You pour your salt (into my wounds)

Thud after thud after thud of pain stimulating Santana's temples rouses the girl from a deep unconsciousness. Waking up had surely became a painful procedure, so much so that Santana didn't know why she still found her hand snaking around the neck of beer bottle every night. Shots burning her throat, countless bottles of beer and Jack Daniels surely wasn't worth the agonizing pain Santana had to grin and bear nearly every morning. The pounding of her head was suddenly accompanied by the pound of a heavy drum beat and Santana groans loudly at her alarm, burying her face further into the warmth of her pillow. The smell of her own cologne on the cotton caused her stomach to lurch.

"Leave me alone" she mumbles to her alarm with her voice muffled, arm freeing itself from around the soft pillow to helplessly rummage for the source of the current noise. The loud sound felt like rubbing and pouring salt into wounds. Under No other circumstances would Santana call this music noise but during a hangover, it was nothing but that. Once she retrieves the phone, Santana rolls onto her back with a grunt and peers at the glaring screen through the slits of her sore eyes as she deactivates the blaring alarm. She settles back down into the pillow and cuddles into it as if the item resembled a human body. In her mind it did, and she knew exactly whose body it resembled. An arm drapes over the middle of the pillow and she nestles her cheek against its softness, resting her aching temples against the soothing comfort.

A sigh escapes Santana's tiresome body and she closes her heavy lids into what she expected to be a relaxing, tranquil silence but even the sound of birds chirping cheerfully outside her window aggravated her and left her sleep deprived, laying awake uncomfortably. All she wanted was silence to soothe her headache. She currently couldn't face taking pills. They were part of the reason her headache was so relentless.

Santana ended up deciding against resuming her sleep when every little sound agitated her- the dripping of a tap, the creek of a floorboard, the bark of the next door neighbors' dog, the soft pluck of guitar strings from Quinn's room. She'd given up completely so lay sprawled on her back, slowly banging her head off the mattress with a pained groan.

Although when realization hits her of what that last sound was, it does anything but aggravate her. It causes her heart to somewhat flutter and a relaxing wave of calmness to consume her. Quinn's playing was so elegant- unlike the music Santana listened to. The elegance was what Santana currently needed as she relaxed completely and lay on her side, blankly staring at the wall which Quinn's room connected to hers, resting as still as possible to prevent the bed springs making any unwanted noise.

When Quinn's voice began to sing, she was at peace. All pain was washed from her body and bitter sweet tranquility consumed her.

Thought love had come my way, when I saw you face to face, when you looked at me that way in Covent Garden that day. What did I do wrong to make you doubt me and why did you change?

Santana's brows furrow briefly but she delays the action from the pain it causes. The ache from her heart ventures lover and takes hold of her heart. She'd never heard such sincere sadness in Quinn's voice when she sang. Even if Santana couldn't see Quinn, she could feel her; feel what she was singing, and it hurt. Like an invisible connection formed between their souls.

The girl I knew always made me smile. The girl I knew wanted my first child. The girl I knew wouldn't make me cry. But she's gone and left home tonight, left me all on my own tonight.

Santana bites on her lip as her eyes water over- stinging. She fumbles with the phone held by her clammy hands and wipes the screen tinted with perspiration before bringing up her text conversation with the contact 'Quinn' to send her a good morning text:

Good morning babe. Sleep well? Sorry if I came home a little late last night, I can't remember much so it couldn't have been that great. You're sounding beautiful by the way. You're so talented. What are you singing though? You sound sad.

Santana rests her head again and stares blankly at her glaring phone screen despite the agony she had to tolerate, leaving herself a mental note to lower the brightness settings when she can be bothered. She listens absently to Quinn with an abrupt lump in her throat which refused to be swallowed away. She carefully listens as Quinn's passionate singing drowns into a mumble and the playing comes to a slow stop, Quinn obviously received her text message, making a small smile appear on the Latinas face whilst she cuddles into her pillow further to disguise her foolishly pathetic grin from no one but herself. Her love sick expression made her feel extremely sad and pathetic, but she couldn't prevent her actions.

Brief moments after she hears Quinn finger a fresh chord and begin softly resuming the plucking of her strings, Santana's phone buzzes aggressively, twice, against her sheets and Santana's arm immediately grasps it; much to her worn bodies protest. Not allowing her eyes to linger on her background, she opens the incoming text message.

Good morning sweetheart. I slept well thank you babe. You were surprisingly early for you. I'm so sorry if I woke you. I'm not sad, just practicing a new song. It's called 'the girl I knew'. You should listen to it, although, it's not your type of music. Want some coffee?

Parallel in Quinn's room, the blonde lingers on the vital lie in that text. She's not happy. The song deeply wounds her and that's why she was drawn into learning it. Quinn had learnt over her agonizing life not to dwell on the depressing factors in life but instead to search for that small glimpse of brightness and light and focus fully upon that. She never let herself make things worse for herself to get attention or sympathy. But sometimes she couldn't resist the sad things. Everyone needs that feeling of someone relating to your demons for support from time to time. Upsetting songs did just that for Quinn. They gave a voice to her pain and gave her the feeling that she was not the only one out there who had been disowned by the happiness of love and tossed into loves painful hell.

Quinn places her acoustic guitar down now that she's successfully lost her train of thought and concentration and just as the blonde is about to lay down again and relax back into the comfort of her bed, she's interrupted by a call from the room besides her own.

"Orange juice and aspirin please, Quinn!"

Quinn would groan if she didn't want to assist Santana as much as she did. The hang over sounds like one of an unkind nature so Quinn ties the gown back around her almost bare body and stumbles wearily back into the open hall, turning to look at Santana's door as she addressed the girl beyond it.

"Sure thing, San, you just rest"

Of course Santana was blind drunk last night. Quinn ponders as she slowly descends the staircase. Why else would she have made that strange comment that included the word you and beautiful in the same sentence? Those types of sentences just shouldn't exist from anyone, so Quinn thought. She didn't like people lying; lies were one thing the blonde was utterly against. She was just too oblivious to see that people were doing anything but lying when they address her angelic beauty. Quinn recalls the last time she told a lie. Quinn was 18 and just about to leave high school. She had just gotten home from the prom, and had been drove home by Santana. Her parents were watching from the landing as Quinn and Santana spoke, a dreamy and drunken expression of love on both of their faces, holding hands loosely by their sides. Of course, they weren't truly a couple, they had just been drunk that night and overly emotional, however, Quinn's parents had taken it as a sign something was going on with their daughter, so sat her down later that night and enquired if she was gay. Quinn lied. She said that under no circumstances would her being gay ever occur. Then broke down moments later and confessed her lie.

With a shake of her head in disapproval of the memory, Quinn makes her way down the stairs and into the freezing cold lounge, shivering as the coolness wraps around her bare legs with ice cold embraces. The quaint room looked so contradicted to what it was last night. It portrayed a warm, cozy cabin-like room the night before. Now it was just an ice cold metallic room, fully exposed of its ugly faults by the light of morning. Something so beautiful the night before was now such a mess this morning.

Her thoughts were wandering again. Quinn kneels down and ignites the fireplace, crouching down before the sparking flames to warm herself up. She longs to be able to switch off the outside world's lights to send the room back into the same dark, cozy state as last night.

Now that Quinn's shivers had seized to a stop, the blonde stands again and braces herself for the ice cool kitchen. Her eyes fall upon the half full glass of wine as she hums to herself and decides against her thoughts of finishing it so early. She was no drunkard. Drinking was for after 8:00pm in this apartment, strictly- for her at least. Santana would say that glass was half empty. Santana also finds it hilarious when Quinn says how much that opinion explains their constricting personalities but they both knew that was just because Santana didn't understand. Quinn always had a way of seeing into peoples' minds and understanding why they do certain actions. Another gift Quinn bestowed but allowed to waste away, much like her passion for music.

The crimson liquid swirls down the drain and is washed out but crystal clear water, cleansing away all the trace of last night's drunkenness. Maybe Quinn had imagined Santana's statement during her period of time fueled by alcohol? She just didn't know. It still felt like a dream, and maybe it was. Quinn finds herself sighing quite often as she refills the glass with orange juice from the freezing fridge, surprised the juice hadn't turned into the density of a slushie from how long it had been in the absolutely freezing refrigerator. Santana never understood the need to defrost a fridge, like she didn't understand the need to do most things. The Latina was the type of person who would only do the things she could see sense in doing. Quinn finds herself placing the orange juice and packet of aspirin on a tray as she subconsciously begins cooking Santana some breakfast. She could never resist. The girl told herself she was just making pancakes because they were enjoyable to cook but deep down she knew that she was only doing this to surprise Santana and be the cause of that beautiful, lazy smile in the morning.

Quinn wanders to the fridge and studied it's content, finding a half full packet tub of blueberries- Santana's favorite fruit. Quinn adds them to the batter of the pancakes and begins to fry the mixture, gazing from the window to lose herself in their garden.

Just as she's plated up the third in the pile on Santana's tray, Quinn's phone bleeps against the ceramics of the work top and she delays her next pancake, placing the jug of the mixture back down and wiping the grease off her fingertips before viewing the messages. The first was from the woman upstairs, the second from her publisher, Amy.

Yeah, that party was actually rather boring if I remember right. But the alcohol must have been damn strong. I just listened to that song, made me almost cry. Listen to some happy stuff, Q. That's just depressing. I don't like you being depressed.

Quinn! It's 11:00! Where are the photos for the autumn collection? I need them for editing, ASAP!

Quinn sighs and ignores both the texts even though Santana's plays on her mind. She hurries through making another two pancakes and plates them all up, drizzling Santana's favorite condiments on top before carrying the tray carefully upstairs (after making a small detour to feed Arthur), pushing the door to Santana's room open slowly with her back. She frowns as Santana lies clutching her head, the girls fingers tangled violently in her hair as she clenched her eyes shut and sets her jaw. Just the pure sight sent an invisible hand to stab into her gaping chest and clench her heart. It made her almost cry.

The tray is set carefully at the foot of Santana's bed as Quinn walks up to Santana and sits herself gently on the edge of the mattress, looking down at an oblivious Santana with tearful eyes. The Latina remains oblivious until Quinn's hand lovingly strokes through her matted locks, muttering soft coos to soothe her roommate.

The blonde haired girl looks around Santana's room curiously. She wasn't in this room very often, but it contrasted her room so much it was as if they had been decorated solely for that purpose. Santana's room contained black wood furniture with white gloss doors and drawers. The girls' bed was grey, besides the crimson throw over at the foot of the bed- crimson like all the other accessories in the room, lamp, light, rug. The sheets were covered in a New York design; the Statue of Liberty central to the duvet with other memorable monuments surrounding it. The sheets matched the feature wall of the girls bedroom perfectly, being as that one wall shared the same pattern. The wall opposite was a deep shade of crimson and all of Santana's instruments were lined up along the wall in all their glory. The other two walls were grey. Quinn found something extremely depressing about the room. Each color it featured possessed a dark and saddening characteristic which Quinn felt dampen her mood even more.

"Quinn" Santana sniffs, snapping Quinn back to reality, her pained eyes flickering open partly at the smell of pancakes and partly from the safe feeling of having the blonde here with her. Quinn just coos a small plea of shh as she begins playing with the other girls' hair, massaging her scalp with dainty patterns of her fingertips- just how Santana liked it. The clenching pain melts gradually away as Santana's jaw relaxes and a small content smile displays on her distressed features.

"It's okay. I've got you some aspirin. And some juice and pancakes, just how you like them" Quinn whispers, knowing loud sounds would cause the Latina further discomfort. Santana shifts her head until it rests in Quinn's lap once more, sending vivid memories of last night's words and events into Quinn's imagination. Could something so vivid and exact possibly be the thing of dreams or drunken hallucinations? It couldn't. Not possible. Concluding this brought a flattered, sweet smile onto Quinn's lips as she continues to stroke Santana's hair as she's thanked for the trouble of making breakfast.

A long, content period of time passed between the two where the silence that lingered heavy in the air felt anything but awkward between the two girls. Having the intelligence that content silences rarely happen between two people the way they do between her and Santana reassures her that Santana isn't the sand running through the gaps between her fingers. Santana will always be hers- her best friend that is. Best friend who thinks she's just so beautiful.

"You're so beautiful too" Quinn finds herself whispering completely randomly, interrupting the content silence. Her heart stops, realizing she'd said that aloud, in front of Santana, aimed directly for the Latina to hear. Her blood turns to ice and her body turns rigid.

But Santana lay sleeping in her lap once more.