A/N: Wow. I'm blown away by the response of this story. And it's only been one chapter. Now I just hope I don't disappoint anyone! Please continue with the reviews. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'm not sure how long this is going to be yet. So plenty of angst left to discover. Also, my tumblr is located in my profile. I love new followers, and my ask is always open!
Chapter Two – Clowns Scare Her but I Don't
The late afternoon air provided little relief to the summer heat. It swept through the crack in the window that was barely large enough to fit Santana's petite frame. When she was younger, Santana often left the window completely open in order to sneak out. One evening however, Dr. Lopez had figured it out, and the tree outside Santana's window was conveniently cut down the following morning. The window had also been maneuvered in a way that didn't allow it to open any further than its current state.
As Santana sat on the window's sill, the light breeze gripped her right knee in a welcomed gesture. Shoulders slumped forward in an effort to give more skin the pleasure. Her right ankle was pulled beneath her left leg, allowing the latter to dangle casually beneath her.
Each uneven inhale satiated her. Santana urgently clung to the smoke in her lungs. The fiery vapor burned the top of her tongue and the back of her throat in a way that was almost comforting. It was her mouth's way of communicating that it was foreign, but not entirely undesirable. The smoke was expelled moments later, rolling across her skin, and slipping out the window as it mixed easily with static air. She needed this. It calmed her. It soothed her. It distracted her.
For the better part of the last hour, Isabella Lopez commented on Santana's choice of attire for idle summer days. A daughter of a respected doctor needs to keep up her appearance. What if someone important stops by? Seriously? It's highly unlikely that Obama is going to stop by Lima Fucking Ohio to congratulate Dr. Lopez on his work. But what her mother wants, she gets. Including a freshly showered Santana, complete with loose spiral curls that bounced with each subtle movement she made.
The honey edges of the cigar coated her lips, causing her tongue to slip between her parted mouth as she tried to keep them from drying out. The sweetness of the taste always surprised her, no matter how many times she smoked. With each puff of smoke her agitation lessened. The muscles in her face relaxed. The tightness of her jaw slackened. One more year and she was out of this house. One more year and she could leave this idea of perfection behind.
"I don't like when you smoke. It makes your mouth taste like Voldemort."
The intrusion diverted Santana from her mental tirade. She coughed. "What?" She managed, choking out the constricting smoke.
"He was made of ash or something. Remember how his face crumbled?"
"Britt, he isn't real." Another cloud of smoke swelled around Santana as Brittany remained in the doorway.
Blue eyes found carpet, shoulders shrugged, and a mumbled response was iterated. "I still don't like when you smoke."
"I thought we weren't kissing anymore."
"Well Lord Tubbington looks up to you. If he thinks I allow you to smoke, then he'll continue to do it."
Santana let out a giggle despite the ridiculousness of Brittany's words. Without hesitating, her hand reached through the window and stamped out the cigar on the underside of the sill. "What's with the outfit Britt?" Santana murmured, finally taking in Brittany's wardrobe. Santana's nostrils flared in unison with knitted eyebrows.
Blonde hair was secured tightly in a bun at the base of Brittany's neck. The sleekness of it told Santana she had done it while her hair was still wet. A light blue polo draped over her torso, blending into a pair of blue and yellow plaid shorts that stopped right above her knees. Brown Sperry's completed the ensemble.
"I wanted to look the part."
"You look like the offspring of Tiger Woods and Ellen DeGeneres." Santana chuckled lightly as Brittany's shoulders rose and fell in silence.
"We're going golfing. This is what golfers wear."
The clarity in her voice signaled to Santana that Brittany had in fact researched the topic. That thought alone caused Santana's heart to swell in adoration. The idea of Brittany googling what golfers wear was beyond adorable. "Britt, we're going mini-golfing. It's not the same thing."
Brittany's face spoke confusion. Her eyebrows rose and came together above the bridge of her nose. The corners of her eyes lowered. Her face cocked to the side. Santana wanted to slip from their just-friends-but-working-on-it façade. She wanted to kiss the uncertainty from Brittany's un-glossed lips.
Instead, Santana coughed nervously. Brittany needed new clothes, and Santana needed to stop staring. So she walked toward her closet, each step a distraction from Brittany's lips.
Opening the left door, she quickly found the black tank top she had worn last summer when Puck had tossed her into one the pools he had been hired to clean. Lying on top of a pile of clothes on the floor, she grabbed her pair of red jean shorts that Quinn had bought her on her sixteenth birthday. She had last worn the outfit when her father had taken her grocery shopping three weeks ago. Grouping the garments in her left hand, she tossed them at Brittany. "Here. I think these will be much more appealing than the Rosie O'Donnell look you're currently sporting."
Santana moved to her dresser, allowing her fingers to roam absentmindedly over the objects scattered on top. Her hand skirted across the pearl necklace her mother had given her upon completing Confirmation. Her other gift that day, the set of scarlet Rosary beads, stayed in a leather case at the bottom of her underwear drawer. The pad of her pointer finger traced the outline of a stray ring. A thin line at the top. A thick column down the middle. A pointed "u" at the bottom. The cold metal numbed her fingertip as she finished outlining the anchor.
Brittany's fingers began to fumble with the black buttons of her shorts. The image of Brittany's thighs as they emerged from the obtrusive fabric mocked Santana. Each inch of uncovered flesh begged Santana to touch it. To kiss it. To run her hands over smooth calves and freckled thighs. Her mouth watered slightly, almost animalistic in nature, forcing Santana to lick her lips in recognition of her blatant staring. She completely forgot to add the piece of jewelry to her finger. The display transfixed her, like a clock that had suddenly stopped ticking. Through the mirror, Santana continued to watch as tiny, red shorts eased their way into place. The piece of clothing seemed much shorter on longer legs, and Santana laughed inwardly at the thought of Quinn's reaction. She suspected Quinn didn't mean for them to be seen as revealing.
Nimble fingers were almost a blur as they hastily grabbed the hem of the blue polo. Brittany's scar from the first time she had tried flipping on a trampoline became visible as the fabric bunched at her bellybutton. Stomach muscles tensed and relaxed almost rhythmically while the shirt continued to travel upward. She imagined using her own fingers as drum sticks against the hardened flesh, creating a beat for each muscle to dance to unashamedly. Santana had to force herself to look away. She closed her eyes before turning back to the top of her dresser, feigning interest in a knick in the wood.
It would be near impossible to contain herself if she were allowed a peek at what came next. Even without seeing, Santana knew what they looked like. Until the day she died, she would never forget what they looked like. Milky flesh swelled to form mounds that fit perfectly in Santana's hands. Perky nipples constantly pleaded for some form of contact. Her left breast displayed a mole that was visible above every bra she wore. Santana's hands shook with the sudden need to cup Brittany's breasts, but she managed to fit the ring on her middle finger without faltering.
Santana took an unsteady breath, fixed her gaze on the ground as she walked toward her bed, and sat on the edge. Her eyes cautiously glanced back toward Brittany. The black material dipped low to scoop across her chest. It pinched in the middle, cupping each breast to create the illusion of fuller cleavage. The bottom of the top looked pleated as it fell loosely around her stomach. The hem barely reached the top of her shorts, allowing a sliver of skin to peek through the flowing material.
"Much better," Santana gulped, and Brittany returned the compliment with a child-like smile that was both innocent and sexy. Her lips remained closed, but the corners of her mouth rose to form puffed cheeks. She took up the spot Santana vacated in front of the mirror, and Santana watched as Brittany examined her eyelashes before reaching for Santana's mascara. "Do we really have to go?"
"I think it'll be fun." Brittany's face beamed as she bounced in place. The elevated pitch of her voice rang clear in Santana's ears. She looked at Santana through the mirror as she paused her application of mascara. "Why don't you want to go?"
"Spending my evening with a bunch of neurotic rabbits does not sound like fun."
"What does sound like fun then?" Brittany's words were sharp, but not intended to wound. She didn't understand why Santana couldn't see the rest of them like Brittany did. She didn't understand why Santana couldn't see them as family. She didn't understand why Santana couldn't trust them enough to accept her.
Brittany noticed as Santana's distressed expression quickly and flawlessly transformed to one of desire. It was easy to tease when Brittany was fully clothed. She knew deep down they were going mini-golfing, no matter how many subtle hints of other activities she threw in Brittany's direction.
"Not that kind of fun San."
Santana rolled her eyes in response even though it was the reply she expected. She slyly crossed her legs in an effort to seem undeterred by Brittany's refusal. If Brittany wanted to decline her advances, Santana would make sure Brittany knew exactly what she was missing out on.
Brittany's eyes roamed over Santana's legs. Delicate flesh between skirt and sandals taunted her, almost swaying her decision. Boned ankles extended to bronzed legs, Santana's birthmark on the back of her right calf hidden from view as it pressed against her left shin. Brittany wanted to feel the texture of skin as it transformed from bony knees to soft thighs, her hand making its way toward the black crevice the edges of the skirt created. She shook her head to clear it, focusing her attention back upon herself. Examining her reflection, Brittany pulled the hair tie from her hair and allowed it to fall freely over her shoulders.
Santana watched proudly as Brittany looked her over. But after noticing the light in Brittany's eyes grow dark with lust, the air around her grew warm, almost suffocating. Her heart pounded in her chest. Brittany turned toward her, and Santana noticed the quick intake and release of breath. A mannerism Brittany did to try and slow her own rapid heartbeat. Santana always found it odd because most people tried to slow their breathing. She opened her mouth to speak, but the heat vanished as her bedroom door was opened.
"Santana honey," Mrs. Lopez began before she noticed the second figure. "Oh, hello Brittany. I didn't know we had company." Her words were spoken slower, slightly higher in pitch. A way that let Santana know she should have asked first.
"Evening Izzie," Brittany greeted. Brittany was the only person who was allowed to call Mrs. Lopez this. And Santana kind of hated it.
"You look lovely dear." She addressed Brittany; a genuine smile plastered from ear to ear. A smile Santana hadn't seen since Daddy had received his Christmas bonus last year. "Maybe you can teach my daughter a thing or two about fashion in the summer. She seems to think the season is a time to sport the apparel of one of those starving, homeless children you see in those commercials."
"Oh Izzie this is…" Brittany started, but was quickly interrupted.
"Mom, what is it exactly you need?" The tone in Santana's voice told Brittany it was pointless to try and tell her mother the truth. Once she had her mind made up about something, it was impossible to alter it.
"Your father called. I'm headed to meet him for drinks with Dr. Rashid and his wife. I'm not sure when we'll be home."
"I'll probably sleep at Britt's. We're going mini-golfing with the kids from glee."
"Well, isn't that…lovely." She eyed her daughter over, making Santana feel smaller and more fragile. The way a baby bird is pushed back toward the center of the nest because the mother doesn't think it can fly yet. The genuine smile she had given Brittany was replaced by an infectious grin. Her lips were tighter, and the expanse of the smile decreased significantly. It displayed a different meaning from the look she had given Brittany. A meaning Santana had not figured out yet.
Brittany noticed as Santana's eyes lowered, almost submissively. Her spine remained sturdy, forcing her tiny abdomen to appear taller than it really was. It was a contradiction of sorts, and Brittany's confusion doubled as she took it all in.
"Yeah well. We should probably get going Britt." Santana rose to her feet, grabbed Brittany by the wrist, and evacuated the room quickly.
"Have fun girls." Mrs. Lopez called from the doorway. They sauntered down the beige carpeted hallway toward the stairs. Littered across the walls were family photos that documented Santana's growth from infancy to seventeen. Brittany always liked the picture of Santana running through a corn maze around the age of five. Her hair was tangled and messy, falling slightly above her shoulders. She was wearing a pink dress with white sandals. She just seemed so care and worry free that it often made Brittany jealous she didn't witness the moment in person.
"Thanks Izzie," Brittany responded over her shoulder.
"I don't think this could get any worse if it tried," Santana whined.
A quick summer rain had rolled through the area during their drive. The spastic weather had forced a stifling humidity upon them, causing the air to become thick and moist. Their skin was sticky with sweat as they walked from one hole to the next. Mosquitoes swarmed every ounce of flesh they could get their mouths on. On top of that, Santana was not good at mini-golf in the slightest. Brittany couldn't help but giggle at how pathetic Santana really looked. Stray hairs had frizzed in the overwhelming heat, reminding Brittany of the time they had rubbed balloons on their heads at cheer camp. Each time Santana's ball rolled off course, her club would conspicuously hit the offended turf. The clear frustration made Brittany laugh because she knew Santana ultimately cared about doing well.
"Maybe if you would act like you were having fun you would actually have fun San," Brittany offered as a response.
Lights littered the course few and far between. It forced Santana to squint in Brittany's direction, almost as if the penetrating light was offensive to her eyes. She took in the features of Brittany's face that were visible from the illumination to her right. The edges of Brittany's nose casted a dark shadow on the left side of her face, a scene of mystery Santana wanted to solve with curious fingers. The corner of Brittany's mouth visible curved toward her eyes, as the other faded into the darkness of the shadows. It was as if her face was split down the center, one a glimpse of innocent beauty, the other left up to interpretation.
The immediate desire to pull Brittany completely into the shadows overtook Santana. The darkness would give them the opportunity to explore each other without the sense of sight. The work of fingers and tongues as they put the dips and curves of flesh to memory. Her own smile engulfed her pressed lips, Santana's annoyance dissipating with each image of discovery.
"Santana it's your turn." Rachel's voice burst through Santana's mental investigation. She looked back toward hole eight and saw Rachel waiting, her right hand secured on a cocked hip. "We should have split the group in two. People who don't take as long could be done by now instead of waiting for balls to be retrieved by those with less accuracy."
Santana squared her shoulders to Ms. Polly Pocket. Her spine straightened almost inhumanly, arching in a way that looked painful. "Shut your trap Berry. Not all of us have time to participate in childish activities every day. Some of us actually have lives."
Rachel looked like she wanted to counter, but Finn kindly grabbed her by the forearm and led her toward Kurt and Mercedes.
"Come on San. Let's see whatcha got." Brittany encouraged, nudging the back of Santana's calf with the slimy metal of her mini-golf club.
Santana stomped through damp grass. Reaching the start of the hole, she placed her purple ball on the green. Bringing her club back, she released it against the sphere with a dull thud. It sprang across the velvety green. Skipped over a hilly obstacle. Before veering to the left and crashing into a pile of rocks.
"Well at least this time it didn't land in the water." Quinn reasoned. Santana shot her a challenging look. Santana cocked her head as wrinkles formed from raised eyebrows. Quinn deflated, her shoulders shrugging as if to say it was a joke.
Santana fished her ball out of the rocks and placed it back on course. One tap. Back to the bottom of the hill. Another tap. Over to the outer brick lining. A third tap. Open green. Another tap had it teetering on the rim. A final tap and it clanked to the bottom of the hole. Mumbled appreciated echoed from the group as her feet crawled toward her ball. The few that had still been watching slowly turned away. They began to walk toward the ninth hole as Santana took her time in retrieving her ball from the white, plastic cup.
"See, you're getting better." Brittany offered, brushing her hand softly against Santana's bare shoulder.
Her fingers sent Santana reeling from the contact. Although the thick air already had her skin crawling with sweat, Brittany's touch burned her. She immediately wanted to itch the infected skin, a means to both alleviate it and spread it further. She opted to shrug it off instead.
"What's wrong?" Brittany's voice softened with increasing uncertainty.
"Nothing B. I'm just really hot. I think I'm gonna go back to the shop and get something cold to drink while you guys continue." Her tone was louder as the muscles in her face relaxed.
Brittany watched these changes, taking in the way her voice briefly hitched at the word "nothing". Her head nod signified she had understood the underlying meaning to Santana's words. "You want me to come with?"
"No. Go on and have fun." Santana smirked, reaching out and giving Brittany's hand a reassuring squeeze. She knew Brittany was enjoying herself.
"Are you sure?" Brittany's voice rose in skepticism.
"Yeah. I think you're up next anyways." Santana smirked, nodding her head in the direction of the others.
Brittany returned the smile, nodded, and then turned on her heels. Santana hesitated, almost regretting her decision for company as she watched freckled shoulders peek behind bobbing blonde hair. Once Santana saw the joy on Brittany's face as she brought back her club, she knew it had been the right decision.
Santana walked back to The Putt Hut at the front of the mini-golf course. The rickety door creaked as she opened it weakly, and the sound of it slamming shut startled her. Her eyes closed unconsciously with risen shoulders as she winced at the sound. Within seconds, she stood in front of the drink cooler, scanning the different labels with phony interest. All of the liquids that would actually taste good contained too many calories for her liking, so she grabbed a bottle of water in defeat. Santana walked toward the counter and set it on top of the old wood.
"Is that it for ya?" The man behind the counter had to have been pushing eighty, Santana reasoned. His white hair lingered in patches across his head. Wrinkles lined his forehead, the corners of his eyes, and his lips as he smiled at her, revealing a few gaps in his dental plan.
"That's it." Santana handed him a flimsy dollar and two silver coins as the cash register chimed in acceptance. As she exited, her hands guided the door close in an effort to keep it quiet.
Instead of returning to the group right away, figuring her twenty-minute shots weren't missed, Santana lazily slumped into a bench. The front porch contained an oak railing and several benches for those needing a place to wait. Santana inferred that most people who sat here were waiting on people to finish, while she sat to avoid finishing. She unscrewed the cap of her water, choosing to concentrate on the bottle in her hands.
She would wait a few minutes, join her friends as they were approaching the thirteenth hole, and mutter some exaggerated sadness of missing out on four holes. It's not like she hated being here, well she did actually. She hated sucking at golf, the ridiculous weather, and Rachel's smug smile after she always made par. But being around them doing something she despised was better than sitting at home by herself.
"Can I join?" Santana's eyes moved upward from the ground as they surveyed hairy legs, Walmart brand jean shorts, a red t-shirt that looked like it had been run over a few times, a rugged chin, and landed upon smoldering brown eyes. He immediately disgusted her, and she didn't know why. When she didn't respond, he asked again.
"I don't own the bench," she replied, clear annoyance in every syllable.
He smirked, letting out a huffed laugh as he sat down next to her. Santana concluded he probably went to the community college down the road. His features indicated years of living, not necessarily wisdom. The stubble under his nose was thicker than the boys from school. It was kind of nauseating the way it resembled a caterpillar when he moved his lips.
"The name's Jake." She nodded in understanding. He waited for a response, but got none as she continued to take sips of her water. He eyed her over, taking in the fullness of her cheeks and lips, the rise and fall of her chest as she took in shallow self-conscious breaths, the crossing of tanned legs.
"Santana," she finally muttered with annoyance. As he began to speak again, she noticed as his eyes constantly fell to her breasts.
"Well Santana. I see you're sitting here by yourself…"
"I'm gonna stop you there Jakey. I'm not interested." Her eyes judged his for a moment before she turned her head away.
"Dressing like that, you sure give the wrong impression." His words were revolting, sending a shiver of disgust down her spine.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know it was a crime to dress appropriate to the weather."
"I didn't know it was a crime to hit on pretty girls." He shot back, smugness radiating off of him in waves.
"Like I said," she repeated as she stood to her feet. "Not. Interested." Each word enunciated clearly. Standing before him, Santana noticed the burn on his neck beneath his jaw. The familiarity of the scar unnerved her.
She slapped on a fake smile before making her way back to the group of misfits in the far corner of the course. Her legs felt shaky, as if added weight or pressure threatened their very function. Her destination felt like it would never be reached as she hurdled rocks, maneuvered around other holes, and even had to duck from a rogue ball that belonged to a snotty seven-year-old boy.
An uproar of cheers echoed through the area. Her attention shot toward them, and she immediately noticed Brittany jumping up and down as she shouted "Hole in one." Santana almost hesitated in her movements as she saw the happiness painted across Brittany's elegant features. She turned to fore go her request, but Brittany spotted her.
"San, did you see? Rachel got a hole in one." Her voice was vibrant, overflowing with sheer joy. Brittany held her hand in the air, and Rachel looked at it skeptically before raising hers as well. Brittany closed the gap with an echoed high-five.
However, when she noticed the pained look on Santana's face, Brittany's features fell instantly. The corners of her eyes and lips dropped, and her eyebrows rose in concern. "What's wrong?"
"Can we get out of here?"
"Is everything okay?" Brittany's eyes searched hers for answers.
"I just want to leave. Please." Santana couldn't shake the feeling that had overcome her. Being hit on wasn't something new for her, but it was the way he had done it. The cockiness, the certainty that she was willing to reciprocate his advances. The indignant tone of his voice and the piece of flawed skin on his neck had reminded her of too much. And it crawled under her skin, slithering its way through her like a snake's venom.
Brittany could tell something was off. Santana was sweating, but it was more than just the heat. Her face seemed paler in comparison to the rest of her body. "Yeah," she mumbled, nodding her head in agreement.
Brittany ran back to Quinn and whispered something in her ear. Santana watched as Quinn glanced in her direction, and she crossed her arms over her chest as she waited. Quinn and Brittany exchanged smiles before Brittany turned back toward Santana. Strong fingers wrapped around a fragile wrist, pulling Santana's arms from her chest in the process. The two of them retreated to Brittany's white Civic.
"Can we stay outside? I need some fresh air." Santana asked as they approached Brittany's front door. The thought of being contained inside at the moment suffocated her. The encounter with Jake had poisoned her, and she wanted to wait out its symptoms without the threat of being enclosed somewhere.
"Sure. Let me grab some blankets and we can lay in the back yard." Brittany disappeared into the brick house. Santana watched the front door open and could see that the lights were off, indicating that the rest of the Pierce family had already gone to bed.
After the door was closed, Santana turned to walk to the side of the house. She looped her arm underneath the top beam of the gate in order to reach its latch. She never understood why the latch was so difficult to find, but Brittany had once explained that it was the gate's way of deciding who was allowed in the back yard. Once you figured out its secret, you could enter. But apparently the gate expected secrets in return or the latch would move to a different location. Santana knew the idea was ridiculous, but she couldn't help but play along, fearing that Brittany would come home one afternoon and not be able to find the latch and it would be her fault.
"I keep a copy of the Glee Club's Yearbook photo from sophomore year in my desk drawer." She smiled at the absurdity of the act of speaking to a gate, and the actual words spoken. But it was comforting. The act of doing something Brittany would want her to do.
The yard wasn't as big as her own, and it didn't have a pool, but the fence outlined a quaint area complete with two large oaks. One of which Brittany had fallen out of in fifth grade, breaking her arm in two places. Several rows of varying flowers lined the perimeter, many missing heads. Brittany never told her, but Santana had found the book of pressed petals in her nightstand one night. Mrs. Pierce planted a small vegetable garden in the corner to teach her daughters responsibility. Santana noticed the green beans and tomatoes instantly. She needed to remind Brittany they were ready to be picked.
Brittany entered the yard through the sliding door as Santana heard it click shut. A pink afghan was draped over her forearm, and Brittany had pulled her hair into a side ponytail to cool the back of her neck.
Brittany sidled up next to Santana, and arranged the blanket over the grass, plopping down with the grace only a natural dancer could muster. Brittany would have let Santana help, but she usually left a side folded or a corner tucked. The action always brought a look of mixture of jealousy and awe to Santana's face.
Santana settled into the spot next to her, elbows touching elbows, ankles brushing ankles. Her head rolled back slightly to gaze upward at the night sky. The clouds from the previous storm were completely gone, allowing them to view the stars unimpeded. The clear, dark backdrop was the perfect contrast to the radiance of each blinking star. It was almost breathtaking, but Santana would argue that the girl lying next to her was more capable of taking someone's breath away.
"Did something happen when you went for water?" Brittany's head turned so her cheek was lying flat against the blanket, eyes boring into the side of Santana's face. She watched as Santana shook her head in response, and understood that she obviously didn't want to talk about it.
Brittany returned her gaze to the sky above. "Did you know that the Big Dipper and Little Dipper are actually bears?"
Santana's head shot to the right as the silliness of the question hit her. "Did you have something to drink while you were inside?"
A laugh erupted inside of Brittany, the joyous and intoxicating sound exploding past her lips. "San I'm talking about the stars. Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. They mean great bear and small bear." Her hand lifted in the air, pointing to a set of stars almost directly above them. Santana noticed as Brittany's eyes narrowed, as if tunneling her vision directly to what she wanted to see.
"And how is it you know this exactly?"
"You know how in The Lion King, they say Mufasa is watching over Simba because he's in the stars? Well that always confused me. So I began looking into it. And I found that constellations are actually pretty interesting. There's just something beautiful about the way these infinite lights can string together to form shapes that will always be there. This constant piece of art in an ever-changing world."
Santana swallowed the love that had clumped in her throat, forcing it back down inside of her. People always underestimated Brittany. Santana was not innocent of that mistake either. But seeing this. Seeing her face light up with admiration and intelligence. It was a side of Brittany she longed for. She scooted closer, gently placing her head on Brittany's chest. "Show me more."
Brittany smiled, sliding her left arm underneath Santana, wrapping it securely around Santana's waist. She took in a steady breath as her free arm pointed to an area to their far left. "That one there. That's Orion, the hunter."
Santana squinted in the direction of Brittany's pointing. "I don't see it."
Brittany clasped Santana's wrist and guided her finger, tracing the outline of the constellation with both of their hands. "Many myths depict him as a famed hunter who often boasted that he was unstoppable. In some stories, he is defeated by a scorpion, and both of them were placed in the heavens, on opposite sides of the sky where they can't be seen at the same time."
Santana smiled against Brittany's chest as she listened intently to every word she spoke. Brittany guided her hand to the right, tracing another outline. "That one there is Leo, the lion." Santana couldn't really see it, but she nodded anyways. She didn't care if she saw the shapes. All she cared about was listening to Brittany as she excitedly pointed them out.
Santana's arm dropped from Brittany's grasp. She draped it over the exposed skin of Brittany's stomach where her shirt had ridden up.
Brittany continued without Santana's hand, moving slightly to the left. "That one is Cancer, the crab."
Santana's face rose and fell with each breath Brittany took, the motion lulling her. Here, wrapped in Brittany's arms, listening to Brittany's voice, this was where Santana felt safe. This was where she felt alive. Her eyes closed in response. Brittany's words continued to float around her as she slowly drifted to sleep.
Brittany heard the unevenness of Santana's breath somewhere between Cassiopeia and Andromeda. She placed a lingering kiss on Santana's head, hugging both of her arms around Santana to pull her closer. She allowed her own eyes to drift close as her breathing began to match Santana's.
Santana had returned home the following morning to find another envelope on her desk. She grinned wide as the memory of last night and the excitement of the letter flooded her. Tearing it open, she pulled the parchment out and unfolded it.
Letter Two.
Dear Santana,
Do you remember our first sleep over? We were eight. My mom called yours to ask for permission. I remember thinking how lame you probably thought I was because my mom had to call for me. She told me girls my age didn't need to use the phone yet. She didn't understand that you already had your own cell phone. I remember playing that snake game on it at recess, but I always died before you. I still don't understand why the snake couldn't touch itself. My sister's snake Rosy touches herself all the time.
Anyways, my parents let us watch The Parent Trap, and you said how cool it would be to have a sister. I told you that you could have mine, which I later got yelled at for. I was just trying to be nice, but apparently saying your sister can be a part of someone else's family is a bad thing. After the movie, we were told to go to bed. Do you remember what we did instead? We built that fort in my room using my blankets and pillows.
We started telling scary stories, and you asked if I heard the one about the clown in the closet. Little did you know clowns are my biggest fear. Do you remember how you had to hold me as I cried for an hour after you told it? Do you remember having to walk me to the bathroom because I was too scared to go alone? Do you remember having to sleep with the light on, and how we tied the door handles of my closet together with a jump rope?
I bet you remember when I finally rolled over to fall asleep. I bet you remember stroking my hair from my cheek to place a peck there. I bet you remember whispering that you wish I were your sister so you could take care of me as we grew up. I bet you're probably blushing now because you didn't know I heard you. I know you didn't want me to hear those words, but I'm so glad I did.
Even though being my sister now would be gross, your meaning of those words then is true. You have taken care of me as I grew up. And we will take care of each other as we continue to grow older. I'm not scared to be with you. I'm not scared of what our relationship will be.
It started with a clown. And I swear Santana, that clown better never come to live in my closet. I think I should tie the handles together again. Hold on, I think I hear something. What if it's the clown?
Don't worry, it was just Lord Tubbington. He likes to play with the hangers.
Reason #2: Clowns scare me but you don't.
Sincerely yours,
Brittany S. Pierce.
A shaky tear slid down Santana's right cheek as she folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope. She slid it into her desk drawer that contained the first one. Minutes later, a second scrap of paper joined the other on the inside of her right closet door.
Reason #2: Clowns scare her but I don't.