On Saturday, I was in Brittany's house once more, much to my everlasting delight. We were sitting in her living room, a room that was as idealistic as the house and neighborhood within which it resided.
The walls and carpet were white, the furniture was beige and all the wood in the room was a dark, rich oak that was polished to perfection. Either her family had cleaned it knowing I was coming, or they just kept it looking like an upscale furniture magazine for the day to day. I sat across from her, making weird paper people out of newspaper for reasons I didn't quite understand other than it was something she said she had to do and I automatically volunteered to help.
Her face was the definition of deep concentration while she worked, but my attention was on her. The way her hair fell slightly into her face, and the slight frown that took over her brow when she was twisting paper. The sunlight shone in brightly through the glass doors behind her, lighting her up like a featured piece in a museum of beautiful things I couldn't have. Seeing her like that made me want to just tell her how I felt, more than ever. In spite of my fear of rejection, and the knowledge that I could never be the girlfriend she deserved, I still wanted to tell her. I wanted to be completely honest with one person who wouldn't use the information to hurt me.
It would have been so easy, to just blurt it out, to get it over with and let the cards fall where they may. But I didn't, because as always I was running from my fears, from the harsh truths of reality.
I needed to stop, at some point in my life I had to stop.
Easier said than done… it's cliché to say, but so incredibly true.
I even opened my mouth to say something… then she looked up at me with that prize-winning smile and the Quinn-sounding devil on my shoulder reminded me that facing the darkness could well mean never seeing her again.
"Are you sure you don't mind helping me?" Brittany asked, nodding to the little stick man I had twisted into existence.
Shaking my head, I tossed it into the pile with the others we had completed so far and was surprised to see how big it was, time seemed to pass differently when I was with her.
"Positive, this is fun."
She seemed relieved at my answer, "I'm sorry I don't have anything more fun to do… actually, I don't even know what other teens usually do when they are over each other's house," she added bashfully.
Nothing as fun as staring at you, "Depends on the people. Is this what you usually do with your friends?"
"No, it's technically the same for me, it depends on who's over, but honestly it's the same thing. When Artie's over, we look at computer magazines and he talks a lot about new parts being made; when Rory comes over he talks a lot about his home in Ireland, I think he wants me to go there with him over the summer," she said, musing over her answer. "Sugar only talks about herself and how much money her dad makes, and everyone else comes over with the rest of our group. When that happens we play learning games for fun."
Her tone implied she didn't think it actually was, "What do you mean by learning games?"
"Like Monopoly, but you have to answer a trig question to get your turn and another one to figure out how many spaces you can move."
I wrinkled my nose in disgust, "Regular Monopoly is bad enough."
"I usually never get a turn, so I'm the banker. I can at least handle that."
"Don't feel bad, I wouldn't get a turn either. We should make a new game where we're both bankers competing for the other players to take out loans from us," I joked, hoping to lift her spirits.
"That sounds like at lot of fun," she laughed.
We went back to work, but when she leaned over to get a fresh newspaper her hair fell forward to cover her smile a little and I had to fight not to brush it out of her face.
The longer I spent in her presence the more I wanted to stop running. However, touching her in that way was too much, and kissing her was out of the question. What I could do was ease the idea out there, in my own illusive way.
"When I was little," I began, busying myself with another newspaper person to keep from having to look into her eyes while I told my story, "about five or six, I used to have this reoccurring dream about running from a dark, shadowy figure that gave off major danger vibes. For almost a year I would have a dream about the thing and after a while I was scared to go to sleep." I looked up to gauge her interest in my tale, it was encouraging and unnerving to see I had her full attention. "Then one night I stopped running and faced it. The thing turned out to be my neighbor's dog; in my dream he could walk on two legs and talk, so when I confronted him he offered me a lollipop and a hug while he explained that was all he ever wanted. It was a weird dream, mainly because my neighbor's dog was mean as hell."
"I wish I had dreams like that," she said, looking almost put out that it hadn't been her own tale to tell, "Well, maybe I do, but I never remember my dreams after I wake up."
I smiled at her, "The only reason I remembered that at all is because whenever I got scared after that I would think of the dream where I stopped and faced my fears to find they weren't as bad as I was sure they were." I paused, because I was about to take a heavy step into serious territory and of course I wanted the option to second guess myself.
"Wow, that sounds like your brain was trying to teach you something important," when I didn't immediately respond she elaborated, "I think dreams are the brain's way of trying to tell you things. It has a weird way of saying it sometimes."
"I thought so too, and I faced my fears all the time until I was about twelve when I got a reality check from school bullies that showed me that sometimes a dark, scary figure is just that."
I sort of regretted getting so serious on her, but I was in too deep now and it felt too good to stop. The story was a metaphor for my whole life, and it also just so happened to be true, I was telling Brittany one of the very few truths about myself I could share without worrying that the world would crumble around me.
She seemed to think really hard about what I said before she nodded and went back to her project, "I don't think the dream was trying to make you think everything would be okay always, I think the dog was a reward." She stopped as if even she didn't know what she meant, "What I mean is when you do something good you feel good, it's a reward your brain gives you for doing the right thing. So maybe your brain wanted you to stand up to what scared you and that time it was something nice so you would be more likely to try it in real life?"
I stared at her wondering how she could be so astounding and at the same time so very underappreciated.
Brittany was right, of course, and all I could do was hope that maybe she got the rather vague message that even now there were things I was running from. I was hoping she might be inclined to give me a reason to hold my ground.
But she didn't, so instead of looking her in the eyes and telling her I had been in love with her from the first moment she gave me extra fries with my meal, I went back to twisting newspaper into people because I am Queen of the Poltroons.
"Any chance of me getting to see some of those pictures?" I asked, and somewhere inside me real Santana was shaking her head in disapproval that I decided I would deal with on Friday.
"Oh," and I'd swear she looked bashful here, "Uh, okay sure."
She collected all the little figures we had finished and straightened up a little before she led me upstairs to her room. A place I still felt damn near honored to be allowed into. On the way we passed her sister, Dania, who was busy running the vacuum cleaner in the hall. The only things I knew about her were that she was eleven, apparently pretty smart and a weirdo, because she was cleaning on a Saturday instead of being a normal kid. She seemed nice enough though, and she looked similar enough to her sister to keep me from making any snap judgments.
Brittany saw her cleaning and offered to help, that made me fret a little since that would mean our non-date was at an end, but luckily Dania declined the help and all was well.
Once in her room, I didn't have any trouble picking myself out from the images on the wall with all of my pictures were twice the size of the others. There was an odd angle of my shoulder, including a little of my hair, another had a long view of my arm, and one was a clear view of the underside of my face. Each was unique, undeniably artistic, and thankfully not a close up of my pining looks.
"I feel like a superstar," I laughed, walking up to examine one of my knee which was foreshortened and upside-down, "What did I do to earn so much wall space?"
She bit her lip, "You're my best friend."
That surprised me.
With her homeschool friends I'd figured they would all be inseparably close, even if Artie obviously annoyed her a little, he had grown up with her, "Really?"
"Really- well, you're tied for first," she corrected quickly, looking apologetic.
"With who?" I asked, knowing I was going to hear that nerd's name and hating myself for even asking.
"Lord Tubbington," she said nodding over to the fat cat who was sleeping peacefully on her bed.
Upon hearing his name he stood, hopped heavily to the floor, and walked to the door, looking insulted, as if we had somehow made too much noise. He left, but not before giving me a hard glare.
Brittany watched him go before she leaned over to me, "You're in the lead between you two, but don't tell him, okay?"
She was completely serious and I found I was okay with that.
"My lips are sealed."
In my sad attempt to tell her the truth, I said, "You're my best friend too."
"Aw, you're just saying that. I know you and Quinn are really close."
I had to fight not to break down into laughter, "Britt, don't worry about her, you're way in the lead. She's only in second place, because no one else is in the race."
Another hint of a blush reddened her face before she covered it by sitting at her desk and fiddling with one of the binders on it.
"Are these all the pictures you took?" I asked since I only saw a handful.
"No, I didn't put them all up."
That alarmed the hell out of me, "Why not?"
She shrugged, "They weren't right for my wall."
"What was wrong with them?" I needed the answer far more than I let on.
"Nothing, they were all great, but not all of them were wall material."
"What did you do with the extras?"
"Put them in one of my albums," she said simply, patting the one currently in her hands.
I wanted to ask to see them, but Brittany's line of evasive answers led me to believe she didn't want me to see them. The tragically perverted and hopeful part of my brain wished she had kept the others because they were appealing shots of my ample bosom that she wished to fantasize about in private. I didn't dare say that, and instead sat down on her bed to observe the pictures that were up, while enjoying the wonderful scent of her that still radiated from it when I sat down. It was as close as I could get to holding her and breathing her in and I would do so in silence, feeling no guilt for how creepy it was.
Maybe that's why my brain was so willing to imagine her drooling over private pictures of me, I suppose I needed to feel like I wasn't the only one repressing a deep-rooted desire.
There was no excuse for it really.
The issue was shelved for Friday.
She came over, sat next to me and we talked easily, like friends would when one wasn't longing for the other. I felt good about my performance, however, even though I had put my self-disappointment on a To-Do list, I knew waiting to fight wasn't going to solve the problem, only help me cope with it. I either needed to get over her or try telling her the truth.
I decided then and there I would tell her and let fight club be where I dealt with the repercussions.
So of course the next thing she does is flip on her computer and play her iTunes dance list for us to jam in her room to. I got a front row seat to the most sexually frustrating dance I had ever seen and TA-DA! I was back to never wanting to risk what I had.
Even I was bored of my back and forth.
After the private floor show she pulled me off her bed, forcing me to join her for the next song, I sadly didn't really know any dances that didn't make me look like a desperate slut so I let her lead me. I learned that dancing with Brittany Pierce was even better than watching her alone, and I say that, not as a horny teenager with a one sided crush, but as someone who could appreciate how good she was at it. How well she could move around me while guiding me to respond in turn. I could better understand how she could translate fighting into dance, because she was aware of my every move. I was also aware of hers, but that was more down to the horny teenager thing.
I was honestly doing fine with her so close, even with her hands touching me in ways that would have made my blood run blazing hot under normal circumstances. The way her hair would brush my cheeks, or how my own hands ended up grazing by places they shouldn't have, didn't even make me flinch, because fight club had taught me to save my grievances for Fridays, making it much easier to save my overactive imagination for later.
When I left her house, Brittany gifted me with one of her newspaper people and a quick kiss on the cheek that, combined with our hour-long dance session, left me more than a little strung out.
There is no need to discuss what I got up to once I was home.
As we walked into the school on Monday morning, Quinn was busy talking about some poor loser who wasn't popular enough to join our squad but had come to her in private and begged anyway. I was only half listening, because I was trying to think of a foolproof way to tell Brittany how I felt. In fact, I had been doing that all weekend.
The best I could come up with was a note. Something in writing, so I couldn't choke up or chicken out, and once she had it, the truth would be in her hands and there would be nothing I could do to stop it.
But then I got to thinking about what would happen if someone else read it and my insides turned to ice.
"You're daydreaming again," Quinn interrupted, "What is the point of talking to you when you're always busy having a conversation with yourself?"
"It's almost like you're forcing me to listen to things I don't want to talk about."
"Whatever. Okay, today is the day."
"For what."
"For our assignment," she said with more than a little exasperation in her voice, "Skip fifth period and meet me in the bathroom."
That alarmed me, "What are we doing in the bathroom?"
"Nothing!" she snapped, "Will you calm down; how the hell do you expect to get anything done if you are freaking out about where we're meeting?"
"Quinn, would it make any difference to you if I said I don't want to do this?"
"What do you think? Honestly?"
"No?"
"Then we'll stick with that," and with that she left me in the hall.
The pattern seemed to be freedom on Fridays, repressed elation on Saturdays, brooding Sundays and worrying changes on Mondays.
Fuck my life.
I did it though, I went through my usual routine and when the bell signaling the end of fourth period sounded I went to the girl's restroom like I had been told. I wasn't surprised to find Quinn wasn't there, so I waited around like a weirdo while other students filed in and out until the room was empty. And even then I still had to wait. When the bell for the start of fifth period sounded I almost left and went to class, but at that moment Quinn came in with a bag of coffee in her hand and a devious smile on her face.
"Come on," she said before she backed out into the hallway.
I trudged after her, not looking forward to whatever we were doing. The halls were empty save for a sparse few who were late for class, and I was so busy watching them I missed that we had walked up to the teacher's lounge.
Quinn peeked in the small rectangular window in the door before shoving the bag of Lima Bean coffee into my hands.
"Replace the one in there with this," she instructed and pushed the door open.
I was uncomfortable with this in so many ways, I won't even bother trying to name them, "What? No! Why do I have to do it?" I whispered fiercely.
"Because someone has to be the lookout."
"I'll be the lookout, you do this," I said, attempting to hand the coffee back to her.
"If someone comes, you will need to explain why you are standing in front of the teacher's lounge when you should be in class. You are a terrible liar, so I will handle that, so how about you get moving before you have even less time to finish your task."
I would have informed her that I was an excellent liar, but she was right, I was wasting time. Whatever was in this bag was probably either crazy dangerous or illegal and I didn't need to be found holding a ton of it when someone in authority walked by.
Without another word I dashed in the door and located the coffee in question, switched it out and threw away the original. I was sure to wipe the bag for prints before I ran back out, my heart beating wildly, and relatively sure I had just done something terrible.
Quickly we walked from the crime scene and out to the teacher's parking lot where I knew Quinn wanted us to spend the rest of our class time, even though we could have easily gone back to where we were supposed to be.
She stood on the curb in the small shade a nearby tree provided and I was reminded of the day when this whole thing started. When she lit a cigarette and offered it to me that feeling became straight up déjà vu.
"I have to assume that your master plan for fight club was something more than trading coffee bags, because that was the exact same kind that was already there."
"You know me better than that."
I nodded and took a lungful of the thick, acrid smoke, "What was in it?"
I asked even though I didn't really want to know.
"Coffee…" when I raised an eyebrow she smiled and added, "mixed with a powerful, powdered laxative."
I choked a little as I handed the cigarette back, "Are you serious?"
"Quite."
"You know the teachers only drink that stuff in the morning."
"That's what I'm hoping for."
I didn't get how this fit in the master plan, so I only nodded, "Alrighty then."
She took another breath of smoke and blew it out as she looked over the parking lot, "This isn't just about giving the faculty the shits, it's about setting a tone for what's to come. That and to see if you would do what I asked without question."
I would, but her telling me I would irked me, besides, it was never without question, "I'm not your puppet!"
Her eyes squeezed shut like a parent trying to ignore a screeching child and that just pissed me off more, "I'm sorry, that was my fault, bad phrasing. I wanted to see if you would trust me."
"Trust you to make me drug my teachers?"
"It starts there and will only get deeper. We are going to run this school, everyone will know about fight club without actually knowing it exists."
I still didn't get it, but at least now I knew I wasn't meant to, "Fine."
With that we stood silently watching the birds fly and the sun burn every ounce of moisture off the earth.
"We've got a while before sixth period, wanna fool around?" she asked, and I knew it wasn't truly a question.
The idea of having sex with Quinn while trying to find a way of telling Brittany I loved her seemed inexcusably wrong.
My dislike for the idea must have shown on my face, because Quinn sighed, "Seriously, Santana, I know that you and Brittany are BFF's without benefits, so please don't be shitty and leave us both bored for nothing."
"I'm gonna go with no, and I would appreciate it if you just left it at that."
She gave me a long look that I couldn't read for the life of me, "Sure, I'm not going to beg." I waited patiently for the rant that would prove she hadn't really relented, but it didn't come. She just kept smoking and staring out over the parking lot like she had not a care in the world.
"What would you do? If you were me?" I don't know why I asked, in the heat and quiet it seemed like she might be having a rare moment of lucidity where she might help me.
"I would probably kill myself," was her immediate response.
"I cannot express how not funny that is."
She shrugged, "I wasn't telling a joke, if I were you and under this much stress I'd just fucking end it. Life is hard and it only gets harder, believe it or not these are the easy years."
"I don't think so, it has to get better." I had to believe that for my own sanity.
Quinn looked down at her feet as she flicked ash into the sparse breeze that reached us, "For some it might, for people like us every day we'll have to find a way to bury who we are deeper and deeper until we are actually buried alive under the rubble of who people think we are."
"You can be so uplifting, I'm glad we had this talk," I grumbled and kicked a pebble out into the blazing sun.
"I'm just being honest."
We were silent again, the only sounds were the occasional clangs and bangs from miscellaneous activities inside the school. It was oddly peaceful, even if the heat was enough to make me want to just go to class for the air conditioning.
I decided to break the calm once more because as long as she was being honest I wanted all the truths I could get, "The way you fight…" I started and stopped, wondering if I should bring Brittany's name into the conversation, and quickly decided against it, "You're desperate, I don't know for what, but you are."
Her eyes snapped to mine, not in anger, but in interest, "So you are learning."
I nodded, "Yeah, I guess, so what's going on with you, Q?"
A chastising finger wag was my response, "Non, ma petite lesbienne, the point of fight club is to not have to talk about these things. If I wanted to discuss my problems, I assure you, I would have a long time ago."
"Have you tried?"
"Have you tried telling your grandma about your fascination with other girls' vaginas?"
"No, but at least I tried asking someone else for advice."
"Who?" she laughed.
"You, just now, and you told me to kill myself," I snapped.
"What? No! I said I would kill myself if I were you, because if I were you, I would be able to do whatever I put my mind to."
That didn't make a great deal of sense to me but I nodded as I always did when Quinn's inner philosophy was a little too complex, "You have a pretty strong will."
"I do, but not for death, I could never do that to myself," she stopped for a moment and I thought she was done, but then she opened her mouth and said something that totally surprised me, "I'm too scared of what will happen afterwards."
I couldn't help but scoff a little, "You? You're scared of the afterlife? I thought all good Christians went to heaven."
"I'm hardly anyone's definition of a good Christian, besides regardless of which belief turns out to be the one truth that the universe follows, all I know is that when I go I'm not headed anywhere good. Be it hell, limbo, or the nothingness of space I will end up in the section where all the worst are lumped."
I had always believed the same thing, but it was infinitely shocking coming from her.
"You could just stop being such a colossal asshole," I offered.
She gave me one of those haunting, sad smiles that unnervingly reminded me of Brittany, "If being an asshole was my only problem I'd be in good shape right now."
I sighed heavily and looked up at the cloudy sky, "My abuelo always used to say that being young made problems seem so much bigger than they were. Usually old people are full of it with their proverbs, but after he died I was able to grasp the fact that there were worse things than my favorite tv show being cancelled or my mom not getting me the right color nail polish."
"That sounds a lot like a rephrasing of 'things will get better with time'," she grumbled.
"Things have to change, Quinn, we won't be in high school forever and we won't always be subject to our parents' crap. Is it really so wrong to at least hope that the future won't be as miserable?"
"Yes. Unless we change, our future is bleak, and I don't see the change happening."
That made me bristle, "Well, I'm planning to tell Brittany how I feel about her."
I don't know why I told her that, I guess I felt like I had to prove she wasn't right even though I fully believed she was.
To my surprise she laughed, loudly, "What exactly do you think that will solve? So you tell her, and I'll go ahead and pretend that she's into you in the same way – now what? Are you going to tell her parents? What about yours? Y'know what, let's pretend everyone's cool with it, how will you handle every other person in the world who will judge you? And God forbid she reject you, that means that your heart will be broken, making it that much harder for you to confess to the next hopelessly straight girl you fall in love with."
"I don't have the next ten moves planned out, I can only do one thing at a time!" I shouted back, because the truth hurt worse than her fists ever could.
"Unless you stop being such a coward you will grow into a beautiful woman with a close secret that will make you do all sorts of things to keep it. The path you're on doesn't end well, you don't need to tell Brittany a damn thing until you take care of you."
She was so fucking right it made me sick.
I had merely convinced myself that slow steps towards Brittany were what I needed, but I had no idea what I would do if I ever made it to my goal.
"And what about you, Q? What kind of woman will you be?" I asked with a bite to my voice.
"Me?" she asked softly before tossing her cigarette out on the asphalt, "'I'll be the woman that no little girl wants to grow up to be; manipulative, conniving and cruel. I will be the kind of woman who wakes up every day with the singular goal of breaking every person she meets the way she's been broken. I will become something so horrible I won't even want to be around myself, because I am such a two-faced viper."
I could totally see that being the case.
"At least we'd have each other," I muttered in defeat.
"Maybe, it would depend on knowing whether you give me any sort of leverage or if you could somehow be of use to me."
The clouds above covered the sun and suddenly the day grew slightly darker, "And you really think us fighting it out here after school will help with that?"
"I'm hoping so. Something has to break eventually."
"But why a fight club? Why risk so much on this?"
Quinn paused and looked over at me as if I had asked the most ridiculous question in the whole world, "Why? Because life is broken and rotten, sometimes you have to just take the reins and pull it into a devastating nosedive to have any sense of control."
"And so the plan is to have Rachel, Tina and I slap the bitch out of you?"
"Something like that."
With those words I knew our time of sharing was over.
Our talk had been enlightening, but in a way that was more disturbing than educational.
Quinn's weirdness that afternoon threw me off for the rest of the day. Every time I tried to think of confessing to Brittany I saw all the ways that she had been right about it changing nothing, and every time I thought about trying to fix that by coming out to my family I got nauseous.
With my supposed friend offering no usable advice, I decided I'd try a 'Bret hypothetical' with abuela when I got home.
A plan which was halted when I found her waiting for me in front of the house. This was unusual so I automatically thought it meant I was in trouble, especially when Quinn hummed the death march as I got out of her car.
I walked nervously up the driveway trying to look as innocent as possible and threw on my most charming smile in the hopes that it would deter any incoming angry lectures. When she saw me she smiled and stood coming to meet me halfway and I was finally able to calm down.
"Guess who just got a set of keys in the mail?" she asked, showing me what was obviously the key to my father's Thunderbird. "Will you take your old abuela around for a ride?"
For some reason I felt like I had been gifted with my own car when she handed me the keys. I knew it was on loan and I knew the condition of the car was directly related to how much my father would be willing to pretend to love me, but I was excited nonetheless.
The garage door opener was attached and I pressed the button to have the canary yellow convertible be revealed like a game show prize.
I never thought I would be glad to drive a Ford, but I couldn't have been happier if it were a Ferrari.
"Where should we go?" I asked, turning to her.
She smiled at me as she walked to the passenger side door, "Nowhere, anywhere, no importa, I'm just tired of being in the house."
I could understand that easily enough, so I quit asking questions and got in.
Being in the driver's seat of a car felt weird, and even more so in my father's car. All my life I had been warned to stay away from this spot and here I was, preparing to actually drive the damn thing. It took several deep breaths to shake the fear that my dad would pop up beside me and demand I get out, and once I felt calm, I put the key in the ignition and marveled at the sound of the engine rumbling to life.
Feeling the car beneath me – the tan leather of the chair, the smooth cover of the steering wheel – was pretty awesome, even the length of space between the seat and the pedals was perfect. I'd never had a thing for cars, but I was suddenly really into this one.
Either it was all the horsepower, or the sudden rush of excitement from the fact I had the ability to go anywhere I wanted that had me all flustered. More specifically, it was that if everything in my life went tits up, I'd have a way to escape this town, far and fast.
"This wasn't what I meant by out of the house, Santana," abuela laughed.
"I know," I said quickly, realizing for the first time that I had just been sitting there staring at the back of the garage.
For a moment I didn't move, because it had been a while since I got my license, but I had been taught to drive a stick, meaning my lessons had been long, hard, humiliating, and impossible to forget.
I backed us out into the street carefully and took off down the road at just under the speed limit. It's sort of embarrassing to admit, but it made me feel like an honest to goodness adult.
Abulela applauded softly, "Very good. Did Alberto teach you to drive?"
I scoffed, "No, when I was a freshman, I had a boyfriend that had a car, he taught me," I'd had to offer sex as payment for all the gear grinding from my missed clutch timings, but whatever.
She sighed again, and I knew I had just caused her to be even more disappointed in her son.
"I taught him to drive, your abuelo didn't have the patience. Every time he would try they would end up in a fight before they even made it to the street."
That sounded about right, both of them were wicked stubborn about doing things their own way.
"The guy that taught me wasn't a great teacher, but I figured it out."
"What was his name?"
I couldn't remember, "Keith."
The lie came even easier than usual. Quinn might not have been as batshit as she seemed. Maybe in ten years I wouldn't know the fake me from the real me.
That scared the hell out of me.
"Don't forget to signal," she advised as I came to the end of the line of houses and was forced to make a left.
"Abuela?" I asked the question, wanting to make another theoretical scenario about Bret or the fictional gay cheerleader, but instead I broke down and showed incredible weakness because the past few days had broken the shell of detachment I tended to keep up. "You love me, right?"
The question seemed to startle her, but she eventually smiled and chuckled a little, "Of course."
"Will you always though? No matter what? Like even if I become a drug addict or something?"
"You better not put a single pill in your mouth that isn't a vitamin or an Aspirin, but yes, Santana, I would love you even then."
I gulped, "I just…" in that pause I considered telling her, just blurting out my dark secret like I had planned to do with Brittany, but even with her assurances I was still afraid. Because in my family it was entirely possible that drug addict wasn't over the line while gay was. "I feel like I'm a mistake away from being abandoned."
Her face turned serious at my words, "You are a smart, beautiful, wonderful girl and you shouldn't worry so much about such things. I'm here and I don't plan to leave. I know your parents have been terrible about showing you the care you deserve, but know they have left everything to chase their dreams. I don't think it is worth what they have given up," she shrugged, "but it's not my dream."
Her words made me think that maybe – just maybe – I could let her know the truth, but of course I had to put my toe in the water first. There was no jumping in with Santana Lopez.
"Abuela, about that lesbian on the cheer team-"
"Can we not talk about such perversions? I'm shocked she is still allowed on your team, what is your school thinking?"
With that I discovered the water was boiling hot, making me fearful of even attempting again.
"Yeah, me and some of the other girls'll talk to coach about it soon," I said, my throat tightening with every word.
"Good."
Fuck my life.
Right when I laid the 'ask abuela' plan to rest I heard my phone go off, and the sharp look I got from the passenger side told me I better not plan on checking it while moving. So at the next red light, I fished my phone out of my pocket and saw a text from Quinn.
With a roll of my eyes I opened it and was a little startled to see:
Fight Club Special Meeting Announcement – Tomorrow meet Breadstix 10 am Attendance is mandatory for students of McKinley High. There will be no fighting, dress casually.
Lucky for me I had waited until I stopped, because that text would have sent me off the road. I just stared at it, trying to figure out what the hell she was up to, because she had lost her everloving mind if she thought Rachel Berry and Tina Whatever-her-last-name-is would skip classes to hear about her wanting to pull stupid pranks on the unsuspecting.
More than likely the task of making them come would fall to me…
Fuck my life.
Even though my abuela was completely content to let me drive myself to school and back, I was entirely too paranoid to drive my father's beloved metal heap for fear that either I would crash it or someone else would crash into me. Sure, abuela said she'd handle it, but I didn't want any more family drama than absolutely necessary.
That meant that Tuesday morning I got up, dressed, and went out to meet Quinn at her car. I was feeling pretty good about the day since I had put on my Cheerio's uniform and for the first time was able to avoid also putting on out-of-season leggings to hide the remnants of Quinn's lesson. Imagine my surprise when I walked down to the car and found her in a sundress instead of our uniform that marked us as McKinley's elite.
"Do we not have practice today?" I asked as I got in.
"You got my text, didn't you?"
"Yeah, that we're skipping school for the whole day?"
"It isn't skipping if there is no school."
I wasn't big on keeping track of arbitrary holidays, but I was pretty sure today wasn't one.
"What did you do?"
"No, what did you do?"
Then I remembered, "The coffee? You expect that prank to get all our classes cancelled?"
"Clearly," she said before driving off.
I didn't know how powerful the laxative was that she put in that bag, but now I started to worry that maybe that wasn't all she put in it. Then I started to worry that she'd put rat poison in it just to get me labeled as some sort of terrorist. A thought driven home when we arrived at school to find an ambulance parked in front with the sparse few students who were out and about that early standing around it.
I felt my stomach churn and I looked to Quinn fully expecting to see her bitch face smirking at me, but she seemed just as surprised as I was.
We pulled up in the student parking lot to see several teachers duck walking to their cars in no small hurry. That at least I understood.
Quinn watched for a moment in amusement before she walked off towards where the most students were gathered and I followed, because if I had killed someone I wanted to know so I could start running.
Instead of going straight to the peons and just asking, she located our 'in crowd' which consisted of Finn, Karofsky, and a few Cheerios.
"What happened?" she asked the question like she was the head of a crime scene investigation.
"All the teachers got the runs," Karofsky laughed, "'prolly something in the water, heard one of them shat her guts out, that's why the ambulance came."
I found that unlikely and so did Quinn since her eyes snapped to Finn. The dimwitted boy was at least smart enough to hear the unasked question.
"I think it was Ms. Pillsbury, someone didn't quite make it to the bathroom and she slipped in some poop," he said in that slow way of his.
Quinn chuckled, "She must have fallen pretty hard."
"No, I heard she didn't fall, but when she saw what she stepped in she fainted and no one could wake her up."
That sent her into an uncontrollable fit of laughter and left me feeling relieved that I hadn't killed our mousy guidance counselor.
"How many teachers dra- I mean how many are sick?" I asked, still a little nervous about what I had been a part of.
Karofsky shrugged, "All of 'em."
Quinn ignored his answer and looked to Finn, "Most," he clarified.
"Have classes been canceled yet?" she asked as she watched several teachers try to help their co-workers to their cars.
"Nah," Finn answered, rather pleased that he was being looked to for answers, "but that could be because Principal Figgins got it the worst, so he hasn't done any announcements or anything."
"I don't want to know how you know that," I said and frantically tried not to allow my brain to come up with theories.
"Perfect," Quinn said and turned to the rest of the drones like a dictator addressing the masses, "I bid you all adieu, Santana and I have places to be."
"Why don't we all go?" Finn piped up, it was almost sad to see that hopeful light in his eyes.
She looked back at him and there was no kindness in her eyes, "Sorry, it's a girls only kind of thing."
I then witnessed all the freshmen Cheerios try and fall in ranks behind us and being summarily ignored which was even sadder. They were red and white sheep in need of a shepherd, but we left them there, bleating in the care of two oafish wolves. The only upside was that Puck was usually quite late to school, so at least only incompetent predators were on the hunt.
Though looking at Quinn, I must say a shepherd is not an accurate description for her position. She's more like a butcher, keeping her flock in top shape for when she needs to sacrifice them.
That's more like it.
"How did you know this would happen?" I asked her as we walked quickly back to her car.
"I was pretty confident that no one would want to teach in a diaper."
"That's a safe bet, so what is this meeting about?"
"You'll have to wait and see."
I hated that answer so very much.
But I waited. I sat in her car and said nothing for the car ride to Breadstix, continued to say nothing during the hour long wait until ten when Rachel arrived and the additional forty minutes it took for the others to file in.
They were as quiet as I was, all of them looking a little nervous, and I understood why, because I felt it too. We were all from vastly different worlds within our school, meeting formally and not under the cover of darkness with intent to injure was rather awkward.
We ordered a few appetizers for the wait, and when Lauren finally appeared, taking up most of the booth Rachel and Tina were sitting in, Quinn began.
"Thank you all for coming relatively on time. Now as you may have noticed our school has had a bit of an epidemic." Only Tina bothered to nod, "This is thanks to myself and Santana," she said gesturing to us both. "Our assignment was to put a powerful laxative in the teacher's coffee prompting the school to close for the day. The purpose was to free up our morning for this meeting, which won't take too long. Afterwards you are free to go where you will, consider the free day a gift."
"Is this the part where you tell us why we're here?" I asked, unable to take her posturing seriously anymore.
She ignored me like my name was Karofsky, "Ladies, with very little effort Santana and I have demonstrated how easily we can cripple the school. I believe that with the talents and imagination of the people in this group we could use this power to our advantage."
"You poisoned our teachers to prove a point?" Rachel asked, looking scandalized.
"If I'd poisoned them, they'd be dead," Quinn replied flatly. "I have my own justification for today, however, there is a reason this was between Santana and I and not a group activity."
"Because I wouldn't have done it!"
I had to assume she knew her nonchalance was what drove Rachel crazy, "That's one reason, the other isn't any of your business. Now, Lauren," Quinn turned to the large girl and she seemed surprised to be addressed.
"Huh?" she asked stuffily through a mouthful of breadsticks.
"If you'll recall I have an assignment for you that we will work on together later in the week," meaning Quinn will make her do something stupid while she 'keeps watch'. "In the meantime, there is something else I want you all to participate in."
"What? Are we putting thumbtacks in teacher's shoes?" Rachel snarled.
"Look, I don't know how Bilbo runs things down at the Shire, but here in Ohio we don't interrupt people who are talking to make snarky comments."
If I were one to call her out on things, I would point out that was about all she ever did. Rachel's face went red and her eyes darkened, but she let her continue.
"Anyway," Quinn said pointedly, "I have a trophy, it's from when I was seven and it was the first one I ever got. I was on the Little Tumblers Lima gymnastics team and I practiced for about a year to be ready to compete in a national competition. Out of everything I've ever won I loved that trophy the most because my father of all people had been the one to help me every step of the way. It was the first time we really connected over anything, and it was him that taught me how to push hard and dig deep for the strength to win. His lessons and that win were the very things that inspired me to keep pushing and become the best damn cheerleader this state has ever seen. And as of last night I ran it over with my car. It burst into about a million pieces, because it was made of cheap plastic, and I collected every piece and burned it."
She moved to fiddle with her phone and I just stared gaping at her. I knew the trophy she was talking about, she had indeed showed it to everyone who she felt was worth impressing. Her parents were more proud of her cheerleading accomplishments, but that thing was her real pride.
"So you want us to help you fix it?" Lauren asked.
Quinn shook her head and held up her phone, showing the burned melted remains of what I assumed was her trophy.
"I destroyed it on purpose, and I want each of you to do the same."
"To destroy your trophies?" Tina asked, looking a little amused.
"No. To destroy something you treasure. Something that defines you as the person you are."
Rachel guffawed, "You have to be kidding!"
"I'm not."
"Why would I do that?" she laughed, almost giddy with disbelief.
"Because the person you are drove you to be here. That person needs to go, you need to separate yourself from the things that make you that girl and form yourself into a stronger being."
"And how do we know everyone destroyed something important?" Tina asked, "For all I know you don't care about any of your trophies, plus you have no idea what's important to me."
"I agree," Rachel said, "You want to impress me, how about you trash that needlessly expensive car out there."
Quinn smiled softly, and I leaned away from her, because that was the first sign of danger, but she didn't call names or rage, instead she took a deep breath and spoke softly, "You'll just have to take my word for it. And to be clear, I could wreck my car. Hell, if you want, you can go out there right now and fuck it up, but it means nothing to me and my dad will buy me another one before you could finish ruining the paint job." With that she turned to Tina, "As for how I'll be able to tell what really matters most, you are correct, I wouldn't know. So that's why you will all tell the group what you plan to destroy and we will decide if it will suffice."
"This is stupid," Rachel snapped and moved to get up, but Quinn slammed a hand on the table.
"Sit down," and there was the demon that had been gone so long I had almost forgotten about it.
Almost.
Rachel sat back down, but defiance was still in her eyes, "You can't make me."
"Can't I?" she challenged, and then somehow reined in the scary overlord attitude, "This isn't something I want to fight about. If you don't want to participate, fine, don't, but don't expect anything to change by itself. If you think that your life is at a rare rough patch and will get better if you can just hold out, by all means, show up on Friday, fight it out and go home. Otherwise I would highly recommend you do what I am telling you."
A blanket silence fell over the group that made me think for once Quinn had made one request no one was willing to fulfill.
Then Tina bit her lip before saying, "I have a bracelet. It was the first gift Mike ever gave me, it's pretty expensive, but the reason it means so much to me is…" she stopped talking, clearly embarrassed, but when Quinn showed no signs of giving a shit she went on, "Whenever he flirts with other girls, I always hold onto it and talk myself into forgiving him. But I don't want to, I don't want to be that girl anymore."
A wide grin spread over Quinn's face, "That'll do. Don't you all agree?"
There were grudging head nods all around from everyone but Rachel who seemed to want to rebel against these happenings, "So the item can be anything of significance and not necessarily your most loved?"
Those hazel eyes were hawkish as she looked over the other girl and I knew she was seeing something only those with alarming amounts of insight could see.
"It's obvious the most important thing to Tina is Mike, but since we can't destroy him, the physical manifestation of her attachment to him will do."
When she didn't reply, Lauren spoke up, "I have a picture of myself from middle school. I was a hundred and fifty pounds and, I mean I wasn't super pretty, but I was thin and healthy. Puberty made me shoot up tall faster than I could eat myself wide, of course after a while everything settled and…" she shrugged and grabbed another breadstick. "The damn thing sort of tortures me, 'cause I can't even get close to that weight no matter what I do. It'd be a relief to get rid of it actually."
Quinn nodded, "That sounds acceptable. Rachel?"
"Sure."
"No, I meant it's your turn."
They glared at each other for a long time, and I was almost positive Rachel was going to hop up and leave.
Instead she growled under her breath and said, "I have a scrapbook."
"Aaand?" Quinn drawled.
"And it's full of every dream I've had since I was old enough to scrapbook. It has pasted together images of me winning Emmys and Oscars, it even has drawings of floor plans for the temple where my wedding was supposed to take place. I planned out every last moment of my future in that book, but I find myself not even out of high school and every single word of it is turning out to be a lie. Yet I'm still clinging to it like any of that is something I can make happen. That book assumes that I'm popular all throughout my teenage years, and that by junior year every performing arts school in the country is begging me to attend them, and that I will meet my husband in high school and that my both my parents will be there to support me..."
Tina looked worried, "But I'm sure you can still get married and be famous," she tried.
Quinn rolled her shoulders and yawned, "Maybe, but not if she's following a path she drew before she woke up and saw how completely fucked life is. I'll accept that. Any objections?" When no one spoke up she turned to me, "Santana?"
My most precious things were my memories of Brittany, and the brief yet pleasurable touches we shared. I had nothing she could ruin.
"I don't have anything I care about that much. I guess I'd want to get rid of my Cheerios outfit, but I'd just have to buy another one."
"You'll have to do better than that."
I took the opportunity to try and think of something I owned that it would actually upset me to lose. Sure I'd be upset if some of my clothes or shoes were taken, but it would be more of an annoyance than anything.
The only thing I had that I gave a rats ass about was a little newspaper man that was sitting on my dresser.
In a way I supposed it signified hope for my future with Brittany, but that was me stretching. However, the idea of destroying it upset me more than any other single thing in my room.
Regardless of how mild my attachment was to it, I wasn't going to let Quinn manipulate me into destroying it. She didn't know everything, she wasn't a psychiatrist or even an adult with life experience, she was a know-it-all who strong armed everyone into her way of thinking. How in the hell could rich, beautiful, straight, popular Quinn Fabray truly understand anything about what everyone else was going through?
Was I going to burn my most precious possession because it was the closest thing I had to hope in my hopeless situation?
Hell no.
"I got a receipt from a waitress, she made me feel like I wasn't alone in the world for once," I said my lines slowly, and only thought of Brittany as I spoke, hoping the sincerity that tended to be on my face when I thought about her would help sell the story. "But I need to quit clinging on to the faint hope a stranger gave me and face my loneliness head on."
I assumed Quinn would believe I was editing my explanation for the sake of those who didn't know, and didn't need to know, how gay I was. Her eyes felt like lasers on my skin, leaving a searing trail everywhere they traveled, she was x-raying me for lies and all I could do was pray she didn't find any.
"Okay then, that's everyone."
"What about Brittany?" I asked.
I have no earthly idea why. I suppose it was because it was impossible for me not to inquire about her, but in this case it was so very stupid to have brought her up.
"I already talked to her about it," Quinn said easily and I know she knew how much that bothered me.
"When?"
"I called her before I sent the text out to everyone else," she said before joining Lauren in tackling the breadsticks.
"When did you even get her number?"
"At our last club meeting, if you must know."
"What is she giving up?" Rachel asked.
"That's between us I'm afraid," Quinn said, as if she were truly sorry.
She wasn't.
Demon bitches were never sorry.
I wanted to break her neck so badly, because this was her playing with me again, she was only keeping it a secret to drive me crazy.
"How is that fair?"
"What do you mean? She doesn't know anything about what you all are destroying."
That seemed to immediately appease Rachel, so she sat back in her seat and ate the last breadstick.
"With that," Quinn said, gesturing to the empty breadstick container, "we are adjourned. Enjoy your day off, ladies."
I watched her slip out of the booth and wondered if I dared to not follow, all she wanted was for me to follow and try to beg the truth out of her about Brittany. Unfortunately she had me pegged there, and I did just that as I climbed back into the passenger's seat.
"Was it really so personal that you couldn't tell us?" I asked.
She squinted into the sun as she fished her sunglasses out of the console, "Not really."
"So why won't you say?"
"You can ask her yourself, you have her number."
I could, but I wouldn't, I was sure I would chicken out of asking something so personal.
"You know I won't, so why even suggest it?"
"Why hope that you'll stop being a chicken shit? I dunno, I guess I'm just too much of an optimist to ever stop trying."
"Quinn-"
"You'll find out eventually, and knowing you like I do, I'll bet you won't even realize what her item means."
"Enlighten me then."
She chuckled, "Nope, you aren't going to get me to spill, but I will tell you that based on what she told me, I'm willing to bet my position as head cheerleader that she's the same as me."
That was an impossible phrase if I ever heard one.
"Brittany is nothing like you," I said darkly.
Quinn only sighed and pushed her glasses further up her nose, "Whatever you say."
The Fabray madness aside, I went home early and had a great day with my abuela. We ate, laughed, and even had a long conversation that didn't remind me that I was hiding something with every word.
That night I went to my room, looked at the lopsided newspaper man and decided then and there I would follow Quinn's advice and change, but just not how she wanted. Sure, Brittany could reject me, and yes that notion still made me dizzy with fear, but it didn't have to be my future. Even if she wanted nothing to do with me, though I would be devastated, it wouldn't spell the end of my life.
I knew it could take me well into my twenties to be completely comfortable, but I was hot and once I figured out how to stop being so scared of others' opinions, I was sure a beautiful relationship awaited me.
I went to bed like that. Feeling positive, my spirits a little uplifted.
My dreams were of Brittany and tender kisses we'd never shared. Unfortunately, they were dashed when a thud and a cold breeze woke me in the middle of the night.
Blearily my eyes opened and shock ran through me to find my dreams had come true. Brittany had come to me in the night through my window.
Then I remembered Brittany didn't know where I lived, and after a few more blinks I became aware that I had the wrong blonde altogether.
"Quinn?" I questioned, my voice raspy.
She didn't answer, she only threw back the sheets and crawled under.
Though this was the first time she had ever snuck into my house in the middle of the night, I was pretty sure I knew why she was here.
"I still don't want sex, Q."
Still no answer, she only crawled close to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my breasts.
For all my protesting the feel of her did stir something in the pit of my stomach, but that small bud of arousal was doused the second I heard a gut wrenching sob come from the body clinging to mine.
The sound surprised me and I wanted to push her back a little to see if she was messing with me, only she was holding me so tightly I could hardly breathe. But once I felt hot tears seep through my pajamas, I didn't need to see anything.
Her body trembled slightly before another muffled sob escaped her, and I was so thankful she had the courtesy not to wake my abuela.
I would have worried that this was some attempt to do just that and force me into some ironic outing with the one girl I would never be in a relationship with. I would have, and I did up until she began to cry in earnest, and it wasn't the hiccupping sobs of an overdramatic teen who didn't get the jewelry she wanted for her birthday or the wails of someone who had been through a bad breakup, these were the deep, painful sounds a person made when something in their soul had been damaged beyond repair.
I knew those sounds better than I ever wanted to admit.
Her cries were desperate and endless, they also quavered slightly like she feared even vocalizing her hurt for fear of being lost in the depth of it.
I didn't know what had caused this, and I knew better than to ask. I just held her and let her cry herself hoarse on my chest.
I did it knowing that if I ever did the same to her she wouldn't hesitate to use it against me. The irritating truth was I would never do to her what she would do to me.
The night rolled on and after an amount of time I had no means to measure, her cries turned into whimpers, which turned into the soft sounds of sleep.
Abuela could have come in on us at any time, and I really did need sleep since there were no plans to cancel school on Wednesday, but I let her stay.
I suppose I should have been worrying about what would happen in the morning, but the only thing I could think was that if Quinn could cry like that about her life, there was more going on with her than I had originally thought.
Not for the first time, I had to admit I had been wrong.
I had to admit that maybe Quinn knew more about pain than any of us, that maybe her advice wasn't so foolish after all.
I did note that she had founded fight club and broken her precious trophy, yet still needed to come cry in my bed. Then I reasoned that this could be her better since I didn't know what her breakdowns were like before.
Though the likely answer was that her demons weren't so easy to shake.
Desperate crying was all it took to have me back in her camp, but this time I resolved that if anything, I would stop half-assing my commitment. We all needed a change and she was the only one trying to give it to us. I couldn't say her method didn't work if I didn't follow her instructions to the letter.
We were in a pit and that night I realized our leader had more incentive than anyone to get out.
So I got comfortable and went back to sleep, Quinn's head tucked under my chin. And instead of dreaming about Brittany's kisses I dreamed of being eaten by a shark while sunbathing in the desert.
Fuck my life.
A/N: I wanna say it'll be the next chapter or the one after that where you will be privy to what's up with Quinn and Brittany so that's in the near future.
I don't expect this fic to be as long as some of the others I've done, but then again I didn't expect the others to be as long as they were so... yeah.
Informative 0atis is informative!
Reviews welcome.
