thank you all for the wonderful reviews. i seriously appreciate each and every one of them.
just a small warning for this chapter; there is some self mutilation in this part so if that's a trigger than don't read.
You Know I'm No Good
"I know that the sordid sexual details of mine and Santana's past are something you'd probably like me to spare." Brittany whispers, her eyes downcast so she doesn't see Quinn tilt her head to the side and shake it slowly, her own eyes saddened. Quinn understands that the 'sex' isn't the point of the story but just a mere detail that while normally she'd prefer to be left out of hearing about Brittany and Santana's sex life, it gives her a glimpse into just how special the two could be together in a moment of complete and utter vulnerability and trust.
"But that was one the most important moments in our lives and I'll never forget it for as long as I live." Quinn swallows hard when she watches her friend lift her hand just below her eye, tracing her finger along a tear and wiping it off before it trailed down her cheek. Brittany sniffles and pushes out a smile, which is sincere but slightly broken and looks up at Quinn. "No one had ever touched me like that before… or since… and in that moment I think I had realized how I loved her." The corner of Quinn's mouth twitches, she wants to smile but everything has been so sad thus far. Even a moment of happiness was bittersweet. "But even I wasn't naïve enough to know that the next day wasn't going to be rainbows and butterflies." She rolls her eyes and leans back against the headboard of her and Santana's bed and Quinn rolls on to her side to look at her friend.
"Why not?" Her voice is timid and even though she could have gathered this information by a simple deduction of the way teen Santana Lopez operated, for the life of her she didn't want it to be true.
"I woke up the next morning, she was awake too… I think for a while and she was just staring at the ceiling." She looks down at her hands in her lap, her fingers twisting and twirling the sheet that is covering her legs. "We heard the front door open and close and the voices of her parents. Oddly enough she didn't jump out of bed and rush me out, which is what I had been nervous about and half expecting but she didn't. Yet what she said didn't really make it all the much better."
"Britt I…" Santana took a deep breath in, finding it hard to make eye contact with the girl, her best friend, next to her. Brittany tore her eyes from the Latina, who still lay just as bare as she under the comforter and she sighed.
"I know Santana… it was just sex." She let out with clear disappointment. Santana seemed to hold her breath for a little longer, her eyes dart around her room and she clenched her jaw, perhaps to stop the words she was about to say from coming out.
"Yeah." She finally answered, doing nothing to ease the swelling in Brittany's chest. The blonde nodded, shifting under the blanket moving her body a little further away from her best friend's in the process. "It's just that, you know…" She didn't say anything else, hoping that her lack of words would be good enough for Brittany, hoping that she wouldn't have to say the words that would inevitably crush her. So Brittany let her get away with it, not having to say and therefore not having to tear her heart up even further.
"It's… whatever." The blonde agreed half heartedly having the feeling that regardless of whatever Santana says, words sometimes don't mean anything.
Sometimes, Brittany really and truly believed that words were used simply to tell lies and this was one of them. But this wouldn't be something she would figure out until much later in life. So instead of calling Santana a liar and fighting her about the fact that the night before actually did mean something, she blinked the left over sleep from her eyes and looked over her shoulder.
"Do you want me to leave?" She asked timidly, trying to swallow that fear that she had just given herself to her best friend and then be cast aside like those boys at school were. Santana quickly shot her stare at Brittany and her mouth hung open.
"No, I didn't… I mean, unless you want to leave." Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips did that thing they did when she didn't know what to say but had so much to say. Brittany looked away briefly. She wished she had Santana's power of pretending. Acting like things didn't matter, especially the things that were supposed to matter. But she didn't and she never would so she shook her head and forced a smile to her face.
"No I don't want to leave." They looked into each other's eyes and for a moment they understood each other. Santana didn't need to explain, even if Brittany desperately wanted her to because she needed to hear the words out loud but she just nodded. It wasn't going to be easy, that was for sure but, in a way she'd rather have that part of Santana even if in secret rather than not at all. And maybe that was selfish but, the both of them were okay with it at the time.
"She walked me home later that afternoon and she 'appologized'." Brittany laughs, knowing all too well that Quinn will understand what she means by that. "Obviously she didn't say the words but she told me that she had had a good time with me and that she felt closer to me."
"She said that?"
"Well, in her own little way she did." Brittany clarifies. "And then she reminded me that no one could hear about it and that it was like a secret. I agreed because… well because I kind of liked the idea that she was gentle with me when no one watched, that she looked at me in a different way than everyone else did. The idea of that going away because of anyone finding out sucked royally so, I kept it to myself in hopes that maybe if we continued down the new 'sexual' path we had discovered that night that maybe one day she wouldn't care so much about anyone knowing." She shrugs her shoulders. "I know it may seem ridiculous, to find comfort in those times it was just her and I, especially considering finding out and knowing the things she has been through but it helps." She bites her lip as though trying to keep her guilt tucked down low inside of her. Her eyes dart to the hand of her friend that covers her own, stilling her fingers from frantically tearing at a string coming off of her blanket.
"It's not." Quinn assures her, her sweet and soft voice cooling the small fire burning in Brittany's chest. She takes in a deep breath and nods, letting the other blonde know her worlds have made her feel slightly better, even if only for the time being.
"After that night, the rest of the week was just a series of small touches that sent fireworks throughout my body. Wondering and just hoping for it to happen again. Stolen glances, sweet whispers that left goose bumps all over my skin." She smirks, closing her eyes at the embarrassingly giddy affect the Latina has always had on her. "She knew what she was doing, I think. She knew she wanted to but we all know that Santana does one thing and says another so sometimes, she was hard for me to read." Quinn nods in understanding and complete agreement. These days Santana was easy going and happy, genuinely happy and the memory of the old, teenage Santana who was moody and the epitome of a teenage girl from a Lifetime movie seemed like something from so long ago. And it was, that girl did not exist any longer.
"How long did it take for you two," Quinn points at Brittany, a small blush coming to her cheeks at the fact that she is grasping for more information about her best friends and their sexual life. "For it to become like a regular thing."
"Not as long as I thought it would." Brittany admits, still seemingly shocked at how quickly their friends with benefits relationship progressed and remained. "The next weekend she asked me to stay over after a party we had to go to. And of course I did because I could not pass up the opportunity to be close to her, even if it only meant we were going to be sleeping in the same bed together. I needed it."
Brittany's breathe against her cheek as she moved above the blonde, the whispers carelessly yet methodically spoken into the silent air of a heated bedroom in the middle of winter. The sweat over their bodies making her timid and shaking hands move smoothly and with expertise over each and every curve of her best friend's body.
The slight gasp and groan caught in her the back of Brittany's throat as Santana's fingers moved meticulously inside of her. The soft pull of her hair as Brittany's back arched slightly, pressing wet bodies together. The sound of her name escaping Brittany's lips as her body nearly convulsed in ecstasy. The smell of sweat mixed with the blonde's sweet body splash and her bedroom.
For those few hours, where it would be only them the moments would feel endless like they were meant to last for eternity. Their lips would meet afterwards, needing that form of relief that the other was still there even though the words were never spoken and wouldn't be for a long while. The feeling of Santana's arms wrapping around her waist would be etched into her brain for the rest of her life by the way she clung to her as though the simple gesture said everything that her mouth couldn't.
The blonde favored those moments out of all of the others because it was them, the way they were supposed to be and even at 14 years of age, even she knew what that meant. Because what Santana didn't know was that as much as she needed Brittany, Brittany needed her just as much back.
Brittany continues to relay the rest of the freshman year, leaving out little details of the times Santana had been either forced or even willingly participated in countless sexual trysts with their schools male population. The re-telling of how Adam from the baseball team videotaped them having sex without Santana's knowledge and how he should the whole team was not as relevant as was the fact that it had happened. Or what exactly happened when Ricky Harper got Santana wasted off of a bottle of rum and talked her into a threesome with Jason Lecky.
And she wouldn't rehash every single time that unbeknownst to Tony, Santana's brother, his best friend Billy continued his nightly visits into his little sisters room whenever he stayed over the Lopez house and would until his family moved to Virginia during the middle of sophomore year. Those were tidbits the blonde would keep to herself, not wanting to break Quinn's heart more than it already was breaking.
She'd even decided to leave out the disturbing play by play of when Santana had been raped by Quinn's next door neighbor the summer going into the tenth grade, though she did tell her that it had happened. Which, to Brittany's dismay, cracked Quinn and she started crying uncontrollably.
"The day that that had happened I was supposed to go with her to your house." Brittany admits quietly as she rubs soothing circles on her friend's back. Quinn sniffles, trying to silence herself to hear Brittany speak. "But my parents took me and my sisters on a last minute vacation before school started up again." Her eyes turn to her hand on Quinn's back, watching it move slowly over the sweatshirt that she has only come to notice now is Santana's and it makes her smile through her sadness. "We got back for last two weeks of summer and obviously I missed Santana miserably. I mean, we had never spent more than two days away from one another and then being away from her for a week and a half well, that pretty much sucked." Quinn lets out a chuckle but her tears do not stop. "I think that summer, she changed the most. When I got back she was like, a different person. Like that darkness I had started seeing in her eyes took her over almost completely."
"That's kind of scary." Quinn breathes out through a whimper, desperately whipping her eyes dry.
"No, it wasn't." Brittany shakes her head and Quinn turns around to look at her. "It was sad."
Santana stood in her bathroom naked. The shower was running but she had no intentions of actually going in. It was only on in case her body decided to finally cave and let it all out. But she knew it was a lost cause, she hadn't actually cried in so long, she doesn't remember the feeling. She turned to her left, lifting her arm up slightly and brought her other arm around putting her finger to her side. Her eyes squinted as she traced the small circular burn on her skin.
It was kind of funny because it didn't hurt. Nothing hurt and that was the problem. For the first time in all of her years she wanted to feel pain, wanted to cry and wanted someone to see all of it. But it was only her and no feelings and no tears.
Her eyes flittered around the tiled room falling on the toothbrush holder that held her purple one, her brother's blue toothbrush and her parent's pink and orange brushes. Next were the tissue holder and then the soap that smelled like gingerbread cookies. Taking a few steps forward she reached in front of her, opening the medicine cabinet and her fingers traced over the various amounts of over the counter medication along with the not so over the counter bottles that had her brother's and her mother's name on them.
There were nail files aligned next to the box of Benadryl, dental floss beside eye drops and some extra toothpaste standing up beside a pair of cuticle scissors. She grabbed the small metal scissors and played with them in her hands, eyeing them up and weighing them in her hand. With a sigh she stood on her toes and placed them back haphazardly knocking down a few things from the cabinet that fell into the sink.
Her hands quickly went to the sink to place everything back as it was before when something shiny caught her eye. It was her father's razor. The man had an affinity for things of crap from even before he was born heir go his old fashioned face razor. It was one of those razors that had an actual razor snapped into it and could be sharpened by hand which, Santana had always thought was rather convenient seeing as her and her mother went through disposable razors like nobody's business.
She picked it up with two fingers only to grip it fully in her hand when she realized how heavy the thing actually was. Her eyes marveled over the way the handle was shaped, it was thick and sturdy yet perfect for working with the way of one's hand to get those hard to reach places. In the past she'd contemplated totally using her father's razor because his face was always nice and smooth and her Bic lady razors sucked and always left her slightly prickly. But she never did because she was always afraid of getting cut because, well, it's an actually razor in there, like one from a box cutter.
Then, as though things fell into place she titled her head and looked from the razor in her hand to her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes wandered over the contours of her own body, glancing briefly over the cigarette burn on her side. It made her wonder, maybe just maybe she could feel something after all. So, she reached up to grab her father's shaving kit, knowing he kept extra razors in the kit for when the one he was using was completely dull. She unzipped it and rifled for a few seconds before rubbing her fingers along something cool and metal.
Santana looked at it for a little while. Examining the sharp edges and the way it glistened in the light. She bit her lip and brought the blade down to her hip. It wasn't like she was trying to kill herself so she was not about to try that out on her wrist, heaven forbid she passed out from cutting her wrist in the wrong place how would she explain that to her parents. And she wasn't going to leave traces of this event for anyone to see because that's when questions arise. She needed a place to hide this mark this way no one would know and no one would ask and no one would care. Santana pressed down lightly against her skin only to see that nothing was happening.
Her heart clenched tightly in her chest as she thought about what pushing harder cutting in deep would truly mean. All she really wanted was a feeling, some sort of feeling to these things she was carrying around. She wanted to feel the pain but the emotion, the concept of it seemed like a distant memory to her at that point. The only time she had ever felt anything was when she was with Brittany but her blonde friend was not there. She was away for the week and Santana was itching for some sort of physical feeling, some sort of anything really. A way to get out of the silence she had been living in for almost two years now.
If she pressed down she would be freed of everything. All of the nightmares that came to her when she closed her eyes at night, all of the memories that haunted her vision in every passing day. If she could get the toxins out of her body then maybe she would be able to rid herself of the weight in her chest and on her shoulders and in the cracked heart in her ribcage. Then maybe she'd be okay. Then maybe she wouldn't have all of this hate and wouldn't be left worrying as she lay in bed about if she had locked her bedroom door.
By pressing that razor harder she could maybe make everything in her life disappear, everything bad anyway and make room for the little good in her life she had left. But it occurred to her as she watched her hand moving the blade a millimeter to the left that she didn't feel the pain. She realized, though the inner turmoil ate at her insides until they pulsated with an indescribable ache, she realized how numb she actually was.
That each push and pull and tear of her skin didn't even give her the satisfaction she had needed and wanted. That cutting deeper would not let her control her pain. It was weird, because even though she couldn't feel it, she couldn't stop. It scarred her on the outside but it mirrored her scars on the inside.
It didn't really matter to her that the blood dripping down and over her thigh had fell to the rug. It was merely a stain that would wash out in the next load of laundry whereas the secrets, lies and her stolen innocence that swam though the blood would never be washed away from her. She would have found it amusing if it wasn't so sad.
Her brain had shut off at some point because when her eyes came back into focus she was staring at a tile on the wall by the floor. As she allowed her brain in on what her eyes were looking at, she let her mind run off into different directions. The tiles her mother had picked out for the bathroom were not mass produced, they couldn't have been. It astounded her, as she snapped back into reality, where her mind had taken her when she realized that she still held the bloody razor in her hand.
"I went to her house the day we got back from vacation and she looked like a zombie." Brittany's voice had remained emotionless for the entire time, still not able to stomach the fact that Santana had been able to do that to herself and internally berating herself for not being there for her best friend when she needed her most. "She wasn't happy, she was tired and irritable."
Normally Quinn would make a comment about that being Santana but at this moment she can't find the humor in a quip about her friend. So instead, she hands her head and continues to listen.
"I should have known, should have figured it out because that first night she barely let me touch her." The blonde explains, running her fingers through her hair as if trying to erase those memories from playing in her mind. "I asked her what she did while I was away and she told me she hung out with Puck a few times and I did my best to act unfazed even though it killed me to know that, while I was gone she was letting Puck touch her and that she was touching him." She huffs, rolls her eyes and takes in a deep breath. "We… did it that night and then I stayed over and I remember waking up in the middle of the night alone in her bed. Obviously I assumed she was in the bathroom so I went right back to bed."
"She was cutting herself." Quinn speaks up, stating the obvious yet unbearable truth. Brittany glances over at her friend, nodding and sucking her lips into her teeth. "Why would she cut herself?" She's not asking for an explanation. She's not waiting for Brittany to deliver some eloquent speech about why people in pain do things to themselves. She just doesn't get it, she doesn't want to get it… she doesn't want to believe it.
Whether it was temptation or exhaustion, she will never be able to differentiate the two. Doctor's would later say it was a way to cope and or gain control to make up for the things that she couldn't. Other's would say she was a little girl lost trying to find her way. Trying to get back from the prison her own body had become. That she did it because she had been numb for so long she just needed to make sure she was still alive. That she needed to feel something, even if it was only more pain.
But if anyone were to ask Brittany why Santana did it, why she did it the first time and all of those other times after that, her response would be 'escape'. Santana found a small sliver of escape from the very first time. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her do it. Since she wouldn't talk about it for years she would carve it out as the story went on. Each chapter perfectly etched into her with no real purpose of it ever being read aloud.
The first time it was far from being premeditated. Each marked place in a sequence that created words, that created sentences, that created the tale of her life which was a living nightmare. And a reminder of everything she had done, seen, said, been through and would never get back each and every single day until there was nothing else to write.
Temptation.
Each day is laced with it. Tempted to lie. Tempted to be truthful and honest. Tempted towards light. Tempted towards darkness. Tempted to try. Tempted to do. Tempted to succeed. Tempted to fail. Tempted to run like a bat out of hell. Tempted to stay still. Tempted into submission. Tempted to control. Tempted to let go. Tempted to hold on for dear life.
When she finally returned to bed, somewhat disoriented either from lack of sleep or maybe a little bit of blood loss she was greeted by Brittany shuffling closer to her body. In that moment she felt guilty. Why had she done what she did, why was she doing that to herself? She had her friend, her best friend, her… whatever it was that Brittany was slowly becoming to her yet it didn't feel like anything, anything she deserved anyway.
She turned her head to look down at the sleeping blonde. Santana always found in fascinating that everyone assumed Brittany was just a dumb blonde cheerleader. Sure, she said things that were out of the ordinary, making off topic comments here and there. But there was a method to Brittany's madness. She masked her intelligence with a childlike naivety to avoid forced confrontation and unnecessary conversations. Santana envied this of her friend.
Brittany made herself available enough to others but, just shy enough away to never be needed much by them. Santana appreciated this of the blonde because she was not one of those others that Brittany kept distant. She was one of the very few that the blonde kept close, so close that it was sometimes hard to distinguish where Santana ended and Brittany began.
"There was always this force driving us together whether it was friendship or love…"
"One and the same." Quinn whispers and Brittany smiles, nodding at this statement and whole heartedly agreeing.
"It was like the more one of us pulled away the more the closer the other needed to be. Like we knew, just knew we needed each other even when we couldn't say the words." She muses, leaning back and shuffling down the bed until her head hits the pillow. "Sophomore year changed so much, we all changed so much and… just everything changed." Quinn turns on her side some more tucking her hand under her chin trying to read her friend's expression.
It is true, that year changed everything.
"We joined the Glee club and I remember her being so pissed at you because after all her hard work of making us popular, she said it was like you just shit all over it." Brittany stops herself before continuing to spare a glance at the other blonde to make sure she was not at all going to take this statement as an accusation for the things that Santana went through.
"It's okay B, I know." She comforts her, grabbing her hand with her own and lacing their fingers together. Brittany sighs, squeezing their hands tightly and turns back to look at the ceiling. "You got pregnant with Puck's baby." She says quietly into the late morning air, trying to be as sensitive as possible because it was still a topic that brought such heartache. "She was pissed because Puck, well he was kind of one of the guys she could control with sex." Her jaw clenches letting the feeling of jealousy leave her body, it was long ago anyway. "And then, there was Finn." She shakes her head, recalling the memory as though it were yesterday.
Santana knew Brittany didn't know any better. It wasn't like she had taught her well when it came to sexual relationships with anyone considering she was one of her teachers so to speak. The Latina had made it clear to the blonde the whole 'get in get out' motto of being a promiscuous teenage girl but still trying to maintain a squeaky clean image. Sure, it wasn't her with that image to uphold but she wanted something more for the blonde than she had for herself. At least when it came to Brittany, she knew that the guys that the blonde had sex with weren't going to try anything like they did with her.
On occasion she had strenuously opposed Brittany to do anything with someone she deemed unsuitable for her best friend. Which, if it was completely up to her Brittany would be a virgin, when it came to boys anyway. But if she were to follow in Santana's footsteps, as she had made abundantly clear the year before she would allow the dark haired girl to state her opinions and take them into consideration and vice versa. Though, when it came to Santana she never listened to anybody and she did what she wanted to do and more importantly who she wanted to do.
So when Brittany suggested that during Madonna week Santana have sex with Finn it shouldn't have mattered. They were constantly luring boys to do their bidding, which was increasing their social status, and getting it on with the quarter back of the football team and someone who was relatively well liked in the school would totally boost her standing as queen bee of the school. Especially after the scandal forever dubbed as 'baby-gate'.
It crossed her mind, as she mulled the idea over about getting down and dirty with the oaf that was Finn Hudson, why Brittany would suggest such a guy. Because to be honest, Finn was so not her type. He was goofy and not in that endearing cute kind of way but more in the stupid probably ate paint chips as a baby kind of way. Not that she really took much thought into her conquests intelligence before but he was the epitome of not her type.
She glanced over at him standing by his locker as Brittany spoke to her, wondering what the hell was it about that guy that made Rachel and Quinn swoon. She couldn't help but roll her eyes at the thought of Quinn, former best friend and former Cheerio. That girl was so on her list yet she could still feel that ping of something in her heart when she thought about her. Regardless, this kid was a weird kind of spawn from Frankenstein and a ragdoll yet he had chicks falling over him. It made no sense to her but maybe it was the fact that he was actually a nice guy.
She quirked an eyebrow and turned her attention back to Brittany, closed her locker and strutted over towards Finn Hudson.
"I guess I figured she didn't like him as a person in general that she wouldn't really do it." She sighs and closes her eyes. "I honestly don't know what I was thinking. Like maybe if I pushed her into the direction of someone like Finn, someone who was nice and so not like Puck or the other guys she'd been with that maybe she'd realize she had feelings for me." She turns her head to look into Quinn's eyes who offers her a small smile. "I don't know and she never really went into details about that night. Just that it was a mistake and that she wished she could take it back, for both of their sakes."
"It wasn't really one of her finest moments." Quinn comments getting a confused look from the other blonde. "I mean, I guess I always thought she did that to get back at me or something." She shrugs.
"I think that was part of it too but… she did tell me that it was the first time she started to feel a little." Quinn lifts her head, a bewildered expression on her face and Brittany half grins and shakes her head. "Not for Finn obviously but, she felt bad. She regretted it which says a lot considering up until that point… she wasn't feeling much of anything." Hazel eyes drop down to clasped hands and she swallows hard. "I think that the only regret she had up until then was being with me."
"Don't say that, you know that's not true." Quinn chastises her friend moving to sit up in bed and forcing Brittany to look at her. "You and I both know that Santana does not regret anything you two shared so stop that now." Quinn shakes her head, not understanding. "Why would you say something like that Britt?"
"What I mean by that is, the way she was with me. Like… I don't know how to explain it." She pauses, giving up on trying to give reason to her thoughts or the way her mind works and Quinn just lets her get away with it and nods for her to continue the story. "The rest of the year went on much like the summer did. While she and I continued to mess around with boys, we continued living in like… a bubble when we were alone. It became more frequent and sometimes she would leave after if we were at my house and sometimes she'd beg me to stay when we were at her house." She tucks some of her hair behind her ear and bites her lip, remembering her past. "Summer break just started and then something changed, with her."
In some ways, being with Brittany was what Santana could equate to water torture. Their motions were slow, thought out and more importantly made with purpose. Each press of a finger, the way lips brushed up against skin and the whispers of soft and sweet words into the darkness of one of their bedrooms were made for a simple reason. It was out of love.
Love.
Santana was sure of that. Even if it was the one thing that would make her push and pull away and run. It was the most important thing really, but it was just another piece of evidence to add to the ever growing list of things she wouldn't come to realize till later. Because even if she could feel it, which she very well could, she didn't know what it was. She couldn't be sure, couldn't pin point the emotion because she had nothing to compare it to she had no words to describe it, then anyhow and so instead of letting herself verbalize in stutters and stammers she let herself feel it. Well, as much of it as she allowed herself to.
But regardless of the uncertainty of what those feelings were, she couldn't shake that notion that it was in fact love. So in those moments, she decided to own that feeling the best to her ability.
She could feel it in every single graze of Brittany's slender fingers against her body and in every kiss that touched her lips and the skin between her legs. She couldn't fight the feeling she got in the pit of her stomach when the blonde would pull her head up just so and stare directly into her eyes. Those blue eyes locking into her own much darker ones and she could feel it.
It hurt her to feel anything in general, other than anger and disappointment. Though she did try her hardest not to let either of those two feelings come into play during her moments with Brittany she sometimes couldn't push them aside. But more so she hated herself. It wasn't fair for her to feel this way for Brittany. It wasn't fair to either one of them.
For Brittany, love from a person, a girl like Santana would only prove to be a failure. She had nothing to offer Brittany except herself and that did not seem, to her, like a deal of a lifetime. Santana was no longer pure, hadn't been for quite some time. She was the trash from the wrong side of the tracks destined for this world that led her to a life of meaningless one night stands and other various sexual encounters that she was sure she had lost count of.
For her, it wasn't fair that she had only just found it, love that is. Had she seen it earlier, realized it sooner then maybe, just maybe she would be that girl for Brittany, that person she deserved. It was as though the universe had this plan out to sabotage her life from the get go. Like her life was one big cosmic joke only she wasn't laughing.
She wanted to hate her, Brittany, for even making her feel anything. But mostly she hated herself for making her feel anything negative towards the blonde. Hated the way she would pull herself away from Brittany and make things between them seem like a mistake afterwards or even make it sound like it was something she did as a hobby. What made it all that more horrible was that she felt herself trying to make Brittany feel the way she did.
Years later she'd realize why she thought this way and why she did the things she did when it came to her best friend. Her most recent therapist will suggest that maybe it was Santana's way of asking for help, begging even. It will make her think for a few days until she finally brings Brittany in for a session and her therapist will explain and then she will break down and apologize for ever putting her girlfriend through that. But back then, when she was going through it she would have either offered a sarcastic, bitter explanation or rolled her eyes and avoided it all together.
But even in those moments when she would lash out and try to be emotionless when in the arms or the very presence of Brittany, she found it difficult not to succumb to the blonde's powers. Those eyes were captivating and she could feel them invade her very soul as though searching deep inside of her. Blues desperately looking for the answers and the reasons behind the outbursts and the tantrums of unrelenting silence that would randomly fall between them regardless of the fact that she always came up empty. Those eyes that would try and seek out the pain and it's cause, the hint of having the cure for her friend's ailments lying just beneath the concern.
It was too scary sometimes and Santana was almost positive that if she allowed Brittany to look for too long she would find it. She would see the dirt and the darkness that covered her soul, her being and every other place that had been tampered with by outside forces. But most of all it hurt. It hurt to not let it out and not let her see. It tore her up hiding so much of herself from the only person who had ever wanted to see her and wanted to accept her. But with the inability to accept herself became the roadblock to that desire for the blonde and her best friend.
"What are you thinking?" Brittany asked her as their breathing became more relaxed. Her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling of her friend's bedroom ceiling too afraid to meet those blue eyes. Even though the lights were off and the moonlight shining in from the window barely illuminated the desk in front of it, she knew Brittany could see her.
"Nothing much." She lied, even saying it in an airy voice that sounded so thoughtless. Brittany shifted under the covers, her leg grazing Santana's and resting against it.
"Why do you do that?" Brittany questioned, her tone different from before, sounding kind of exhausted and not from their previous activities. Losing her battle with the ceiling Santana turned her head towards the blonde and quirked an eyebrow. She wasn't prepared to have an actual conversation about anything substantial, being more than okay with basking in the afterglow of orgasms and sweet lady kisses. True her mind was running wild, she had grown to tune it out even when the voices were so loud. "Pretend like you're not thinking about something." Brittany continued when it became apparent Santana was not going to respond. "You're always thinking about something, it's common knowledge." She shrugged her shoulders at her own statement and Santana could feel a rush of air come into her lungs. "Even if it's something silly like, I don't know, purple rain drops or something." Her head moved onto Santana's shoulder and her hand came across her chest to rest on the other. "Everyone's always thinking about something." She finished letting out a small sigh.
"I'm sorry." Santana hadn't realized what she was saying until it came out of her mouth. But truth be told, she wasn't lying that time. She was actually being honest, she was sorry.
"It's okay." Brittany told her softly letting her fingers walk up Santana's neck to play with her dark hair. "I just, you know… you can talk to me about anything." She reminded her best friend, listening closely to the heartbeat she could faintly hear from where her head was still positioned on the Latina's shoulder. Santana nodded her head. "Even if it's just to tell me about purple rain drops." Santana felt her lips curl up briefly.
"I know Britt." Her eyes fell to the blonde she could see without moving her head. "I was thinking about stuff but…" She took in a deep, unsteady breath not really sure what was about to come out of her mouth. "I just don't really want to talk about it." Santana decided on and she could feel Brittany's body slump into hers in defeat. "Is that okay?" It was hesitant but so sad, the way her voice came out. Brittany lifted her head, resting her chin onto Santana's shoulder and brought her hand to come to her best friend's cheek. She nodded.
"Yeah, it's okay." She told her.
After that it took all of two seconds for Santana to jump out of her best friend's bed and race around the room pulling her clothes back on. Brittany sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest as she watched the Latina frantically pull her shirt over her head, not even bothering to put her bra back on and the way she slammed her foot into her shoes, her heels stepping on the backs of them and leaving them untied.
Santana went to the door, grabbing the handle and sparing one last look at Brittany before walking out the door. They didn't say anything and at the last second Santana looked away and then turned her head and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Quinn and Brittany moved themselves from the comfort of Santana and Brittany's bed to the couch in their living room, bringing the comforter along with them. They sit with their backs against the arms of the couch and their feet meeting in the middle clutching mugs of hot tea in their hands.
"It kind of became a thing I guess." Brittany trails off, her finger playing with the string of her tea, her eyes watching the tea bag dip slowly in and out of the hot water. "With her anyway. We'd have sex and then everything would be perfect, well, close to it anyway and then moments later she would be rushing to get out or start cleaning her room. Anything to distract her."
"She needed to get away?" Quinn asks unsure if her observation was true or simply her opinion. Brittany shrugs and shakes her head and looks up from her tea to her friend.
"She eventually told me that she needed to get away… from me." Brittany's eyes cloud over but she does her best to keep tiny tears at bay because they are of no use. "Sometimes she'd go home, sometimes she'd find some guy and sometimes she would just completely shut me out."
"Find some guy?" It's not like the idea is ridiculous, Santana used to have the ability to get any guy she wanted but obviously the guys she mostly got with were the boys that went to her school. The vagueness in Brittany's words made her question otherwise.
She didn't know why she stole her mother's car, she didn't know where she was even going. It wasn't really the reasoning behind her journey, a destination. It was to get away, far away for as long as possible, until she had to turn around and go back. Return to reality, but for now she was content with running away to what could be.
In the car, on the road she could be non-existent, not be Santana Lopez, not be a Cheerio, not be that girl. She was Santana the teenager who thought about being a construction worker when she was 10 years old to impress her father. Santana, the teenager who made a promise to Brittany and Quinn that they'd be best friends and even though most of those things were no longer true it was good to remember when it was.
She'd found herself stopped at a gas station on some route she'd never seen before. Pulling in to a parking spot she decided to go in and grab a drink and perhaps something to eat. Her eyes gazed over the cooled beverages, landing and sticking to the cases of beer she'd wished she could steal and try and wash away the things she'd tried to get away from.
"You want me to hook you up?" A low voice came from behind her and after rolling her eyes she turned around and shot a sweet smile at the young man wearing a trucker's hat. He winked at her, of course after he'd looked her up and down without any reservations about being caught and pulled the door open to retrieve some beer. "Wait outside." He told her quietly.
She did as she was told, waiting outside by her car with her hands in her pockets. He spotted her as soon as he got out and walked over with his hands full of alcohol and a pack of cigarettes. They stood there awkwardly for a few minutes and she wondered what she was supposed to do to thank him for providing her, a teenager, with beer.
The room was musty, dank and if she craned her neck just so she could hear the faucet from the bathroom dripping which only made it sound more depressing. He had left long ago, leaving her in the bed and she wasn't sure if he thought she was asleep or if he could care less. Even now she doesn't know, but if she had to guess she would say the latter.
There were empty beer bottles on the table between the bed and the window to the right of the door. Bottle caps strewn about the room, by the bathroom, on the floor by her clothes and on the bedside table. He left his cigarettes on the table by the empty bottles and she wondered if he had left them for a reason. Had he been in a rush to get out of there and had simply forgotten where he placed them? Did he just have money to blow and would buy things without a care of their misplacement?
Neither reason mattered to her but it was something to do, to think about, and to erase the events that had occurred in the very room an hour ago. Her mind wandered in dimness and a forest of confusion as her eyes stared down the cigarettes. She had seen in movies and in television when people were stressed, going through tough times they would pull out a stick and light up. She gave a shrug in a decision made without much thought.
When her feet touched the ground she ignored the fact that she was still very much unclothed. She stepped over her bra that had been torn off it was of no use to her now and would merely become a casualty of a string of events tied together. Her jacket was tossed haphazardly over the chair, practically reaching the ground. Her skirt and top were crumpled at the foot of the bed but what was so interesting about the room was probably how neatly placed her shoes were by the door.
Picking up the pack of cigarettes she carefully read the warning labels on the side, her fingers holding the edges delicately as though it were such a fragile thing. Her eyes darted down to the table where a book of matches with the motel's name written on it and she reached down for it. The cigarette was placed between her lips before she even realized she was lighting the match. The fire burned in front of her face and she watched herself bring the flame to the tip of the cigarette.
The first intake of smoke was not as surprising as she assumed it would have been. It was oddly smooth and somewhat comforting. She knew how bad smoking was for one's health yet, it seemed insignificant compared to so many other things that endanger health. She turned her body, resting her bottom on the table and crossing one arm over her chest letting the elbow of the other to lean on her forearm.
The sheets of the bed were in disarray and the box of condoms that lay on the nightstand was ripped open, by it were the wrappers to the condoms themselves. For a moment she thought about the young man she'd just met, never actually catching his name, and how considerate it was of him to come prepared. But even that didn't quell the fact that even a stranger knew what kind of a girl she was.
She pushed herself up from the table and walked around the room, cigarette still in hand. Her mind wandered, not actually paying attention to the room itself, and her thoughts fell onto Brittany of all people especially after what had just happened. Her hand went to her stomach, there was an aching pain there and it was slowly rising up into her throat. She ran into the bathroom just making it and hurled all the contents in her body into the toilet.
Flushing it down, she wiped her face with the back of her hand, staring at herself in the reflection of the corroded mirror of the equally gross room. It was then in that stupid, filthy, by the side of the road truck stop motel that Santana realized something incredibly important and as equally horrible. She felt ashamed. She thought about Brittany and she could feel nothing but shame.
Her hands came up to her cheeks, wiping away furiously tears that were not there. It wasn't lost on her that Brittany cared about, why she could not for the life of her understand. No one else liked her. Not even the losers in the Glee club liked her. The guys she slept with barely liked her, they simply tolerated her because she was hot and would do whatever they wanted.
It felt wrong, letting Brittany care about her even though the knowledge that the blonde did, made her feel good on the inside. But it didn't matter really because if she ever knew anything, any of the crap that Santana had been through, she's sure the blonde would retreat.
She cupped some water in her hand and with the faintest thought of it being most likely unfiltered water she gulped it to get the vomit taste off of her teeth. It was clear to her that she still had the ability to get what she wanted but with being with almost all of the guys at school already it was kind of a been there done that.
She needed an edge. Quinn had her 'just had a baby but I'm still a virgin' thing going on so she was still in the top spot of being sought after. But what did Santana have? A lengthy list of one night stands and perhaps a dozen YouTube videos, that she knew of anyway, of her posted by some geeky reject that snuck into a Cheerio's party. Not that she minded the publicity, it kind of helped her maintain her reign of being not just a bitch, but head bitch.
A few days later Brittany made her way up the steps the Lopez household and rang the doorbell. She was greeted by Tony, Santana's older brother, with a smile. But then he faltered and asked her what she was doing there. She jerked her head back taken aback.
"She's in California." He told her, tilting his head in curiosity. He knew the girl's were close and wondered if maybe it was one of those times where Brittany was confused.
"Umm, what?" Brittany asked not quite understanding.
"She's gonna be in California for the next week and a half." He explained, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his back up against the door frame. Brittany looked around, not quite believing the news and not getting that Santana would not have told her about the trip.
"California?" Tony can't help but chuckle at the blonde's slow processing brain.
"Yeah, she's staying with our Aunt, 'visiting relatives'." He rolled his eyes and used finger quotes at the end.
"Tony!" Mrs. Lopez came from out of nowhere slapping her son in the back of the head. He jumped up at the contact, rubbing his head with his hand and waving to Brittany as he walked away. "Brittany." The older woman smiles while her hands fold a dish towel.
"Santana's in California?"
"Yes, for a week and a half." The woman simply repeated her son's words but Brittany nodded as though the second time around the information seeps in.
"Oh, okay." Her shoulders slumped and her head fell bringing her chin to her chest. "Tell her I say 'hi' when you talk to her?" She looked up to meet Mrs. Lopez's warm eyes. The woman smiled and nodded.
"Of course I will sweetheart. And don't worry, she'll be back before you know it."
