I've been in a writing zone over the past couple of days so here's a quick update. Hopefully it keeps up because I'm starting to get invested in this story ;)
Chapter 7
As per usual, JewFro's blog was the talk of the school the next day having leaked the scandalous life of one Quinn Fabray. If he didn't creep me out so much, I probably would've thanked him for saving me from having to explain to Finn that I had no interest in him whatsoever.
Instead, I try to fend off the bombardment of the male population that was lining up to be my next stud of a boyfriend. The morning was horrible. I was in full head bitch mode to try and keep anybody from approaching me, but half of the guys were too dumb to notice.
It wasn't until the fourth boy tried to come up to me during lunch that Santana snapped. Before Brittany and I could stop her, she was standing on our table calling for attention. It was lucky that we were the top Cheerios honestly, because the cafeteria immediately fell silent.
"It's true that golden boy Hudson and head bitch Fabray broke up, but that does not mean that she is interested in the pathetic supply of men that have been trying to woo her all day. Use her for your spank bank, but that's all you're getting. Oh, and I will personally deliver a slushy to your face if you dare approach her."
With a satisfied smirk, she hopped down off of the table and took a disgustingly large bite out of her sandwich. Brittany was clapping loudly at the impromptu speech and I just gaped at her. Only Santana would be able to call more attention to me to make the attention go away. Nobody was even sparing a glance towards our table now.
"You're welcome," she said grumpily through a mouthful of turkey sandwich.
"And you're disgusting," I breathed with a half smile playing on my lips. To further prove my point, Santana stuck her tongue out playfully and I wrinkled my nose at the sight of her half-chewed food.
The rest of the day went much smoother. People avoided looking both Santana and I in the eyes. Finn was absent from glee club and Berry mumbled some excuse for him that we all completely ignored. Cheerio practice was even nearly bearable.
Santana dropped me off in my own driveway tonight for the first time all week. It felt weird to not be spending the evening in her bedroom, tucked away from the rest of the world. But alas, I had an English essay to write and a history test to study for and I couldn't do those things with the distraction of Santana around.
My mom seemed surprised at my appearance when I wandered into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water before heading up to my room. She gave me a faint hello as she worked on dinner, but didn't bother to ask me about my day or anything. It was probably better like that anyway.
The next few weeks passed as a mundane blur. Classes picked up as we rolled into October. The football team continued to lose, guaranteeing us no hope of a post-season appearance. Glee prepared to compete at Sectionals with Finn back as leading man to Berry's leading lady. Berry spent her time wrapped up in Finn and Finn spent his shooting me dirty looks and smug grins. Santana, Brittany, and I fell back into our comfortable routine of getting drunk and sleeping, fully clothed, together at the end of the night. Santana and I continued to not talk about whatever was going on between us, but I also kept myself from building a wall to keep her out.
Halloween was only a week away. For as long as I could remember, I had hated this holiday. As a young child, my mom had insisted on dressing me up as a princess because my blonde hair was perfect for playing the role of Cinderella. As middle school and my chubby years came upon me, I was uncomfortable in a costume. Most of my classmates were starting to hit puberty, and with that came costumes with short skirts and low cut tops, neither of which were flattering on me. I also had few friends, so it wasn't like I was going to get invited to the party anyway.
High school Halloween meant girls turned into complete sluts, if only for one night. Boys wore ridiculous costumes that usually involved some perverted pun. But girls showed up like lingerie models with hardly anything on and claimed they were something other than a slut.
Of course there was going to be a Halloween party at this girl Bridget's house and of course she was a senior Cheerio, which meant of course I had to make an appearance. I wanted nothing to do with it and had voiced this opinion very loudly to Santana and Brittany for days, telling them as Head Cheerio, I had no obligation to go to a party hosted by one of my minions.
But they disagreed. Brittany pouted ruthlessly at me and Santana told me to get over my shit. So here I was in the freaking Halloween superstore in the Lima mall with my best friends, trying to pick out a costume that wouldn't make me look like a complete whore.
It was proving impossible. The shelves were flanked in sexy candy stripers, sexy pirates, sexy maids, even sexy nuns. The bright green M&M costume was looking very tempting at this moment, though I knew Santana would never allow it. Couldn't I just wear my Cheerio uniform since every other girl would not be wearing hers?
"We found the perfect costumes!" squealed Brittany, running towards her with Santana sauntering up slowly behind her.
"Oh yeah?" I mumble disinterestedly, my eyes flitting back towards the M&M.
"Charlie's Angels! I mean we're sexy as hell and we can wear tight black clothing and there are three of us. It totally fits!" Brittany was fixated on this idea, so I knew I was basically stuck. Santana shrugged at me, obviously having already given into the idea.
"Fine, but I get to be Cameron Diaz."
"Done! Now let's go! We've got shopping to do that doesn't involve the costume store!" I sighed, but followed my bubbly friend out of the store.
The following Friday rolled around quickly and I'm standing in Santana's bedroom, feeling uncomfortable in my tight black pants and revealing black top. Brittany is excitedly flitting about in her own black pants. I should have picked Drew Barrymore – Brittany's outfit involved a black jacket that covers most of her skin. Santana is wearing a tiny pleated black skirt that I would swear she had borrowed from Berry except that I was with her when she bought it. Her shirt is a tiny, sleeveless fake leather number and she's wearing knee-high black stiletto boots. Simply put, she looks smoking hot.
I keep from staring at her in the mirror as I straighten my long blonde hair, although hardly. She's flaunting herself by bending over constantly in the tiny skirt and I don't know if the show is for me or for Brittany, but I know my blonde friend is hardly keeping her eyes, hands, or mouth to herself. And it's really starting to rub me the wrong way.
As soon as my hair is done, I get up, leaving Santana the seat to straighten her own hair. I grab the bottle of vodka from her hand and take a large, deep swig straight from it before following it with a sip of my Diet Coke. The burn lingers in my throat for a long moment before the soda eases it. It hurts less than watching Brittany's mouth attach itself to Santana's neck and hearing the Latina giggle animatedly.
It was only a ten-minute walk from Santana's and it was pretty warm out for the end of October. The vodka was definitely keeping me even warmer as we walked. I teetered slightly in my heeled boots, though Santana marched on in her stilettos with her hips swaying deliciously. Brittany clung to Santana's arm as they walked a little in front of me, causing me to scowl.
The party was crowded when we arrived and I felt the curious eyes on me as Puck kissed me hello on my cheek. He gave me a once-over before turning to do the same to Santana and Brittany. I rolled my eyes at him and Brittany explained to him the brilliance that was our costume before we moved deeper into the room.
As expected, we were surrounded by guys dressed up as ridiculous random things and girls prancing around in little more than their underwear. Across the room I saw Finn on a couch between two blonde freshmen that were JV Cheerios. Rachel was conveniently absent as he ran his hand up the bare thigh of the one on his left and whispered into the giggly girl's ear.
The night continued to be more of the same. I avoided Finn and his flaunting of any girl that came near him. I avoided the seductive dancing of Brittany on everybody, though she lingered on Santana the most. I immersed myself in vodka and Diet Cokes while keeping a consistent safe distance from Noah Puckerman. And by the end of the night I was positively exhausted from all of the avoiding and drinking.
I slumped on the couch nursing my fourth, or was it my fifth? Santana and Brittany had moved beyond body shots and were making out to the chats of a group of football players, including my ex-boyfriend and my virginity stealer. I just wanted to leave, but even I knew I was way too drunk to walk home by myself and if I showed up at my house, my father would murder me and then ground me until I was thirty.
So I picked the next best option. I stormed through the crowd of meatheads, pulled Brittany off of Santana's lap and kissed her. Santana's eyes were burning holes in the side of my head, the boys were going crazy and Brittany enthusiastically kissed me back. I pulled away from her, swayed on the spot for a moment before plopping down in Santana's lap and kissing her. It was longer and rougher and the boys became white noise as I tasted beer and cigars and something sweet that I think came from Brittany. When it got hard to breathe, I pulled our lips apart and moved mine to her ear.
"We're going home. Now."
I pushed myself up from her lap to the dismay of a dozen football players. Right in front of me when I began to walk away was Finn, his mouth hanging open stupidly and his pants looking a little tight in the front. He shifted uncomfortably under my glare before moving out of my way. Santana and Brittany followed me, no questions asked.
The cool autumn air felt good as we began walking home. Brittany took her place in the middle and linked her left arm through my right, taking Santana's arm on her right. We walked in silence for a few minutes, stumbling and giggling occasionally from all of the alcohol coursing through our veins.
"Quinn, you were fucking hot tonight," Brittany said happily, tightening her grip on my bicep. "I totally knew you had a thing for girls."
If I had been drinking, I would have spit it out everywhere. Instead, it felt like a cinder block had landed on my chest. What the fuck had I been thinking? As if I hadn't been the headline of JewFro's blog enough this week already!
"I don't, B," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"You totally kissed Santana like you knew what you were doing."
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I stammered awkwardly, knowing it was fruitless. Brittany read people like regular people read books.
"I don't blame you. Santana is the best kisser I know."
I didn't bother replying. I wish I could see Santana's face for some comfort, but instead I just had the side streets of my neighborhood leading to Santana's house as scenery.
The rest of the walk was quiet besides Brittany's humming. We didn't speak. Santana punched in the security code at the front door and we crept in as quietly as three drunken fifteen year olds could. We stumbled up the carpeted stairs and into Santana's bedroom.
I grabbed my bag and headed into the bathroom before the other two, quickly pulling off my costume and changing into my pajamas behind the closed door before brushing the taste of vodka out of my mouth. I pulled my contacts from my eyes and shoved my glasses on my nose before heading back. When I got back to the room, Santana and Brittany were cuddled up, their costumes in a messy pile on the floor. They were giggling, their faces mere inches apart. I closed the door quietly and flicked off the light before climbing over them to my spot. Brittany immediately grabbed hold of me and forced me to cuddle with them. If I hadn't been so drunk and needy, I probably would have protested, but instead I leaned into her warmth and drifted off to sleep before I even felt Santana's fingers on mine.
It was still dark out when I stirred. At first, I was confused by the sudden interruption to my sleep. My glasses were on the nightstand by Santana, so I couldn't read the clock.
There was a giggle that definitely came from Brittany. It sounded muffled and I froze to the spot, my eyes fixated on the dark red wall of Santana's bedroom. There was another giggle and a little moan. Oh my god, they were totally fooling around. I was lying in the bed inches from them, supposedly fast asleep, and my best friends were fucking like rabbits.
I had two options: let them know I was awake and deal with the awkwardness, or pretend to be sleeping and be a perv for listening to my friends have sex in the bed next to me. Suddenly Santana's queen sized bed seemed too small for the three of us. There were a couple more muffled moans and whimpers and the bed shifted in a slight rocking motion. They were actually going to fuck with me lying there.
Only days ago I had been writhing on these sheets from Santana's skillful touch. Now from the sound of it, she was using that same skill on the other blonde. I wanted to roll my eyes and go back to sleep, chalking it up to being typical Santana and Brittany. But my chest ached at the idea. Santana was probably knuckle deep in another girl only inches, centimeters away. So I did the most logical thing that crossed my mind: I fake coughed.
The bed went incredibly still. I could hear their shallow breaths ring out in the silent room. It was the epitome of awkward. What was I thinking? I could have just played the part for ten minutes and then we could avoid ever having to speak about this.
"Quinn?" Brittany's voice rung out loudly in the eerily quiet room. I still had a chance to pretend that I coughed in my sleep. Who was I really kidding?
"I, uh, I think I'm going to just sleep on the floor," I said, pulling my pillow to my chest and climbing off of the foot of the bed and grabbing a quilt from Santana's chair before moving to lie down on the carpet.
"You don't have to run away. You can join us if you want." I blushed deeply at Brittany's invitation. She was so keen at reading people, yet so innocent and naïve. There's nothing I wanted more than to be away from them, from that bed.
I didn't respond. I didn't move. I just laid on the floor of Santana's room and stared at the ceiling willing my body to let me take one deep breath.
I heard Santana whisper something, but I couldn't make out the words. I heard the rustling of sheets. And a few minutes later, I was graced with the sound of Brittany's deep, even breathing.
Santana was still awake. There was no doubt in my mind. I had fallen asleep to the sound of her soft snoring so many times over the past year. She was awake and lying in her bed with Brittany undoubtedly cuddled tightly into her, possibly with articles of clothing missing. And I was lying on her scratchy carpet with a pillow that smelled like Santana and a blanket that smelled like Santana wishing I could actually feel Santana.
We didn't speak. We laid in silence with me on the floor and her in the bed. Did I really think that what happened the other night meant anything? God, I was so stupid. I mean, she's Santana fucking Lopez. Next to Brittany, she's the biggest flirt at McKinley. I've never been to a party with her where she hasn't hooked up with at least one person. Yet somehow, I thought that maybe I meant something to her. That I was more than just someone to pass the time with by rolling around naked in her bed. Brittany had been there first, I knew that. Yet somehow, it had slipped my mind.
I heard her sigh and rustle around in the sheets again. I wanted to scream at her. Even tears would be welcome at this point if it meant the heaviness that had settled on my chest would ease. But I did nothing. I laid on her carpet and willed sleep to overcome me and prayed that it would be a bad dream in the morning.
The sound of Santana's alarm clock was the next thing I heard. At some point, my body must have given itself over to exhaustion. I rubbed my eyes and could feel the stiffness in my joints from sleeping on the floor. That's right, I'm sleeping on the fucking floor of Santana's room.
Brittany was a freaking ray of sunshine like always as she bounced around on the bed. I pulled myself to my knees so I could grab my glasses and threw them onto my face, letting the room come into focus. Santana's head was buried under her pillow and she groaned as Brittany bounced. A typical Saturday morning for the Unholy Trinity.
Breakfast was an awkward affair. Santana wouldn't look at me and I was doing my best to avoid looking at her. Brittany seemed oblivious to the tension and flitted around the kitchen, flirting shamelessly with Santana's little brother, who was blushing profusely as he tried to pour himself a bowl of Cap'n Crunch.
Santana didn't try to coerce me to stay when I claimed that I needed to get home to do my homework. She knew better than anybody that I always left my homework for Sunday afternoon. I could see the struggle in her eyes and I know she could feel me rebuilding my walls and locking her out. But she didn't stop me. She just shrugged and said goodbye, letting me walk home instead of driving me the couple of blocks like she normally insisted on.
Saturday flew by in a whir of productivity. If I kept busy, I wouldn't let my mind wander. I avoided checking my Facebook, not wanting to see the three of us dressed up in our group costume. I left my cell phone buried in my overnight bag. Instead, I cleaned out my closet. I baked cookies. I did laundry and I folded laundry. I let myself get lost in a book. But I didn't let myself think.
I crawled into bed pretty early and the whole day of keeping it out of my mind came tumbling down. I pulled the covers up, getting comfortable and was met with a lump that had been in my bed all week. Santana's sweatshirt is tangled in the sheets where I had left it. Her scent had faded, but still was present and I pulled it into myself. The tears finally came. But my chest didn't feel any lighter. I was angry, confused, upset, hurt. It was jumble and it sat heavily on me as I laid in my four-poster bed and inhaled the perfume that had quickly become my favorite scent.
I tossed for the better part of the next two hours, my thoughts on the other night in Santana's bed. It had felt so natural. Santana had been sensitive, caring even. She begged me to not shut her out. But she was forcing me to do just that if I had any hope of protecting myself from getting hurt.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I tossed back the covers and shoved the sweatshirt with her name embroidered on it across the bed. I rummaged through my overnight bag and extracted my cell phone. Only one text message.
Talk to me. Please Q.
I sighed at Santana's simplistic message. No apology, no explanation. At least she sort of begged, even though it came off even more pathetic through a text message.
Am I just a game to you?
I didn't really expect a response tonight. Santana was surely out partying and hooking up with whomever tonight's target was. She wasn't one to stay in on a perfectly good Saturday night. Surprisingly, my phone buzzed with a new message a minute later
Can I come over?
It's after 11 o'clock, San. Are you drunk?
She didn't respond and I gave up, tossing the phone onto my nightstand and crawled back under the blanket, my heart feeling even more constricted in my chest.
I was almost asleep ten minutes later when my phone went off again. I wanted to ignore it. The lit up phone glared at me from the nightstand and finally I snatched it up, blinking at the bright screen and taking in the message.
No. But I'm outside your front door.
My mind raced with what to do. I could text her again and demand that she leave. My parents were sleeping. How would I explain why I was sneaking a girl up to my room practically in the middle of the night? That surely wouldn't bode well with my father. Yet, my feet swung off of the bed and slid into my slippers. I pulled my own sweatshirt from my desk chair and threw it over my head before creeping as quietly as I could down the stairs. Through the glass pane I could see a figure standing on the front porch, pacing slowly.
I snapped open the lock and pulled the door open. Santana snapped around to face me. Her hair fell raggedly around her face and she was wearing pajama pants and her Cheerio letterman jacket. I walked out onto the porch, closing the door quietly behind me.
She followed me as I walked over to the porch swing and sat down. Santana slid onto it, leaving some space between us. I pushed with my socked feet and the chair rocked on its chains in a fluid back and forth motion.
"Why are you here?" I ask, trying to keep emotion out of my voice.
"I didn't want to apologize over a text message." Her voice was flat and serious. "I know it's no excuse, but I was drunk and obviously wasn't thinking clearly. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable."
"So you feel bad that you tried to fuck your best friend inches away from me? Do I mean nothing to you, Santana?"
"Of-of course not." I could hear the discomfort in Santana's voice. She was used to never having to apologize for anything she did.
"Maybe it's because I'm not like you, but I thought I actually meant something to you. I thought I was more than one of your random fuck buddies. But I should've known better." I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. It was my only way to mask the hurt that was overwhelming me.
"You are more." It came out as a whisper.
"Don't lie to make me feel better, San! If I actually meant something to you, even drunk you would have thought before trying to fuck Brittany with me lying in the bed!" My temper was lighting up quickly.
She stuttered, trying to find words and failing.
"In all honesty, you're worse than Puckerman. At least with him, I knew it was nothing more than a meaningless one night stand that wouldn't even result in a friendship."
I looked out over the front lawn, but I could see the tears slipping silently down her cheeks in my peripheral. My first reaction was to pull her in and hold her, but I refrained, gripping hard onto the wooden swing instead as it rocked.
"Quinn…"
"What, Santana? You're single and young and sexy. You're free to do as you please. But I'm not going to be a pawn in your games."
"Quinn, I'm sorry…" she began again, but I cut her off.
"Save it. We're friends, teammates, but that's it. Don't corner me in secluded spot at parties. Don't act like you actually care about me. Just be my friend and stop torturing me."
I stood up and turned to go back inside, my eyes on the verge of spilling with unshed tears.
I was being spun around and vanilla flavored lips were pressed against mine. In that moment, I hated her for not respecting my wishes. But I also craved her. I was surrounded by sweet perfume and a scent that was distinctly Santana. My favorite smell.
"You've always been more," she whispered, her lips brushing against mine with each syllable. "You're special, Quinn."
"If I were special, you wouldn't be trying to have sex with someone else with me there." Our foreheads were pressed together and she slipped her hands into mine, gripping tightly like she was afraid I would pull away any second.
"It's Lima fucking Ohio, Quinn. I'm just as terrified as you are. This is supposed to be wrong. But you can't deny that it feels right. You can't tell me you don't feel the same way." She pulled away so that she could look into my eyes, her hands still holding tightly onto mine. "I'm scared by the intensity of what I feel for you."
"I-I need to go," I stuttered, pulling my hands from her soft ones.
"Can we still work on chem together tomorrow?" she asked, her eyes pleading. I couldn't resist her; I probably never would be able to.
I gave her a quick nod and escaped through my front door, my heart thumping hard against my chest. The weight was still there; it had changed forms, but it was still there – a reminder of everything I wanted but couldn't want.
I was very cranky when my alarm went off to get up for church the next morning. I had barely slept as I replayed my conversation with Santana in my head repeatedly. We weren't gay; we were pretty young cheerleaders that should be dating handsome male athletes. Maybe we just hadn't found the right ones yet. It WAS Lima and the selection offered slim pickings.
In two and a half years I would be leaving this town, hopefully for good. There was an Ivy League college on my horizon filled with handsome, intelligent men. It was the plan; it had always been the plan since I was a little girl. Frannie had escaped Lima and she wasn't nearly half as smart as me. Granted it was for Columbus, but anything had to be better than Lima.
As I tried to focus on my future, I couldn't help but wonder what Santana's future would be like. She was smart too. Her dad was a doctor. Her grades weren't as impressive as mine, but they were still respectable and could get her out of this place. Did she even want to get out of Ohio? Why was she the only thing I could think about?
I knocked on her bedroom door still wearing my church clothes, my backpack slung over one shoulder. She yelled for me to come in and I did with hesitation. I didn't want to be back in that room with Friday night so fresh in my memory.
Santana was stretched out on her bed, her laptop in front of her open to Facebook. She looked relaxed in her sweatpants and t-shirt with her hair thrown up in a messy bun with wisps falling down around her face. As always, she looked stunning.
She glanced up from her computer to look at me. A small smile cracked on her face before she turned serious again. Santana actually looked stiff and uncomfortable in my presence. She sat up on her bed, snapping her laptop shut.
"I was thinking we could work in the den today," she said, eyes avoiding mine as she grabbed her own backpack. I didn't argue; it would be a relief to be out of this room. I felt like I was suffocating in here.
Normally our homework sessions ended turning into giggle fits and gossiping with a little work done in between. Today we were all business. Within two hours, we had done all of our chemistry homework and quizzed each other on our vocabulary. She suggested that we get ahead on our algebra, but my brain wanted nothing to do with it. I groaned at the suggestion and she looked up at me for the first time all afternoon. Deep chocolate orbs met mine with tenderness and vulnerability that I was getting used to seeing there when they fell upon me.
She hastily threw her books into her bag before fidgeting and suggesting we watch a movie or something instead. I nodded my agreement, hoping she would calm down and make this a little less fucking awkward. We stayed in the den and sat at opposite ends of the couch to avoid accidental contact. Santana had even separated the popcorn into two separate bowls so we wouldn't graze fingers as we reached for a handful.
The tension in the room was so thick that I could almost see it. I laughed aloud at the image of a rubber band being stretched to capacity in the space between us. It was on the verge of snapping. Santana turned towards me with a raised eyebrow, obviously wondering why I was giggling when the movie wasn't even a little bit amusing right now. Why couldn't we be watching an Adam Sandler movie so I wouldn't look like a fucking lunatic right now?
I bit my tongue to contain the laughter that wanted to escape and Santana's gaze lingered on me, making it so much worse. Finally it just burst out of me, taking with it some of the weight that had been sitting on me for two days. I could breathe a tiny bit easier.
Santana definitely thought I was insane. But then she laughed too. Then I didn't even know what we were laughing about. It didn't matter. I was sitting on the Lopez's couch laughing with my best friend and that made the world fall a little bit back into place.
After I lost my mind, the afternoon moved into our more normal pattern. We stayed in the den, but we talked and laughed and tossed popcorn playfully at one another. And right before dinner, Santana offered to drive me home.
She pulled into my driveway and threw the car into park. I leaned over the center console and pulled my bag from the backseat. I could feel her eyes on me the entire time and I turned to face when I returned to my initial position, bag now perched on my lap.
I didn't know what to say in farewell. Santana looked like she had something to say, but nothing was coming out. After a long awkward minute I said a quiet goodbye before hopping out of the car and heading for the front door. I was safely in my bedroom before my cell phone buzzed in my pocket with a new message.
Thanks for today. I don't deserve to have a best friend like you.
