Summary: She's important. She's always been important. And now she's back, and Santana has no idea what to do.
Author's Note: Guys! I'm so sorry it's taken so long to write this... I've been really busy with school and crap... Ugh...
But, here's part two! Hope you like it :) And there's a small "drug" reference, and a lot more swearing... So, if you'll get offended, don't read it!
Nobody Said It Was Easy
Chapter Two:
Sun shines through my window and onto my face, and it doesn't wake me up. Why? Because I'm already fucking wide awake. I've been nodding in and out of consciousness for the last couple of hours; I'm restless. I blame Brittany for everything. She's making sleep even more impossible than it usually is. I usually get myself drunk, to numb the aching feeling of loneliness, and then I fall asleep to wake up to no recollection of the previous nights' events. It works, but I'm obviously not used to this. It's unnerving and a little bit embarrassing, because Brittany's in my bed and I can't even fall fucking asleep. I sigh into my pillow.
And not to mention we're like, half naked. That fucking helps.
I glance at the clock and see that it's 10:37 in the morning. I've been awake for far too long, and I definitely need to get some sleep before Monday arrives. I'm dreading work already. I turn to face Brittany, trying not to make too much noise in the process. She has a tight hold on me, and all I can do is smile. Memories of waking up late on lazy, Sunday mornings, watching re-runs of Friends and eating copious amounts of junk-food flash behind my eyelids. I remember Brittany tends to cling onto things when she sleeps; she definitely likes to cuddle. Not to mention she's fucking adorable. Leave it to Brittany to be the cutest sleeper on the planet. Her arm is still wrapped around my waist, and her golden hair has fallen perfectly around her face, shielding her eyes from the early rising sun.
God, she's gorgeous.
I watch as her body moves up and down with every breath she takes. I don't mean to be a creeper, but I've always loved watching Brittany sleep. She always looks so peaceful and elegant, something that I always lack. Most of the time, I look like a piece of shit, not to mention my inability to stay under the covers; I get way too hot. I reach out and trace my finger down her forehead, to the ridge of her nose, and then stopping at her lips. They're perfect. I lean in and kiss them. Brittany shuffles.
Fuck. Don't wake up, don't wake up. Brittany returns to her previous position, and I let out a heavy sigh. I kiss her one last time and close my eyes, praying for more sleep.
But the second I close my eyes, Brittany's already sucking on my neck, wide awake. I smile to myself, wrapping my arm around Brittany's lower back. I lean into her, purely out of habit. I kiss her forehead, purely out of habit. Brittany nips at my jaw and then licks her way down my chest, her tongue doing fucking work. I would say this is purely out of habit. My breathe hitches.
"Brittany, go to sleep," I mumble. I hear her chuckle, but she doesn't stop. I can't help myself from giggling along with her. It was fucking weird. Laughing with Brittany, especially in the position we're in, seems so natural, like I've been doing it forever. But knowing what we had, and what had happened, and the unbearable five years when we weren't together, this moment is unreal, and strangely domestic. It doesn't make any fucking sense.
Brittany keeps doing what she does best, and I allow her to. She's on top of me now, caressing my stomach like she won it as a prize at the fair. Her hips are bracketing mine; it's fucking sexy. She's looking at me with dark, lustful eyes and I know she's about to pounce. I'm getting way too hot.
"Are your trying to seduce me?" I inquire, with a high brow.
"Hmm, are you seducible?" Brittany smiles mischievously, and I laugh, whole-heartily. She presses her lips against mine; I melt into her touch. Brittany has total control of my lips, and I can't help but let her do whatever she fucking pleases.
"I thought we were going to sleep?" I ask, through tongue.
"We did. And now I'm awake." I pull away with a smile, and cup her face into my hands. She pouts. But it isn't just a pout, it's the pout; the pout that I have seen so many times before. This pout was the reason why I always gave in to whatever Brittany wanted. It's a pout that is undoubtedly my kryptonite, yet it's a pout that I irrevocably fell in love with. I'm whipped to say the least.
"No. I am not falling for that. No fucking way." I chuckle and point at her lips; she curls them into a wide, playful smile.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
I snort, yet she wiggles her eyebrows, grabs my hands from her cheeks, and interlaces them with hers. She then pins them above my head, and continues to assault my mouth.
"Also. Aren't. We. Supposed. To talk. About this?" I puff between our tongues, my words barely audible over our heavy breathing.
"Yeah, I kind of gave up on that idea." I know she's teasing, but I can't help but think that maybe she doesn't want to talk. But then again, she's the one who brought it up last night. Hell, she's the one who got us into this fucking mess by knocking on my fucking door.
Brittany smiles and slings the sheets from our over-heated bodies, sending them flying over the bedside. The moment they hit the floor, Brittany is going at me again. I feel exposed, and somewhat violated. But god damn, she's fucking gorgeous. And god do I want her. And I wouldn't be surprised if she felt the same. I mean, why else would she be doing it? Morning sex is always amazing. But I know that we can't do this. Well, we easily could at the rate we're going, but it wouldn't be right. And we've gone through enough shit already, I don't think I could handle having sex with Brittany. It would just bring back so many memories, and so much heartache. I've already cried in front of her, and I've let all of my walls come down because of her; Santana Lopez is a fucking mess. I mean, I've stripped her down, kissed every inch of her, and now I'm going to fuck my ex-girlfriend senseless? As amazing as that sounds, then what? Tomorrow will come and go, and Brittany will leave again. Just like last time.
As thoughts roll around in my head, I slide my hands down to Brittany's hips, and flip her over. I then take advantage of my position and slow our steamy make-out session. Brittany doesn't get the memo, as she opens her legs, giving me full invitation rights to her…
"Brittany, wait." This time it's me who pushes her back down on the bed. She's taken aback by my sudden aggression. But Brittany's eyes seem to be thinking on a whole, different level than I am. Her eyes are a full shade darker, and she's biting on her lower lip with a devilish grin. I can't help but drool a little while I stare at her boobs, which have sort-of popped out of her bra during the switching of our positions. "Um." And again, I'm left speechless.
"Yes, Santana? You were saying something?" Brittany maneuvers her bra back to its proper place.
All thought processes vanish and I gape at the figure below me. Brittany has, undoubtedly, the most amazing body I have ever seen. And she knows it. It's obvious that the excruciatingly, long hours of dancing has paid off. She's been dancing since the age of three, or at least that's what her mom says. It's her everything. Dancing is Brittany's past, present, and future. Without it, she would be nothing. Not being able to dance is like not being able to breathe, as it's literally Brittany's life source. It keeps her sane, and it allows herself to get away from the world, from all of the hate, the anger, and the hurt. It's a ritual; to move to the beat, to the bump of the bass, and to just let her mind wonder with ease, to get lost in the music. Brittany dancing is probably the most beautiful thing to witness. She's fucking unbelievable.
There's a small buzz coming from my dresser, and it shakes me from my reverie.
"Um, hold that thought." Brittany giggles, knowing the effect she has on me.
I roll my eyes. You fucking pansy.
The tanned, toned face of the Noah Puckerman appears on my caller-ID screen. I groan and reach for my cell, sliding his face up and pressing the green, talk button. I lean on my right elbow, Brittany's hair tickling the skin there, and look down at those deep, blue eyes. Her face is mere inches away from mine, and I gulp, audibly, at the closeness.
As I'm basking in Brittany's beauty, I totally forgot about the ass on the other line.
"Lopez? You there?"
"Puckerman. What a lovely surprise." My voice squeaks an octave higher than I planned.
"Wow, you sound cheery this morning, did you finally get laid?" I could practically see Puck's idiotic smirk pulling at his lips. My eyes immediately flash to Brittany, who's playing with the lace of my bra. My cheeks burn. Is it that noticeable? Do I sound that happy?
"Fuck you, Puck."
"Mm, I sure hope so." There's a slight trace of humor in his tone, and now I know for sure he's smirking on the other line. He's only teasing, and I know that, but if it was anyone else, he'd probably get bitch-slapped in the face or round-housed in the balls. This is Puckerman at his best; this is what I get for being best friends with the most inappropriate, most sexual man-whore known to Earth.
"Hah, funny. What do you want?"
"It's 11, and I'm hung-over. You know the drill, Lopez." I groan into the receiver. I really don't feel like running three fucking miles today. And I try to tell myself that it's not because of Brittany.
I groan into the receiver, "Ugh. Can we like pass on the whole exercising thing? I don't feel like doing a fucking marathon right now."
Laughter rings in my ears, and I hold the phone away, cringing.
"You don't feel too good, do you?" Puck continues to laugh. My eyes narrow and anger quakes throughout my core.
"What the fuck happened last night? I seriously have never been this fucked up, like ever. What the hell did you do?" Brittany slides her hands up my stomach, and cocks her head to the side, her brows furrowed. I look up and shake my head, giving her a slight pat on the thigh. I mouth, 'don't worry about it,' and give her a small smile. She narrows her eyes like she doesn't believe me and her stare becomes more intimidating by the second. I'm an open fucking book.
"What the hell did I do? I didn't do fucking shit, Santana. You're the one wanting the blow! And of course, being the gentleman I am, I obliged." I grind my teeth together and mentally slap myself.
You're so fucking stupid! That's why I feel like shit. I did coke last night. Great.
"Are you fucking serious? Why the hell did you let me do that?" I feel Brittany's concerned eyes on mine and I really wish Puck hadn't called. I don't want Brittany to think that I got into some sort of drug deal with some fucking street thugs. I'm not that bad-ass.
Drug use is a definite no-no when it comes to Brittany. She doesn't like them, but more importantly, she doesn't like me doing them. In high school, I smoked a lot of weed. Like, a lot. Puck's uncle grew some in his backyard, and would pass it out every time we'd have a party. For free, of course. The guy was a fucking legend and the stuff was incredible. Anyway, Brittany tried it one night, and because she was already drunk, she started stripping. But then the "stoned-out-of-her-mind" Brittany decided to go stark naked and jump into Karofsky's pool. It was fucking hilarious. All night, she kept saying, "Sanny, Sanny! I feel funny! Let's make out." That was the first night we hooked up. Of course, at that time, I wasn't out of the damn closet, but god, Brittany was so fucking good. And maybe it was the weed and the excessive amount of alcohol in our systems, but the next morning when I woke up to Brittany's naked body pressed against mine, we had massive headaches and small cases of vertigo. Being crossfaded was fucking tight, but man is it brutal in the morning. I swear I was still stoned.
Brittany told me that she'll never smoke weed ever again, because it made her even more stupid than she actually is. I yelled at her for this, because she's not stupid, she's fucking brilliant. And no one, not even Mary-Jane, can tell her otherwise. She said she felt like she was incoherent 95% of the time, even though it made all of her senses like ten times better, including the hot, steamy sex we had in Karofsky's parent's bed and the five pieces of Domino's pizza that we ate at two in the morning. But I guess good things arise from bad times, as Brittany and I started to have sex regularly, which then developed into me coming out and her becoming my girlfriend.
If she found out that I still smoke weed, the consequences won't be too bad, taking into consideration that Brittany's been baked before. And really, who gives a shit? Basically everyone does it, and it's practically legal. Now, if she found out that I did coke last night, she would fucking kill me. Or worse, she would never, ever speak to me again. And then that would lead me to die an insufferable death. So I guess, no matter what, if Brittany finds out, I'm dead fucking meat.
"I didn't make you do anything. You wanted to do it. You're alive, right? Besides, we had a fucking blast last night!"
"I would say the fucking same, but I don't remember fucking anything, Puckerman."
There's a long, awkward pause.
"Well, looks like someone had a bowl of bitch-flakes this morning. Got your panties in a knot?"
"Shut the fuck up. Look, I'll get dressed and meet you at Manny's in an hour or so. I'm just not fucking running." The thought of doing anything physical right now makes my head spin and my insides to churn. My stomach would probably give out; due to all of the up-chucking I've done in the last fucking six hours.
"Okay, but hurry the fuck up. Puckasaurus is hungry."
I groan, "Whatever."
"See you soon, sweet cheeks!" Puck hangs up before I can bitch at him. I roll my eyes and throw my phone over my shoulder, not giving a shit about where it lands.
Pale arms instantly drag me down. Brittany's lips find mine, and the conversation I just had is completely forgotten. Our lips move in perfect rhythm; I'm fucking elated. We're making out like horny, virgin teenagers. It's fucking amazing. I pull away from her lips with a loud smack, and hover over the beautiful face of one, Brittany S. Pierce.
"I have to go." I wipe away a lock of golden hair behind Brittany's ear.
"Is everything okay?" There's concern etched on her face. But there's that 'what-the-hell-did-you-do-last-night' expression as well. She knows something's up, and I can't help but feel fucking guilty. But why should I? I've been going out with Puck for years, and it's because of those outings that my life is a little bit better. It's something I've been doing to get over Brittany.
And look how that fucking turned out.
"Yeah, Puck just wants to grab some breakfast."
"Uh-huh." She narrows her eyes, and they bounce in-between mine, like they're trying to dig up some dirty, fucking secret.
"I'd totally invite you Britt, but the guy is disgusting when it comes to eating." I shiver, knowing that Puck likes his bacon and cheesy grits, with a side of Honey, the two-time slut of a waitress. Brittany doesn't say anything. She just keeps staring at me with those precarious, blue eyes.
"So, you're just going to leave me here?" Brittany's words aren't as harsh as she looks up through her dark lashes. Those big, puppy-like eyes and the ultimate pout seem to have changed the mood drastically. Fuck. Brittany and her damn eyes. I swear to God, those things will be the death of me.
I sigh, "I'm sorry, B. Help yourself to anything you need, okay? There's, uhh…" I pause. Well, no, there's really nothing here for Brittany to eat. There's bread and peanut butter, but I have no toaster. I have some Cocoa Puffs, but the milk is probably two to three weeks old. I guess you could say that I don't eat much. That and I can't cook if my life depended on it. "You want some coffee?" I sure fucking hope I have some damn coffee beans.
"I really don't want coffee."
"Um, well what do you want?" Brittany answers my question by licking her lips.
"I can think of a few things." I gulp, and it raises a giggle from Brittany. "I'm kidding, Santana." She smiles her smile; the smile that makes my insides all gooey and happy. I'm fucking ecstatic it's so perfect.
"Oh. Right." Brittany pecks me on the lips, and pulls away with a smirk.
"And you should definitely brush your teeth. Your breath is a little smelly, Sanny."
I roll my eyes and let out a small snort, "Gee, thanks." She chuckles, as she catches my lips again. And before I forget why I need to get out of bed, I roll off Brittany and make my way to the bathroom. Brittany slaps my ass, and gives me a seductive grin, and I all about trip over my own fucking feet. I turn bright red, and of course that makes Brittany laugh even harder. Her face falls onto the pillow, trying her best to muffle her giggles. It's kind of fucking adorable.
I try to collect myself as I stumble into the bathroom. I let out a horrified, muffled scream. The image that I see reflecting back at me is fucking frightening. I look like a complete wreck. Why the hell did Brittany ever want to get up on this last night? I'm disgusting. Dark circles are under my red, puffy eyes and I don't even want to mention my hair. What a fucking night. This one is definitely going down in the books.
I turn on the shower, undress, and hop under the scalding, hot stream. The water hits in all the right places. My muscles immediately begin to relax, my hangover beginning to finally fucking fade. I wash my hair, scrubbing the vile from my scalp and whatever else that lurks in those roots. It takes me twenty minutes to get out of the shower, towel-dry my body, blow-dry my hair, brush my teeth, and apply a light amount of make-up. I'm a speed demon when it comes to getting ready, but God would I love for some more sleep. I step out of the bathroom, in only just a towel, and head to my dresser by my bed. Brittany's typing away on her phone, so I quickly grab a fresh pair of panties and slip them on under my towel. God forbid that Brittany sees my vagina. After last night, I feel a little vulnerable, and it's fucking humiliating. I grab a red-laced bra, a NYU sweatshirt, and a pair of running shorts. I turn around and Brittany's on the bed, sitting crisscross-applesauce, grinning mischievously at me.
Shit.
"What?"
Brittany smirks, mostly to herself, and looks back at her phone, "Nothing." Something heavy drops to the pit of my stomach. And I definitely can't blame the alcohol on this one. I head for the bathroom, as there's a limited amount of privacy in this apartment. It's the only secluded space; well, that and the hallway closet. There are literally no walls and no doors separating the living room, the kitchen, and my "so-called" bedroom, which is just a bed and a dresser shoved in the far corner of the flat. Open fucking season to anyone who pleases. But hey, it's cheaper than most, and I have a beautiful view of downtown Manhattan, so life is pretty fucking good. I didn't think that Brittany would be walking back into my life anytime soon, so having no doors was okay. I could walk around in barely anything and not give a fuck. But now that she's gawking at me with those ravenous eyes of hers, a door would be extremely superb. It's like she's trying to use x-ray vision, or her super ex-girlfriend powers to rip my towel off. It's fucking nerve-racking.
I change into my lazy, "I-don't give-a-fuck" outfit, and lace up my tennis shoes. I'm now sitting on the couch, the TV is on, and Brittany still has her eyes glued to her phone. Some stupid MTV reality show is playing, and I couldn't give a fuck about Snooki's unborn child or some idiot on Catfish who thought their true love was some sixty-year old creep. I still have about fifteen minutes before I have to meet Puck at Manny's. I want something to look forward to when I come back, if that's final closure with Brittany or a new found glory with Brittany. I sure fucking hope it's the latter. But then again, I don't know what I want anymore.
"Okay. So, um, I'll see you later?" I didn't know what else to say, so why not just get straight to the fucking point? I have no idea what's going to happen now that last night is over and it's the beginning of a new day. I don't know if Brittany is going to stay, or if she wants to talk, or if she's going to leave and completely forgot about everything that's happened. I have no fucking clue. I never know what Brittany's thinking, and I wish I had the ability to read people's feelings and motives like her. It could definitely come in fucking handy right about now. The suspense is killing me. I want to talk, I want to understand the unexpected visit of my ex-girlfriend, but I also don't want to open up to the heartache that's our relationship. It'll re-open wounds that I've long lost forgotten due to copious amounts of alcohol and nights of meaningless sex. I'm just waiting for the salt to be poured into the open wound.
Brittany bites on her lower lip, as if it'll give her the answer she needs, "If that's okay with you? We still need to talk, and I really don't have anything important to do today." Her brow furrows, and the look on her face is fused with both hope and fear. It's scaring the crap out of me. If Brittany doesn't know what to think, then we're both fucked.
"Yeah, I was, uh hoping you'd stay. Breakfast will only take about an hour or so."
As long as Puck shuts his damn, fucking mouth.
Brittany smiles, "Good. Text me when you're on your way home." My heart breaks at her words. She said home, like home is her, like home is where she'll be, like home will never leave me. That's so fucking domestic, but I really don't care. Brittany has always been my home, and right now, I don't think anything's going to change that.
"Uh, I don't have your number." If I told anyone else, they'd believe me, but a part of me thinks that she knows that I actually have her number. Which I do, but I don't want to make it seem like I've kept it all this time. Or that I thought about her every single day, or that I thought about calling her every lonely night. That would make me a fucking pussy. But I can't deny the fact that Brittany knows me. She knows every hidden message in everything I say, and she knows every feeling I keep in my head. And now that I've lied, I don't know what to say. I feel like I never know what to say to her anymore. It's like she's leaving me breathless every time she talks, or walks, or smiles, or anything that's as simple and as beautiful as Brittany.
"Santana." I could barely make out my name, as Brittany quietly chuckles to herself and looks down at her phone. She presses something, and holds it against her ear.
I'm about to speak, or mumble something fucking stupid, when my phone vibrates. I pull it from my pocket and glance at the screen. My breathe catches in my throat, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. A picture of Brittany stares back at me. She's lying on a blue-sleeved pillow, my pillow; her bright, blonde hair encircling around her angelic face. I know this picture because I took it. It was in this very same apartment, about five years ago, when we first moved in together, and right before we broke up. I woke up before her, and the early morning sun was just peaking over the horizon; its rays producing a halo around Brittany's perfect complexion. She had just opened her eyes, a small smile painted on her lips, and I just had to take a picture of the stunning scene in front of me. It was the morning when I first told her that I truly loved her; that I was in love with her and always will.
Finally possessing enough courage, I press the green, talk button and look to Brittany across the room.
She's smiling at me knowingly, "We both know that you've kept my number." I see her lips move, but I can't comprehend anything she's saying, or the fact that the Brittany sitting ten feet away from me is the same Brittany whose melodious voice rings in my ear. My heart has finally imploded; it's beating incredibly fast, its rhythm off-beat and shaking my entire core. I can't breathe, yet I'm pretty sure that I'm having a heart attack. And all I can do is fucking smile. Of course she kept my number. Of course she knew that I kept her number, because maybe, just maybe, she's feeling the same thing I'm feeling. That maybe she's just as lost as I am, that without her, there's nothing to live for. That she's everything that's good in this miserable world, that without her, I'm fucking nothing.
I bashfully smile, "And we both know that you've kept mine." Brittany doesn't bother to respond, and doesn't skip a heart-beat as she bounds off the bed and flings her arms around my neck. I stumble backwards, but I can't help but enjoy the fucking feeling I get when she makes the sudden leap of faith.
"I've missed you," Brittany mumbles into my neck, her hot breath sending tingles down my spine. I hold onto her like my whole life depended on it, taking in everything that's Brittany. She's my anchor; she keeps me grounded, she keeps me steady. And right now, I'm pretty sure Brittany's never let go of me. I'm fucking breaking at the thought. Everything that's happened makes so much sense. Brittany misses me, she wants me back, and she's here to do just that.
"God Brittany, I've missed you too." We sway on the spot, both of us not wanting to let go. This moment is fucking perfect. I don't know how many times I've already said that, but it's just too fucking perfect to not say it over and over again. This is something that we've wanted for a very long time, something that we've needed. I grab Brittany's arms from around my neck and thread my fingers through hers. Brittany's crying, but I know that they're happy tears; tears of fucking joy. She moves closer, and because I can't wait any fucking longer, I meet her half way. This kiss is, without a doubt the most wonderful fucking thing on this planet. Our lips mold together perfectly; Brittany knows how to move mine, and I know how to move hers. If there was a competition of synchronized kissing, Brittany and I would win four fucking golden medals.
Brittany tries to pull away, but I reach back up and catch her lips again. I'm fucking persistent and I've been deprived for far too long to just stop. Why wouldn't I want to keep kissing the hell out of her? The kissing is getting a little bit difficult though; due to the small sniffs and puffs of air Brittany's trying to catch in-between her blubbering breaths. I reluctantly pull back and let her breathe. She takes in a heavy intake of air, along with a little chuckle, and exhales it back out, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. She kisses me one more time; it's short and sweet, and I must say, tremendously perfect.
"You should go. Puck's waiting for you." Brittany's words are filled with remorse, and I'm not quite sure why. But I do know that the ass that I call a friend is such a fucking cock-blocker.
"Fuck, Puck. He can go one day without me. He's a big boy." I cup Brittany's face in my hands, wiping her tears away with my thumbs, and snag a quick peck.
"I know, but you had plans before, well, me. I don't want to interfere."
"I wouldn't even call them plans, Britt. We see each other practically every night."
"You should still go, though." She twirls her fingers through the small hairs at the nape of my neck.
"But I want to stay here with you." The words fall from my mouth, and as soon as I say them, I mentally punch myself. I sound like a kid who's scared of the fucking dark. I sound like my Aunt Jesse is in the fucking hospital and could die any second. I sound like I won't ever see Brittany ever again. I'm getting ahead of myself. But this is fucking it though, isn't it? This is where Brittany and I rekindle our relationship. And I really don't give a shit about Puck and his stupid hotcakes.
Brittany giggles, "I won't leave. I promise." I let out a heavy sigh, and press my forehead to her collarbone. "Besides, we still need to talk."
I glance up into blue eyes, and I see sparkles. Brittany's eyes are fucking dazzling, and I can't help but smile. And it feels so fucking good. I think I've smiled more today than I have ever in the last five years. Brittany always makes me smile. I nod a little and give Brittany a kiss to her lips, then to both cheeks before turning toward the door.
"And Santana?"
I look over my shoulder, "Yeah?"
"Call me." She cocks her head to the side, looking up at me through her dark lashes.
I smile, "Definitely."
Author's Note: It's nothing too exciting... But I hope y'all liked it :)
And something big is coming up... I have an idea in mind...
REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Please, I would love to hear your thoughts :)