Look, it didn't take me forever to write this one. :'D Be proud. (PS- remember how this story is rated M?)
Nothing happened. Well, okay, obviously something happened because they'd made out on Brittany's bed and had pretty much been dry humping or whatever until she'd felt so ridiculously turned on that she wanted nothing more than to strip off and feel the blonde inside of her. Of course, the instant she realized she wanted that, she'd put a stop to… whatever it was they were doing. Because making out was one thing, but actual sex? That kind of went beyond 'experimenting' and into 'super gay' territory.
As soon as they'd broken apart, she'd rolled off the bed and began searching immediately for her backpack so that she could leave. No way could she stay here with the panic building in her chest and making her ache. She had to get out of here. How could she explain that one slip could lead to her leaving this place for good? And she was pretty sure that getting her mack on with a girl was a big no-no. Red flag, she thought. She couldn't let this happen again.
But before she could start fully panicking, before she could find her bag and peace the fuck out, a hand slipped into hers. She spun to snap at the other girl, to tell her she wasn't into girls, to tell her to fuck off… But those blue, blue eyes stared back at her, questioning and sweet and worried, and she couldn't do any of that. Instead she only stared back at the girl, glared really, her lips pressed together to keep all the words that burned on the tip of her tongue from escaping. For sever long moments, the silence stretched between them. And then Brittany smiled faintly and swung their joined hands between them, her tongue swiping her lips before she asked, "Want to stay and watch a movie?"
So… she stayed.
They fell asleep together that night with the movie playing on Brittany's television and pressed together- or, more accurately, Brittany pressed into Santana with the darker girl's arm reluctantly placed under the blonde's head. The entire time they watched, she considered how fucked she was and how stupid it was that she was staying here. But when she looked down at the other girl, she was already asleep and Santana couldn't find it in her to wake her up. It didn't take her long to follow Brittany into unconsciousness after that.
And then the nightmare came.
Where was daddy? She searched the house for him but she could not find him. The hallway went on and on and all the doors were locked and when she tried to scream his name, nothing came out. Daddy, daddy! But there was no sound. Like a movie with the volume turned off because it gave her mother headaches.
Mommy was in the kitchen. Mamá… ¿Dónde estápapá? But as much as she wanted to ask, nothing came out of her mouth. She could only watch as Rosetta Lopez downed the funny smelling drink in the bottle, swaying on her seat as she did so. She looked so angry. She'd been crying.
"No one goes to Heaven, Santana. No one. It doesn't fucking exist. There is mo motherfucking God. Don't let anyone feed you that bullshit. We all die and rot in the fucking ground." Santana shook her head, scared now. She tried again to ask, somehow managed to push her voice past her lips.
"Mamá… ¿Dónde estápapá?"
The bottle flew at her, smashed on the floor by her feet so that she screamed and jerked away, her feet jumping back so that they landed on crushed glass. Again she cried out as the shards pierced her flesh, cut the soles of her feet so blood stained the tiled floor. "You stupid piece of shit! Look at the fucking mess you're making!" And her mom was in front of her, eyes red and swollen, grip firm on her arm. Santana began to sob and her mom yelled at her again and again. "¡Cállate! ¡Cállate!" And then, snap! There was a crack and fiery pain in her arm like she'd never, ever felt before. Her mother tossed her to the floor, swore.
"¡Cállate! I'm going to kill you, you little bitch!"
Santana.
It was all her fault. Daddy was gone and her mama said it was because of her...
Santana!
No, mama! Please don't hurt me! I'll be a good girl!
San!
Santana jerked into consciousness, confused by the darkness of the room and the bed beneath her. She was shaking and her heart was beating way too fast and she was terrified. Then a dim light clicked on and she found herself staring into blue eyes so unlike her mother's. Blue eyes that filled with concern as they drew closer. And then Brittany drew her in, stroking her back as Santana trembled in her arms. She felt the cold sweat that dampened her skin, made her clothes cling to her body. And when she tasted salt on her lips, she realized she was crying. How embarrassing. The memories less and less often as the years passed, but sometimes they woke her up like this and she was back with her mother all over again.
"You were screaming," Brittany whispered against the top of her head, her lips pressing feather-light kisses against it. "Did you have a bad dream?" It made Santana cringe slightly, silent. She didn't want to answer Brittany, to give her any more than she had. Opening up meant exposing herself to more hurt. She was better off without people. She didn't need to be close to anyone. It only brought pain…
"I need to go." She pulled away from Brittany and stood, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. They were trembling and she was kind of worried they wouldn't hold her weight, but she couldn't fucking stay here. She just… couldn't. Not when Brittany would ask questions about why she was clutching at her arm as if it hurt, why her feet felt like they tingled where there were still scars from that long-ago incident.
"Go where? San, it's the middle of the night. Just stay." Brittany reached for her again, but she shrugged her off.
"I can't. I just… Can't, Britt." She stood, slipped her feet into battered Converse, and swung her bag onto her back. "I need to go."
"San-"
"Stop!" She whirled on the worried blonde, snapped at her before pressing her hands to her damp face. "Just… stop, Brittany. I can't… I need to go."
And then she turned and left the room behind, moved quietly through the house until she was out the front door and down the steps and… gone.
The nightmares always set her back so far. When she thought she was finally settling, they'd hit her and she'd remember and ask herself what the fuck this was all for. What did any of it fucking matter in the long-run? She'd end up like her fucking mother, dead on some slab because some fucking douchebag beat the shit out of her…
It was with that mindset that she found herself beneath the bleachers the next day, downing alcohol like water so that by the time Puck joined her, she was already more than halfway to drunk off her ass. He stared at her, then slowly placed a cigarette between his lips, bending down to study her. "Reason you're getting fucked up?" he questioned and she smirked up at him, that sultry smirk she saved for when she wanted to get her own way.
"Need a reason?" she returned and he shrugged, puffed at his cigarette. It was laced. She could smell the weed burning in it. He must have been running low if he was mixing his shit with tobacco. "Gonna give me that, Puckerman?" Her smirked at her and shook his head.
"No way. This is the last of my stash, Lopez." Santana shifted up on her knees, shuffled closer until she could run a finger down his fly. "What are you-?"
"Make it worth your while." And she rubbed him through his jeans, felt him harden predictably beneath her hand. It felt good, powerful, to know she could still do this. That she was still in control, that she could drive guys crazy with just a look and a touch. And if he felt different from the soft press of Brittany's curves, who the fuck cared? She didn't need some fucking girl. Didn't need anything but to get drunk and smoke some fucking weed. Santana watched with satisfaction as the boy stubbed out the laced cigarette and passed it over, his now-free fingers going to his zipper. Yup, boys were so predictable.
He freed himself, stroked his length until he was completely hard. Yeah, so fucking easy. Santana smirked up at him and batted his hand away, replacing it with her own. Not long after that, she had her mouth wrapped around him, sucking him off like a pro until he came and readjusted himself in his pants again. "Damn, Lopez," he panted, a hand combing through his Mohawk. What does a guy gotta do to get some more of that."
"Maybe later, Fuckerman," she said in a dull voice that lacked its usual bite, and then she edged back to her seat beside her bottle of tequila and lit the cigarette again with her own lighter. "Girl can't give away all her damned secrets at once. Now get the fuck out of here." She stared down at the burning tip of the cigarette, dark eyes distant. Like mother, like daughter. Puck started to leave, but he hesitated just before stepping out from beneath the bleachers.
"You okay, Santana?" he asked, but she didn't answer. Didn't even seem to hear him. With one last frowning look, the boy left her alone with her booze and weed. Alone. Just the way she fucking liked it.
Santana was well past fucked up when her second visitor arrived, this time not at all as welcome. Quinn Fabray, gold cross glinting around her neck and pleats flicking around her thighs, did not at all seem like the under-the-bleachers type of cheerleader. And fuck, of all the goddamned people to find her, it had to be Quinn fucking Fa-pray. Here she was, completely trashed, and the one person to find her was the one student in this goddamned hellhole with the power to fuck up the deal she'd made with her social worker. A single word to her parents and she'd send Santana packing. No doubt exactly what she wanted. "The fuck you doing here, Fabray?" She was pretty sure she managed to say it with some intimidation, even if the words all slurred together.
Quinn stared down at her with disgust, her nose wrinkled. "You're drunk," she muttered with a roll of hazel eyes, toe nudging the empty tequila bottle. "You look ridiculously pathetic, Lopez."
Santana narrowed her eyes and flicked her middle finger up in her direction. "Fuck off." She so wasn't in the mood for Little Miss Holier Than Thou and her speech about sin or whatever the fuck. She felt sick and she was pretty damned close to passing out and how the hell had Quinn even known to come looking for her? Puckerman. Now it suddenly made sense why he chilled under the bleachers too.
"Feel sick?" Santana scowled but didn't reply. "Mhm… Well, get it out now. If you puke at home, mom and daddy will be suspicious. What's the point of getting kicked out because you're an idiot?"
"Fuck. Off." Santana tried to snap the words, but she was feeling it churning in her stomach now and she was afraid opening her mouth would force it up and out. Quinn only raised an eyebrow, smirking at her as if she knew just how much her stomach was aching. As if she knew something Santana didn't. Bitch.
"San?"
Shit.
Her bleary eyes went beyond Quinn to the second blonde just stepping under the bleacher to join them. Blue, blue eyes stared down at her with the same concern as last night. "Are you okay, San?" But instead of answering, she flipped over onto her hands and knees and started to puke. It felt like she was vomiting up every organ in her goddamned body, and to make it worse, she felt a gentle hand press to the center of her back. She knew it wasn't Quinn, and when Brittany began to rub gentle circles against her back while whispering words of comfort, Santana found that she hated herself more and more.
"You don't want to be here," she gritted out when she could, her voice rough with sickness. Brittany only smiled gently and drew her against her side, nuzzling into the side of her neck. When Santana looked nervously for Quinn, she found that the other blonde had left. She could see her red pleats walking across the parking lot, no doubt to get her car. "We almost fucked last night."
"We did?" Brittany looked at her, head tilting. "I'm pretty sure we only made out."
Santana clenched her jaw and looked away from her. She couldn't stand to see those eyes when she said tonelessly, "I gave Puckerman a blow job this morning."
Silence. And then only, "Okay." She glanced over at the blonde and saw with some confusion that Brittany was still smiling at her, fingers softly stroking through her hair now. Her bafflement must have shown because Brittany touched her fingertips to her chin and pressed their foreheads together. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. It's okay." Santana stared at her in disbelief, unable to comprehend the fact that someone actually gave a shit.
And for the first time in years, she let herself be held while she cried.