When the Angels Cry
Part One: Fragments
Chapter One: The Wanderers
Sometimes things happen that you are not able to explain. They just happen without reason, and you are left to wonder whether or not it is your fault. Most of the time, there is nothing you can do about it, but you somehow blame yourself anyway. You beat yourself up about the past, even though there is no way for you to change it. Still, you try to find a shred of hope that there is something you can do to make things better. For days-weeks, even-you go into that dark place, the one in the back of your mind where everything is your fault and no one can get you out.
That is what Santana Lopez is doing now, as she stares at her cieling. Her thoughts have been scattered ever since the incident, three days ago. People have come in and out of her room-Rachel, Finn, even Puck-but they never stayed long enough to hear her speak. Perhaps it is because she has not spoken to anyone since it happened. She does not care, though. Words are meaningless now; they hold no significance now. Not unless they held the reason why her best friend has swallowed a handful of pills and left a slash on each wrist.
No note was found, and Santana is left thinking it is her fault. Who know, maybe it is. They always fought about stupid things; guys, cheerleading, etc...None of it was even worth fighting over. Santana realizes it now. She just wishes that Quinn is here, next to her, to hear about her realization. But, the blonde is being buried tomorrow. The wake is today, in three hours.
The Latina has no idea whether or not she is going to be able to get herself out of her bed. For the past several hours, she has done nothing but lay down and try to capture a thought. They swarm around in her head, though, moving too fast for her to grip onto one. She does not mind that much, however. The thoughts make noise inside of her head, breaking the silence she lays in. If she has the energy, she will get up and turn on some music to get noise into her room, but that energy has been wasted each night as she cries herself to sleep.
"Santana?" The voice is small and quiet, and her bedroom door is pushed open without her even making a sound of confirmation. Sam steps in slowly, cautiously, as if the room will burst into flames upon his entering. Nothing happens, though, so he walks over to Santana's bed.
The sight kills him inside, even though he has never really cared for Santana all too much before. All of the life in her eyes is drained, leaving behind a glassy look that is still focused on the cieling, as if there is truly something in the white paint that will give her a reason to move, to speak, to think clearly. Sam cannot tell if she even acknowledges his presence, but he does not think too much about it.
"Santana, we're worried. You're taking this really hard. I want...I just want to make sure you're okay," Sam says. He waits for a caustic remark, for her to say something bitchy about how it should be obvious that she is not okay, that everything has turned to shit. It never comes, though. She remains silent, her gaze still fixed on fading white paint.
Sam sighs heavily, not knowing whether he should go or stay. The two have never been close. In fact, they are far from it. Santana has always disliked the boy, always calling him out on everything he does wrong, even if he does not mean to. She has always insulted him over everything, especially his abnormally large lips.
He has never wanted to hear her say something rude to him until now. Something-anything-to break the silence that the brunette seems to be stuck in. Sam looks over at her expectedly, but she still says nothing, still does not look at him.
"San," he says, softer now and with more feeling. "Please just say something. Quinn...she would never want to see you like this. Are you really hurting so much that you cannot even look at me? Just...just get over yourself, Santana!" He is getting angrier now, his feelings over Quinn surfacing to boil. "You act like you're so fucking special, like this has only affected you! Well, it hasn't! I'm hurting, too! Rachel, Finn, Mercedes, Kurt, Puck-they're all having to deal with the same thing. Just get over yourself and stop acting like such a spoiled bitch."
Almost instantly, Sam regrets his words, but he knows that it is too late to take any of them back. Still, when the brunette finally turns her head slightly and eyes him, he no longer feels guilt. No. All he feels now is pride. She is staring at him. He has her listening. That is all he has wanted to accomplish since Rachel told him that Santana is completely lifeless.
"Just, don't be like this. Try to get up. I have to go get some stuff done, okay? Want me to come back in an hour?" Sam asks, hoping that she will speak.
She turns her head back to look at the cieling again, and Sam feels defeated. Letting out a stubborn breath, he turns and walks out the door. Before he shuts it, though, she whispers to him, "Thank you."
"Anytime," he responds as he closes the door gently.
I wonder if Quinn is mad at me for being like this.
It is the only thought she has been able to hold on to, and she cherishes this thought, no matter how upset it makes her in this moment.
"Hi, Brittany," Judy Fabray says, smiling sadly as she hugs her niece tightly.
"Hey," Brittany replies, her voice still broken up from all of the crying she has done in the past few hours.
There is a small crowd of people gathered in the room that Quinn's wake will be held in. Only an hour remaining until everyone else arrives. Brittany is counting down to the seconds, but it makes no difference. And counting has never really been her strong suit, so she has to constantly start over. Along the way, though, she gives up on counting, because it is becoming too frustrating for her. Quinn could have been helping her.
The thought makes Brittany frown, and she looks around the large room, her eyes landing everywhere but in the front, where the caskett lay with the top open. She knows what is there, and she is not ready to see the body. Not yet. Instantly, she feels even worse, because Quinn is her cousin and she should want to take in the sight of her beloved cousin. For some reason, though, she cannot. Instead, she thinks about what the person who found her three days ago must be thinking at this very moment.
Mom said her name is Santana.
Brittany decides that she likes the name, and if she meets Santana tonight, then she will be sure to talk to her. She is not sure why, but she makes it as a sort of promise to herself. After all, Quinn had always told Brittany about Santana. The tall blonde wonders if Quinn has been telling Santana about her, too. She doubts it for a minute, but then she cannot, because her hand is now being held by her aunt.
Judy asks Brittany if she wants to go with her to the front of the room, and Brittany simply shakes her head. She does not say anything, mostly because she does not trust her voice yet. It is still probably so broken and inaudible, and she does not want to risk people hearing her like that. At this point, Brittany is wishing that she lives closer to Judy.
Because then that means living closer to Quinn, and she could have gone to the same school, and the two would have spent more time together, and maybe Brittany would have been able to prevent all of this from happening. For a moment, Brittany considers the possibilities of everything being her fault. Her and Quinn had plans for Brittany to sleep over on Friday. How come Quinn had done this before their sleepover?
Brittany cannot think about it anymore, because it brings tears to her eyes, and she does not think that she should be crying. Quinn will be disappointed that she is thinking about crying at her wake. The two girls have once told each other that they would never want the other crying at their funerals. So, Brittany remembers that conversation, and the tears dry up before they are allowed to fall. She is grateful.
When the hour is finally up, the first handful of people arrive. Family friends, old and new, and some more relatives. None of Quinn's friends are here yet, but Brittany knows that they are going to come soon. And just as she suspects, three people walk in, looking about her age. One is a dark-skinned girl with well-done hair and make-up, wearing a black shiny dress that Brittany takes an instant liking to. Sam follows in closely behind her, and Brittany only recognizes him because it would be strange if she does not know her favorite cousin's boyfriend. Next to Sam is a shorter boy with auburn-colored hair. Brittany does not know who he is, just like the girl.
Sam spots Brittany and leads his small group of friends to her. He greets her with a smile, and she smiles back almost as genuinely. He introduces his and Quinn's friends-Kurt and Mercedes-though they are more of acquintances to Quinn, Brittany learns. She does not mind, though, because they had conversations with Quinn before, so Brittany counts that as them being friends.
No one really says much. Sam, Kurt, and Mercedes go up to the caskett and kneel down on the velvet step. They bow their heads in a prayer, and Brittany can tell that Sam is crying because his shoulders are shaking violently, and when he stands up, his eyes are wet and puffy and red and it takes all that Brittany has not to cry as well. Kurt and Mercedes take each of his hands and lead him away to the family members to pay their respects.
Brittany looks back to the door and sees a tall boy and a short girl walk in. Both of them have brown hair and they are holding hands as they walk toward the caskett, following the actions that the last three just made. The blonde is not curious as to who they are, because her eyes are already landing on the newest arrival.
A girl a couple inches shorter than Brittany, with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and flawless, olive skin. She wears no expression on her face, and is clothed in a simple, strapless black dress that hugs her curves, and a pair of heels. The outfit seems to stand out a bit in consideration of the normal attire of the occasion, but this girl makes it work.
Quickly, Brittany makes her way over to the girl, because her appearance matches the description that Quinn had once given her of Santana. Before Brittany is even coming close to her, though, the girl catches sight of the caskett. In a quick decision, the brunette is gone in a flash, rushing out the door as if going to the wake to begin with is a bad idea.
To Santana, it was a terrible idea. She knew it would be hard, but as she sees Quinn in the caskett, even at a distance, she cannot bear it any longer.
She needs fresh air, and so she walks outside to a small porch-like area. There are couches and chairs, and a roof that protects the area from the pouring rain. Santana unzips her purse and takes out the small flask that Puck had given her. She takes a long sip, and the alcohol burns her throat, but she welcomes the feeling.
The door behind her opens, but she does not look back. If there is an adult, she does not mind; she will take whatever scolding that is in store of her. None of it matters anymore. Not here. Not now.
However, when she finally looks over to see who is on the porch with her, she is met with blue eyes that she practically melts in. A tall blonde girl is standing at the entrance, closing the door, without taking her eyes off of Santana. Neither of them say a word, but continue with their staring contest. Eventually, the girl points at the flask, and for a moment Santana thinks she is about to get scolded by someone her own age.
Her thoughts are abandoned, though, when she realizes that the blonde is silently asking for some. Santana obliges and passes the flask to her, watching as the girl takes a short sip timidly. The flask is passed back to her, and Santana does not know whether or not she should drink more. After all, finishing what is in the flask is probably enough to get her drunk. She is not able to hold her alcohol, and she is not a very fun-to-be-around person when she is drunk. Hell, her hysterical drunk crying will probably make the occasion even worse.
Yet she does not really think all too much as she takes three long gulps before handing the flask back to the girl and motioning for her to sit next to her on the couch. Quietly, the blonde takes the seat, and the two stare out at the rain in silence for a few minutes, neither really know what to say to the other.
"So, how do you know her?" Santana questions, being the first to speak.
"My name is Brittany. I'm her cousin," Brittany replies. Santana's face lights up in recognition.
"Quinn's told me a lot about you. I'm Santana. I'm her friend," Santana says. Brittany shakes her head, and Santana looks at her in confusion.
"You're not her friend. You're her best friend. She's told me about you," Brittany explains, being sure to put extra emphasis on the word 'best.' Santana only nods, and the two quickly fall back into the silence.
Soon, the contents of the flask are gone, and Santana shoves it back into her purse, regretting nothing. She is not drunk, and is barely even buzzed. For a while, she tries to think if Puck put something in the flask to make it so she is not as effected as she usually gets. Brittany is staring at her, and she does not mind one bit, because she likes the attention that she is getting. It makes her feel guilty, though, because Quinn is the one who should be getting attention tonight.
"Have you seen her yet?" Brittany asks, even though she already knows the answer. Santana shakes her head. "Me neither. Can you go with me to see her?"
"Maybe," Santana replies quickly. She thinks it over again, though, and stands up. "Okay."
The two are making their way back inside, walking to the front of the room. Brittany begins to get nervous and thinks she is about to cry, so she grabs onto Santana's hand without thinking. She likes the way Santana's hand feels in her own, and the brunette's skin is really as soft as Brittany imagined it would be when she first saw her.
Once they are finally up there and kneeling down on the velvet-covered step, Brittany sends up a silent prayer. She has never really understood the concept of God, but Quinn believes in him, so Brittany always figures that she does as well. The blonde also tries speaking to Quinn, but she is growing angry that the girl is saying nothing in response. When she thinks she is going to start crying, she bites down on her lip hard and takes Santana's hand again when it falls to her side once the two are done praying.
They stand now at Quinn's side, looking at her limp body in the caskett. Her hair falls in waves over her shoulders, her eyes are shut, and her face is powdered. She is dressed in white, by request of her mother.
"She's...peaceful," Brittany whispers, unsure as to why she is saying it. The word does not seem to go well with Quinn-it never has. Yet here Brittany is, saying the word to describe her cousin.
"Yeah," Santana agrees, causing Brittany to stop worrying so much.
As they begin to walk away-still hand-in-hand-Brittany thinks about what tomorrow is going to be like. The funeral will be heartbreaking as everyone watches Quinn's coffin be put into the ground.
But the blonde is already finding strength in the way that Santana is holding her hand.
"So, what were you doing outside anyway?" Brittany questions, curiosity getting the best of her. "I mean, other than drinking."
"I guess I was just...wandering. What about you?"
"Wandering."