September 2012, New York City
A Bedroom in an Apartment in TriBeCa
"Marry me?" a nervous voice desperately rasped out.
"What?" a second voice was heard, its disbelief unmistakable.
Looking up from her blonde lover's chest with more confidence this time, Santana allowed the words to pass through her lips once more, this time in the form of a command, "Marry me."
"I... I..." the second voice stammered.
"You don't have to go back to Lima, stay here and marry me, Brittany."
"San I-"
Not wanting to hear her say no, Santana continued to plead, "You don't have to finish, Britt! You can get a job here and you'e already a good enough dancer to get hired!"
"I can't!" Brittany was finally able to get out through her best friend's begging. Locking her blue eyes to Santana's deep brown, "I have to re-do my senior year, Santana. We've talked about this a million times."
They were lying in bed in a post-coital cuddle, something they found themselves doing everyday since they got to New York on August 1st. This was September 2nd however, and the school year in Lima begins September 4th. Brittany's flight was scheduled for 8AM that morning.
"I know," the Latina said as she sat up in an attempt to gain control of the situation, "But this time your plane is leaving in 8 hours."
"And it's leaving with me on it. I have to re-do my senior year, San. I'll never get back here and get into Julliard if I don't," Brittany reminded Santana and in doing so, sat up, letting the blankets fall from her.
Santana still found herself in awe every time her eyes landed on her lover's naked form, this moment wasn't any different. She didn't want these moments to be gone. Any of them. She finally had the girl she'd been in love with forever and she wasn't going to let her go.
"You don't need Julliard. You're already a great dancer. You're beautiful," Santana tried more pleading.
"I want it, Santana!" Brittany raised her voice and uttered the words with such force that Santana's thoughts were halted, giving Brittany the opportunity to continue, "I do need Julliard. I can be told that I'm a great dancer by everyone I know, but it isn't enough. I need validation and I need Julliard to do that, then I'll be a great dancer."
"Validation? That's ridiculous!" Santana exclaimed incredulously.
"Oh my god! You really just don't get it!" the dancer scoffed and got out of the bed the two had been sharing for over a month, taking the comforter with her, "I can't believe how selfish you'e being! I want my own life, Santana!"
"You do have your own life-"
"Don't," the taller girl interrupted, "You know for a fact that if I stay here it's only because I caved," she took a deep breath in order to prepare herself for what her mouth was going to form next, "I can't give up my dreams for you."
Santana couldn't believe what she was hearing. Here was Brittany, standing in front of her, breaking her heart. Again.
Brittany continued, "We're eighteen, Santana. We have our whole lives ahead of us. I know it sounds cliché and all, but it's true. We can't get married. What did you think we'd do? Live in this apartment that your aunt is letting you live in until you graduate? And then what?"
Santana recoiled at the blonde's newest words. She hadn't thought about it. All she had thought was that it was legal in New York and she'd have Brittany forever. She loved her. Why was Brittany doing this? "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what, Santana? Getting my life together? You're here in New York. You're starting at NYU in a few days. What would I do if I stayed here? I don't have a high school diploma. I'd be doomed to waitressing or retail for the rest of my life while you got to do what you came here to do. Why are you doing this?" Brittany aimed her loaded question at her best friend.
The last thing Santana ever wanted to do was hurt the person she loved the most. When Brittany turned her own question on her, she realized that's exactly what she was doing. She wanted to answer her, but every thought stayed just that, a thought. All except one: "I love you."
Brittany took one step back and an accompanying breath then heavily let out the words, "Then you'll let me go."
That was the second to last thing Santana ever wanted. 'What's worse?' the Latina thought to herself, 'Hurting her by having her stay or hurting myself by letting her go?' Her answer was so obvious it stabbed her in the gut. The only word she could manage to gulp out before her sobs took over her body was, "Okay."
It wasn't long before the blue in her eyes turned to red and her sobs turned into fury, however. Never in her life had she ever been this angry at her best friend. Not even when Brittany had chosen her wheelchair ridden boyfriend over her had she felt her rage rip through her every nerve the way it was now. Now Brittany was backing out of the room in order to avoid her and it threw Santana over the edge, "This was your plan all along wasn't it? Be here with me and make me fall for you even harder and then just fucking leave me here! This isn't even difficult for you! You have no problem leaving me here! You can't fucking wait!"
Coming back into the room fully and standing her ground Brittany retorted, "How can you even say that? After everything we've been through-"
"Exactly! After everything we've been through it is so easy for you to walk away from this-" Santana interrupted, raising the level of her voice.
"Are you kidding me? Every single time I start packing I can't stop crying. How dare you say that this is easy for me!" Brittany interrupted, matching Santana's level of volume.
"Bull shit!"
"You put me in this position, Santana! The least you can do is respect the decision I've made, which, by the way, has literally been the most difficult decision I have ever had to make!"
"Once again, Brittany, bull shit! You agreed to come here, therefore, you put yourself in this position. Don't stand there and tell me that this is my fault when it is just as much yours."
Bringing the volume of her voice down, yet lifting her intensity, Brittany responded, "You know what, Santana, you are absolutely right. This is both of our faults," changing to a vicious, matter-of-fact tone, "Clearly, we aren't ready for anything remotely close to a real, functioning relationship. Really the only thing that we're good at is fucking each other! God knows we can't talk about our problems. This is the first time we really have and we're screaming at each other!"
Nothing hurts worse than the truth and Santana knew it. Unfortunately for the Latina, she had a tendency to turn her pain into anger and lash out at those around her, saying things she knew she didn't mean, "Well then I guess it's perfect that you're leaving! Wouldn't want to waste anymore of each others time now would we?"
"You know you're really making me wish I never even came here with you. You're doing a really good job making me realize how right my decision is."
This probably hurt Santana the most, so much so that she couldn't even look at the Blonde anymore. Her anger was building to a level she didn't think she'd ever experienced before. Fists balled and thoughts raging she couldn't even stop the words that ripped over her tongue and flew out of her mouth next, "You're making me wish I never fell in love with you."
Brittany's piercing, ice blue eyes honed in on her now ex-lover and aimed two words that she'd never said to anyone, "Fuck you."
'That's it,' Santana thought, 'we're done. There is no possible way that we can survive this... and it's my fault.'
Santana couldn't move. She couldn't speak. All she felt was herself melting into the bed underneath her and the excruciating sobs building in her throat. Holding them back was no longer possible as she watched the girl she'd loved for so long turn around and walk out of the room.
Within four hours Brittany had packed all of her things, showered away any remnants of their last time and removed the key to Santana's apartment from the rest of hers. She almost left with the last words between them being those two she'd uttered for the first and hopefully last time in her life, but she knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she did. As she entered Santana's bedroom for the last time, she watched her stir from her sob induced slumber. Lifting herself up onto her elbow, the Latina said flatly, "You haven't left yet."
It wasn't a question, but Brittany answered anyways, "No. I couldn't let that be last thing I said to you."
"Why not? I deserved it," Santana said, thoroughly believing herself.
"You did and I'm not sorry I said it, but I still couldn't leave here knowing that was the last thing you heard me say," the dancer took a step towards the bed and adopted a somber facial expression, "I do love you, Santana, I just don't think I can ever love you the way you want me to. It wouldn't be fair for either of us if I stuck around. That, I'm sorry about."
That was the confirmation Santana never wanted to hear. She might have actually preferred if Brittany had left with "fuck you" being the last thing she had said to her. At least then there would have been the hope that they'd see each other again... the worst thought imaginable reared it's terrifying head into hers, "I'm never going to see you again am I?"
"I don't know," was all Brittany could manage before she had to change the subject, "I have to go. I'm going to take a cab to JFK."
"I could go-"
Brittany interrupted her with a feverish head shake, "I need to be alone and I think you do, too," she took a deep, steadying breath, "Good bye, Santana."
The raven haired girl felt the sound that accompanies the words get stopped in her throat by the tears she was sure she had run out of. She couldn't say good bye. There was nothing good about this. This was definitely the worst thing that had ever happened to her and in eighteen years of life, she'd gone through some pretty shitty things, most of which happening in the last year. But this, this definitely topped the cake of the shittiest, most awful things to have happened in Santana Lopez's life.
Brittany waited for Santana to say it back until she finally realized it was never coming. "I'm leaving now," she said and turned around, walking out of Santana's bedroom for the last time.
When Santana heard the apartment door open and then close again she whispered, "Good bye, mà amor," then let her sobs take over once more until she really had nothing left and all she could do was sleep.
A/N: You paid attention to the date and place, right? Of course you did, you're a smart cookie. That's patronizing isn't it? Sorry. I'm done. Let me know what you think!