A/N: I couldn't help carrying on - writing these two is addictive! I never intended for this fic to go the way it does in this chapter, and I'm not sure I like it. Angst makes me sad but sadly it happens, and I thought it was necessary.
Reviews make me smile. :)
You find yourself in a state of panic the next morning. You've been panicking since Brittany left yours for motocross yesterday, actually.
You don't regret what you did. You're just scared of what it means now.
Leaving for school, you try and tell yourself that it will be okay and that Brittany will have forgotten that you said you were in love with her. Not because you didn't mean it. God, you meant it more than anything else you've ever said.
But you feel so vulnerable now. You've let yourself need someone.
As you walk, you notice you're following a couple. The nauseating kind that tuck their hands into each other's back pockets and gaze at each other as they walk. Usually, that makes you feel sick, but today it just makes you sad. No one bats an eyelid when it's a boy and a girl. You know if you were to do that with Brittany, it'd be a different story.
Your stomach starts to ache as you reach school. You can't believe how scared you are. A tall, slim blonde is waiting for you at your locker, and she looks gorgeous, yet you find yourself wishing she wasn't there.
"Hey, San," she says quietly, reaching out to touch your arm.
Her touch makes you shiver a little, and you shake her hand away. She looks confused.
"Is that not okay?" she asks.
"It's not that," you reply. "I'm just feeling sick today."
Lame excuse. But it's better than hurting her.
"Poor Santana," she replies, genuine care in her voice. "I can come to yours after school if you want? Chicken soup and a few cuddles will probably help!"
She looks at you expectantly. You can tell she's excited because in her mind, what happened yesterday means she's allowed to make those suggestions now. Like a couple. And that's understandable. How's she to know that it left you feeling petrified instead?
"Maybe," you say. "Look, Britt, I'm late for English class. I'll see you at lunch, okay?" You turn and leaving her standing there, her happiness hanging in the space you've just left. You hate that you can't feel the same way as her.
"But class doesn't start for another ten minutes!" she calls after you. It really hurts to ignore her.
"You're being really weird today."
Quinn reaches out and touches your arm. You notice that it doesn't make you uncomfortable like Brittany's touch did.
"Am I?" you ask, wishing you could climb into the pages of The Catcher in the Rye and be anywhere but here. "I'm just feeling a little sick."
Quinn arches an eyebrow. She doesn't believe you. When does she ever?
"I know when you're lying. You always seem to forget that," she replies, and it's true, it's hard to lie to Quinn. Yet you'll use every lie in the book if it means she doesn't find out what happened yesterday.
You think about it again. You had sex with your best friend. And it was incredible, and surreal, and more than you'd ever hoped for. At the time, it seemed perfect. Now, out of that haze, it's just confusing.
"You can tell me, you know," she persists. "Is it your mom again?"
"No," you answer quickly. "No, it's not that."
She believes you on that. "Well, you know you can tell me if you need to, Santana. You're not yourself today."
You smile to tell her you appreciate it and then turn back to your book, scribbling down a nondescript answer to the question in front of you without really thinking. English class suddenly becomes really interesting when it's better than your reality.
"San, can I ask you something?" Brittany asks as you return a few books to your locker at the end of the day. "Are you annoyed about yesterday?"
The question hurts.
"No, no of course not," you reply quickly. "It was perfect, Britt, you know that." You want to kiss her to reassure her, but there's a bunch of kids surrounding you and you know you don't have the courage.
"Then was it? You're being weird around me today," Brittany says. She looks sad.
"It's nothing, Britt. I just – I don't know, I'm just tired, I guess. I still feel a little sick, too. I think I'm going to head home." You snap your locker shut and make to leave, but Brittany grabs your wrist.
"Let me come with you." She sounds like she's pleading.
You want her to. You want to walk home hand in hand and snuggle on your couch, and kiss her on the top of her head and other places too. But that's how you get hurt.
"I'm busy," you reply.
"Doing what?" she counters.
You can't think of an answer.
"If you don't want me to come, just say," she says. "But I wish you'd tell me what I've done wrong."
You owe her that, at least.
"I promise it's not you, Britt. But, I don't know. We can't do this… it won't work. You know what the kids at school are like. They'll make coming here even more shit than it already is!"
"But we'll have each other, so it'll be okay," she answers.
You groan in frustration. You wish more than anything you could be like Brittany. You wish you could believe that the world isn't a bad place and that people aren't there to hurt you. You wish you had that courage.
"No, it won't Britt!" you say, louder than you expected. "It's not enough to just have each other. Gay kids don't get that luxury at this school."
"But I'm not gay," she replies simply, as though that solves everything.
You can feel yourself becoming more and more irritated.
"It doesn't matter. We'd still be together and people won't accept that. That's just how this world works, Brittany."
She pouts a little. "I won't let them say horrible things."
Her sentiment should be cute but it actually just makes you more annoyed.
"For God's sake, Britt, stop being so stupid!"
You clap your hand over your mouth before the last word's even out. No.
When Brittany came crying to you when she was six, after Tom Yale called her an idiot because she got her alphabet mixed up, you vowed never to let anyone make her feel like that again. It didn't work, of course. You couldn't be there to protect her from people's words all the time. But you made an inward promise that you'd never let yourself be the source of her pain.
You've just broken that promise.
The words are there, in the air by your lips, and you want to grab them back and bury them somewhere in your throat. You can't believe yourself.
Brittany's face crumples and she chokes on a sob.
"I thought you were the only person I could rely on to never call me that," she whispers. You go to tell her how sorry you are, but she's gone before you can find the right words.
