A/N Later than I expected, I know :( As I've said before, July is hell for me.
Also, Haiti2013 was sweet and betaed this 3 hope you enjoy!
/
Chapter 1
There are so many things you don't know about her, yet she's stuck in your mind and you can't find a way to get her out.
You think - and that maybe this makes you a bad person - that you feel guilty. There's no particular reason, it's that kind of feeling you get when you're around a 'different' person and Brittany, well, she is definitely a 'different', isn't she?
It's been almost a week and you're thinking of going back there. After all, before you met Brittany, you were able to isolate your mind enough not to think too much about what people say about you, how they treat you, how they smear your locker with nasty words and comments about the way you are.
There's a part of you that knows that Brittany will be there, because she said she's known Cassandra July since she was a little girl - she even calls her Cassie - so she must assiduously following her lessons. At the same time, this part of you wants to see her again, it's curious to find out more about this person who seems so similar to you in many different ways.
While you wonder why you care so much, on the other hand you already have the answer: Brittany is really like you. The things you felt during your meeting last week opened your eyes a little. It's as if Brittany made you find out that you're not the only one that is different, at least you're different with someone else, and not all alone.
Brittany looked at you like you were judging her a few times and, as much as you know how stupid it is to feel guilty towards a girl that you barely know - if the bitch you were could hear you, she would be ashamed of you - you just can't help but feel the desire to apologize.
You have caused another person the same feeling that others continually make you feel. That suffering, the pain of feeling like you're not even a human being.
It's ridiculous if you consider that happens just because you like girls rather than boys.
Do you like Brittany?
You honestly don't think so.
It's true, your first thought was that she was a stunning gorgeous girl, but you can't really say that you like a person with whom you've spoken just once.
Honestly, since you've found out that you like girls, you've also changed the way you estimate people. You feel a bit deeper if you compare it to the standards you used to pick boys. You don't even know if it could be effectively considered a standard.
You simply thought you'd be able to sleep with all the guys that seemed nice and maybe it's a too large standard to be considered one. Instead, since you've begun to take an interest in girls, everything is different. You've discovered that women live in a different word; there is so much to explore.
You feel a little feminist as you think about it, but you can't help it: it's simply the impression that you had. Perhaps it's due to the fact that no man has ever managed to make you feel anything more than an orgasm. They've always been just toys for you and, in part, you're aware of the fact that it goes the same for you in their eyes.
You're lying on the bed in your room, looking at the ceiling.
What's wrong with me?
This question is stuck in your mind; you can't help but wonder at least twice a day. You're even becoming convinced that there is really something and you just have to figure out what it is. You don't think you would change though, but you refuse to believe that everyone can treat you differently just because you like girls.
You brush your own hair.
It's the same way you've always brushed it.
You stare at the ceiling.
This is different: you have never spent so much time looking at nothing before. You had a social life, you had … friends? You're not sure you can call them that, at least, not anymore. What kinds of friends abandon you when you need them?
You rest your cheek against the mattress.
It's one of those things you've always done, and then you can't understand, really. You are exactly the same person you were before you found out that you liked girls the way you are supposed to feel about boys. Your way of approaching has change somehow, but you're still Santana Lopez.
You should also be the biggest bitch at McKinley, but now no one's afraid of you anymore.
You climb slowly on the bed until you reach the pillow. Wherever this night brings you to, it will be very long and tomorrow is Wednesday. There's another dance lesson, in the same classroom and all you need to do is decide whether you're going to go there or not.
It's all in your hands.
Unlike many things in your life, you can choose this.
This thought makes you smile a little while you pull the pillow closer to you.
/
When you step into the ballroom, always bright as if you were the middle of summer in some hot exotic location, you can't fight the small sense of disappointment, because you notice that she is not here. It's a strange feeling really, because you're supposed come to dance and feel comfortable in a place where nobody knows you, right?
Of course you didn't come here for Brittany, the deaf girl you barely know that maybe you'll never meet for anything more than a polite conversation.
You're here to dance.
You shouldn't even care about who's there and who's not, then you step in with more decision and nod to Cassandra July, while she will responds with an ironic half bow. It's unbearable that she makes you feel the weight of your flaws with a simple gesture, really (and then, even if the instructor makes you feel how you usually feel, Santana, what is the reason why you are here right now? You don't think you have a right answer for that).
You shift to place next to the bar, like the previous time, and drop your bag to the floor. You're following a sort of ritual that is to be repeated, or something like that, but you have no reason for that either.
You're acting strange, it's evident.
Sometimes your mind is a mystery to yourself too.
It's as if by now you don't even have control over your thoughts. Above all, because the people around you seem like they want you to understand that they care about anything but what you're thinking: you're a problem for society, your sexuality seems to be a problem for everyone even if you haven't bothered anyone personally.
It's for this reason that you've lost the true Santana Lopez and you're not sure of the fact that you're going to find yourself again.
It makes you a bit sad, but there's a part of you that is resigned to the point that it has stopped hurting. It's okay; there is still nothing you can do to change the situation, so why should you waste your energy?
You're starting to lean a bit, to bend and loosen your muscles. There is something inside of you that's sad, and empty, but you don't know what it is. You feel the exact same things every day, so there must be something different from the last time.
You try not to think that it's Brittany: she is a girl you barely know, how could you be interested in her presence?
Maybe it's because you feel a little guilty. You made her feel different seven days ago, and you who know what it means to feel different, so you shouldn't do it to someone else. You should be very careful about what you say. Maybe you've started to see everyone around you as an enemy, so you can't understand who is mean and who is not.
Brittany is just a random victim that makes you realize that you're changing, more and more.
While you raise an arm to bend as you bend, you hear some giggles in the background. You turn your gaze immediately and it ends to the door.
When you see this scene, you immediately feel something bubbling inside you: Brittany is entering the room, holding her fingers tight around the shoulder strap of her bag, looking down on the floor (a look that you know well), and the other girls are laughing at her, looking, and pointing, whispering something you can't here from your spot.
You decide instinctively that you hate them, seriously. They just look like a stupid gossip group and you hate them because they make fun of a sweet creature like Brittany.
She doesn't even notice, of course, she's got her look down and can't hear them. Or maybe she doesn't want to look and already knows that they are mocking her. For a few seconds, you realize that she is like you, just like you thought. They laugh at her because she's different.
You feel your hands shaking and your throat tightening.
You want to put your hands on these stupid bitches. Your eyebrows arch and the grimace of disgust on your face is dictated by the fact that you can't believe that they can laugh at such a lovely girl. At least you're a bitch and you know that when they make fun of you, it's also because they want revenge for all the times that it was you who insulted them.
While Brittany timidly approaches you (but her eyes still fixed on the floor, so you doubt she's noticed), you realize that she is innocent. You have only suffered a reprisal of your own wickedness, while she doesn't seem capable of hurting, how could she deserve such a thing.
She takes place in front of you but doesn't notice your presence.
She's too busy avoiding the looks that she knows that will hurt and you know this feeling, the mood, you know exactly what she's feeling right now and it makes you nervous and weak at the same time.
You want to hug her as much as you want to kick these bitches' asses.
You think it's even crueler than what they do to you because it's mean: these stupid girls are laughing at her while Brittany doesn't even have the opportunity to realize it. It's not only bad, but it is even down right cruel.
You wonder what the hell is wrong with people.
When Brittany finally looks up, after shyly biting her lower lip, she notices you.
Maybe you see her eyes lighting up a little of a different light and her lips curling into a smile.
While she's looking at you in a different way, you dare to say almost cheerful for some reasons you don't know how to define, you feel your heart pounding in your chest. The beats are quick while you move a bit faster, toward her. You take a few seconds to breathe and observe her clothes.
Unlike you - you're still dressed in black – she is wearing a yellow tank top, white sweatshirt and gray shorts.
You want to ask how the hell can she wear things like that, but all you can think about before you can check is that she looks amazing anyway. Shit, it's a strange feeling, isn't it? You feel butterflies in your stomach as you watch this beautiful girl who is smiling as if you were a ray of sunshine in her cloudy day. Well, she is definitely a ray of sunshine in your cloudy day.
"Hey." She whispers, approaching you, looking in your eyes for a few seconds and then going down on your lips.
"Hey." You whisper back, and try hard not turn around to look from where a chuckle is coming.
You would not want Brittany to realize what's happening; especially you don't want her to know it from you. On the one hand it would be fair that she knew, on the other hand, you want to avoid this unnecessary sorrow
"You ... you've been here for long?" She asks you, and you can immediately see the effort that she needs to moderate her voice. You images that it must be horrible not being able to hear yourself as you speak. The thought makes you feel sick in your stomach.
Suddenly you feel that twinge replaced by a pleasant warmth when you realize that Brittany has used a random question to start a conversation with you. You find it adorable and you can't control the smile that blooms on your face as you watch her.
"Just a few minutes." You try to be as simple as you can with words. "I thought you weren't coming." You confess and you have to restrain from saying I've thought of you all week long, I couldn't help it.
You don't know if it's her golden hair - today gathered in a ponytail -, her wonderful blue eyes, her long legs ... and yet she's haunted you.
"I'm always here." She answers, with a bitter smile, shrugging and looking toward the floor.
You know exactly what that smile means.
It's the awareness that she is here because it's the only place where she feels safe, because it's the only place where she doesn't feel treated differently. The problem is also that you realize that she is treated differently here too, simply she can't realize it. It's so damn unfair and cruel that someone will take advantage of her deafness to make fun of her behind her back.
They're obvious jealous, according to you.
Every girl in the world should be jealous of this sweet and sexy creature in front of you and they can only laugh at her deafness because the rest is way too perfect to get mocked. The very thought makes you sick and yet you were one of those people who make fun of others on their weaknesses not long ago.
Somehow, right now, you're just happy to not be one of those people, even though you had to go through hell to change.
"Hmm ... hey?" Brittany says, attracting your eyes.
You see her biting her lower lip and only then you realize that you didn't answer. You had lost a bit in your thoughts and you forgot the conversation.
"Oh, um ... yeah, I guess, Cassandra knows you well, so I deduced that you were here often." You speak quickly in panic, and you notice that she's tightening her eyelids as she focuses more on your lips to read them. She's probably reading the keywords or something. You don't know how it works. "So ... I'll find you here, like, always?" You ask her and she smiles back then.
"Of course."
She smiles at you and now you're both smiling, which makes you feel very relieved.
"Take your places, we start in two minutes." Cassandra announces and this time you already know that you will need to position yourself in front of Brittany.
You hate Cassandra a little because she's shut down your conversation with Brittany. However, you know that this is a ballroom, not a small table for coffee and chatting. Yet today it seems so. It didn't take much, but compared to last week, you feel less plagued, freer in this room. Of course, you also have a strong desire to make your way along the floor and pull your hands on those hateful bitches, but you won't do it for now (you have to admit that it's strange to feel this way towards a person you barely know, but again, maybe it's because you're too much alike and you know what she's feeling).
For now.
The rest of the lesson goes through quietly, except for the slight anxiety that you feel about the nervousness at the idea that Brittany get bullied when she looks like an angel descended on earth. In addition, you just want to turn to face her, because you know she's behind you. You would want to look at her, you're curious to see her moving because you haven't seen the way she dances yet, but you can't do this because Cassandra's eyes are always focused firmly on you. You feel as if one step wrong could cost you a huge public derision and deep down you know that it's because the instructor seems the type of woman who can't help but make others uncomfortable. You don't know why, but it looks like you're always on her radar, she's staring at you throughout the lesson with a look that you're still not able to decipher.
When she picks up the stick, however, you just can't help but turn to face Brittany and smile while you settle your hair, the bun now loose and reduced to a ruffled ponytail. She is smiling too, as if she was waiting for you to turn. There is a strange feeling between you, it's new and you don't understand it.
Some might have called it chemistry? But you never believed in that romantic stuff. But still…
At least it was one of those things that you've never imagined it could happen to you.
"You're a good dancer." Brittany tells you and you blush a little because you don't know if she's saying that to flirt or because she really thinks, which is hardly surprising seeing as she dances every week, so she's probably be much better than you.
In both cases, you feel flattered.
"N-no, really, I'm not." You laugh and cross your arms across your chest, nervously, pressing your lips together, you're a little tense. "I'm not so good, not really."
You shake your head.
You will have to learn to make better use of body language if you want to communicate with her, but it doesn't really bother you.
"You are." Brittany whispers, smiling and you look at her, a bit nervous. "I don't tell lies, ever. The Caterpillar has taught me that lies make us bad people."
You laugh a little nervous and, once again, you don't know if she's kidding or she's serious. This girl is so strange, confusing to you, but at the same time you like her.
Here you are.
You've already thought that you like her.
How bad are you now if you think that of a girl who is almost unknown to you?
"Well ... there are worst people than that." You try to joke but you're shaking, however, when you look into her eyes and it seems that those with crystalline irises can read every single part of you, revealing even the mysteries that lurk behind the your black ones. "Um ... you're not bad if you tell a lie to make people feel a bit better."
Brittany's eyes are now focused on your lips and you don't even realize you're swallowing under her gaze. She's so beautiful while she stares at your mouth that you think you'd kiss her. It is so stupid, but maybe it's because you haven't messed around with a girl for a while, and yet ... and yet Brittany seem so fragile that you can't only think of fun and messing around. It seems that almost every part of the talk involves much more from both of you, every time. Things that you don't even say to each other.
"I don't think so." She finally answers, when she has managed to order the words you spoke in her head, rearranging the sentence. Then again she's already looking back into your eyes. "You shouldn't tell a lie to make people feel better." She repeats, shaking her head. "You should tell them the truth and convince them that there is nothing bad about it."
You smile nervously, your heart is starting to pound at rhythms you do not know in your chest and you have no idea why. You lower your gaze for a few seconds, because these beautiful blue eyes are capable of making you feel at home and make you uncomfortable at the same time. You have no idea how to feel about it, and then you sigh a little and press your lips together, trying not to show it too much.
When you lift your gaze back to her, she's looking back at your mouth and you don't know how you feel about that, if you continue to come to these lessons, she will do that again.
Somewhere inside of you, you would like that she looked because she wants to kiss your mouth and not to read the words.
Somewhere inside of you, you really hope it's like this.
"Yeah, maybe you're right." You show her a smile, and she smiles back, nodding. "It's probably that I told the truth to anybody for too long and never lying made me a bitch, in their opinion."
"Well, they must have changed their mind when you told then that there is nothing to feel bad about in the truth, right?" She's smiling again, this time looking into your eyes.
Right.
You've never thought about it, and yet the answer was so simple.
It's not about the fact that you told the truth, what you think that makes you a bitch in the eyes of other people, but the fact that you used the truth to humiliate them. You've ever thought of telling the truth on a good purpose, you've always done with such lightness that you didn't even worry about what you said.
Your silence and the way you look down guiltily must be fairly easy to decode for the girl who stands before you.
"Oh." She comments, and when you look up, she looks a little sad. "So ... you've never told anyone?"
You shake your head, lowering your gaze again.
"I hadn't realized." You answer, with another sigh. "I just thought that telling the truth about what I think - good or bad that it is - was right, to be completely honest. "
To tell people when I think they suck. You think, but don't add. For unknown reasons, you care about what the girl in front of you thinks of you. You would never want her to see you as that bitch that destroys others. Besides, now you've experienced on your skin what it means to feel different.
"You've got time to recover." She tells you and you raise your eyes, with a confused expression. For a few seconds, you think that for once she hasn't got what you said, but she has. "Maybe you could start by apologizing to the people you hurt."
You look straight into her eyes, breathing in and out slowly, feeling your heart beat faster. It's not just the blue of her eyes staring at you which is so beautiful it makes you forget any word you wanted to say. It's also because you know immediately that she is right: with your forked mean tongue you have also hurt people who wouldn't want to hurt, ever.
Maybe time has come to apologize.
As soon as you take a breath, Brittany's eyes are focused on your mouth again. You'll never get used to it. You feel that you want her to look at your lips look like that because she wants to kiss you. You barely know her and you feel the need to make you deliverable in her eyes. Is it egocentrism, narcissism, or are you simply attracted to this beautiful dancer?
"Do you ... do you think I should?" You ask, trying to articulate the words, as you stare at her face and try not to get charmed. It's hard. "Well, it's been a lot of time ago and-"
"It's never too late to apologize." She smiles at you and, after a few seconds, you do the same.
Just when you're about to thank her, you free Cassandra announce to get out of the classroom. You lean towards her anyway, but it's too late: Brittany's gaze is focused on the floor and she's noticed the saddle. She lifts her eyes and looks at you, but there is something different this time.
"It's never too late, okay?" She tells you only as you see a light sparkle of terror into her eyes.
You have no idea what's exactly happening but before you can even whisper a thank you, you see her running mysteriously out of the room, bag lifted to her abdomen. You stare at the scene motionless, unable to move, because it all happened too fast since a moment before you were talking and now Brittany has just run away, as if she was afraid of something.
You walk a little lifeless along the floor and no matter how much you stick out, you don't manage to catch her image through the door.
Only when you look around and notice that Cassandra is looking at you as if she's trying to kill you with her eyes, you realize that you're left alone with her and you should get out.
You move quickly, but your legs are trembling a bit for some reason, still destabilized by all that has happened in the last minute.
You find yourself out of the room, in the hallway.
You look around hoping to see her, but she's not there.
You sigh sadly and walk to exit the building.
When you do, however, you trample onto something.
You bow down to pick up the little piece of paper and as soon as you lift it in the mid-air to read it, you find yourself arching your eyebrows.
In an adolescent and feminine writing, it says: I see you, but you can't hear my footsteps behind you.
/
You've spent the whole night thinking about it, and yet you haven't achieved much.
You don't want to jump to conclusions and you think that it's also your personal experience that is influencing you. You think it's a kind of bullying, you someone might be haunting Brittany like they do with you. It reminded you a bit of the stupid notes you find in your locker that say 'I would speak to you, but I don't want you to infect me with your homosexuality', and things like that.
You don't know what makes you sick the most, the fact that you've learned to recognize these things right away, or the fact that someone could be doing such a thing to a person as good as Brittany, a girl who pushed you to do what you're doing now with her words.
You're walking down the hallway of McKinley, a bit of agitation running through your body. Your heart is pounding - not as strong as when you are next to Brittany, but still enough to make you understand how much nervous you are about doing something that you never do: apologize.
You try to be careful, because you don't want to inspire any rumor. You keep books close to your chest, as if they can defend you, and you get close to her, tapping with your finger on her shoulder.
She turns right towards you, startling a bit and watching you with her green eyes full of something that you can't define. She isn't smiling, but you didn't expect things to be different, to be honest.
"Um ... I know this will seem stupid to you and it actually seems stupid to me too, if that's a consolation." You explain and roll your eyes to yourself, hating that you are being so ridiculous in front of the girl who used to be your best friend.
However, Brittany's words have made you think and you need to re-evaluate all the words that you said in recent years, including all those times when you thought you were only sincere and instead you've probably offended people, hurt them.
"We don't have much to talk about." Quinn winces and immediately closes the locker, showing you her shoulders and hurrying to put some distance between you.
You won't give up.
You walk in the same way and follow her.
"Listen, Q-"
"There is no more Q for you." She replies, still annoyed with that grin on her face, while clutching books to her chest and you feel a stab in your heart.
You know it's true, but it still hurts.
She's the friend of a lifetime and you want her to see you as she saw you before.
"Quinn, hey, wait." You stretch your arm to grab at hers, wrapping your fingers around her skin, exposed from uniform.
She then turns around, looking first at the point where your hand is closed around her arm, then slowly, until she meets your eyes.
"What do you want?" She asks, breathing and looking at you with those green eyes that seem to be able to kill. "I thought it was clear that our friendship was over when you decided not to tell me about you."
You shake your head a little and wince. You know you'd have never been able to tell her alone, the fear of being judged clutching into you, it has stopped you and it's always going to be like this.
"I'm sorry." You murmur and look straight into her eyes because she knows how hard it is for you to say that. "I haven't been honest with you, and when I've been, I just sounded offensive."
She looks at you, lifting an eyebrow, as always, clutching the books to her chest.
"What do you mean?" She asks hesitantly, as if she wants to show the hesitant side of her anyway.
"You know, when ... when I do that thing." You explain, gesturing and then focusing your black eyes on her. "When I think of things, I say that and pull out because I think that there is nothing wrong in telling the truth. I realized that maybe sometimes when I do, I become offensive. I've never even thought to tell you that everything's okay to me."
You shyly raise your gaze, as shyly as you never do.
Quinn's looking at you in disbelief, as if she doesn't understand how you can say such a thing.
You breathe in; you don't want her to think that you put on a speech on purpose or something. You're simply going to her wearing your heart on your sleeve, brutal honesty.
"What makes you think I care?" Quinn replies to you, raising her eyebrows.
You can see it in her eyes that she's tempted to give you a chance to speak but she's also too proud to do so.
"Well, whatever has moved your noble spirit toward this direction, that's not how it works." She tells you, blinking as if she is insecure. "You can't just come in here and tell me that ... you're suddenly sorry."
"But I truly am." You try to explain to her, looking at her with sincere eyes. "Look, I know you probably imagine that I'm saying this because I spent all the money I had to buy some cigars and I want to bum lunch, but it's not like this." You see her lips a little arch in a spontaneous smile. "I'm here because someone spoke to me and made me think-"
"Well, anyone who has spoken, it must have a great influence on you, because I'm sure that you would never do what other people tell you to do." She answers, and once again she lifts an eyebrow. "I wonder who made you change your mind because I've tried for months and the result was just being insulted even more."
You smile a bit, but at the same time, you look down: it wasn't your intention, that's how you behave naturally. You didn't want her to feel as if her words aren't worth anything.
And then there's that part of you that think about her words: you have no idea how to justify that Brittany has convinced you on a day while she hasn't been able to do it for months; plus, you can't help but think of what Brittany means to you, how she can make you take these decisions with a few words and one look, when you've always been the kind of person that can't be controlled by anyone.
"I'm so sorry, okay?" You ask, lifting you gaze nervously up at Quinn as if you want to avoid that part of the speech. "You know how hard it is for me to say or do these things; I'd rather talking crap about people because it's easier."
"I know." Quinn shrugs and answers you. "I've always known, I was just waiting that you found the courage to tell me out loud."
You arch your eyebrows, but before you can actually say something, Quinn shows you a grin and her back, and then walks down the hall.
You stay there, in the middle of the hallway, under the gaze of all the student of McKinley High.
You don't know exactly what this smile is supposed to mean, if Quinn is planning to give you a second chance or something.
It's a small glimmer and you don't know if it will turn into light.
Yet, you feel a slight and familiar heat spread through your body, invading your chest with a silent thank-you that you're whispering in your head.
You know it's for Brittany.
You also know that you will have to wait a week to tell her out loud and this is making you sad and weak, lost on the dirt floor, probably exposed to the eyes of all those people who want to see you looking like this along the hallways.
A long week without Brittany.
For some reason you don't know, it's already too much to bear.
10