12/20/2003

Dear Diary,

Merry Christmas! Well, not yet, but close enough.

Today Santana came over and gave me a present. It's a necklace with a gold cat on it! She said it's cuz sometimes I talk in my sleep and say- in a very loud voice- "Lord Tubbington, where are you?" I didn't know I did this, but I guess that's cuz I only do it when I'm sleeping.

Anyway, Santana also said that I should touch my necklace cat before I fall asleep and pretend it's Lord Tubbington and, if I hold on tight enough, I won't talk in my sleep anymore.

I thought that was soooo nice of her! I really do miss Lord Tubbington when he sleeps in other rooms.

PS- I got Santana a diary and some colorful pens, so she can write down stuff too. I wonder what she'll write about.

-Brittany

"It's so cold!" Santana exclaimed, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater and frowning at me. "Don't your parents pay their electric bills?"

"I guess so," I said. "But they said it's better to just bundle up. It saves money. Do you know what 'bundle up' means?"

She turned her head to raise a little black eyebrow.

We were on my bed, wrapped up in two blankets and the comforter she usually used on the floor. I felt like a butterfly in a cocoon. My wings were stuck to my sides 'cuz I wasn't done being made yet.

"We're bundled up now," Santana answered.

"Oh..."

"But I'm still cold."

I looked over at her. I was supposed to say "Me too," except that I wasn't. Not with Santana next to me. I wondered if butterflies ever cocooned together. It was probably better for the environment and they also wouldn't be so lonely, in the dark all by themselves.

"My house is big," Santana went on. "We have five bedrooms and all of them have heat! And air conditioning in the summer. And we have a pool too. Our kitchen has marble countertops that are too big and granite trashcans that I have to empty once a week. My mom says these are 'champagne problems.' Do you know what a 'champagne problem' is?"

I shook my head.

"Me neither," Santana muttered, her hands absentmindedly knocking my legs beneath the comforter.

I counted the seconds between her last words and when she would start talking again. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. It was too quiet.

"I've never been to your house," I said.

"Yeah, I know," she replied in her mumbly voice again.

"And you always say bad things about my house."

"Yeah..."

"So why don't we ever go over to your house instead?"

I felt her arm shift at my thigh, emerging from the depths of wool and cotton to scratch a line along her cheek. She looked down, then out the window. I thought, for a moment, she was thinking about being a butterfly too.

"Sorry," I apologized. "Is that a stupid question?"

"No," she said quickly, her neck twisting back in my direction. "And don't ever believe that jerk, Noah Puckerman. Or those other kids either. 'Cuz you aren't stupid, Brit."

I smiled at her, pressing my hip into hers and running my thumb over the cat necklace she had given me. Santana smiled back. It was different from usual. It wasn't like a rainbow. Well, it was, but it was a rainbow that had been rained on and gotten all soggy and faded.

It made my chest hurt, like the time Noah had thrown his football at me and stopped me breathing for a little while.

"You're my best friend," I whispered to Santana.

I didn't know why, but I just thought it should have been whispered.

"Yeah, me too," she whispered back.

I leaned into her cold arm and kissed her on the lips, like a boy. I didn't know why, but I just really wanted to kiss her.

I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to.

SIXTEEN

7/10/2011

Dear Bambi,

Okay, I see that you're super angry with me now, since I ripped out those last two pages and you FORCED me to tape them back in. Did you know I had to drink half a bottle of Captain Morgan's to do that? Did you know you are contributing to underage drinking and possible future alcoholism? I don't think your LOVER- a.k.a Will Schuester- who made me sign that contract during Alcohol Awareness Week, would approve. Although he had his own moment as Count Boozy Von Drunkaton. I'm sure you remember! That phone message? Just wanky.

So now you wanna know what I'm so scared of? Seriously, Ms. Pillsbury? Seriously?

I guess I can answer you in three more words, cuz that's alls you be gettin afores I hit the buffet at Breadstix:

1) the trolls at this school

2) myself

3) my parents

- Santana "I Want Ma Stix" Lopez

"Brit?" I asked, turning to face her.

I'd totally given up on taking the floor that night. The truth was, I really needed someone next to me sometimes and it had nothing to do with being like a lizard and digesting my food. It was easier to sleep next to her. It had always been easier that way, even with the nightmares.

"Huh?" she answered.

She peered across the sheets at me while stroking Lord Tubbington. I couldn't believe that beast was 14 already, or how fucking fat he'd gotten either! Seriously, he looked like a plateful of popped sausage during a competitive eat-off. Why Brittany kept feeding him all of that cheese I could never understand.

"Do you ever really think about it? I mean, like really? Not just 'cuz of what happened last week at the pool."

"Think about what?" she asked me.

I ran an errant hand over my skintight skirt, tugging at it. "You know," I mumbled.

"Oh..."

"Yeah, that. The lesbian thing."

She pulled herself into a straight line, her shoulder striking the wall as she twisted her body towards me. "Well, of course I think about it. I was the one who kissed you first, remember?" The fan blew a breeze onto her smile as she clumsily swept a strand of blonde hair from her eyes.

I reached up and did it for her, tucking it behind her ear. "Yeah, I remember," I said softly. "I punched you in the nose and ran home."

Brittany grinned, swiping at the invisible bruise. "Yeah, but you came back."

"Eventually."

"I cried for a long time though. And I could never get that blood out of your comforter."

"I'm sorry," I murmured, dipping my head into her shoulder.

She dragged her fingers through my sweaty hair, lifting my face into her hands and planting a kiss on my mouth that tasted like honey.

"I love you," Brittany replied. "I've loved you forever. And we know each other. You know I'm Brittany and I know you're Santana and that's all we need to know. So I don't think it should matter what other people call us."

Her palm fell on my thigh, her thumb rubbing circles into my tanned skin. It felt like a defibrillator. Bang, bang. I almost forgot to breathe. I made a noise that forced Brittany's eyes to turn into two, big blue circles.

"People like labels," I choked out. "And I don't mean the kind that come on all the shit I shoplift."

"Yeah, you told me before."

"I don't wanna be gay though, Brit."

I didn't know what else to say then. I was the least eloquent person I'd ever met, and also probably one of the shittiest. I had no idea why Brittany even bothered to put up with me half of the time.

"I'm sorry," I repeated.

She gave me that same sad smile from the pool. I could still hear those douchebags' voices ringing in my ear. I could still feel the water from the shower piercing my back like bullets.

Brittany pulled me into her, her lips briefly closing down on mine again, her nails scraping my spine. "It's okay," she whispered.

"No, it's not. Life freaking sucks," I said, jumping off of her bed and running so fast down her hallway that I felt like fucking Superman. I was invincible and nothing could hurt me. But only until I stopped running.