I apologize for not doing one of these yesterday. I'm working on a HeYa fic that should be up by the end of the week. Anyways, thank you to all the lovely people who reviewed and favorited the last one, as well as put me on author alert. It means a lot. Secondly, I apologize for the Spanish mess-up last time. It should have been para toda mi vida, not por. I couldn't figure out how to get back in and edit it. Enjoy and please review!
Santana is like a piece of wood furniture infested with termites, you decide. It's an awful comparison and it makes her look bad, but you know it's true. She's hard on the outside, but something's always eating at her on the inside. One day, she just might collapse.
She doesn't manipulate at all. In fact, it's you who started the tradition of making out and/or having sex every weekend. It's you who calls it friends talking with their tongues super close. You blame yourself. Whenever she's close to crumbling, you offer sex or a make-our session and she accepts. True, she's never told you no, but she's never truly manipuated you either.
The first time you had offered it was when Santana had come over crying to your house around eleven at night after she had just lost her virginity to Puck early freshmen year. She had never wanted to, but he was a football player and she was a cheerleader. It was simply what they did.
"Britt," she had choked out once you had opened the door, and then she fell into your expectant arms. She buried her head in your neck and wrapped her arms tightly around your back. She cried a lot more than people would have expected, espescially around you.
You knew what had happened so you didn't say a word at first. You just brought her up to your room and let her cry on your shoulder for a few minutes. Then you kissed her gently.
She had pulled away almost instantly, but the look on her face told you that she had enjoyed it somewhat. "What are you doing?" she had asked as she crossed her arms across her chest in a protective position.
You had responded simply "You didn't feel enough love tonight, San. I'm just making you feel loved," as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
She smiled at you and had thanked you softly before continuing the kiss. Two years later, that's almost exactly what happened every weekend.
You later tell Artie that it's all your fault.
