She's smiling when she wakes up the next morning. But it doesn't last long. Her arms are empty, and the bed beside her is cold. She doesn't even need to open her eyes to know that she's alone, and probably has been for a while, but she does… and to assume she's alone is one thing, to actually take it in, is a completely different demon. It hurts, probably more than it should given the fact that they'd only come together the night before. No promises were made, they didn't acknowledge what it meant… what it could mean. And so, yea, it hurts.
Sitting up in bed she clutches the sheets to her chest, suddenly uncomfortable with her lack of clothing even though she's the only person in the room. She's cold, and she feels so alone. More alone than she's felt in months, and maybe more alone than she's ever felt. Which is saying something because she loved Brittany more than she ever thought she could love another person and their romance was long and drawn out, full of powerful crescendos of indescribable passion, and the lowest of lows. She's no stranger to lonely nights and waking up alone, but now, it's different. And it's strange because it shouldn't be, she shouldn't be feeling this much. But she is. It's as if Quinn awakened something lying dormant inside her for some time, years probably, if she's being completely honest with herself.
She forces herself to shower, and as she stands in front of the mirror, wiping away the condensation, she sees the physical reminder of their coming together on her neck and chest. And if she were to turn around she knows there would be little red lines from where Quinn's nails scratched down her back as the woman arched below her, panting her name. But she doesn't turn around, she can't.
"You and Quinn were pretty cozy on the dance floor last night." Rachel mentions casually from beside her on the trip home, hours later.
"I'm surprised you noticed seeing as you were practically climbing Frankenteen like he was the beanstalk and you were trying to get your hands on some magic beans."
"I'd hardly call that climbing Santana, but you're dodging the question. What was that?"
The glare she throws towards the shorter woman is full of fire and she bites her tongue to stop herself from saying something she might regret. She is basically squatting in her apartment, and even though she knows it would be unlikely for anything she could say to change that, but she's not all that keen on being homeless.
"Rachel." Kurt says, and his tone holds a strange and uncertain sense of warning that Santana is grateful for.
"Fine. I'll drop it."
And Rachel actually does, surprising everyone. The chiming of her phone catches all of their attention in the tense silence, and it takes her a few moments to realize what it is. She's been checking her phone incessantly since waking up alone. Her stomach drops and she feels a plethora of different emotions come over her when the name "Quinn Fabray" is displayed across the lock screen.
Taking in a deep breath that she prays goes unnoticed by her roommates, she reads the message.
"I'm sorry."
That's all it says, and she can't help the eye roll that follows or the fire that burns in her heart or the way her throat closes up a little bit as she tries to figure out what her reply will be. She settles on "whatever" because it's pretty much the nicest option on the long list of things flying through her head right now.
She looks up, and the way Rachel looks away quickly and tries to busy herself with the magazine in her hand lets her know that the other woman has probably seen everything and is probably creating an entire drawn out storyline for what the exchange she witnessed could possibly mean. She'll deal with that later.
Her phone beeps again a few moments later and the next incoming message calms her nerves, but only slightly. It's then she realizes she can't remember the last time either one of them had apologized to the other… it's been years, if ever, and that has to mean something.
Turning away from Rachel's prying eyes she reads Quinn's response.
"I don't want you to think I regret it, I don't. I freaked out this morning and I hate that I left you alone like that, but I had to get out of there to think. To process what this means."
"And what does it mean?" She responds, and curses herself when she realizes she also said it aloud, garnering Rachel's attention once more.
The response is instantaneous: "I don't know… But, I think I'd like to find out."
She's smiling now, and she hates it. Almost as much as she hates the way Rachel sits beside her, smiling smugly, like she has any fucking clue what is really going on. But, mostly she hates the way she feels like she's flying, that there are butterflies in her stomach and she can almost sense the exact moment her heartbeat picks up. It's racing now.
She types out another reply, promising to call that evening once she can get some privacy. Once she has time to think, because if she's being honest with herself, completely 100% honest in a way she rarely allows herself to be, she wants desperately to see where this is going, what it means. Quinn says she'll be in the library until 10, with a study group, but is free after that. She's still nowhere near okay with everything, or done processing it, but she doesn't feel lonely anymore. She doesn't feel sad. She feels hopeful. And that's a start.