Chapter Four [Part Two]: Come Back Into You
When I walked into the New Directions, it was like walking around in my birthday suit: everyone just fell silent and stared. They were all around Brittany, who was crying soundlessly in the back of the room.
Then Kurt stood up, walked right up to me, and slapped me across the face.
It stung, but I could take it. If I needed to play the villain, I would. Just as long as everyone focused on making Brittany feel better.
It continued that way for the rest of the week. The choir room no longer felt like a safe place; it began to resemble a torture room that kept finding new ways to inflict pain on me. Artie was trying to find new songs to express his renewed interest in Brittany (which included a horrific rendition of a Bieber song that made steam vent from my ears – you smile, I smile blabla). Kurt avoided me at all costs, though I often caught Blaine looking at me with this sad look in his face. One day he sent me a message that had only one word in it – COURAGE – and I wanted to find him to beat the living shit out of his guts. Finn, self-proclaimed love guru extraordinaire, verbally attacked me by saying, "You just really don't have what it takes to love a person, do you?" Puck just stared at me silently, in a deep, solemn way that was so unlike him, it was unsettling. Mike treated me like I didn't exist, and Tina followed his suit. Mercedes didn't ignore me completely, but she tried that much not to acknowledge me, either. Rory glared at me as much as he could.
Interestingly, the one person who didn't act like she wanted to take my guts out and dry them under the sun was Rachel. If I were honest, I'd say she was being nice, taking the empty seat in the choir room beside me when no one else would.
The rest of the school took interest in our little story, too. Gossip ran madly across the campus, until I could overhear several different versions of the tale, not a single one even remotely close to the truth. Still, people believe what they want to believe, and so students' sympathy settled with Brittany, and their anger landed on me. To them, Brittany was portraying the heartbroken lover, while I, yet again, took on the role of the heartless bitch. I became the target of daily slushie facials and crude comments. It made me question my fucking sanity – why the hell did I let this happen to me? – but every time I heard that Brittany's polls were picking up once again, I reassured myself that what I had done was for the best. Maybe not for me, but certainly for her.
With the school's renewed sympathy and support, she won by a freaking landslide. Kurt and Math Geek didn't stand a chance.
As with all our activities, the election results were announced in the McKinley High Gym. The New Directions were slated to perform a musical number – Power by Kanye West – and I opted not to perform with them. It might give the New Directions another reason to be hated. I found myself sitting in the back of the gym, where no one could really see or bother me. When Principal Figgins announced that Brittany Pierce had won the election, almost everyone leapt to their feet, cheering wildly. The New Directions took Brittany and lifted her up on their shoulders, almost tossing her in the air. I could see the sincere surprise on her face, then the excitement eclipsing it soon after. Her smile looked real enough to be believable. Her gaze swept through the crowd.
Our eyes met.
She didn't look away, and I was powerless to. Her smile faded slightly, but not altogether. Tentatively, I let a smile of congratulations creep into my face. I made a small thumbs-up with my left hand. Well done.
I turned around and made my silent exit.
/
It's funny how my priorities shifted.
A year ago, I was suffocating myself with my insane need for a reputation. I was too afraid to come out because I worried about what people thought of me, what people would say behind my back. I was concerned about my welfare, my place in the hierarchy of McKinley.
Now, as another football player emptied the contents of his paper cup over my head, the cold trickling down my body like a terrible wake-up call, all I cared about was her.
I smothered a sob as giggles burst out around me. If there was one thing I was not going to let them take from me, it was my hard-core shell. No matter what happened, I was going to go through this without shedding a single tear in front of anyone.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" an angry voice growled from behind me. Before I could clear my field of vision, I heard the sound of Puck's fist connecting with the jock's slack jaw. "Haven't any of you losers gotten tired of doing this stupid shit?" I hear him hissing. "Dude, it's pathetic. Grow a fucking brain and get the hell out of here."
"What's going on here?" I heard the high-pitched yell of Coach Bieste. "Break it up, break it up!"
Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the hallway. I felt bodies pushing against me. I could only imagine how large the crowd must have been to watch Puck beat up one of his teammates. I felt a swell of gratitude bubble inside me.
"Come on." Puck's voice demanded, half-dragging me towards what I hoped was the nearest comfort room. "Get in there." He pushed me through the door. "Give me a sec, I'm gonna get Quinn."
"Puck –" I began, my voice breaking.
"Save it." He interrupted. "Get cleaned up."
I walked into the room and stumbled towards the sink, turning a faucet open. I gathered water in my hands and threw it unto my face, rinsing away as much of the blue crushed ice. When I could finally see again I stared at my reflection in the mirror, staring at the girl I had become.
The door opened, and I scampered into an empty stall, locking the door behind me.
"–uck was there, though. He wasn't able to stop it from happening but I heard he punched the player –"
"He did. I was there, I saw it happen. It was kind of scary. I'd never seen Puck lose control like that in a long time."
"Yeah, well. They used to be friends, right?"
I recognized the voices almost immediately. Mercedes, Tina, Rachel.
"But you know, maybe... Maybe she deserved it." I didn't know Tina was capable of so much vehemence.
"Guys." Another voice said. My heart did gymnastic stunts in my chest.
"Brittany, what she did to you was mean."
"You don't know that." Brittany murmured. I could almost picture her pouting. "Don't judge her."
"You're too good for her." Mercedes remarked. "Seriously, you're like an angel. She's always been Satan to me."
"She isn't." Brittany argued, her voice breaking. "Just stop, okay?"
"I agree with Brittany." Rachel said firmly. "We don't know what's going through Santana's head right now."
"Whatever." Mercedes said. "Sometimes in the choir room I just want to hit her. She isn't even really singing anymore, have you noticed?"
"Maybe she should just quit." Tina said, in a low voice.
I didn't even notice I was crying. Being stabbed in the back by random students I could handle, but this, coming from them, I could barely take. I shifted my weight to one leg, inadvertently slamming my bag into the walls of the stall.
"What was that?"
"I dunno. Jeez, let's get out of here."
I heard the door open, before closing again. I sank to the ground and gathered my legs to my chest, pressing my mouth to my knee to stifle the sobs as the door opened a second time.
"Lopez, you in here?" I heard Quinn call out. I tried to say yes, but it came out as a strangled noise. "Jesus Christ." She muttered. I heard the sound of the main lock latching into place, before her footsteps approached the stall I was in. "Are you going to come out or do I need to crawl in there?"
I reached up, unlocked the stall, scooted farther into it, and buried my head into my arms. Quinn pushed the door open and sighed at the sight of me on the ground.
"Keep behaving like this and I'll be convinced you were abducted by aliens, or brain-washed by some zombie fungi."
I let out another choking sound. "If only."
She aimed a gentle kick at my shins. "Get up, Lopez. I can't clean off your slushie if you're crumpled like paper on the floor."
I looked up at her. "Can I just stay here and die?"
A dark look crossed her eyes. Reaching down, she grabbed both my biceps and lifted me to my feet. When we were eye to eye, she breathed into my face, "Angry, suicidal thoughts are my job, Santana. Not yours."
I swallowed, trying to pretend the tears welling in my eyes were inexistent. "You called me Santana." I noted, blinking the liquid in my eyes away.
"I was under the impression that it was your name." She retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Now come on. You're going to get this slushie off your face, you're going to change your God damn clothes, and you're going to walk out there like you've got this under control. You're Head Bitch In Charge, Lopez, and don't you dare forget it."
I sniffed slightly, just as she yanked tissue off the dispenser. She put it under pouring water for a few seconds, before gently cleaning out my face. She wiped the stickiness off my hair, and absorbed the dye from my face. When she was done, she reached into her bag and pulled out a fresh shirt – practically identical to the one I'd soiled – and thrust it into my hands. I didn't even bother getting into a stall, I just pulled off the dirty shirt and put on the clean one. When I was through, she nodded approvingly and pointed to the door.
Just before I unlocked the door, I turned to her and began, "Hey, Quinn?" When she turned to look at me, I inhaled deeply and started, "Tha –"
"Don't wanna hear it. Just get out, Lopez. Set the world aflame."
I looked at her. Right at that moment, dressed in black fit only for a funeral, I'd never seen Quinn Fabray look clearer, like a spotlight was shining right on her, illuminating the blinding brightness I'd never bothered to find within.
/
I made it through the rest of the day in one piece. But when time for rehearsals came up, I purposely ignored the choir room, allowing my feet to lead me to the library, a place I'd never really been to that often in the past. It was practically deserted, and I took the empty seat in the farthest corner.
Just as I sat down, my bag hit the edge of the table and overturned slightly, causing my books and notes to come poking out. "Ugh." I said to myself, ready to shove back the offending materials back into their hiding place.
A single sheet stubbornly refused to return back inside though, so I pulled it out of my bag quickly, fully intending to throw it into the nearest trash bin. But when I saw what it was, I stopped in shock, my fingers trembling.
It was my most recent – and unfinished – reviewer for Brittany for Chemistry.
I'd began making it almost a three weeks ago, before Sectionals. With the rush of everything happening around me, I almost forgot about our sacred Wednesdays and Fridays. Now that those weren't happening, how was I supposed to help Brittany understanding the topics discussed in class?
I stared at the sheet for a long moment. Gritting my teeth and making up my mind, I pulled out my ballpen and continued the discussion where it left off – Electron Configuration. Now, there are a few things you're going to need to remember, Brittany…
I wasn't aware of time passing me by. I had moved on from Electron Configuration to Trends in the Periodic Table, constantly consulting my book for accurate information. When the librarian tapped my shoulder lightly and told me it was time for me to leave, I gathered all the sheets I had written on and folded them together. I walked into the empty hallways and stopped in front of Brittany's locker. Shaking slightly, I opened the lock and swung the door open. My eyes watered at the picture of the two of us plastered there, both of us beaming brightly at the camera. I laid the reviewer as gently as I could in the area where I knew she would see it immediately, before shutting the door quietly again.
The next day, I watched from afar as she opened her locker and saw the sheets I'd written the evening before. For a moment, the blood seemed to drain out of her face, and she stood as still as a statue. Then the bell rang and she began to read them on her way to class. I felt relief when she began to read them, her eyes moving left-right, left-right with every line she took in and absorbed.
I could still keep my promise.
/
I don't remember when I started cutting classes, but I do remember why.
We were discussing poetry in one class, and for some reason heartbreak came into the picture. The teacher told us that what the poet was trying to say was that the person who caused heartbreak always lost a piece of his/her soul whenever they hurt someone. One of my classmates raised her hand and said, "That explains a lot of things, Sir." Then she turned around, looked me straight in the eye, and commented, "No wonder you're such a soulless whore, Santana."
The whole class gasped, and the teacher looked too stunned to react. "Fine." I replied, standing up. "Fine." I repeated, gathering all my things and tossing it carelessly into my bag. No one said anything when I made my way to the door. But just as I was about to walk out, a hand reached out and grabbed my wrist.
I turned around to look at the person who stopped me, an angry retort ready in my mind. But when Brittany's blue eyes looked up at me pleadingly, the words died in my throat. Stay, her eyes begged. Don't go.
I felt my face soften, and tears rushed into my eyes. Her hand moved lower from my wrist and into my fingers, intertwining them together. Our hands still fit perfectly, a confluence of vanilla and light chocolate. Her palm was warm and steady, her fingers firm around mine. It was the most painful pleasure I'd ever experienced in my entire life.
"God, is Brittany really an idiot?" someone hissed from the back of class. It was like being pinched out of a dream.
For a moment, I willed myself to forget the rest of the world existed, wanting to prolong this moment as long as I sanely could. I stared at the eyes that were looking searchingly into mine, asking me endlessly, Why? Why? Why?, before I gently pulled my hand away.
I love you, I wanted to say. Instead, I turned around and walked out of class.
Unsurprisingly, cutting classes became common for me after that.
It was, at first, difficult to do. I remember feeling the rush of, Am I seriously going to do this? I had my share of doing extreme things, but cutting class was on a higher plane of stupidity. Even Puck, with all his faults, didn't dare to cut class that often. I knew that if I started now, I would never stop.
I think it was Physics, the one I seriously skipped out on for the first time. I walked by the classroom and just kept on walking, until I found myself in the library again. I took out the material we were supposed to be studying, took out clean sheets of paper, and began to make Brittany's reviewer.
/
"What am I doing here?"
I was sitting in the decidedly uncomfortable Guidance Office, trying to look everywhere except Miss Pilsbury's big, Bambi eyes.
"Well, Wil–Mr. Shuester's been concerned for you as of late, and he requested me to call you to see if you might, maybe, want to…" I glared at a random object on her desk, "talk, or something."
"I'm fine." I said coolly, daring to look at her briefly. "I'm fine."
"Thing is, are you really, Santana?" She leaned across the table. "You used to be a consistent A-student. You enjoyed Glee Club, and you were co-captain of the Cheerios."
I bit back a mad urge to throttle her. "Yeah, so?"
She put her hands under her chin. "Now, you're cutting classes on a regular basis. You haven't been to glee rehearsals in three weeks even if you know Regionals is a couple of weeks from now. You've quit Cheerios, too."
I shrugged. "I wanted to try something new."
"What was that exactly, being as reckless as you can be?"
I bristled. Grounding my teeth, I said coolly, "It's none of your business."
Miss Pilsbury ignored me and continued in a subdued tone, "I've also heard rumors, Santana."
Before I could ask her what she meant, the door slid open.
"Hello, Miss Pilsbury." Quinn said, looking from the guidance counselor to me, her eyebrows raising ever so slightly. "Sorry to interrupt. But Coach Sylvester is looking for Santana. And I think you know that she doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Miss Pilsbury looked utterly torn. On one hand she looked like she had no intention of letting me go, but on the other it seemed as though she knew Sue would kill her if I wasn't where I needed to be when she wanted me to be there. Before Miss P could make a decision though, I decided to help her make one.
"Later, Miss P." I said casually, standing up and pulling my bag off the floor. Before she could say anything more, I was out the door, following Quinn's lead.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked in a hoarse voice, when Quinn took a path that decidedly was not leading towards the gym or the football field. "I thought you said Sue was looking for me."
"She isn't." Quinn said shortly.
"What? Then why did you tell Miss Pils –"
"I gave you an out." She interrupted.
I gaped at her. "Wha–"
"Listen to me, Santana. You're stronger than that, alright? Even the mere idea that you need to be saved by the guidance counselor is ridiculous!" She paused and looked at me straight in the eye. It was a little more than intimidating. "The only thing you need to be saved from is the idea that you need to be saved."
"I know that." I felt tears pricking in the corner of my eyes. "But I'm not you, Quinn." I choked. "I can't just go and reinvent myself. I fucking came out. I came out. I lost everything. I lost her."
"Can you hear yourself?" Quinn snapped. "Christ. The Santana I knew last year would totally kick your ass."
"Yeah, well." I sniffed. "The Quinn I knew last year would have never used the Lord's name in vain." For a moment she glared at me, then her face softened almost imperceptibly and she reached forward to grasp my hand in hers. It took all my remaining self-preservation not to cry.
"You're wrong, you know." She said in a very quiet voice. I tried to ask what she meant, but the lump in my throat made it impossible to open my mouth without sobbing. She looked away for a moment, adding, "You didn't lose everything."
This time I did manage to say something. "What?" I blurted out, hating how my voice broke over one word.
Quinn looked back at me, her expression fierce. "I'm here."
It was the most unexpected thing in the world, coming from the most unexpected person. And at that moment, it was the best thing anyone could have ever told me.
"Come on, we've got somewhere to be."
"We do?" I ask weakly, regaining control over my voice.
"The one place we have to actually feel good about ourselves."
I smiled at hearing my words thrown back at me.
When we were standing on the doorway of the choir room, everyone stopped singing and stared at us incredulously. It was almost enough for me to change my mind and back away. But Quinn grabbed the sleeve of my shirt and pulled me into the room, saying coolly, "Well, prodigal members back. What's this week's assignment?"
