Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Spoilers: 2x15 (Sexy) and 2x18 (Born This Way).
Warning: AU.
A/N: I wrote this oneshot a couple of weeks ago, after one of the promos for Born This Way was released and I failed to find Santana in the clip of the performance (a few days before A Night Of Neglect aired). I'm kind of on the fence on how I feel about this fic, but I want to post it before the episode airs.
I hope you enjoy it.
Why did life have to be so crap?
Santana sat behind a dumpster at the front of William McKinley High School, fists bunched into the pockets of her grey hoodie. Her knees pressed against her chest as she sat folded into a ball, her head resting against the dirty wall of the dumpster. Students had left an hour previously and now, members of New Directions strolled out in their footsteps.
Tina and Mike, alongside Mercedes and Kurt, left without noticing her and Santana could hear other footsteps and voices but no one walked past. A few minutes went by and the place remained quiet. Her thoughts consumed her and her heart sunk until the harsh sound of a man's flustered voice disturbed her.
"-have got talent, and we've got competition," the man said angrily. "You told me there was nothing to worry about!"
"I knew they were kind of good," a familiar voice replied, "but they've upped their game since I was here. Seriously, Coach, what I saw in the courtyard was nothing compared to that performance."
Santana smirked slightly as the people came into view. Sunshine. The man with her was red to his roots, waving his hands as he ranted and raved, and two teenage boys followed behind them silently. The four of them got into a black, expensive-looking car and their discussion was cut off as the door slammed closed.
Santana sighed, closing her eyes and pushing her legs tighter against her chest. So the Vocal Adrenaline coach liked their performance. She wished she'd seen it, or worked up the courage to actually perform alongside them. It was too much, her wounds were too fresh. She couldn't bear it.
Rehearsals had been hard enough to get through but actually performing that song was too much to even consider. Mr Schuester had even sent her to Mrs Pillsbury because her lack of enthusiasm in the choir room had worried him. Santana hadn't gone to see her, though. She had sat on the bleachers in the empty football field for the rest of the hour before going home alone, maybe a little too eager to avoid everyone.
Santana heard people calling out to each other in the background but she couldn't distinguish any words. She heard footsteps, some of them coming quite close, but never close enough to find her. She heard Quinn scream something angrily and Artie shout "Watch it, woman!" in defence. She couldn't be sure, but Santana could have sworn she heard Finn call her name. They were looking for her, Santana realised. They were actually pretending to care enough as to look for her. Santana shook her head in disgust. They were pathetic, every single one of them.
More unintelligible conversation. More footsteps. A little bit closer to Santana, someone (Rachel?) said "She wouldn't be over there, sweetie. Let's try the football field again, maybe she's under the bleachers." There was a murmur of disagreement, a pause, and then feet hitting concrete, someone running in her direction.
She couldn't bring herself to care, to move or acknowledge whichever team mate it was. The footsteps stopped and Santana knew that they were standing right beside her.
"You didn't perform with us," an all-too-familiar voice said from beside Santana, cutting through her thoughts like a blade and sending a painful jolt to her heart.
Santana gritted her teeth and turned her head away from Brittany. Tears burned her eyes already, so easily, too easily. Santana forced herself to stay calm and keep it together.
"Obviously," she said coldly, slowly enunciating each syllable.
"Sam had to stand beside Kurt to fix the dynamics. It was all wrong without you, though." When Santana didn't respond, Brittany stepped closer and spoke again. "You told Quinn you were here. You told Quinn you were on your way to the auditorium when she called you."
"I am here."
"Why didn't you come, San? You love Lady Gaga." Brittany's voice was so close, Santana couldn't help but turn her head and look at Brittany. She crouched beside Santana, head tilted and eyes wide as she stared. She frowned in confusion and Santana bit the inside of her cheek to stop her from screaming.
"I didn't go because I'm not a hypocrite, Britt." The venom in her voice as she said the girl's name surprised Santana herself, and Brittany pulled back in shock. She looked hurt and Santana's heart stung at the sight. "I'm not going to get up on a stage a sing a song about self-acceptance and being happy with who you are when every goddamned day, all I can think about myself is how fucking worthless I am."
"... What?"
A tear slid down Santana's cheeks and left a fire-hot trail behind it but Santana was too worked up to care. She lowered her voice and took a deep breath to calm herself. "I'm not going to sing about accepting yourself when I hate who I am," she said quietly, her eyes burning into Brittany's. "I'm nothing, Brittany. I'm a failure and a disappointment and a- a- ugh, fuck it." Her hands flew out of her pockets and fisted themselves in her hair. Her elbows sat on her knees and she buried her head in her arms, tackling back sobs. "I'm just so worthless and stupid and pathetic, and I can't go out there and preach about shit I can't learn to do for myself."
"You're not any of those things, though, San. Why would you hate yourself?"
"You want to know why?" Santana asked sharply, looking up to glare at Brittany.
"Yes."
"I hate myself because I'm not good enough for you. Hell, not just for you. My parents prefer my sister over me, Coach Sylvester always chose Quinn instead of me, Puck chooses Lauren over me, Quinn chooses boys and popularity over us. Then I tell you everything I've been hiding for years and you go and choose the fucking cripple! I'm not skinny enough, I'm not fat enough, I'm not pretty enough, I'm not straight enough, I'm not gay enough. No matter what it is, who it is, no one ever chooses me. I'm not good enough for anyone. I'm never good enough."
Brittany stared at her for a long moment before reaching out a hand, but Santana flinched away. She rubbed her cheeks and wiped her nose of the cuff of her jacket before pushing herself to feet. Brittany bounced up, too, but Santana held an arm out to keep her back.
"Forget it."
She managed to take three steps before Brittany tried to stop her.
"You're wearing your Born This Way outfit."
Santana turned and looked at Brittany, who still stood in the same spot. Her arms hugged her middle, hiding the top half of the word STOOPID.
"Yeah."
Silence. Santana sighed and began to walk away once more.
"San, wait." Santana looked back again to see Brittany's arm outstretched, one foot in front of her other. Brittany's arm dropped as Santana leaned against the dumpster and stared at her silently. "Why did you stay?"
Santana looked at her feet, at her scuffed pair of converse. "To convince myself to perform. To try and force myself to pretend."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I'm sick of pretending. I've been pretending for years."
"Since you met me?"
The words were quiet, almost hopeful, and Santana looked up in surprise. They stared at each other for a moment, holding each other's gaze. Santana shook her head.
"Since our first kiss."
Brittany let out a breath and moved towards her, murmuring "Oh, San" as she opened her arms to hug Santana. Santana winced and pushed her away, stepping around the corner of the dumpster. She closed her eyes and frowned, holding a hand out to stop Brittany from moving forward.
"No, Brittany, don't. I … I can't. It hurts to be near you, to be … to be touched by you. Just don't."
She dropped her hand and shoved both fists into her pockets, still refusing to look at Brittany. There was a moment of silence and Santana could only imagine how hurt and confused Brittany must have looked right then. It tore at her heart just to think about it but she couldn't pretend like everything was okay between them.
"Can you show me your shirt?" Brittany said eventually.
"No."
"You want to stop pretending, right?"
"... Yeah."
"So show me your shirt. It's your biggest insecurity, can't be any more real than that."
Santana looked at Brittany in contemplation but Brittany's face was a mask of patience. For someone with STOOPID written on her torso, Brittany's words were wise. Her heart in her throat, Santana stepped around the corner of the dumpster and fiddled with the zip of her hoodie.
"You won't tell anyone?"
"Of course not, San," Brittany said as though it was the most ludicrous idea in the world, smiling slightly.
Santana bit her tongue and looked down, slowly tugging at the zip. It reached the hem and Santana's hands trembled as they pulled the jacket out of the way to expose her shirt.
SECOND BEST
"Oh."
Santana took a deep, shaky breath and slid her hands into her back pockets.
"I have to go," she said.
"San, wait."
"You're like a broken record," Santana snapped. "San, wait. San, wait. I don't want to wait, Brittany! I'm done with waiting. You've made it pretty clear lately that you don't love me, so I have nothing to say to you."
"But I do love you."
"Not enough, though, Britt. If you loved me like I love you, you would have left Wheels back when I first confessed. You may think you love me, but I'll always be second best, the consolation prize, just like I am to everyone else. And I don't want to waste any more of my time on you."
As Santana took a step back, Brittany's arm darted forward and she latched onto Santana's elbow, closing the distance between them until they were a hairbreadth apart.
"Don't," Santana hissed, clenching her jaw. Her breath dried Brittany's lips and Brittany licked them instinctively. "Brittany. Please don't."
"I love you, San. I love you."
"You love Wheels."
"Why don't you say his name any more?"
"Oh, I don't know, because he's the reason you broke my fucking heart, perhaps?" Santana said harshly.
Brittany's lips pressed against Santana's. Just for a moment, though, because as soon as Santana realised what was happening, she pushed Brittany back, a sob falling desperately from her mouth as her heart clenched and her stomach twisted into painful knots. Brittany tried to apologise, tried to hold Santana, but Santana stumbled away from her and began to run.
It hurt so fucking much and she just wanted to hurt Brittany for pretending it was okay to do shit like that. Except she didn't want to hurt Brittany. Not really, not at all. That was just the anger and the pain and the embarrassment wanting to get revenge. Brittany didn't try to follow her. She just watched as Santana ran, and ran, and ran until she was no longer in sight.
Santana ran all the way to her house, ignoring the looks, and she ran straight up the staircase, ignoring her sister's questions, and locked the door behind her as she ran into her room, ignoring the worried knocks and calls from her parents. She collapsed onto her bed and, for the first time since Brittany rejected her, she let herself truly break.
No more pretending, no more masks, no more make-up and brave smiles. No petty tears and shaky breaths. Santana sobbed into her pillows. Her phone began playing an old Avril Lavigne song and she didn't even bother checking to see who it was before she blindly rejected the call.
Brittany was a bitch for doing this to Santana, for tearing down her walls. If Brittany thought she had any shot at getting with Santana in the future, she was sorely fucking mistaken. Santana wouldn't settle with being anyone's second best any more, and that was it. She could do better.
But no matter how many times Santana told herself that, she still knew that if Artie was out of the picture and Brittany tried even a little bit to win Santana's acceptance, Santana would cave and fall into Brittany's hopeful arms. Because she loves Brittany that fucking much, and it's pathetic.
Reviews are appreciated.