The more Santana thought about it, over the next couple of days after the disaster of a party she had dragged Rachel to, the more bothered she became.
There were a lot of things to be bothered about with it. Of course, there was the Delgado thing; the guy was a player and Santana knew it better than anyone, and she wasn't sorry she had yanked Rachel out of his grasp. What did sort of bother her was just HOW mad she got when she thought about him touching her or deceiving her, and how upset it had made her later when Rachel was upset with her. She had let RACHEL BERRY make her cry, regardless of whether alcohol had had a hand in that, and what did THAT mean? Why did she suddenly care what Rachel thought about her? Why did she care now if she hurt Rachel's feelings?
The little sleepover thing, Rachel's icy skin pressed against hers as she unconsciously sought out Santana's warmth…why had Santana not shoved her away? Why had she not been pissed off at her for making her uncomfortable like that in her own bed?
All signs were pointing her to getting some kind of soft spot for Rachel Berry, and Santana really didn't know what to think about that.
She wasn't torturing Rachel like she used to; the thought didn't even sound vaguely fun anymore. In fact, if she thought about other people hurting her, it pissed her off. But above all else, one thing was sticking out to really get to Santana…and that was what Rachel had said, while she was drunk.
Not the part about Santana being so mean; Santana herself knew that was true. But the rest of it. About being gorgeous and pretty and hot, about being popular and confident and…straight.
None of it was true. None of it. Maybe that was how Rachel saw it, but Santana herself could not. If anyone thought she was attractive, it was because she had pumped up her boobs and slathered on makeup, worked herself daily to be as fit as possible. If anyone thought she was popular, it was just because people were afraid to cross her, not because anyone really liked her. Confident? She hated herself as much as any of the other girls, maybe more. And straight? It was what she wanted and hoped to wake up to be every single day and it hadn't happened yet.
The more she thought about it the more it bothered her, until it dawned on her why. Rachel, honest, overly earnest Rachel, idolized her for those things that weren't even true.
It shouldn't matter, she guessed. Didn't she want people to think those things were true? But somehow Rachel thinking it seemed different and wrong, until she found herself texting Rachel to meet her in at her car after school. She waited until the girl was inside and drove silently, refusing to tell her where she was going or what she was doing or the reason for this meeting, because she was afraid if she opened her mouth she would lose her nerve entirely. And when she finally parked in an area as deserted as she could find, turning to face Rachel, the words poured out in a flood that build up speed and volume as she went on.
"We have to get something straight here, Berry, okay, and don't interrupt me because…because I just have to say it, okay, and if you talk too much, I won't. You think all this shit about me that's not true, like it's some…fantasy thing, built up in your head, and it's…it's all bullshit. I want people to think it's true, but you…you're all into that honesty crap and so you…you shouldn't, okay? Because it's not. First off…I'm not…I'm not pretty, okay? I have fake boobs, I go to the tanning bed, I have extensions, I wear makeup, I work out for hours every day, I have scars and if I eat too much, well…you KNOW what I do to deal with that, okay, so don't ever tell me again how I'm so pretty and you're so not because that's bullshit. And the popular thing…no one even likes me, Rachel, you included, so that's bullshit too. And the other stuff you said, about…well about…"
Here she could hear her voice starting to shake, and she took in several nearly gulping breaths, trying to force the words out before she lost her nerve. They came finally, but they were nearly a whisper as a tremor spread through her hands and then up her arms, sweeping down her torso until she was shuddering bodily.
"I'm not…straight…okay? I'm…Rachel, I'm…don't you EVER fucking say a word but I'm…I'm gay. So…that's what I am, so…don't…don't think that stuff…it's not…it isn't true."
When Santana picked her up and started taking weird turns and getting to a more scarcely and scarcely populated area, Rachel was pretty sure she was going to die.
Which was unfortunate, because she hadn't even gotten to New York yet, much less on the Broadway stage. But she kept her mouth shut, trying not to look as anxious as she felt, and when they stopped at a nearly deserted part on the outskirts of town, before she could get a word in, or ask any questions, Santana was looking at her, telling her not to speak, and… talking. Rambling almost.
And with every word her eyes got wider, and wider, and by the time the Cheerio finished — confessed, really — Rachel just… wasn't sure what to say.
Should she be angry at Santana for blackmailing her when she, too, liked women?
Should she be… supportive? Or.. nonchalant…?
She stared at Santana, mouth slightly agape as her brain tried sifting through everything the girl had just said, because there had been a lot of it, figure out how to say words.
Maybe… Maybe just starting from the top would work.
"I… I still think you're beautiful…" she began, voice quiet, but more confident than she expected. "I know you have naturally tan skin as well, because I remember what you looked liked when we were younger. While I personally would never get implants, it's your body, and I respect that you chose to. Furthermore, there's nothing wrong with make up, or hair extensions. As for… as for the throwing up… I wish you wouldn't, because that alone tells me you don't see yourself the way you should…" Swallowing hard, keeping her eyes on Santana's face, she went on. "And… while, it's true that I don't really like you, that has more to do with your treatment of me, than who you are as a person. I don't know anyone but Santana the bully, after all. So it's rather hard to make a real judgement as to your character…"
She licked her lip, settling back in the seat now, and looking down at her lap, hands twisting. "Finally…" She took a deep breath, closing her eyes to give her strength. "This is not pity, first and foremost. What I am going to offer is out of knowledge of how hateful this town can be, so do not twist my words." She glanced at Santana, then looked forward. "If you need a safe place— some place where you will not be judged for who you are, my house is open to you, and I, and my fathers, will provide you with listening ears."
Santana could hardly believe what she was hearing.
She didn't know what she expected, exactly. For Rachel to be angry, maybe. For Rachel to be upset with her, that for as long as she had known her, for all the time she had tortured her, Santana herself had been living a lie. For Rachel to tell her that she was a coward and the worst kind of hypocrite. For Rachel to get out of the car and to walk couldn't have blamed her for any of those reactions.
But maybe by now she should have known better. Maybe she should have realized that however annoying Rachel Berry could be, her very nature and grace was much more than Santana could comprehend or imagine. Maybe she should have known already that all Rachel seemed even capable of offering her was understanding and support.
Rachel still, STILL thought she was beautiful. And Rachel was offering her a safe place…with her.
The shame that Santana felt then twisted up sharply within her heart, and she sucked in her breath, lowering her eyes to her lap. All the cruel things she had said and done to this girl, using her sexuality and insecurity and even her kindness against her…and this was what she got in return.
She meant to apologize. She meant to thank her. But when she opened her mouth, no words came out, and instead she broke into tears that shook through her frame convulsively. As she doubled over, gasping for breath, suddenly unable to see through them, she tried again to apologize, but only one word emerged.
"…sorry…"
Rachel wasn't sure what she should have expected, but for Santana to completely break down (while sober as far as she was aware) had not been in the cards.
Yet, here she was, sitting next to a sobbing Latina, and completely unsure of how to handle it.
After all, she had never had to comfort another person before…
Biting her lip, she carefully reached out her hand, taking Santana's and lacing their fingers together, squeezing it between both of her own hands as a means of offering some sort of physical support— an anchoring, even. "A- Apology, accepted, Santana…" She wasn't sure exactly what the girl was saying sorry for (the crying, the bullying, etc, all of it), but her answer would have been the same either way.
She knew that she'd have some bitterness to work through, but outside of the stage, Rachel just didn't know how to hold a proper grudge.
Especially not because of something like this.
Beyond that, she had been serious when she offered Santana a safe space, and there was no way she was going to back out of that now. Her fathers had raised her better than that, after all.
This was mortifying.
This was beyond what she would ever have expected to show anyone, especially when stone cold sober. This is beyond what Santana would ever accept herself showing to another human being. But this is what she is feeling now, and she can't even try to hold it back. For nearly five full minutes, which might seem like a short time to say aloud, but felt like an eternity for her to experience, she remained almost doubled over in the driver's seat, her forehead resting against the steering wheel, one hand digging into her cheek as she cried, feeling all the emotion and all the fear, all her anger and resentment over keeping such a huge part of herself hidden away even from herself for so long, began to drain away, bit by bit. She cried, holding onto Rachel's hand with a tight grip, as though needing the contact to keep herself intact, and in a way she felt that she did.
After the first minute or two her embarrassment and shame began to fade, and it became almost a relief to let herself go limp against the steering wheel, to relax her hand in Rachel's as her tears slowed, but continued to emerge in a more controlled manner. When they finally finished entirely, Santana was exhausted, knowing and feeling like a complete mess, but somehow it didn't really feel bad at all. It almost felt right. Like she had finally turned herself in a direction she had long ago forgotten to go.
Sitting up, she scrubbed at her cheeks with the palm of her hand, then realizing that this really wasn't adequate, turned to look for a kleenex or tissue in the side of her car door. Still turned away, she cleared her throat, squeezing Rachel's fingers a last time before letting them go.
"Sorry."
Like Rachel she wasn't sure if she was apologizing for the tears, the cruelty, or both
Rachel nodded, setting her hands back into her lap. "As I said, apology accepted." She sat quietly, allowing Santana time to pull herself together, and chanced a glance at the girl.
"Would you… like to come over for a time? My fathers are still gone, and won't be back until tomorrow around noon," she spoke after finally being able to work up the courage to ask. She'd be lying if she said her reasons for asking were completely unselfish, really. She didn't want to be home all alone, and as much as she'd deny it, she did feel… something for Santana. Some kind of attraction.
She couldn't really be blamed for wanting to spend time with the Latina, under circumstances that possibly translated as… almost civil, maybe.
Smiling a little, Rachel shrugged. "We could celebrate your first steps out of the closet, if you'd like. I could even make rainbow cup cookies?" Was this a bad time for humor? The right time?
Admittedly, Rachel had no idea.
All Santana had found was a crumpled paper towel she had suspected was already used, but if that was the best she could do, screw it. She used it to fix her makeup and blow her nose the best she could, still avoiding Rachel's eyes. It was amazing how quiet the girl was being, giving her time to get herself together, though it was actually a little uncomfortable. Where was the babbling, nervous Rachel she was used to?
Ah, there she was. Rainbow cookies? Was the girl serious?
Turning towards her, composed now, she shook her head, her voice not quite as fierce as it normally would be, but no less adamant. "You can't tell ANYONE. I mean it. No rainbows, no support parades, no buttons, bows, or signs. I mean, I get it, it's exciting to you that your dream girl has been knocked down to your level or whatever but don't you dare…just…no."
"I mean…I'll come over. I guess," she amended with sigh, leaning back in her seat and letting her eyes half shut as one hand moved to trace absently across her temples. "But no…gay pride shit. Because I'm not exactly feeling the pride, okay? And NO ONE knows so…just don't."
Rachel ducked her head, embarrassed. "It was… supposed to be a joke. I apologize." Clearing her throat, she looked at Santana then, nodding in earnest. "I would never out someone, Santana. You have my word. But there is nothing to be ashamed of. And I will actually fight you on that, for as long as needed."
She didn't say another word as they started driving back into town, headed to Rachel's house.
As she processed what had just occurred in the past 15 or so minutes, Rachel couldn't help but sigh quietly. It wasn't even the middle of the year, not even close, and her entire world was being turned upside down. In more ways than she ever cared to imagine.
But for the better? She honestly didn't know.
As they got to Rachel's neighborhood the silence started bear down on her, and she started to fidget. She considered several possible conversation starters, but each one ended up being shot down by the Santana in her head, and so, biting her tongue, physically, to keep quiet.
It was easily the longest she had ever gone without saying something, and it was driving her insane.
Rachel Berry fighting her was such a ridiculous image that Santana actually cracked a smile. "You wish you could fight me, Berry. Lima Heights born and bred here, remember? I'd knock you out before you could cock past a puppet-sized fist."
She didn't say anything else for the rest of the drive to Rachel's house, her mind still racing with her confusion as to what exactly it was she was doing. This made three times in the past few weeks she had voluntarily hung out with Rachel Berry, three times she broke down crying in front of her too, and what exactly did that say except that she was completely pathetic and hitting rock bottom? How sad did that make her to suddenly be practically Rachel's…Rachel's project or something? Maybe even Rachel's best friend?
She cringed inwardly at the thought, but at the same time…Rachel was treating her better than her other friends probably would. No way would Quinn forgive her so fast or show such sympathy; the most they ever got affectionate with each other was to say "you're such a loser, bitch" in an affectionate tone. And she still could hardly stand to look at Brittany, despite the blonde's efforts to reach out.
She was actually starting to kind of LIKE Rachel. Annoying and quirky as she was, she did have some spunk to her, and she wasn't one to back down in things she believed in…she was..weirdly cute, sometimes, even. And she was NICE. Santana actually liked that she was NICE. And that was almost frightening as everything else.