Santana's POV.
I'm standing on the edge of the roof on my seven storey apartment building, looking down. I wonder how everyone below me can be continuing with their lives like normal when mine feels so completely broken. It makes me hate them all, or maybe I'm jealous of them. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore, and for the first time in my life, I don't think I care.
I watch people walking down below me, completely oblivious to the fact they are being watched. I can see children running along with huge smiles on their faces, a group of teenagers throwing their heads back in laughter, an older man in a business suit talking on his phone and carrying a briefcase, a jogger running along with a small dog in tow...
I look forward, towards the New York skyline around me. It reminds me why I love this city so much. It's perfect and beautiful, but it also reminds me that I don't belong here. Not anymore. New York was the place I had called home for the last four years and now it felt like my worst enemy. I couldn't stand to look at it anymore, to live in it or to even breathe the air in it. It felt toxic and it made me gag. Or at least, it felt like it did.
Not even the six months where I fled helped in any way. I thought moving away would fix it, make me happy. I hadn't thought about how lonely it would be. But running away from my problems wasn't the answer. Your problems are always with you, no matter how far away you run, I was stupid to think they would vanish in a different country.
I hear footsteps rushing behind me, but I don't turn around.
I don't even turn around when they call out my name.
I felt empty, as if my insides had been torn out. The only thing that remained was my slow heart beat to remind me that I was still breathing; and I hated it. I hated every moment of it. I ached all over, and there wasn't anything I'd rather do than drop dead right here. I wanted an escape; I wanted an end to this everlasting nightmare.
"Santana.." her voice cut through my thoughts like a sharp knife, and the tone and the articulation in the way she says it finally made me turn around to face her.
She looked tired and worried. She had every right to be and I instantly felt a rush of guilt flow through me for being the cause of all her pain. Her usually perfect blonde hair was tousled and messy, as if she had just gotten out of bed and quickly run a hand through it to keep it in place.
The wind whipped through my hair. It felt like it was pushing me, urging me to do it. Just jump. Do it. Stop being such a coward.
Her shaky voice breaks the silence again and I am glad for the distraction from my own thoughts. "What are you doing Santana?" I heard the panic in her voice and I saw her eyes beginning to water. What was I doing? Suddenly, I felt stupid. This wasn't going to solve anything. I was being selfish.
She cautiously took a step towards me, reaching her hand up for me to take so that she can help me down. She must have sensed that I was having second thoughts, because otherwise she wouldn't have dared to come closer. She'd been my best friend since we were five years old, I practically knew her better than I knew myself.
I hesitantly took her hand in mine, and she carefully helped me get down before pulling me into a tight hug.
The way her shoulders started to heave up and down showed me that she was crying, and guilt washed over me once again. I must be such a burden to her, yet she refuses to ever leave me. But then again, maybe she feels obligated to, like it's her job to take care of me. She has been my only family since my parents died when we were only 12 years old and I moved in with her and her parents and her sister.
I wrap my arms around her, rubbing soothing circles in her back until her silent sobs evened out. It was the least I could do since I was the reason she was crying. I felt like a jerk.
When I knew she had stopped crying, I pulled back to look into her face. Her hazel eyes were no longer filled with worry and panic, now they were just... tired and sad. I wiped the tears off her pink cheeks and kissed her forehead. It was my way of saying 'sorry', and the way her lips turned up in a small smile showed me that she understood. She walked me over to the middle of the roof, like she was scared that I was going to change my mind and get back on the ledge. She was mad at me, I could tell by the way her lips twitched and her eyebrows were furrowed. Her hands subconsciously clenched and unclenched by her sides, as if it was her way of releasing her growing anger.
"Where have you been the past six months?" Quinn asked. I notice her holding her breath and planting her feet firmly on the ground, prepared to stop me if I tried to make a break for it.
"Relax," I tell her, holding up my hands. "I'm not going anywhere."
Quinn nods her head, but doesn't change her stance. She doesn't trust me. "Where have you been?"
I shrug. "Physically? Everywhere. Emotionally? You don't even want to know.."
Suddenly, her whole demeanour changed. "What the hell were you thinking Santana?" The anger in her voice makes me take a step back, it's so powerful.
"Quinn, I-" but she cuts me off by taking a step forward and slapping me hard across my face. Her cold hand left a quickly reddening mark on my cheek, I could feel it stinging. My hands instantly jump up to cup my burning cheek. I feel tears spring to the corners of my eyes, but I desperately blink them away. I admit, I did deserve that, but fuck it hurt. I've seen Quinn slapping many people, but I had never been the target and I instantly felt sorry for all her previous victims.
"I'm sorry," I tell her, and I truly am. My voice comes out in a whisper and I try swallow the lump which has formed in my throat. "I'm sorry, Quinn," I repeat, this time my voice is stronger and doesn't waver.
"I can't believe you would even consider that!" Her voice is still angry and she crosses her arms. I can't help but wonder if she crosses them just to avoid the temptation of slapping me again. "What were you going to do, huh? Just leave me behind?" I see her fingernails digging into her skin, which confirms my previous suspicions; She is trying not to slap me again.
I feel the tears threatening to spill again and I take a deep breath; In through my nose, out through my mouth. "No Quinn, I-"
"You're so fucking selfish sometimes, Santana!" I lower my gaze, unable to look into her furious eyes any longer. I flinch slightly when she places her hand on my shoulder and I slowly lift my head to look at her. The furry seems to have left her eyes and instead, it is replaced with concern.
"Come on, I'll make you some tea and we can talk.." Quinn runs her hand down my arm until our fingers intertwine and after giving my hand a reassuring squeeze, she pulls me back to the safety of my apartment.
I feel extremely vulnerable once we are seated back in my small apartment. I run my finger around the rim of my coffee cup refusing to look up at Quinn. I know she is going to start asking me questions and I'm not sure if I'm ready to answer them.
"How did you find me?" I ask softly. I'm trying to buy some time before she starts firing the questions which I know are on her mind. "How did you even know I was back?"
She sighs heavily. I can tell that she knows I'm procrastinating and I hold my breath hoping she will go along with it and humour me, at least just for a few minutes while I build up the courage to tell her the truth.
"Harry. He told me that he saw you going up to the roof and that he hadn't seen you come down."
Harry is the doorman downstairs. He is an old man, chubby and soft. His belly shakes like a bowl full of jelly when he laughs, and he laughs a lot. His hair is snow white, and so is his beard and he is always in a good mood.
I nodded in understanding. I should have guessed he would say something. Harry has always been nice to me, ever since I moved here. I have never really known why, it's not like I'm the nicest person in the world. Quinn has never admitted it, but I know she talked to him and told him to keep his eye on me. It's the kind of thing she would do. She worries about me, it gets annoying sometimes, but it's kind of comforting knowing she will always be there.
"So.." Quinn starts. I knew she wouldn't be able to hold off with the questions for long. Quinn has never been the patient type. I can feel her gaze burning through me, but I fight the urge to look up at her.
"So.." I reply flatly, my fingers still tracing around the ceramic rim on my cup. It seems to relax me a little bit, watching my fingers trace around and around and around in slow, perfect circles. It's sort of hypnotizing.
"I didn't know you felt.. suicidal.." her voice wavers as she speaks the last word and it makes me wince slightly.
"I'm not," I reply. I finally drop my hand back in my lap and look up at her face. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrow at me. "Not actively, anyway," I add with a small shrug of my shoulders. The way she purses her lips together shows me that she isn't buying one word that I am telling her, so I continue. "I'm not. But if something bad were to happen to me, then I don't think I would necessarily be upset by it either."
Quinn's face softens. "What do you mean, San?"
"Well.. I don't think I would actually have the courage to commit suicide. I mean, take today for example," I furrow my eyebrows as I talk, trying to find the right words. "But.. If I were walking across a road and I saw a car coming straight for me.. I don't think I would get out of the way.."
I know I sound stupid and vulnerable and weak. I can't help it. Quinn leans forward in her seat, and the way she is looking at me makes me think that she understands. But she doesn't, not really.
"San.." she bites her bottom lip softly before she continues. "I'm really worried about you. I think maybe you should see someone."
"What, like a shrink or something?" Quinn nods her head. "No. No way."
Quinn sighs exasperatedly. "Do you always have to be so damn stubborn Lopez?" She runs a hand through her hair in frustration.
I huff and roll my eyes. "I'm not going to go lie on a couch in some random persons office and tell him all about my life while he sits there judging me." Quinn closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. She's getting angry again and she's trying to calm herself down.
"Fine," she replies after taking a deep breath and opening her eyes. "Talk to me then, Santana. How long have you been feeling depressed?"
Since she left me.
Since my heart got broken.
I shrug softly. "I don't know," I lie. I don't tell her the reasons which run straight into my head. I know I should, but I can't.
"Santana, we have been friends since we were little kids, I know when you are lying to me. If you keep this up then I am taking you straight to see someone, even if I have to knock you out and carry you there myself," her voice is stern, so I know she is being completely serious. Sometimes I forget how well she knows me.
Quinn sighs again when she see's that I'm not about to start talking despite her threat. She knows better than anyone at how bad I am about talking about my feelings. "You have to get over her one day you know, San," she says.
I narrow my eyes and look at Quinn. "I still love her, Quinn. Two and a half years later and I still fucking love her."
"I know," Quinn tells me, throwing me a sympathetic look. "It might help you to talk about it, rather than keep it to yourself."
I raise my eyebrow suspiciously at my best friend. "Is this your way of getting me to spill my guts to you?"
"Is it working?" Quinn asks, a small smile playing around on her lips. Quinn can be pretty persistent when she wants to be. It is how she became the Cheerios captain and Prom Queen at school, it's how she kept getting promoted in her job until she landed the manager's job when he retired.. Anything Quinn wants, she gets. Which is how I know I am going to end up caving and telling her everything.
"Fine," I say after a short pause. "But if I talk to you, I don't have to talk to anyone. No way in hell am I going to see a shrink."
"Deal," Quinn says, sticking her hand out so we can shake on it, then she leans back in her seat waiting for me to start talking.
"So, you want to hear my story Fabray?" I take a deep breath. "I guess it starts that night, two and a half years ago..."
Authors note: xox GMC
Hey, thank you for reading. I hope you like the start of this story, please let me know your thoughts and if I should continue writing it.
Please leave a review, your thoughts are all appreciated :)
I know where I am going with this story, it's unlike any Brittana story I have ever read on here, so you will have to keep posted to see what I mean or PM me for a hint ;)
