Disclaimer: I don't remember if I put this on the other ones... oh well. I own nothing.
Crescendo
In those three seconds of watching them kiss, I had an epiphany. I was jealous. Needless to say, I hauled ass out of there, not caring if they heard or not. The need to run overwhelmed my senses and before I knew it, I was charging through the campus to get to my dorm room. The look of fear, as people got out of my way, would normally please me but not right now. All I could think about and feel was jealousy.
What's more shocking is, it's been there all along. Since the moment I met her, I've wanted her but knew I could never have her. So, Instead of becoming a pathetic, love-sick puppy I chose to become a hateful bitch to her. What I don't understand is, why do I feel like I've lost her? She was never mine to begin with so why do I feel betrayed?
I'm standing in the middle of my room now, just standing. Trying to understand all these emotions at once feels like drowning.
"Santana, what's wrong?" Tina asks, looking up from her laptop in concern.
"Get your fake ID ready, Ling Ling, we're going to Moby Dick's." One thing I've learned about this city is that a gay bar works better than therapy.
If I was the girl I used to be four years ago and walked in on that scene, I would have taken video evidence and later blackmailed them both. If I was the girl I used to be two years ago, I would've stormed in and beaten Prof. Patches within an inch of his life using my sandals and earrings. Today, I am five shots in, sharing my sob story with a bar full of queers. That is called growth people.
"So let me get this straight," the effeminate bartender says while making Tina's drink, "this girl kisses you twice, after a year of being a bitch tease, then you find her fooling around with a teacher?"
"Yuuup, that's the gist of it." Insert heavy sigh here.
"Honey, have you seen yourself in the mirror?" a fellow drinker, I think named Jason, exclaims with extra drama. "If I looked like you, I wouldn't be hung up on some bi-curious bimbo."
"Mmm hmm!" another guy agrees.
"Preach it, girl!" Tina thinks she's black when she drinks, it's hilarious.
"I've got one word for you, baby girl. Honesty," the bartender continues. "Even if it's brutal, it's the truth. Ask this chick what her deal is and go from there."
If you know who I am, then you would think that I'd be all for this advice. Brutal honesty is a forte of mine, but when it hits a little too close to home, I shy away. "But, the truth can hurt," I admit in a weepy voice, this liquor is getting to me.
The gays coo at me like I'm a lost child, "Aww, that it can but it's best to find out now before she really messes you up inside." I slowly process that piece of info. If only someone had told me that a few years back, maybe I'd still be talking to my (ex?) best friend.
"Have I told you guys about Brittany, yet?" I ask and from there the night becomes a tear-stained blur.
The next day, Tina and I crawl our asses out of bed and barely make it to class. It's one of those days where we wear our shades at all times to hide our raccoon eyes. Because of my intoxication last night, I forgot to formulate a game plan on how to deal with Quinn today. As I sit in the back row of the lecture hall, I'm thinking avoidance is the best bet. Honesty, I remind myself, but until I can talk to her alone, avoid her at all costs!
"Nice to see you made it on time," a sugary soft voice sits next to me as the gods laugh at my plan. The harlot takes in my disheveled appearance and shades. "Rough night?"
"You could say that," I answer in a neutral tone and refuse to look at her. How can her mere presence excite and infuriate me at the same time?
"Good thing I got you this, then." She places a lidded paper cup onto my table. Curiously, I open the lid and smell the sweet ambrosia that is coffee.
"Black with sugar," I state, trying not to sound impressed. "How'd you know?"
"Lucky guess." She settles into her seat and starts taking notes.
Out of the corner of my shaded eye, I watch her in confusion. "Thank you," I say after a beat. No one's ever gotten me coffee, or any type of gift really, without wanting something in return. Why is she being nice to me? She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and I notice that she's wearing jeans today. It looks good.
"You're welcome," it's barely above a whisper, but I still hear her. The rest of class I keep my head pointed to the front as my heart goes back and forth between anger, confusion, and maybe a little bit of hope.
Finally, lunch rolls around and I walk up to Q. "Hey, can we talk?" I ask gruffly, I think Snix came out a little, but Quinn just shrugs it off.
"Sure, where to?" Hmm, I hadn't thought about that.
"How about the roof," I say on a whim. It's been a while since I went up and no one ever goes there.
"The roof? I'm pretty sure that's restricted access." I give her an incredulous eyebrow raise.
"Just follow me, Fabray." Without meaning to, I take her hand and lead her to the correct staircase. The touch of her skin both burns and freezes me momentarily; I try ignoring it and continue forward and up the steps.
"You've never been one to follow the rules, have you?" she asks lightly when we make it to the roof top, but I can see her fidgeting with her hands. She moves closer to the edge to see the horrible view of traffic, dumpsters, and old brick buildings. I just watch her and take it all in. The sight of her still makes my heart race but also makes me choke on anger.
"Do I make you nervous?" I ask the first thing that pops into my mind. I didn't plan on starting the conversation this way, but here it goes.
In response, she laughs nervously. That answers my question right there. "Um, yes. You sometimes do, but only when you surprise me."
"So, are you gay?" That definitely surprised her. She's tripping on her words.
"I ... uh ..." She is struggling to come up with an answer. The longer she takes, the heavier my chest becomes and the more stupid I feel. Being a college experiment is nothing new to me; in fact I used to relish it, this time it hurts though.
"Hey, it's ok. You don't have to answer that. I get it, it's a phase." I turn towards the exit as resentment begins to course through my veins like boiling mercury.
"No, San. Wait!" My hand rests on the handle but I don't face her. I can feel a gentle let-down coming on followed by 'can we be friends?'
"I ... I've never been attracted to any females in my entire life until I met you. I don't know what that makes me; I just know that I like you. Despite your rapid mood swings, vulgarity, and Napoleon complex; I like you, Santana. I can't promise you anything, not even that this isn't a phase, but if you're willing I'd like to see where this thing between us goes."
I must admit that I consider just saying yes. It would be so easy to forget everything else and get swept away by a fairy tale romance but I know better. The world sucks, life is cruel, and happiness is a mirage. I steel myself for the consequences my words will bring as I finally turn to her.
"Is that how you take on life? You just go with it and see where it takes you. Is that how you and Dean Pat started hooking up?" Her jaw drops like a gaping fish.
"Don't try denying it, I saw you together yesterday. I know I'm not Mother Teresa or a good person in general, but even I know it's massively fucked up being the other woman to a man who's been married for as long as I've been alive. Or are older men just a phase for you?" Her embarrassment turns to fury and I wonder if she's going to finally slap me. She walks up to me, green eyes blazing with unshed tears.
"Screw you, Lopez," she says softly then shoves past me and returns downstairs. I watch her leave and a regretful emptiness settles within me. It's too late for that, I've been screwed since the day I met her.
It's Wednesday now, the only day the orchestra doesn't practice, so Lucy and I will be going over our song selections for the show. After the rooftop incident, things have almost gone back to how they used to be … almost. Every time I see her now, it fucking hurts. It hurts like a knife stabbing into my guts, and whenever we bicker, the knife twists deeper.
As for her, she's a complete ice queen. The only emotion I see in her eyes when she looks my way is indifference. That's probably what hurts the most. The probability that I really don't matter to her; that she really doesn't care.
I'm walking through the library now, our designated meeting place, when I find her sitting at a desk, writing in her notebook. She looks achingly gorgeous, as usual, and my heart plummets and splinters along the way. I take a deep breath and head over.
"Fabray," I acknowledge as I sit across from her. She doesn't even bother looking up, bitch.
"We have ten minutes to fill and I was thinking we could do a medley featuring Adele, maybe Justin Timberlake or Lady Gaga, even."
"Or Rihanna, we could start it off with Unfaithful."
"That's a possibility, I'll write it down." She knew I was trying to provoke her, but still nothing. Whatever, time to be professional.
"A medley is almost common now; let's try something different, something no one would expect." I can't even begin to recount the number of lame Journey medleys I've found across the internet.
"What do you suggest?" her tone is no nonsense, straight to the point.
"A mash-up of old school and new school," I say, voicing the ideas I've had running through my head. "Something like Thrift Shop mixed with Bust A Move, then into More Than Words and Just Give Me A Reason." A part of me wonders if she even knew knows the songs I just listed. She seems more into obscure indie music like the rest of the hipsters here.
"That actually sounds like a great idea. It's going to take a lot of work though, especially mixing the song together." For the first time, her poker face breaks and shows signs of excitement for our project.
"I'm not doing anything today, we could start right now. Unless you need to go somewhere ... meet someone," I don't know why I say that last part, I sound pathetic.
"No, we can start now," she says, returning to her cold self.
Two hours later, our stomachs begin to protest, that's how we end up at McDonald's once again. I can tell that neither of us want a repeat of what happened last time, but we're at a difficult transition in the arrangement that we had have to figure out before going our separate ways.
Throughout our greasy meal, we somehow keep it professional and make progress in our work. Until someone invited invites themselves over to our table.
"Hey, Quinn! Fancy seeing you here, with Santana Lopez, of all people." A short girl with blonde hair up in a high ponytail approaches us. I start wondering where they breed all these Stepford Wives with fake smiles standard.
"Hello, Kitty. We're just finishing up some school work." Suddenly, my space is invaded.
"My name's Kitty Wilde, we never met before but I am a big fan of yours." This new chick is all up in my grill and running her fingers down my arm. Frankly, she's scaring me with that crazy look in her eyes. I try to create some space between us and look to Quinn for help.
Quinn isn't looking at me though, her gaze is following the trail her friend is making on my skin, and a slight frown appears on her brow.
"Nice to meet you, Kitty," I say politely. My instincts are telling me to handle this girl cautiously. "I'm sorry to cut this short but I need to get going now, have to meet my roommate." I smile at her, wondering when she will get the hint and release me from the booth, but she stays planted in her seat.
"Kitty," I hear an icy, restrained voice next to us. "You have to get up so she can leave."
"Oh I'm sorry. It's just that I think you are super hot. What are you doing Friday night?"
The forwardness of Miss Wilde screams that she is used to getting what she wants. I'm tempted to see the look on Quinn's face right now, is she still indifferent?
"She's busy Friday," someone speaks for me. What the hell?
"I am?" I ask in pure confusion and look at the Ice Queen.
"Yes, we have to practice," her answer is curt but the way she's looking at me makes it seem like a demand.
"How about you let Santana answer, Quinnie," Kitty retorts then turns expectantly to me and I realize what's happening. These girls are like cats marking their territory, one stray insult away from an actual cat fight. I feel objectified and the knife twists deeper.
"Q's right, we need to practice. The performance is just a couple weeks away and we need to be perfect." My abuela taught me that it's better to go with the devil you know than the devil you don't. A smirk makes its way on Lucy's face, as if she won, and that angers me. "But after that, maybe we could hang out then." Kitty's disappointment turns into a smile, and for the first time, it looks genuine.
"Ok, that sounds great!" Then Kitty takes my hand and uses my pen to write her number on me. "Call me if you need anything." Yes, she said it like that. She then removes herself from the booth and walks away, not bothering to say goodbye to Quinn. The girl sure knows how to make an impression.
"I thought you had to go." My musings are cut short by the blonde across from me. And I may be mistaken but, did I hear jealousy?
"Not really, I just wanted to get away from her. She seems like one of those chicks that marries you while you're sleeping."
"She is," she says it with so much conviction, I have to laugh.
"It makes perfect sense that you two are friends now. Crazy bitches need to stick together."
"That must be why I spend time with you." Touché.
"What? It's not my charming personality?" After a beat, we both scoff at my ridiculousness.
"You know, when you're not acting like a robot towards me, or making me want to strangle you, you're fun to hang out with. This is nice," I say out loud cuz that knife almost disappears when we're joking together.
"I guess I can endure you when you're not preaching your greatness to the world or degrading me," Lucy answers but doesn't look up from her notebook.
"Do you wanna just finish this up then, now that the Crazy One is gone?" She nods her head in acceptance and in less than an hour we've got the basics of the mash-up written down. Her unfeeling resolve is let down and it doesn't hurt as much when I look at her now. Lucy Q, honestly is the most complicated person I've ever met. She's like Shrek, not ugly, just so many layers.
We gather up our things when we're done and walk back to the campus. I steal glances at her every few minutes, trying to figure out what to do next. On one hand, the bitch would like to play with my heart, and body, while getting action on the side from an old geezer. On the other, it hurts like a paper cut in between my fingers when she acts like she doesn't care. If I'm going to be hurt no matter what I do, I might as well create a third option between the two.
"So I was thinking ..." I begin slowly.
"Did it hurt?" Bitch. I ignore her comment.
"Why don't we start over and try being friends?" At that she stops walking and has this cute confused face on.
"Are you serious?" Why do people always think I'm joking?
"Yea, why not? I'd much rather be your friend than your enemy." I'm standing slightly ahead of her, waiting for her answer and to start walking again.
"You do realize we might strangle each other?" Her gaze is deep and calculating. What she's trying to figure out, I have no idea.
"That is a real possibility but I'm finding out that I'm a masochist." Oh, the truth of my words.
A/N: And with that, this fic is now going to be a series. Hope you all are happy with yourselves!
Also, special thanks to Air and Water! My awesome editor on vacation! Who knew finding a good beta would be so hard?
And lastly, love goes out to all who review but also all who follow and favorite this story. It really does mean a lot to me, like random hugs throughout the day!
P.S. New chapter for Piano's POV out tomorrow!