A/N: Sorry for the wait. I was away this weekend, so I couldn't post. Also, I'm going on vacation next week, so it may be a while before I get to put up the next chapter. But, it will be ready as soon as possible. Anyways, here's the next part. Leave a review so I know what you think, and I apologize for any mistakes.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, anything related to Glee, or My Name is Memory. They simply gave me the inspiration to write this story!
2008
Lima, Ohio
After living so long, time has come to mean something entirely different for me. I think I've developed an understanding and appreciation for the rules and exactitude of it, that most others cannot comprehend. Because for me, time is often the only thing holding my broken, ancient pieces together. It is the only matter that I am able to rely on and look to when I need some sort of structure in my lives. During the years that I have to live without her, time is sometimes my only friend. And no matter what has happened to my many bodies, it has never abandoned me. Not once.
And time tends to pass especially quickly at school, even though the classes at McKinley are very dull and I often feel like school in general is an insult to my intelligence. But I still walk the halls and sit through the lectures. Going to high school is the only way I get to see Santana, so I don't really have any other choice.
Santana may be a new face to me in this life, but almost everything about her character and behavior that I've observed, I recognize and remember. She still remains the same soul that I've spent my whole existence falling in love with. So to me, she isn't unfamiliar even in the slightest.
It's been almost three weeks since I arrived at McKinley, and she hasn't spoken to me yet—except for the quick exchange we shared my first day—but I've noticed her gaze on me quite frequently. Her face scrunches up and she cocks her head to the side ever so slightly, and I can't help but giggle at her watching me. She's curious about me, and I feel so smug at that notion.
But she's not the only guilty one, because my eyes hardly ever leave her. The only difference is that I'm not self-conscious about it, like I've discovered she is. Because whenever I turn to face her staring at me, she blushes crimson red and then looks away quickly. It's honestly one of the most adorable things I've ever seen.
And Santana is so incredibly gorgeous. I may be biased because I'm so pathetically in love with her, but there are plenty of other students at school that have taken a deep interest and appreciation for her beauty as well. I can't help but smirk and chuckle when some of the younger boys' stares linger a little too long.
I'm not jealous, and I don't even care about the extra attention she receives. Why would I? I know for a fact that no one will make her happier than I can. No one will ever love her as much as I do; it's simply impossible.
Santana is in only two of my classes, but when we're in the same room together, there's always this sense of urgency and colossal allure suspended in the air. It sometimes makes me a little uncomfortable, and I know she feels it too because I watch her squirm in her chair all class period.
She can't remember, but I know she's feeling this indisputable pull towards me that she doesn't understand—it's her soul's way of telling her that we are meant to be together. At least I have something going for me.
The gossip behind my back has slowly died down since my first day. It's a surprising relief, and I'm finding that comfort is easier to come by when I don't have unwelcome stares and words being tossed around me. Most people just tend to ignore me now.
Quinn still finds me everyday to make sure I'm doing okay, though. I reassure her that everything's fine and she gives me hesitant smiles that make me roll my eyes playfully. But in all seriousness, I really do like Quinn. She's kind and sincere, and she's best friends with Santana since they're both on the cheerleading squad. So, when I ask Quinn about her, I know I'm getting reliable information.
"Brittany!" I hear someone call from behind me as I'm walking to my next class, and I turn quickly to the unfamiliar voice.
I recognize him pretty quickly—he's the boy who sits next to me in my first period English Literature class. He's tall, thin, a football player, Asian, and he was the one who let me borrow a copy of Hamlet my first day of school. We've talked a few times since, but usually I'm just answering his questions when he's confused about the class-work. I can't remember his name, though. I'm not very good with names; there's just too many of them I try to keep track of in my head.
"Yeah?" I respond and move to the side of the hallway so we aren't in the way. The friendly Asian boy comes to stand in front of me.
"Hey…" he takes a minute to catch his breath and adjust the straps of his backpack. He must have been hurrying to catch up to me, and I wonder if he was calling my name the whole way down the hallway. If he was, I'm sorry.
That's another negative consequence of my memory—I'm easily distracted and sometimes zone out and end up missing the reality playing around me. I can't help that my mind often drifts off. The past is usually more exciting than the present. Especially when I'm not with her. And though I know she's just a few hallways down from me, she still feels miles away. I miss her so much it hurts, and my memories keep me in her company.
After a minute, he pulls his backpack over his shoulder and unzips the bag so he can remove a red folder that I recognize as mine. I must have left it in the classroom.
"Here, I thought you might need this," he hands it to me, and I take it graciously.
"Thanks, I was in a rush to get out of there. I must have missed it," I say.
"No problem. And I'm Mike by the way, in case you forgot. I know it's probably really confusing with all these new people," he smiles warmly and I nod.
"Where are you headed to next?" he asks, as I move to place the folder back into my bag.
"Government," I say while I zip up my backpack.
"You want to walk together? I have French right across the hall," he cocks his eyebrow as he waits for my answer.
"Sure," I shrug my shoulders, and we both start walking down the crowded hallway again.
Our classes are on the other side of the building, so it takes a few minutes to get there. Mike asks me about my family and old schools. I don't delve into anything in too much depth; I just give him the basic info. But he seems actually interested in what I'm saying and it's a little surprising.
When we stop at the entrance into the classroom, Mike takes a second to clear his throat.
"So, I'm throwing this party this weekend, and I was wondering if you wanted to come," he shuffles his feet and looks down at me nervously.
"Pretty much all of the senior class is coming, so it shouldn't be a bust or anything. I'm sure you'll have fun," he reassures me.
As nice as his invitation is, I don't really do parties. I've never felt the need to throw myself into that type of immature environment before. There's nothing appealing about getting wasted and watching people make fools out of themselves. I've spent too much time trying to convince the people around me to see me as an older and more adult individual, that I often skip my adolescent and teen years altogether.
But, there is a tiny voice in the back of my head telling me that Santana's a cheerleader, and that cheerleaders probably go to these types of parties. And I suddenly can't think of a reason not to go.
"Yeah, sure. Where is it?" I ask.
A group of girls practically run right between us before he has the chance to answer, so we head off to the side of the hallway.
"You live in Cottage Brook, right?" he questions as he squints his eyes.
I nod my head. "Yeah, that's right."
"Well, I'm pretty sure that you moved into the house right down the street from me. So, just look for the cars and people on Friday, and that's where it's at," he beams, showing off his perfectly white teeth.
"Okay, I guess I'll see you then," I say before I wave goodbye and cross the hallway to enter my next block class.
Friday arrives faster than I expected, and before I have time to really prepare myself, I'm standing on the doorstep of Mike's house.
Though I should be nervous and anxious about my first high school party in like fifty years, I can't get the hilarious looks that my parents gave me before coming, out of my head. So, I'm having trouble keeping the giggles at bay. They just wouldn't expect me to be into this kind of thing, and they're right.
I don't know if I should knock or just walk in, but when a couple rushes past me hand in hand and flings open the door like it's not even there, I take a deep breath and follow them into the house.
Mike's home is really nice; much nicer than mine. It looks like his family did a lot of renovations to the inside because there are beautiful and shiny new hardwood floors beneath my feet. The walls are freshly painted and there's fancy, modern furniture everywhere.
The whole place is already packed with people, and there's loud music coming from the room down the hall. I can see kids dancing, while holding plastic cups that I'm sure have more than just apple juice in them.
Most of the teenagers I recognize from my classes, and as I continue down the hall and enter the kitchen, I find Mike standing in the corner talking to another Asian girl that I recognize from my government class.
He catches me out of the corner of his eye and waves to me from across the room. I wave back.
For the next couple of minutes, I wander around the downstairs and watch everything going on around me. I see a really tall, brunette guy from my Biology class standing next to an extremely short girl with a sweater vest. They look awkward together, but the girl keeps sending the tall boy loving glances and it's kind of cute. I have a soft spot for love.
I see Quinn in the corner talking to a blonde boy with big lips. She doesn't see me, but I smile at her anyways.
But even after wandering around for a while, I can't find Santana, and I'm starting to wonder if she even came at all. My shoulders slump lower and I exhale loudly in disappointment. I was really hoping that she would be here.
The noise is almost too much, and there are too many people, so I make a quick bolt to a door near the breakfast nook. I'd rather be alone outside than in here with all the craziness suffocating me.
The air is clean and clear, and as I step outside the house and close the sliding glass door behind me, I take a deep breath and sigh loudly.
It's not really cold, but there's a slight breeze that has made the air a little chilly. I roll down the sleeves of my sweatshirt so they cover my arms, and wrap my limbs tightly around my torso in hopes of keeping warm.
Mike's backyard is covered in leaves and laced with tall oak trees about ten meters away from the house. The sun is at the edge of the horizon, slowly making its way to the brink of the earth. I can see the colorful sunset through the bare trees—all the reds, oranges, purples, greens, and blues. It's breath-taking, and my mind immediately jumps to a memory of a beautiful sunset from Martha's Vineyard about fifty years ago.
I shake my head and shut my eyes tightly as that image from so long ago pastes itself to the inside of my eyelids.
It was a gorgeous moment from my past, but it was also filled with pain and loss. I don't like to think about the feelings associated with that day, but the peace I felt in those minutes so long ago is forever ingrained in my head. Whenever I see a sunset, my mind finds its way to the finality of that heart-braking and sentimental sunset.
Though I have spent many of my years living and loving with all that I am, tragedy and suffering, I have learned, are almost as persistent as happiness. It's just an inevitable part of life. Trust me, I know.
I want to laugh or smirk when I realize that Santana is a few yards away, sitting on a rod iron patio chair with her back to me. I can appreciate the irony of this picture now.
I move quietly and take the few steps between us slowly so I don't startle her. There's an adjacent chair to her that I'm headed for.
"Hey," I say quietly as I take a seat on the patio chair next to her. Her eyes immediately jump to me and widen in surprise.
She doesn't say anything, as her eyes bear through my exterior. There's that look again—the one that sends shivers up my spine every time. I can't help the light blush I feel cover my face. Sometimes I still find her intimidating. It probably has something to do with the control and power she has over my heart. I'm practically holding it out on a platter for her to do with it what she pleases. And unfortunately, I've learned from past experience that she can break me into a million pieces just as easily as she can make me feel whole.
I know I should have the right words prepared and memorized for these exchanges. It would be much easier and less nerve-racking if I didn't have to come up with new things to say to her every time I try and talk to her again in a new life. I would probably be feeling much more comfortable in her presence right now.
But if there's one thing I appreciate about living so long and remembering, it's that there's nothing repetitive about my relationships and experiences. Almost every new life is a brand new chance to fall in love and learn new things. I wouldn't want to keep living the same life over and over again. I would end up feeling like I'm stuck in some sort of purgatory and less inclined to believe that this gift of memory has graced me with moments of complete heaven.
So instead of racking my brains, trying to think of what to say, I just watch and listen.
I can feel Santana's eyes still staring at me, but I don't look back at her. Instead, my eyes drift back to the sunset and I let my mind wander away from this place.
When a breeze blows by us and whips my long, blonde hair around in circles, my mind returns to the present and I turn back to face Santana.
She's wearing tight, black jeans and a fitted grey t-shirt, and she has her arms wrapped around her legs that are pressed up against her chest. She shivers, and I notice the little goose bumps that have suddenly appeared across her tan skin.
There's no hesitation in my response to the observations.
"Do you want my sweatshirt?" I ask. Though, I'm taking it off before I give her the chance to answer.
She just nods her head and I offer her a warm smile and hand over my sweater when I've removed it from my body. She continues to stare at me with intrigue, and I can't help but wonder what she's thinking.
"What are you thinking about?" I finally say.
Santana puts her arms through the sleeves and ducks her head so she can settle into the jacket. When she finishes adjusting it, she leans back in her chair to meet my eyes again.
My heart does a little flip, and I feel the same butterflies that I always encounter when she's near fluttering through my belly. It's not really an uncomfortable feeling anymore, because I've learned to associate it with happy and meaningful times. It's my own conditioning.
She squints her eyes and cocks her head to the side, just like I've watched her do for the past couple of weeks. My eyes don't leave hers for a second.
"I feel like I've seen you before," she admits softly, and I smile with understanding.
I know I can't possibly tell her that she has indeed seen me before. I can't tell her that the last time she really saw me, she was in love with me. I can't tell her how long she has truly known me.
"I think I would've remembered," I answer at last, smirking at her.
Her cheeks blush red and I try to hold back my laugh, but I'm unsuccessful, so she raises her eyebrows in confusion and embarrassment.
"It's a complement, Santana," I reassure her, and I take a moment to appreciate the way her name rolls off my tongue. It's so beautiful and fits her perfectly.
I lift my legs and pull them to my chest so I'm sitting just like Santana.
"So, do you not like parties?" I ask, and bring my arms close to my body so I can stay warm without my sweatshirt.
She gives me a quizzical stare and I return a friendly smile.
She eventually sighs and grins back to me in explanation. "I do…"
"But?" I push.
"My boyfriend pisses me off," she states and turns her eyes away from me for the first time since I sat down.
Ah, the boyfriend.
I've seen him around sometimes, but I haven't really taken the time to fully assess him. I know he's a football player and sports a ridiculous Mohawk, but that's about it. Honestly, he seems like a real loser.
But Santana must have some reason for being with him. She's very smart, after all.
"What happened?" I ask with curiosity.
She shakes her head as I watch hints of anger and annoyance appear on her face.
"Nothing in particular. He's just a total ass sometimes," she rolls her eyes and sighs again.
I chuckle and nod my head.
We stay there and continue to look out in the distance at the setting sun. There's something so calming about just being near Santana. Her presence has a way of making my insides warm and bubbly. I still miss our intimacy and closeness, but for now, I'm content just sitting here with her.
"Quinn told me that you moved here from Phoenix. What was it like there? Was it really hot?" she asks with her head turned away from me.
I don't linger on the fact that she's just admitted that she's asked Quinn about me. I've been bugging the blonde almost relentlessly with questions about Santana. I take a second to realize that Quinn is probably extremely confused by our interests in each other by now.
"It's nice, but not my favorite place to live. It was too hot, actually. I like the weather here much better," I answer.
She moves her head to face me again and my heart skips a beat as her deep, brown eyes find mine.
"Where else have you lived?" she asks. I laugh at her question, because if I chose to answer it honestly, we would be here all night.
"Pretty much everywhere," I choose to say and look away.
"I want to get out of Lima once I graduate. I hate this place so much. I just…" she pauses a moment to sigh. "I can't wait to see the rest of the world," she adds.
It's admissions like these that make me kind of sad. I want to be able to share with her every moment and experience from our past. I want her to recall that she's seen more of the world than probably every other person on this planet—even more than me. But, I can't. She can't remember anything, and it makes me sad.
I say that she's seen more of the world than I have because I believe that Santana's soul is older than mine.
In the past couple hundred years or so, I've spent a great deal of time learning more about our past and searching for others like us. We've been around for much longer than most of the human population, because most souls don't live nearly as long as ours do. Most of them last a few lives and then parish. I don't know what happens to them. I guess they go to heaven or someplace like that. But, there are probably about a thousand souls on this planet that are older than me. Out of those thousand, only a handful has memories like mine, and I have met most of them.
And so I've learned to gauge and estimate the age of other souls. I've been able to recognize and determine all the differences in our beings. The older ones have the same aura that I've described I have.
But Santana's… hers is unlike any other I've ever seen or felt. Maybe that's part of the connection I have with her. Maybe I keep coming back to her because she's so antique and unique compared to everyone else around us.
I frequently wonder how old she truly is, but I've come to face the reality that I'll probably never know for sure.
"Don't worry, I'm sure you will," I say and take a deep breath.
"Where do you want to go to school once you graduate?" she asks.
In my head, I'm telling her that I'll follow her to the edge of the earth. I'll go to any school she chooses; I'll do everything in my power to make sure she is always happy. But out loud, I settle for a lie.
"I don't really know," I shrug my shoulders.
She seems content with that answer. I'm sure there are plenty of other teenagers who don't know what they want to do after high school.
I don't know how long we stay there, but when the sun finally sets below the horizon, I assume that it's been too long. The only light is now coming from the dim lanterns on the brick outside and the glass windows. I can't really hide the chill that's crept over me.
The sliding glass door opens behind us, and I turn to face the noise. Quinn's walking towards us with curiosity in her eyes.
"Hey," she says and I smile at her. She finally reaches the table and stands in front of us. "I'm glad you two finally talked to each other. You've been driving me completely insane with all your questions. I was about to tell you to just find out yourselves, but I guess you got around to that without my help," she laughs to herself.
"Real funny Q," Santana says, sarcastically as she snuggles further into my sweatshirt.
"Well, anyways… Puck just asked me to see where you were, so I came to find you. Are you okay?" she asks. I guess Puck is her boyfriend.
I want to know the answer to this question too, so I focus intently on her reaction. Her face scrunches up and she shakes her head back and forth.
"I'm fine," she mumbles and crosses her arms over her chest in frustration. She's obviously still mad at Puck.
"He probably just wants to get laid, and I'm definitely not in the mood for that," she rolls her eyes and snorts. "He's only nice when he wants to fuck," she finishes.
Her words are little stings piercing through my heart, but I've felt worse before. It's definitely tough knowing that she's sharing that part of herself with someone else. But, I guess it could be worse.
There have been several occasions in which I've found her and she's been married or in a committed and mature relationship. Sometimes she even has children, and in those instances, I have to just keep my distance, no matter how sad or angry I get.
So, the thought that she's having sex with her douche-bag of a boyfriend, who doesn't treat her right, isn't too painful for me. If anything, I'm more worried about what that relationship is doing to her.
"You should just dump him, Santana," Quinn says as she leans back on the railing of the wooden picket fence close to us.
I want to jump up and scream that I agree. I want to say that Quinn's right and that Santana deserves better, but I just stay quiet. Santana doesn't know me as well as I know her, and I don't want to seem insensitive.
"Yeah, well…" she hesitates. It's as if she's trying to come up with a reason to stay with Puck, but can't. If that's any indication, I don't know what is.
"Exactly," Quinn nods her head and smirks, knowingly.
We stay there in complete silence until a fast and cool breeze zips past us, making me shiver. Quinn hugs her arms and begins bouncing on her toes.
"Jeeze, it's cold. I guess fall's finally decided to show up," Quinn announces and chuckles. "I'm going back inside. What should I tell Puck?" Quinn asks.
Santana coughs into my sleeve and looks up to the blonde in front of us.
"Just tell him I left," she answers. "I think I'm gonna walk home anyways. I'm not really in the mood to party."
"Alright," Quinn responds, questioning. She turns to me and smiles. "See you later, Brittany," and she leaves us to go back inside.
"Bye," I say and fall further into the chair.
"So, do you not like parties, or something?" she repeats my earlier question.
I smile at her. "Honestly… I really hate them," I answer.
Santana gives me a quizzical stare. "Then why'd you come?" her forehead wrinkles in confusion.
Of course she's the real reason that I came. I wouldn't have even bothered if I thought she wasn't going to show up. But, I can't tell her that; it might seem kind of creepy.
So, I shrug my shoulder and sigh. "I guess I had nothing better to do," I answer.
A few minutes pass before I notice that it's getting almost uncomfortably cold. My feet have pretty much gone numb, and I can barely feel my fingers even with them tucked into the crease between my stomach and thighs. Santana's looks cold too, even with my sweater on. She's shivering and has started blowing warm air into her hands to keep the blood circulating.
I guess the cold's become too much, because Santana finally stands up from the chair and begins to remove my sweater. Before she has time to finish, my hand jumps up to grab hers and stops her.
The moment our skin grazes against each other, an electrical charge zaps from my fingertips to hers. I've grown used to that feeling, but it's pretty obvious that it surprises and shocks Santana, because she pulls her hand away almost instantly.
"Sorry," I say quickly and let my hand fall to my side again. She still looks startled.
"You said you were walking home," I explain. "You should keep it," I motion to the sweatshirt. "You can give it back to me at school on Monday," I finish and offer a kind grin.
Her eyes are intense on my face, and I feel nervousness and uncertainty creep through my veins. If I've upset her, I honestly didn't mean to. I'm just trying to be nice. Her next words contradict what I think she's feeling, though, and they leave me confused.
"Do you want to walk home with me?"
I guess I'm only good at reading people that aren't Santana, because I certainly wasn't expecting that.