"But the thing about remembering is that you don't forget."
Tim O'Brien
Most people didn't know that Heather and Naya had hooked up in real life. Naya thinks even Heather denied it herself—she was that guilty. It was never about love, it was never about sensuality; it was about the connection from a fake scenario that they never would have been put in if Ryan had never made the "Brittana" storyline. Naya was thrilled when that plot was written; she'd always had a little bit of a crush on Heather. Heather never knew. While she was way smarter than her on-set character, she was still quite the blonde, and with that came the lack of ability to see what was right in front of her on more than one occasion. In this case, it was Naya. She never knew Naya had feelings that were more than, "Oh, yeah, Heather Morris? She's my best friend." They did everything together. They went everywhere together. And there was no reason they shouldn't have—they were best friends. The minute the two women met, it was as if some force had brought them together, like the universe had secretly told Naya that here, here she is, the girl you'll love forever.
No, it was never about love.
Or sensuality.
It was about the passion, the thrill, the timid but totally hot resistance Heather made when Naya gently touched her shoulder, pulled down the spaghetti strap of her workout shirt after yoga that afternoon.
It was about the soft and just there touch of fingertips on Naya's face when Heather got the clue—when Heather finally understood why Naya got so damn excited about those Brittana scenes.
It was about the hot bodies pressed together in the hammock on the back porch of Heather's apartment—the apartment she shared with the love of her life.
It wasn't about the cheating part.
It wasn't about the guilt to follow.
It was just a moment, a tiny jolt in Naya's chest when recognition took over Heather's face. It was just a tickle in the back of her heart where she thought maybe, maybe it could work after all.
But Naya knew it wouldn't. She knew when Heather told her she had to leave before he got home. She knew when, hastily, Heather gathered all of the clothes Naya dropped and didn't care to pick up on the journey to the bedroom, telling her to "get dressed, we look ridiculous." She knew when, when she begged Heather to rethink the past two years, to let Naya be hers and love her, and Heather gave her the most misunderstood, what in hell are you thinking? look Naya had ever seen.
She knew it would never work in her favour. The world couldn't be that easy.
No, easy wasn't, isn't, and never would be a part of it. Easy would be too simple; easy would be unrealistic.
Easy would be… easy.
Easy wouldn't include the past year, walking past Heather in a small talk fashion, never having more than a "hi, how are you, how's your family" conversation before the more than necessary yet totally unwanted (on Naya's part) distraction came busting in, swooping one of the two women back into whatever was going on before their passing. Easy wouldn't include seeing the Brittana moments dwindling down to nonexistent because of the newly acquired "Bram." Easy wouldn't include the ultimate decision to buy a dog because who else will let her hold her without fighting it, without resisting because of another love?
Easy wouldn't include the news of Heather's pregnancy.
Easy wouldn't include the dull ache of a blade in her heart as Naya journeyed to her bed and didn't get back out for six days.
No, she didn't get up. She didn't answer the door when it rang multiple times, friends begging her to let them in. She didn't get up when the urge to pee was so persistent that if she didn't, she thought her insides would burst.
The urge passed eventually.
She didn't get up when her phone sang to her through the voices of The Bee Gees, when over and over again the chorus sang to her, "How Deep Is Your Love, How Deep Is Your Love…" until she swore and banged the phone with the outside of her first enough times to make the glass screen crack.
She swore then, too.
She bled.
But she didn't get up.
She didn't even get up when a different song played.
"A Song For You," by Donny Hathaway.
But that song was for Heather, and that meant Heather was calling.
Naya picked up the phone, looked at the icon representing Heather's contact in her phone. It was the two of them after a drunk night in Cancun with the rest of the cast—god, was Heather cute.
Naya glanced at the phone for two more seconds—she counted—and then she threw the phone as hard as she could into the wall. It broke into pieces before her eyes.
She rolled over and slept away the memory.
