HELLO BOOBIES :) So here's chapter 7, where Britt Britt comes out. She's so so so so so so hard to write. But i tried, darlings, and I hope it passes off as at least okay? Lemme know if it's really super bad and then I'll spend another 5 hours on top of the 5 i spent already slaving on this chapter to edit. It's so very very very hard.

My muffin/editor things I overthink this chapter too much. But it's like a turning point to me so it's hard to not overthink. Especially because I'm becoming increasingly apprehensive of reading reviews since chapter 5. Most of them are beautiful really (THANKS AGAIN GUYS!), but a few are quite intimidating.

To those who said they can't see Quinn being a crazy mistress/ex in the last chapter and doing so much shit. Well, I guess it's only fair to say no one expected the president of the celibacy club to get pregs and then end up in (the most wonderful) one night stand with another girl, right? Or somehow turn pink in the middle. Hurt people do crazy shit.

As for the dear guest who pointed out I tend to use the term 'the Latina' A LOT to refer to Santana... well, I actually am aware it does sound awkward. But because this is in third person, it's hard to entirely not do. I apologize if you guys find it kinda awks :( I will be keeping a closer eye on that though, so THANK YOU BABE! :) See, constructive criticism is taken very very well! :)

Currently being cockblocked by chemistry, after being brainfried by physics. Any of you babies out there like these two subjects (I prefer Chem, but they're both still kinda eughhhh)?

Anyways, R&R!


Chapter 7

Evening had fallen a long time ago, but Santana could remember every detail of that late morning. Her thoughts grew wilder and more frantic as the alcohol induced headache was completely forgotten. She could not forgive herself, and she really wanted to run away forever. She felt emotionally exhausted. Her heart had been heavy as she took an extra long way home. In fact, Santana took her time to take the 'wrong train' twice, leading her far away from home, before getting off the 'wrong stop' and ending up spending her time at a random book store.

But now she was home. Santana reached for her keys and unlocked the door. She entered and, as she took off her boots, heard a giggle from Brittany. She sighed, knowing the giggles would soon be gone as soon as Brittany knew she was home. Still feeling very much agitated, she walked through the living room and straight into the bedroom. She felt her heart stop, and her mind instantly blank.

Brittany was in the arms of a man. A man. Santana found herself speechless. Brittany looked towards the door and saw Santana. Her face showed no remorse, no suprise—no emotion. Instead, she quickly and quietly ushered the blonde man out to the living room.

When she came back, she shut the door behind her, locking it. She reached for a loose t-shirt, pulling it over her naked body. She looked oddly calm as her eyes stared straight into Santana's. "Where have you been all night?"

"Me?" Santana found her voice in her own fury and frustration, "Does it fucking matter? What the fuck were you doing?"

"I was doing a man," Brittany said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Lord Tubbington said he was a cool unicorn!"

"For god's sake, Brittany. I know you were doing a man! It's fucking obvious."

"Stop shouting, Santana! Where were you anyways?"

Santana breathed out slowly, wanting the argument to end already, "With unicorns."

"Please, Sam just told me unicorns don't exist. Where were you."

"Damn bastard, ruining your innocence like that," Santana muttered under her breath, choosing to ignore Brittany's question. She had always loved that childish side of Brittany. Loved.

Deciding that she did not want to think about this morning or discuss last night, she exhaled and stared straight at Brittany again. "Britt, did you really do him." Her words were more of a statement than a question. Even if she wasn't entirely head over heels for Brittany, it still hurt.

"Yeah."

"So you're admitting to cheating on me?" Santana gritted her teeth, her fists tightening. She knew she had low tolerance when she was frustrated and her head was swimming, but she tried her best to keep her cool.

"It's not cheating," protested the blonde as she sat on the edge of the bed with a pout, "Honey, you're being ridiculous. If anything, I'd say you were the one cheating on me. You smell like… different."

Again, Santana evaded the implications of the last hesitant statement. "How is it not cheating? He had a dick in you, Britt! You're my wife!" Like she was one to talk, Santana Lopez, you just came from your mistress' home, and only god knows what you did to her last night!

"You said it wasn't! In high school, that's what you told me when I slept with you while I was dating! You've always said it didn't count because the plumbing's different!"

Santana found herself lost for words once more. She certainly didn't expect her own words to come bite back at her. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. She had loved Brittany. Loved. Now, she knew a little too clearly that she didn't. Suddenly the room seemed so much bigger, and Santana felt paralyzed at the unfamiliarity of her home. No, Brittany's home.

Said Brittany spoke up again with an annoyed sigh, "Santana, I'm so tired of your drinking habits."

Another rush of anger filled the Latina. "It's my fucking life. You're the reason why I drink anyways." The words came out more bluntly than she had wished. Part of her wished she could take them back, swallow them whole.

"I'm the reason? What did I do? Just because I don't do the dishes now and then isn't a reason. Just because I accidentally stained your pink thong because I put it in the wash with your darker clothing doesn't give you a reason. Just because I-"

"I'm tired of the way you're always picking at at every fucking little thing I do," Santana muttered under her breath, but it was loud enough for Brittany to hear it.

"It's not my fault you couldn't make Lord Tubbington quit smoking!"

"You've been mad at me for that?" Santana's mouth was slightly agape and her brows furrowed in disbelief, "Brittany, you're ridiculous! Lord Tubbington doesn't smoke!" she eyed the fat cat in the corner of the room, "He's just a fucking cat!"

"What did you just say?!"

"Lord Tubbington is just a damned cat! Cats don't fucking smoke! I'm so tired of your nonsense!"

Brittany looked hurt, "My nonsense? I get it now." Brittany's eyes were cold and cruel, filled with anger. Santana half-expected her to say something about how Santana had just called her stupid. She was surprised when Brittany spoke up, "So you've been teaching Lord Tubbington to smoke! You're why he started!"

Was Brittany really so… blind?

"What the fuck, I don't even—" Santana felt a hand across her cheek. She took a step back and blinked in surprise as the stinging spread across her cheek.

Brittany, too, seemed surprised at what she had just done. "S-sorry."Her voice dropped into a lower tone. She clutched the culprit-hand with her other one. Brittany was shaking a little."So, where were you?"

"Brittany, let's get a divorce." The words slipped through the Latina's lips before she could pull them back. She had known for the longest time that this was right at heart, but Santana didn't want to admit it. Now, she had.

"I'm sorry, Santana, I didn't mean to hit you!" Brittany threw her arms around Santana in a desperate attempt to reverse time.

"I know. But I think we need a divorce." Santana pushed her away gently.

"What?" Another look of hurt flashed on Brittany's face, "Why?"

"Do you love me?" Santana didn't even know why she bothered asking.

"Of course!" Brittany hugged her again. An although she did not push the other away, Santana did not reciprocate the hug. It felt meaningless. "Do you love me, San?" The voice was timid and scared.

"I cheated."

"What?" Brittany pulled away immediately, holding Santana at arm's length.

"I cheated on you, Britt. I fucked a girl."

"Santana!" Brittany looked crestfallen, "Please tell me this isn't true. I'll buy you a whole troop of unicorns. Please."

"Brittany… You already said unicorns don't exist…" Santana's voice was softer now, knowing Brittany was hurt. She was still angry, but she still cared for Brittany. "I made a mistake. But you did to. I don't think we're made for each other."

"But—"

"We've lost it, Britt," Santana cut her off, "the loving feeling. We're always fighting, and every now and then we spend days or weeks ignoring each other. I'm always out drinking to avoid you. And I know you're always at the studio to avoid me. I don't think this is how a marriage should go. I'm getting tired." She pulled away from the other's touch, reaching under the bed for a suitcase, "I'm moving out."

"Santana! Please!"

"I'm sorry, Britt Britt." She began stuffing the suitcase with her clothes and other belongings, "I think we should really just move on. Start seeing other people." Clearly, both of them were, in a sense, doing so already, "I'm still going to be really fond of you. We can stay friends. But we shouldn't stay together." She knew Brittany was crying, and so she avoided looking at her entirely. Strangely, Santana found her own eyes dry. Since when had she stopped loving this silly, childish fairy?

An hour was spent in utter uncomfortable silence as she finished packing part of her belongings. She stood up, luggage in hand as she walked out the bedroom door. The living room was empty, and she assumed said "Sam" had left their place. No, Brittany's place.

"Who was it." The question came suddenly, the tone blank and devoid of any emotion.

"Who was what?"

"Who was the girl?"

Santana paused for a moment. She had nothing to hide, really. "Quinn."

"That bitch?" The cruel words came bitterly out of Brittany's mouth.

"I'm the bitch, not her." Santana felt defensive of the woman she truly loved. She knew she had broken the hearts of both her 'lovers'. She sighed softly, "Sorry, Britt. I know you'll be fine, though. We can stay friends." She slipped the silver ring off her finger and placed it on the dining table, "I'll be going."

"We're so over."

Santana paused at the door. "I know."

For the second time that day, she walked out the door on someone she cared for. Only this time, Santana felt a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. She felt as though life had been renewed. Of course, she didn't want to see Brittany hurt. But she knew this was for the better. To pretend to love Brittany as more than just friends would only be lying to herself. It would also be unfair to both Brittany and Quinn.

This time, she walked out with the tiniest bounce in her step. Her calmness at the whole situation surprised her.

As she turned down the hallway towards the elevator, the heels of her boots clicking rhythmically, she saw the blonde man. She pressed the button by the elevator, waiting for it to come. She noticed the man staring at her.

"Sam, is it?"

He nodded in silence, fearing the woman's fierce expression.

Immediately she noticed the man's over-sized mouth. Santana lived to call people names. "Well, Trouty-mouth, Brittany's yours." She gestured to the door. "You better take fucking good care of her. Or I'll fucking castrate you."

She walked into the elevator, turning around to face the closing doors, just in time to see the man jogging back towards the apartment. Surely, Brittany was in good hands now. Perhaps that was also why she felt better. At least Brittany wouldn't hurt as much.

When Santana reached the front door of Brittany's apartment complex, she heaved a sigh. Where would she go now?

Dragging her suitcase, she pulled out her phone from her purse. It was a little after eleven by now. She didn't have anywhere she wanted to go or could go.

Knowing that ringing a friend up at this time of the night would be rude, Santana set out towards a nearby park. The heels of her boots sounded dull clicks along the pavement. She turned the corner, entering the fenced area of overgrown hedges and trampled grass.

She noticed a few homeless men sleeping on benches, newspapers covering their worn faces. Santana found herself sympathizing the men. Sympathy was an emotion she had seldom felt till she met Quinn. Santana sighed softly at the thought of Quinn.

Tonight, she, too, was to be homeless. While Santana had no roof over her head, neither woman had someone protecting their heart.

Finding an empty bench, Santana sat down, not caring what dirt or germ or some other disgusting thing was on it. In the distance she heard muffled moans. She rolled her eyes. Some teenagers were probably having outdoor sex, and sex was the last thing she wanted to think about right now.

Now, her situation sank in. She was single (sort-of), and she had just vowed divorce on her wife. A part of her now felt a little more guilty. However, Santana also knew that the relationship would have ended sooner or later. At the rate they were arguing and, well, cheating, the relationship was already going into shreds. Besides, leaving now would cause less hurt than leaving a day later. Santana felt a little more justified of her decision. She was sure she did not regret it, and would not.

The Latina's train of thought was cut short by a man who coughed to get her attention. She looked up, only seeing a dark shadow against the light of the streetlamp. He was dressed in an old suit and smelled of… women.

"How much for an hour?" His voice was gruff and uncaring. Horny, even.

"I'm not a whore."

"Then what's a girl in that kinda dress doing, out here in the middle of the night?"

Santana looked down instinctively. Her dress was hugging her figure, and from where the man stood, she assumed he could see a little bit of cleavage.

"Fuck off. A slut would be showing half-or-more of her breasts, not just a little bit."

"Ooh. A feisty one. I like that. I have the money," he took out a wad of cash from the pocket of the worn-out suit.

"Look. I'm hot and I know it. But I won't hesitate in punching you in the nose."

"But, honey~" His voice was sickly sweet and it made Santana feel more disgusted with herself than she already was, "I just wanted a good time for both of u-"

Santana stood up immediately, her slender fingers grabbing the man's tie, almost choking him. She glared into his eyes, noticing fear immediately. "Are you ready to go home to explain a black eye to your wife?"

"Alright, alright, I'll go." The man felt the grip loosen. He straightened out his tie, walking away muttering curses.

Santana herself began a string of curses in Spanish. She knew tonight would be a sleepless night. Being out like this meant looking out for herself.

The dawn was breaking above the wilting leaves on the tall trees in the park. Birds were rising, singing softly into the sky. Santana found herself half-awake and half-asleep as she stared at nothing. She was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Today, she'd need to find a place to stay.

Her heart yearned to see Quinn again. Yet she knew Quinn's place wasn't an option now that Quinn didn't want to see her. Santana had sold her apartment when she moved in with Brittany, so she didn't have her own place to go back to. She sighed as she took out her phone to look up a couple of nearby places she could stay. Finally Santana decided to go to a cheap hotel near Quinn's place. This way, it would make it easier for her to 'accidentally' see Quinn in the neighborhood. The price was also cheap enough to allow her to live there for quite a while, until she could find a new home.

It wasn't long before the early morning train took her to the district she needed to be in. Unloading her suitcase, she headed straight for the hotel. As she did, she saw a familiar blonde across the street, entering the library. A small smile spread across her cheeks.

The sun was shining brightly, peeping through silver-lined clouds.

Santana was ready to put everything behind her. Santana was ready to make amends. She was ready to carry out her promise with Quinn. She was ready to make Quinn her's again.

She took a deep breath as she stepped into the hotel, choosing to ignore the dangerously swinging signboard that was pale from the constant beratement of sun and rain. The faded red carpet was dusty, the walls bleak save a few simple—and ugly—prints. From the corner of her eye she could see a couple making out on the singular sofa in the lobby. Santana held her breath in disgust, and she could have sworn the receptionist was being sucked off behind the desk.

Still, Santana mustered a small smile.

"Hello, I'd like a room please."