to her for getting her to cheat on Artie, for making her feel that she was ashamed or embarrassed of how they felt for each other, for forcing Brittany to hide.
At least, Santana had never apologized in any official way that could have been documented as a formal expression of regret- but she does and had apologized, over and over, to all of these people, not through her words, but through her actions. Through soft smiles directed their way, linking arms, squeezing their hand, giving them high fives, playfully poking or flicking them, she makes small gestures of approval and appreciation of them, to indicate that she has changed her view of them. She gives and accepts hugs and affection, claps and cheers for their accomplishments, acknowledges their talent and sometimes, even her jealousy of it. Her teasing nicknames become affectionate rather than biting, and sometimes sincere words of praise, support, comfort, or encouragement now leave her lips. She holds back from physical violence and strings of Spanish swear words, even when someone really, really deserves it, and she has even deigned to cuddle a few of the very people she once claimed to despise.
She never said she was sorry, but Santana showed it, the best that she knew how to, and hoped that people received the message.
And that was what she was doing now, standing in the middle of her loft apartment as Rachel Berry piled her belongings together in the living area as slowly as she could, much more slowly than the manic fervor she usually worked herself into when she had a task ahead of her to accomplish. She tried, without saying a word, to convey through her expression and her posture, the way she turned towards her and followed her every move with her eyes, how sorry she was for what had happened between them, how much she wanted to take it back…how much she didn't want Rachel to go.
But Rachel wouldn't look at her, let alone receive her unspoken message, and Santana doubted she even cared.
Santana never would have thought that Rachel Berry had it in her to hit her, Santana Lopez. She wouldn't have thought she would have the nerve, and a year or two ago, she certainly wouldn't have. This year, she wouldn't have thought things could become so bad between them that they would ever revert back to this place of being enemies all over again, even worse than it had been at the start of high school. Back then, Santana had disliked Rachel simply because she was an annoying, loudmouthed dork. But what was going on now had become personal. Santana had let Rachel close, let her see sides of her she never would for someone she didn't trust, someone she didn't love, in her way- someone she considered family. And damn it, who the hell knew how, but Rachel had become all of those things for her.
With anyone else, with the exception of Brittany, she would have hit them back with all the force she could muster; with anyone else, she would have been scratching and kicking and pulling hair, stirred immediately to a state of rage. But it had been Rachel, and Santana had held back, with considerable effort. Because Rachel was her family now, her and Kurt both, even more so now, in some incredibly twisted way, than Quinn had ever been. Because she did somehow inexplicably love the annoying bitch.
So she had been wrong. She had said some shit she shouldn't, deliberately poked at Rachel's sore points exactly where she knew Rachel would rear up in defense. And maybe she was sorry for that, but she'd be damned if it would be the first apology she ever made in her life. Especially because, damn it, she hadn't been trying to betray her at all.
She had known Rachel would flip out about her audition for her understudy as Fanny. She knew it, just like she knew that Rachel was hardly rational or logical about anything that had remotely to do with that stupid Streisand woman and the ten billion ancient things she'd been involved in. But it still stung, still fucking HURT that Rachel had not only overreacted and overpersonalized, but actually gone out of her way to attack and hurt Santana in return. It hurt, much more than she had expected, that Rachel couldn't support her, like she had been supporting her, that Rachel couldn't feel good for her when she did well, when any attention at all was taken away from her own spotlight. When she told Rachel that she only liked Santana to be below her, that she could only like her and support her in a condescending manner, when Santana was lost or failing, she had meant every word without ever having realized before that it was true.
Yeah, she hadn't told Rachel about the audition, not because she wanted to shock her or stick it to her, but because she didn't want her ranting and raving and doing something deliberately to screw her up. And yeah, she had copied Rachel's signature presentation of the song…but not to stick it to her or mock her, or even make a point, like Rachel had accused. She had copied Rachel's performance because for years now, she had been captivated every time she watched her repeat it, because for years, even when she disliked her the most, she could do nothing but admire and acknowledge the talent she showed with this song, the amazing way she owned and presented herself on that stage while singing it. She copied Rachel's moves because, as confident as she was in her own talent, she was also afraid that her interpretation of the song, apart from Rachel's, burned so long into her brain, would not be as good. And honestly, it was a personal bar to vault over. If she could perform as well as Rachel Berry in that song with those moves, then she had made it.
It was a compliment to Rachel rather than a dig, really. But of course, Rachel would never see it that way.
She still didn't think that she was wrong. Okay, maybe she hadn't responded to Rachel in the nicest possible way afterward, though Santana still thought she had been perfectly truthful. Rachel was short, she was awful, sometimes, and she wasn't outdoing Santana. But still, she knew she had hurt Rachel, and honestly, it hurt Santana too, what was happening between them. She didn't like the feeling of paranoia every time Rachel was around, the defensive anger that pressed against her chest, the need to constantly watch and be on guard, ready to insult or point out her flaws before Rachel could do the same for her. She didn't like the way Rachel looked at her now with such suspicion and dislike, even loathing, and she didn't like how Rachel's formerly easy smile was never present on her face when Santana was around. She missed the way the other girl would casually touch her in passing, the way she would tell her good night, every single time, before she went to sleep. She even missed how Rachel would sometimes take her clothes without asking or scurry after her throwing Santana's discarded items on her bed rather than simply yell at her to put them up, like she did now.
Even if she felt it was more Rachel's fault, she wanted to make up with her. She didn't know how much longer she could stand the new iciness between them, the stress she felt every time Rachel was anywhere within her view, and how she had to hide the anxiety and growing depressive feelings it brought to her. Ridiculous as it might be, to give a shit how Rachel Berry felt about her, by some miracle in the past two years, this had become a genuine thing, and Santana, whatever she might tell Rachel, didn't want to lose the relationship they'd built together.
Infuriating as Rachel was, she didn't want her to move out, and she didn't want her to continue being upset with her. So she tried to show it, as Rachel packed her belongings, then went to Kurt, hugging him with tears in her eyes. She positioned herself by the door, so Rachel could not possibly miss walking past her. She held her body at a loose, open angle, her arms dangling at her sides, and kept her posture unguarded, almost inviting a hug. She kept her facial expression soft, and repeatedly, she tried to meet Rachel's eyes, to convey with her body and her eyes what she could not say with her mouth.
Stop…please stop. Come back. Look at me. Talk to me. Hug me, forgive me. Stay. Please stay.
And for a moment, Santana had thought this would happen. When Rachel paused in front of her, looking her in the eye, even though there was still anger in her gaze, a set to her jaw, she took a moment to genuinely hope, to truly think that Rachel would give this a chance. She felt her lips start to curve into a tentative smile, her arms start to lift, meaning to offer her a hug.
But instead, still looking her directly in the eyes, Rachel's hand snatched out, grabbing for a framed picture of herself with Santana resting near. Yanking the picture from the frame, she continued to stare hard into Santana's eyes as she ripped it up in front of her, only inches from her face, and let the pieces fall to the floor. Grabbing her last piece of luggage, she almost pushed past her out the door, never having said one word to address her the entire time.
Santana's eyes opened wide, her lips parting with shock, and she felt her heart begin to beat faster and faster in her chest. Heat pressed against the back of her eyes, and for a quarter of a second or so, she thought she would burst into tears, right in front of Kurt, that she would give in to give Rachel the most satisfaction she could have ever wanted, to let her know just how much she had managed to hurt her, to dig in her claws in the worst possible way. But to her own relief, rekindled rage quickly flared through her, replacing the pain with an ire that left her almost blind and deaf to anything else in her surroundings. How dare she…how fucking DARE she?
Without a second thought she turned on her heels, throwing the door open and then letting it slam behind her as she took off on pursuit, chasing Rachel down the hallway. She could hear Kurt yelling after her, a note of panic in his voice, but she doubted he would try to physically stop her if he thought she was going to attack Rachel- he knew better than to get in the way of an angry Snixxx. It wouldn't have mattered if he had. Santana was well and furious now, and no one was stopping her from making this known.