Mi Vida...Not So Loca
Chapter Five
Unwanted Touches
Santana Lopez:
To say that my evening was once of pure bliss and love, would be a complete, huge, gigantic lie.
After I heard Brittany slam our bedroom shut, I stayed sat at our dining room table. The food still hot on our plates, the candles still lit and the heartbreak that I had just committed still heavy in the air, like rain after a thunder storm. For a little while I just sat there, staring at nothing but thinking of everything. Wishing I could just take it all back. Everything. Every last word I had uttered. I wished I had never brought up the conversation. I wish, when she asked about me liking the dinner, I could have just smiled at her and told her how wonderful it was. We could have just had a light conversation and she might not even have brought up the issue of having a baby. Even if she had, I wish I could have just smiled and nodded my head, not having a real discussion. We probably could be making love right now, or maybe just having really hot sex. But no. I had to be a jerk and shatter my adoring wife's heart by basically telling her there was no way I was going to have a baby with her. And the feeling of guilt was making me sick.
For a while longer I still remained sat in my chair, listening to the sounds of the house we lived in. Of the home my wife wanted to fill with adorable, laughing children. She probably wanted to be like the Von Trapp family and have a whole house of singing, dancing and puppet loving children. And a pet duck because she loved ducks. I could just imagine her teaching our firstborn how to dance before they could walk and getting me to teach them songs in not only English, but also in Spanish. I imagined us living in a bilingual house; hearing our baby call out 'mom' and 'mami'. I could imagine Brittany taking them to every kind of dance class under the sun, just so they could try it. She would be an amazing mom. Although she'd be driven, she'd never push them into doing anything they didn't want to do, and if they didn't want to dance then she would encourage them to do whatever they actually did want to do. She would be so encouraging and loving that our children could help feel nothing but love.
Brittany would definitely be the softy; the one who would make them snuggle in between us when they had a nightmare or wet the bed, the one who would be there in the school yard with a juice box and a cookie, ready to pin up yet another painting on the refrigerator. Every Saturday she would take them to the park and give them ice cream, even if it was the middle of winter. I would be 'the dad' and be the sensible one. I would be the one getting told to move over so our little one could snuggle in between us, even though I would probably be trying to snuggle with Brittany myself. I would be the one to get out of bed and change the wet sheets and then redress the bed before snuggling with them again; wrapping them both up in my arms. I would be the one telling them to wash their hands before dinner and telling them to put the cookie back and have an apple instead, heck, I'd probably yell at them in Spanish if they did something wrong and raise my eyebrows at them! As far as relationships were concerned, if we had a daughter, I would totally scare her dates into never wanting to get into her pants until she was married to them. No one would dare touch my little girl more than hand holding and then she could begin to think about kissing at eighteen. As for my son, I'd be really cool about it and tell him over dinner or whilst playing a video game with him to be careful with girls and treat them right. As for sex, on his eighteenth birthday I'd give him a pack of condoms with a warning note on them saying to please God wait until he was ready and when the girl was ready too. For any of my children where relationships were concerned; we'd teach them to love whoever they wanted and to be treated well. All I would ever ask is that they loved and were loved themselves.
But then, just as my thoughts would wander to the land of 'How Marvellous Everything Would Be', a frightening reality would shine through and interrupt my thoughts like an alarm sounding. Our children would be teased for having two moms and they would either get into fights for hearing someone call one of us a dyke or they would spend their recess and lunch breaks in the bathroom crying because no one wanted to be the friend of the kid with lesbians for moms. They would be picked on for not looking the same or they would be bullied for not really being siblings. Basically our children would be excluded purely because of our love.
I knew that a girl in one of my sophomore classes, Rachel Berry, had two fathers but she lived with her mother. I could only imagine how much hassle she must have gotten growing up. No wonder the poor girl chose to live with her mom. Thinking of her situation, I guess she was lucky. She had a mother to turn to before she hit puberty. Having two fathers must be awkward for a girl. Who did she turn to when she needed to buy her first bra, or needed to know why the hell she woke up bleeding and having a killer stomach ache and who would she had gone to about sex? Sure, I bet her dads were really good guys, but they couldn't understand what being a girl was like! They couldn't exactly take her to a store and help her pick out bras and panties and help her adjust them. And how awkward would it be, to go to your dad and ask for some sanitary towels or tampons and have them wash your bloody panties because you didn't know you were about to menstruate or you miscalculated when your period was going to come? As for sex, who went to their fathers about a sex talk? Boys, sure, but a girl? As far as men are concerned, their little girls will always be little girls and I highly doubt either of her fathers wanted to know she was having crushes on boys – or God forbid actually thinking about sex in the privacy of her bedroom!
But what about our child? Sure, if we had a daughter it would be fine because we would know exactly what do and we could probably try and get our sanitary products in bulk when the time came. But what about if we had a little boy? Sure, a little boy would be okay but what happened when he turned into a man? How could we teach him how to shave or tell him that certain parts of his body were going to change and not to worry because every boy goes through it? And sex! Oh God how embarrassing would that be for him? Even if we brought him up dressing him in rainbow pride shirts and 'I love my moms' shirts for his entire life, there would be no way he would come to us asking for sex advice. I know I wouldn't want to go to my mom for sex advice if I was a guy!
And what about Brittany? Ever since I first heard someone tell her she was stupid, I vowed never to let anyone hurt her. Even though the image of her with a swollen belly and reading pregnancy books with me rubbing at her sore feet made me smile slightly, I couldn't forget about the reality. If we stayed here, which was what Brittany wanted to do, then we would be seen as the two women who think they can raise a normal child; in the eyes of this community anyway. All throughout Brittany's pregnancy, people would ask her how excited she and her husband were and she would correct them by saying how excited she and her WIFE were and then they would wrinkle their noses up at her and walk away. In the doctor's waiting room, she would be surrounded by same sex couples all discussing names and colour schemes and schools and who the baby would look like and she would be the only one who could say that her baby would definitely look like her. Walking down the street, I didn't want her to be subjected to any type of cruelty because she was a pregnant woman married to another woman. A frightening thought came to my mind; what if she was coming back from the store or something and someone pushed her and spat out horrible remarks, purely because she was married to me and she fell and she lost the baby? She would be distraught and…No. I couldn't have that.
Sure there was always the possibility that someone was going to hurt her (or me) because of our relationship, but there was no way I was going to allow a child to be subjected to that. As a parent it would be our job to protect our children. As wife and soul mate of Brittany, it was my life to protect her.
I wasn't sure how long I had been sat at the table for, but it must have been a long time because the candles were almost burnt out and the aroma from the food had vanished. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and went to go and check on my wife. Slowly I descended the stairs, thinking of something to say. But then, what could I say; 'Sorry darling I was joking let's head down to the sperm bank right now!' But I had to say something. We had never, in all our time being in a romantic relationship together, slept on an argument. Even it if meant yelling and crying and stomping our feet late into the night, we never left things on a negative note. We always ended up apologising and saying how much we loved each other. Sometimes it would end in cuddling up close to each other, holding each other as tightly as possible, other times we would kiss each other's tears away and a few times it ended in us making love to each other just to prove how much we still loved each other. However, when I knocked on the door and heard no reply of any kind, I knew this would be the first night ever where we would have gone to bed and woken up still will the same tension rising.
Placing my forehead to the door, I rapped my knuckles against the wood and called out for my wife. "Brittany?" I asked quietly, keeping my voice calm and the tears at bay. "Britt?" I asked again and this time I opened the door. The sight before me made those tears begin to break through the barrier I kept them behind. In front of me I saw my wife had thrown my pillows to the floor and she had turned our wedding photograph on the dresser facing down so she couldn't look at me. She lay under the covers with her fists clenched and her face scrunched up. As I came closer I could see the tear stains on her pillows and cheeks and I sniffled a heaving breath at the realisation that I was the one to make her cry so badly. Not wanting to disturb her, I bent down carefully and wiped her bangs from her face. Sniffling once more I pressed my now salty lips to her forehead and whispered; "I love you Brittany," before turning around and heading into the guest room – that she had already picked out to be the baby's bedroom.
Just entering the room where I knew Brittany wanted to put a child in made me break down. I collapsed on the bed sobbing. Why was it so hard? Why couldn't I just give her what she wanted and not worry about everything? Why was I ruining us because of my insecurities? Why was I making her cry when she should be laughing? Why was breaking us through something so beautiful?
Quinn Fabray:
Most kids would never be excited about meeting their teacher's for coffee to have private lessons, especially on a weekend. But I was not 'most kids' and I was ecstatic. I only had one day to go and I couldn't wait. We were only going to be meeting for an hour and a half, possibly two hours, but I still couldn't wait. The studious part of me would say it's because I would finally be learning something and would able to actually pay attention in class and be able to do my assignments without thinking I'm a failure. Another part of me was just happy that would be spending some time with Senorita Lopez, which would be cool considering how awesome she is. But in a non-creepy way of course. Friday morning I walked into school with a beaming smile on my face with the excitement of being able to actually understand my Spanish class and get myself back on track of being an A Grade student, like my father was always telling (pressuring) me to be. In my hand I was holding my newly highlighted and decorated timetable Senorita Lopez had drawn up and I was walking to my locker to pin it up. In my opinion nothing could be wrong that day because I was finally taking control of my learning and was no longer going to be at the bottom of the Spanish Class Food Chain where I had been all semester long so far.
"Why the beaming smile?" I heard over my shoulder and smiled even more. As I turned to face Rachel, I practically bounced with excitement. "You, Miss Rachel Berry, are looking at a new woman." Her eyebrows rose at my slightly weird expression, but her beaming smile also remained, giving me the excuse to carry on talking. "I finally asked Senorita Lopez for some help with my Spanish and I'll no longer be a flunk in that class!" Somehow Rachel's smile grew wider, clearly happy that I wouldn't need to take her notes and ask her for help any more, but at the same time her eyes dulled slightly. "You could have asked me to be your tutor Quinn," she said, her voice deflecting ever so slightly. Giving her a small smile, I shrugged my shoulders at her; "I couldn't have asked you to tutor me Rach," I jutted my head over to a row of lockers, indicating someone was there, "What about Finn? You'd have to share your time between me and him." At the mention of her boyfriend Rachel nodded her head in understanding, but then, when the bell rang, she began to walk away and put her hand on my shoulder; "I wouldn't mind sharing myself for you, Quinn. You're my friend and you're important to me." Shrugging once more, she shot me another smile and said that she would see me later. Even though her gesture and her words were purely innocent, a shiver ran through my body and I suddenly wanted to…I don't know…hold her? She was too far away from me to just bring her back to me and give her a friendly goodbye hug and that feeling stayed with me for the rest of the day.
Starting off my day thinking nothing could ruin it, to now wishing I could start it again was not how I wanted the day before I spent a few hours with Senorita Lopez to go. My smile had been so fixed to my face in the morning I could have sworn nothing could have changed it, but then I saw Rachel and her hand and her words had changed that. Also, I knew that it wouldn't change back because at lunchtime, I saw Sam standing at my locker reading a book on Star Trek. Ever since his little altercation with Puck, he's been trying to 'claim me' as his own; wrapping his arm tightly around my shoulder and walking me to and from class sometimes. If it were any other situation – like because he actually wanted to be a gentleman – then it would be chivalrous and would have loved it. The fact that he was only doing it because it meant he was showing to everyone (namely Puck) that I was taken, made me feel like a toy or an object. That may have been the feminist reading I had been doing in a class talking, but it was true and I hated it.
"Hey Quinn!" He called, seeing me when he looked up from his book. Sighing in a slight growl, I plastered my face with a grin and bounded over to him in a far too eager way. "Hey Sam," I called back and was immediately met by his lips on mine. That was a problem with Sam; he never waited for me to stand still. It was like my lips were his lips' landing ground and he assumed he always had permission to land on them. Another problem he had was that his mouth contained a lot of saliva and I was finding it harder and hard to create discreet ways of wiping away the excess saliva he left on my lips. Still, when he let me go, I pretended to put my hair behind my ears when in actual fact I was wiping my mouth with my cardigan. He was still smiling at me, so I guessed he hadn't noticed. "I want to take you out on a date," he said bluntly, not even asking me, just telling me. "Shall I pick you up Saturday at six and we can go watch a movie?" I swore movies were the only dates boys went on because it meant they could try and grope their girlfriends and think it is okay because it's in the dark and no one could know. Ugh it annoyed me. Still, I smiled and nodded my head, accepting his request for a date. Then, he stole another taste of my lips and then bounded off when he saw some guys from the football team. I was left, once again, wiping my mouth and for some reason daydreaming; wishing I was going on a date with someone else. Who, I wasn't quite sure, but I was thinking about it for the rest of the day.
Santana Lopez:
After school I had stopped by the grocery store. It wasn't like we were in need of food, but I had to make things up to Brittany and what better way to at least try and break the ice by making her all of her favourite foods? My mother had always told me – and I'm sure a lot of other mothers told their daughters the same mantra – that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. With Brittany that wasn't entirely true, but what with the energetic classes she had started to teach and the completion of the studio, I knew my wife had been exhausted. What better way really to soothe her body than giving her all her favourite foods and to further soothe her than giving her an evening of bubble baths and massages. Even though I had a tonne of papers to grade, I didn't care. All I cared about was making Brittany feel better.
Stopping by the fishmonger in a hurry, I asked for his biggest, best shrimp and asked him to do whatever it was they did to make sure we didn't get sick. The last thing I wanted was for Brittany to get sick. I had heard that some kids who had eaten shrimp at that Breadstix place had gotten sick, luckily for us, Brittany hadn't but I wanted to be extra careful. Next I stopped by this bakery and got them to bake this gooey chocolate truffle cake Brittany loved. It was the cake she wanted to eat for our wedding, but I told her that it wouldn't be good if she spilled some on her dress. Instead we fed it to (and off) each other during our honeymoon. It was a very specific cake and during my lunch break I had paid the company that made the cake ten dollars just to give me the recipe. It may not have sounded like a lot, but I was desperate and pulled out every trick I had in the book: begging, pleading, and threatening, then in the end just handing them money. I spent a good part of half an hour arguing with the manager of the bakery, begging for them to make this cake on such short notice. Finally they agreed (after I had flashed a Grant at them) and they made the cake for me. It would be delivered to our house, complete with hot chocolate truffle sauce and it would perfect our evening.
At home I had the shrimp and the special sauce that went with it to make some sort of shrimp cocktail – because that would always be Brittany's favourite meal food – and was waiting for the cake. For the main dish of our dinner, I made Brittany's absolute favourite: spaghetti and meatballs. Brittany loved that dish purely so she could push one of the meatballs over to me to eat with her nose and so we could suck up the same piece of spaghetti and have our lips meet in the middle. Sure, having shrimp, spaghetti and meatballs followed by a chocolate cake wasn't the best dinner in the world, but this wasn't just any dinner. This was a dinner specifically for Brittany. It was all her favourite foods in one sit down session and I just prayed that everything would go okay. I really had to make things up to Brittany and, sure one fancy dinner wouldn't sort everything but it was a start. It would show I'm trying.
Just as I was about sit down after 'slaving' away over the stove I heard the familiar sound of the key turning in the lock of the front door and the even more familiar sound of my glorious wife sighing and heaving her things down in the hall. A bright smile appeared on my face and I just hoped that my efforts would be enough to put a smile on her face too. Like an excited puppy, I ran from the kitchen and into the hall before Brittany had time to go upstairs and shower. "Hey Britt," I called out, for some reason a little breathlessly and waited for her to turn around before I did a funny little bow – that she loves – and announced; "I've made you a special dinner and I'd really love it if you'd accompany me in the dining room." On my face I wore a huge smile but slowly it began to fade when I noticed she wasn't smiling back. In fact, she looked not only tired but exhausted and she also looked angry. Trying to make her comfortable I started to stutter, thinking it would make things better, "If you don't want to eat in the dining room because of what happened last night, we can eat on the couch?" Thinking that would work, I gave her a slightly smaller smile, but to my surprise it didn't. Thinking that perhaps changing from a formal setting to a more comfortable one would make her send me a beautiful smile, I said it but she continued to look at me with dull eyes and a slightly curled up lip.
The tension in our hall was getting very heavy and I was glad that the doorbell rang. I let out a little sigh but stayed smiling at Brittany. Carefully I moved passed her and went to the door, knowing full well who it was. Getting the cake took less than two seconds; literally ripping it from the delivery guy's hands and then slamming the door in his face. It might not have even been a guy. For all I knew it was trained monkey they'd hired just deliver this special cake. I didn't look at them, just opened the door, took the cake and slammed the door in their face. I didn't care if they groaned or owed or something: I had much more important things to be interested in than some delivery person's broken nose caused by me slamming the door in their face. With the square cake box in my hands, I turned back to Brittany. Looking at her I could see she looked intrigued as to what had been delivered. And why it smelt so good. Holding the little box up, like in 'The Lion King' when baby Simba is being presented to everyone, I sheepishly smiled at her once more. "For dessert I thought we could have chocolate truffle cake because I know it's your favourite." Telling her I had specially ordered her favourite cake I hoped that she would have smiled. However my quiet, almost bashful voice and gleaming eyes didn't do anything. Neither did opening the lid of the box when I saw her expression remain fixed and frozen. Again the tension became heavy and I really just wanted her to smile at me. My own smile was beginning to feel fake, and I never gave her a fake smile. She deserved the real, authentic things and smiles were at the top of the list. Instead of me receiving her glorious sunshine smile she sighed mumbling a "Fine" and made her way through to the dining room, me following behind her, still like the excitable puppy.
The way she walked into our dimly lit dining room; arms crossed, shoulders back and head held back, reminded me of a queen. To me she would always be my queen, and at this moment I was nothing more than her loyal servant. Tired blue eyes scanned the table. The shrimp was already in the glass bowls – hers were of course bigger and juicier than mine – and two glasses of red wine were already poured. She may have also noticed that I had taken out our wedding china that Brittany's grandparents insisted they get us. I remembered the argument well. We were at their house, sat on their couches, and telling them of our wedding plans. Brittany's grandma couldn't stop the joyous tears from overflowing and the delightful gasps that came rushing out of her mouth at each detail we told them. At some point during the talk, Brittany's grandfather had left the room and then came back with a white box tied with a white bow. Once Brittany had noticed she ripped off the bow and opened the box like a six year old on Christmas morning. Her eyes widened and she slowly raised her head to look at her grandparents. One of their gifts for us was their very own wedding china; a light blue almost white with tiny lilac flowers painted on china set. The argument that followed the revealing of such special china made me laugh. Brittany refused to take something so special, her grandmother arguing that she had wanted to give it to her since she first saw her granddaughter gazing up at it wanting to use it for a tea party for her teddy bears' own wedding.
Once Brittany's eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the china. She stopped by her seat and asked in an emotionless voice; "Our wedding china?" At first I wasn't sure if she was questioning it or merely stating a fact that yes, I had used our wedding china for this important dinner. Even though she couldn't see me I nodded my head and then squeaked out; "Yes". Heaving a sarcastic breath, she moved the chair out from under the table and said, "Whatever you have to say must be important." At her words I gulped. At her action of not letting me take her chair out for her and push her in – like I usually would – make me slightly doubtful of our evening. Again, she waited for me to make my move. Her arms were still crossed and when she saw me sit down at the head of the table – with her sat to my left – she raised her eyebrow at me. This particular gesture made me stop breathing. Brittany, my darling Brittany, never raised her eyebrow at me. Gulping once more I raised my glass with a slightly shaking hand and held it out to her. Still she stared at me with her raised eyebrow. After a while I knew she wasn't going to chink my glass and so I put my own down and stared into it. I'd always loved the colour of red wine; how beautiful the aroma was and how rich the colour seemed to be, especially in the dark. It almost looked black, and yet even in the darkest of rooms or settings, you could still see the hint of red that told you it was wine. At this moment though, all I could see was blood. I could still feel Brittany's eyes on me and I could practically feel the tension in her jaw as she grounded her teeth together.
With me staring into my wine for who knows how long, after some time I eventually heard Brittany move. She had dragged her shrimp bowl closer to herself and was now eating it, scooping up the sauce with a spoon and eating just that, like ice cream. Feeling I had permission to look at her, I turned my head back to her. Her eyes were focused on her food. Her mouth was chomping and her hands were working fast. I knew she was trying to eat as quickly as possible and without looking at me for as much as she could. Still I couldn't speak. I knew I should be speaking but I couldn't. As soon as the last of the sauce was gone, so would she and I couldn't let that happen. And yet, moments later her spoon was basically thrown into the bowl, her arms were folded across her chest again and her eyes were scowling at me. Anger was rising through her. I could see it. Her chest was heaving in a way I rarely ever saw with her. She was my bubbly, beautiful queen who was still human. Of course she could get angry but the last time I really saw her angry was when she saw a man kick his dog in the park for no apparent reason. Blindly she had stormed over to him, with me trying to hold her back by her belt loops, and had yelled at him to never harm an animal again. I was terrified that she was going to get hurt and so, just as the man was about to possibly do something to her, I used all the strength I had locked away from my cheerleading days and picked her up, swung her over my shoulder fireman style and ran away with her. For the rest of the day she was either cursing men that hurt animals or crying for the poor creatures. Now I wished we had just watched a documentary on whale hunting or the cruelties of old time circuses because the Medusa glare she was giving me now made me want to beg for forgiveness for every cruel thing.
Blue and brown eyes were fixed on each other. The silence of the house was starting to scare me but nowhere near as much as her laser eyes were. Gulping once again, I finally took a breath and tried to smile at her. "Did you enjoy your starter?" As soon as I asked the question I knew that there was a serious case of déjà vu hanging in the air. She had asked me a similar question and I knew that she was not pleased with me asking it: especially because she ground her teeth once again. A grunt was my reply and just as I was about to stand to remove the bowls, she stood for me. Like a lady-in-waiting I stood too, but like a frightful lover (which is what I was) I reached for her shoulder and pleaded; "Please Brittany." Her skin was like electricity under my fingertips. She had paused her movements but with my gentle hand on her shoulder and the begging look in my eyes, she lowered herself back into her seat. Her arms didn't cross, instead she laid them in her lap but her head stared into the flickering light of the candles. My hand was still touching her shoulder and with her sat in her seat, I didn't want to let go.
Thinking now was as good a time as any other, I moved behind her and caressed her shoulder, her upper arm and then her neck. She didn't shiver and so I did it again, purely because I needed to touch her. I brought my other hand to her other shoulder and my fingertips were dancing over her hot skin. She was sweaty but it was pleasant – it just showed how hard she had been working. Cupping her shoulders I then began to give her a massage. As soon as the pressure was met near her neck, I felt her relax by a percentage. She was tense. I knew that. My fingers and hands and shoulders worked away at her taught shoulders and neck and I tried to release all the stress and strain she was feeling. Neither of us spoke, of course. For a moment it was as if there was no tension in the air, only in my wife's shoulders. As the knots were loosened and the tension eased, I licked my lips and lowered my head. Normally when I massage her, I press my lips to her head and then work my way to her cheek and down her neck crossing to her shoulders and repeating the process until Brittany wanted my lips on her own. This time however, I was given a reaction I never would have imagined. I'd rather she'd slapped me than what she did. Just as I lowered my lips to her shoulder she pushed herself off the chair and practically ran to the other side of the room.
The chair she had been sitting on was flung to the ground and I even gasped in fright at how quickly everything happened. One minuet she was sat on the chair receiving a massage and the next she was pointing at me and showering rage down onto me. "Don't you dare!" She screamed at me, already tears gushing down her cheeks. Had she been crying during my massage? Had she been crying all along? Had she just had enough of keeping them inside? My mouth opened but no intelligible sound came out. Instead, she screamed back at me; "Don't you dare think that giving me shrimp and a massage is going to make me feel better and how dare you try to kiss me like nothing's happened!" I wanted to protest. I wanted to argue that I wasn't trying to erase anything or make things less significant, I was just…what was I trying to do? Was I trying to make her talk? Was I trying to make her agree with my point of things? Was I just trying to distract her? Again I couldn't speak. Not just with the fear of what would happen if I did say anything, but because the tears falling from my own eyes was making it impossible for me to utter anything. Before Brittany stormed out of the room, she stomped over to me and pushed herself right up in my personal space. If I thought I was frightened before, I was completely wrong. Never in all the long years that I had known this angel, had I seen her like this. Physically I was shaking and I swore I was either going to wet my pants or fall to the ground. With her finger pointing at me and her eyes staring right into mine, she breathed out her final sentence to me that night; "Don't you dare think I will forget. I need my space." As soon as the sound had stopped echoing around the room, she turned on her heel – her ponytail slapping me in the face – and she stormed up the stairs.
Our dinner was forgotten, but the feelings and situation was definitely not and for the first time in our married lives, we sobbed ourselves to sleep: Brittany in our bed, alone, and me in our spare room, alone.
Quinn Fabray:
Excitement didn't quite convey all the feelings I had. Here I was, sat in the coffee shop with my Spanish books and pencil case and two steaming mugs of coffee, waiting for my gorgeous Spanish teacher to tutor me. I must admit, it took me a while to actually leave the house, considering I had no idea what to wear. Did I wear what I usually wore for school or did I wear one of my more formal dresses? Either way, I would turn up in a dress because of my mother and father but…what if I didn't? It was a Saturday and usually kids wore whatever they wanted on the weekends: some just wore sports uniforms or pyjamas. What did I wear? A slightly more 'posh' version of what I wore during the week. Well, not today, because today I snuck out of the house in jeans. Jeans! Senorita Lopez had never seen me in jeans – no one here had seen me in jeans – and she would probably be surprised. Just thinking of what I was going to wear made me think of what she would wear. Being a teacher she had to dress smart for school, but this wasn't school. This was a coffee shop on a Saturday. She too could wear whatever she wanted! A part of me still wanted to see her wear her tight pencil skirts, silk blouses, killer high heels and a pair of sexy black rimmed glasses, topping it all off with flowing locks of raven dark hair. Of course, the reality was quite different. I doubt it was just me, but as soon as she walked in, it was like flashes and light bulbs from paparazzi cameras were going off, a fan was put in front of her face and a red carpet was laid out for her. Even in simple dark skinny jeans, knee high black boots, a striped black and white t-shirt, black jacket and green scarf wrapped around her neck; she looked like a goddess or a model. She was just stunning. She may not have worn her school clothes, but at least her hair was down and she did have her glasses. Two out of whatever wasn't too bad. Plus, these jeans really showed what an amazing, to die for figure she had.
Oh to be a grown up woman!
"Senorita Lopez!" I called out, standing and waving her over. At the counter she caught my eye and saw that I had already bought her a cup of coffee. With a smirk she walked – no, swayed – over to me and sat herself down. "You know you shouldn't have bought me that, Quinn." She said, although she picked up the sill hot coffee anyway and took a long, satisfying sip. With a more than satisfied sigh, Senorita Lopez lowered the cup from her lips and set it on the table. "That was exactly what I needed," she sighed, a relaxed smile appearing on her face. Seeing her smile made me smile too and I have to admit I felt a little giddy knowing that I was the one who made her smile. Well, I bought her the coffee so it was me. "I really love coffee too," I told her, picking up my own cup and bringing it to my lips, "I need it like oxygen!" Senorita Lopez chuckled and shook her head, leaning slightly to get her own book and pen. "I like that sentence," she told me, opening her Spanish flag decorated notebook. She scribbled down something and then her dark eyes locked on me. "Repetir por favour," she told me and my eyes widened. She chuckled again, shaking her head and I was really starting to like this little laugh. "Don't worry Quinn," she said, putting her pen down and taking her glasses off her face. I wondered if she wore them a lot, or only in certain situations. Maybe she drove here so she only wears them for driving. "Let's just talk first and then we'll get onto the Espanol."
Nodding my head like a little donkey, I beamed at her and finished taking my own sip. As soon as the cup was placed on the wooden table we were sat at, she began to laugh again. This time it was different and I frowned at her. It was louder and yet she was trying to conceal it. Once she saw my expression, she pointed at me and I suddenly blushed; she was laughing at me? Shaking her head Senorita Lopez then picked up her napkin and moved her finger in a fast 'come here' motion. Cautiously I moved my head even though what was going inside my head was crazy; why did she want me to go to her? Did she find me cute and wanted to whisper it in my ear? Was she going to kiss me? Just as I was about to protest, the napkin was swiped across my top lip and I realised why she was laughing. "You had cream on your face, it was adorable but I had to get rid of it!" She said, trying to calm her laughs. Now knowing what it was she was doing I sighed and relaxed back into my chair. Thank goodness that was all; I think I would have become really confused with where our boundaries lay!
For a little while we sat there in a calming silence, both of us taking sips of our coffee and looking at each other. I guess to an outsider – who knew either one of us – it would look pretty strange, a teenage girl and an older woman, a student and her teacher, sitting together over coffee in such a public setting. But for us, it was great. Not only was it a chance for me to finally learn some things, it gave me time to prepare for tonight. Before I could ruin this meeting with me being grumpy, I beamed at Senorita Lopez; "It's weird seeing us both in regular clothes, huh?" I knew it wasn't the best topic starter, but it was something. Senorita Lopez looked down at herself, as if to check that yes, she was in fact wearing 'regular' clothes. Chuckling her beautiful little laugh she nodded her head. "You're right. It's nice to be out of those tight pencil skirts and irritating blouses." The confession that she didn't like them struck me. I loved those outfits! Sure, I would pick jeans and a t-shirt over my usual clothes any day, but Senorita Lopez just looked so…good in her work attire. "I like what you wear," I blurted and even though I couldn't believe I had just admitted it out loud, I still continued by saying; "I think you look kind of sexy in them."
A part of me died once I heard what I had just said. I couldn't believe I had just told my teacher that I thought she looked sexy. As soon as I registered I had said what I had said, I looked down at my lap and found my fingers to be way more interesting. I couldn't see her but I knew she was looking at me and deciding what to make of what I just said. If I were her, I would have picked up my stuff and left. I wouldn't have even made pleasantries and excuses; I would have simply got up and gone straight to the principle. Calling my teacher – my female teacher – sexy would not go down well. I bet she thought I had some weird crush on her or something. Which I don't! I guess I could just brush it off as me complimenting her and comparing her. Yeah, I mean, girls did that all the time. I guess I could just tell her it in a joke way. Explain that I was merely meaning it as a…well it was a compliment but…oh no! Why did I do that? Then I saw a hand wave in front of my eyes and I snapped my head back up to look at her.
She was looking at me with that same smile she gave me when I asked her to be my tutor. That instantly relaxed me, but what made me relax even more was the fact she said; "You look very pretty in your dresses too Quinn." I knew what she was doing. She was trying to make me feel better by the fact I had just done something humiliating and could possibly be considered inappropriate. Shrugging my shoulders I mumbled that I prefer to wear jeans and t-shirts. "Why don't you wear them at school then?" She asked me and I explained that my parents didn't like me wearing jeans. "The mostly think women should wear skirts and dresses and men should wear pants. They also want me to continue looking the part of a Fabray." She frowned at this and asked what I meant. Sighing I carried on explaining; "The Fabrays have an image to maintain." I heard her scoff and she shook her head as she folded her arms. "You're not a brand, you're family. You should be allowed to do and wear whatever you want!" Giving her a quiet smile I thanked her and then took the last sip of my drink. After that, Senorita Lopez got up and went to grab us two muffins; "To give us brain food before we began learning the beautiful language of Espanol."
And I'm only slightly afraid to admit that I enjoyed watching her swish her hips as she made her way to the counter.
What I did not enjoy was the date I went on with Sam. As promised he picked me up and then he drove me to his house so we could eat dinner with his family and then watch a movie. The dinner with his family was, as usual, very polite and proper. His family are almost exactly like mine, only with slightly more noise due to his younger brother and little sister making a small racquet. His mother and I were dressed almost identically in floral dresses and hairbands and Sam's little sister, Ruth, was dressed in a slightly cuter version. At least her socks were frilly and her hair was in pigtails. I couldn't remember the last time I wore pigtails. As per usual we all said grace and ate in a slightly more comfortable atmosphere than at my own house. I guess it was only slightly more comfortable because Ruth was doing a lot of talking. She was constantly asking me questions: "Will I ever be as pretty as you when I grow up?" "I like dolphins, do you like dolphins?" "Have you ever gone to the moon?" I enjoyed our innocent conversations; they distracted me from what was going to happen once dinner was over.
Amazingly, Sam and I were allowed to go up to his room without adult supervision. At my house, my parents would probably take it in turns in deciding who stood outside my room. It amazed me because although my father was just really religious, Sam's father was the head of our church! He was the man who preached to us every Sunday! Still, I guess him and my father an 'understanding' or some creepy 'arrangement'. It made me think that we were secretly betrothed to each other. I guess that's why my father told me he wouldn't mind if I had…relations…with Sam before marriage. But no way would I, I mean, not with his parents and siblings in the house. Still we got to his room and Sam asked me what movie I wanted to watch. Well, I really didn't care and I knew all I would be thinking about was Senorita Lopez. What I learnt from her today.
At some point during the movie, Sam tried to make conversation. First it was just general talk about the movie but then it moved on to school and finally with dinner. He had somehow moved along his bed and was now sitting right next to me; our covered thighs pressing together. It suddenly felt quite warm and I realised Sam now hand his hand on my thigh. Swallowing the water that had gradually built up inside my mouth, I turned my head and looked him in the eye. He was smiling at me with a lopsided yet kind of adorable smile. His eyes were soft and I could just see that he was falling in love with me. "I think you're really awesome with Ruth," he told me quietly, sweetness and sincerity dripping from his voice I couldn't help but smile back. Soon the noise and glow of the movie was becoming fuzzy and forgotten. "She's a really great little girl," I told him back and taking a hesitant breath, my eyes flickering down momentarily, "She's obviously taken her brilliance from you." At my compliment, Sam beamed and squeezed my thigh. At the movement, I felt a shiver run up my body. Carefully, but keeping his charm, he leaned in and whispered; "She'll get more awesomeness from you," his other hand then came up and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, "Just imagine if we combined our awesome brilliance together."
My face flushed warm and I knew what was coming next. It was like a moment from a movie; everything in slow motion. All I could hear were our breaths mixing together as we turned our heads together. My eyes closed as soon as I smelled his cologne and he put his arms around me once our lips touched. The kiss was sweet and quick making a light pop, but then we kissed again and again, now we turned our heads and I thought I should do something with my hands. I put them on his waist, but felt that was a masculine action and so I dragged them up his sides and wrapped them around his neck, effectively pulling him closer into me. The touch of my hands gliding up his sides must have made him shiver because I felt him gasp quietly into my mouth. Once my arms were wrapped around his neck and he was brought in closer to me, he moved his own hands to rest more on my hips. Feeling him on my ticklish waist now made me mirror his gasp; however he took it one step further. My mouth opened slightly and he took this as an opportunity to put his tongue inside my mouth. The feel and taste of his tongue, the new heat of it, gave me such a surprise that my eyes flew open and I tried to break away. Unfortunately, Sam didn't realise I wanted to stop and set some sort of boundary. With a slight growl – which I don't think he realised he made – and pushed me down onto the pillows.
My senses were in overdrive. I could smell him and I could hear our kisses smacking against each other. But the one thing I really suddenly froze at was what I felt. He was obviously more excited than me because I felt, sticking into me, a part of him that made me frightened. My arms began a million times stronger than they have ever been and my hands gripped at his shoulders. I gripped as hard as I could and gave him a huge push. Like a catapult he flung back and I sat up as quickly as I could, fixing my dress. Before he had a chance to ask what was wrong I bolted and ignored his confused and curious calls to come back.
Like a little girl I ran down the stairs and held my sobs in. His mother came out of the living room with Ruth and the little girl pointed at me and cried out; "Quinn's crying! She needs candy!" Of course the innocence of her made me cry harder. I could hear Sam's mom calling out to me but I didn't care. Because Sam had picked me up, my only option was to run and so I did. I ran and ran, tears pouring down my face. My stomach was hurting, my breath was making my chest hurt and my eyes were stinging and blurry but I didn't care. All I wanted was to curl up in my bed and cry. What was I crying about? I was just scared. Scared and confused. Guys did that all the time, so why didn't I like it? Why did I run? Why was I now wishing I had been making out with someone else? Someone else who wasn't a guy…?