Chapter 9: Bewilderment Amplification
Forty minutes ago, she wanted grab the version of herself that sang in Glee and smack the shit out of her.
But then again, forty minutes ago, she was still somewhere in Ohio. Right now, she sat on the beach, facing the sun setting on California, water lapping on her toes. Her shoes and socks sat in a neat pile beside her. The sign said Pacific Beach, San Diego, in sunny letters and waves. Small figures sat out in the ocean, sitting on their surfboards and paddleboards, waiting for the waves. The setting sun threw pink and orange against the clear blue sky, like someone took a paintbrush and painted careful, radiant streaks. The ocean air was fresh and salty, clean in her lungs. The sand was warm under her legs and somewhere, she could hear a radio playing. Thank God I changed out of my uniform, she smiled at the thought of how strange she'd look if she hadn't shoved her uniform into her locker before bolting and changed into running shorts and a sports bra. Her, in a red William McKinley uniform on the beach. Looking around, it seemed like everyone was dressed like her right now: sporty, tan, fast, in bikinis and sports gear. Except they looked happy, genuinely happy. Or really really really high on endorphins, by the look of how full of life this place seemed. Even in the sunset, the beach was buzzing with activity.
She stretched her legs out in front of her, taking one last stretch before getting up. Her toes scrunched, feeling the sand squish underneath. Brushing off the sand with one hand, she put her socks and shoes back on. With her back to the sunset, she picked up her feet into a slow pace. Well, slow for her, at least. She glanced back, just for a moment, to take the mental snapshot of a sun setting on the ocean, the sea glittering like millions of diamonds under the sun's brilliance, before she settled into a solid pace, her breath moving in synchrony.
For as long as she could remember, the best way Santana could settle her thoughts was to run. Among the many things she could do now, it was still running that calmed her down. Miles stretched out in front of her, the endless pounding on the road steady as a metronome. Sometimes, it felt like she was running to some sort of solution to whatever dilemma in her life. Sometimes, she needed to just run away from where she lived, from her parents, from her friends. Either way, she needed moved either out or away from Ohio. When she got into an argument with Quinn or Brittany, she felt her feet needing to run, to move. When her grades slipped in eighth grade, she ran. When she didn't get head Cheerio, she ran. When her mom got sick in the third grade, when her parents left her alone for weeks, when she spent Thanksgivings and Christmases alone, her feet always had to be moving. Not all who wander are lost but Santana was sure she wasn't one of them; she was pretty damn lost.
What do I do, what do I do, what do I do, Santana's legs pumped to the slow rhythm of her question. She bolted after Glee, her embarrassment barely contained. I can't believe I did that. Warm fuzzy feelings quickly left the moment the song ended, leaving in trail of regret and embarrassment in its wake. It took five hours outside of Lima to settle her nerves a little. She could hit herself for practically giving a public confession to Quinn.
I could be anywhere I want, Santana thought. I could start over, maybe in California. I think I can be happy in California. Get a job… But her feet were pointed towards the hellhole of her life, Lima, Ohio. Being able to get to fantastic places just made her body and heart ache for hard-to-reach places.
Trees, roads, people all blurred into a long, grey mesh of nothing. Her feet moved so fast that her shoes hardly touched the ground. While running, though, she felt a calling, like an itch that needed to be satisfied. In places deeper than her bones, she felt a dull ache that was only an echo of what was happening somewhere, diluted sadness and fear that someone felt somewhere else. She shrugged it off, trying to make it go away, roll off her back with the rest of her troubles. The road in front of her and the pounding on her legs helped drown out the sound of someone asking for help.
God, it feels like forever…she thought as she reached her house.
She bent over, panting for breath. It was a solid run, actually straining her for the first time in a long time. The soles of her shoes wore away slightly, burned from the speed. Somehow, she made it back. She was back here at the house that was not her home but the closest thing she knew to one.
The air whipped around her, barely catching up to her as she spun in the direction of her house…
...where she found Quinn, huddled in her front steps. The blonde had a red petticoat wrapped around her, leaning on a side pillar. Eyes closed. A duffel bag sat next to her.
"Quinn, it's freezing out here! Are you damn crazy?!" she exclaimed. She also wanted to add "Or just plain stupid?" but stepped off the insults when she looked at the disgruntled expression on Quinn's face.
"What are you doing out here?"
Something that sounded like "waiting for you, what do you think…" came out from her mouth, half growling in irritation, half mumbling.
"Come on, girl," Santana picked Quinn's bag up and slung it over her shoulder. "Let's get some coffee and food in you."
She knelt down, reaching one arm around Quinn's waist, and pulled her onto her feet. Quinn leaned her weight into Santana, feeling the sleep wisping away. She smiled to herself as she remembered she did the same for Santana, holding her and caring for her the same way, not too long ago. It feels like forever ago.
"So," Santana took a slow sip of coffee. "You wanna explain the bag?"
She raised her eyebrows in the direction of the black bag that sat next to Quinn.
Quinn scrunched her nose at the question. She glanced at the bag sitting next to her and shrugged nonchalantly, even though it wasn't just nothing.
"It's not like I was going to leave you alone." Quinn let a pause hang while she considered her own answer, the aroma of coffee cutting through the conversation. She cleared her throat. "Not after last night, at least."
Quinn looked down at her cup. Besides, you hate sleeping in empty houses. You hate crusts on your sandwiches but not on your pizza. You hate hospitals because of the permanent smell of Clorox, latex, and sickness. But not much as you hate sleeping in empty houses and if it helps, I'll stay. The words were stuck in her throat. Santana would never ask so Quinn had to take it up on herself to lead.
Santana looked surprised. She didn't expect Quinn to care so much about what she couldn't talk about. Her heart fluttered at the thought of Quinn staying with her, close to her. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of other things she might do to Quinn if she were so close.
"What?" Shrug. "It's for me, too. It's Hotel Fabray up in my house, with three cousins at my place. Do you know what it's like to have three brats running around the house? At least your place has enough room for the both of us." Although your thoughts could fill up the libraries in this house.
She looked back up at Santana. "Besides, this way, we can figure what's up with you. I figured I'd crash your place for awhile."
Her mug hit the marble with a note of finality. The topic of her staying was closed. Quinn coughed. "Ahem, so your turn. You wanna explain why you've been trailing sand everywhere?"
Santana smiled as she began to describe what she remembered seeing. "There's this beach, I'll take you sometime. It's in California and…"
Santana's room spanned across the south wing of the house but her mother's study sat in a nook in the east wing, facing the rising sun in the morning. Her mother was most productive in the morning, though she never really slept early, either. Now, with her mother spending her time in a loft closer to her office in Columbus, Ohio, 91.8 miles, a two-hour drive away, Santana did her homework more and more often in here. Shelves of dark walnut wood lined the walls, stacked with law and medical books. A wide wooden desk, in a color deep and rich as chocolate, faced the window, shining what little light there was left onto the desk. The room smelled like paper and books. Except for the nights Santana slept here before finals. Then it just smelled like Ramen noodles and sugared cereal. Santana enjoyed the presence of intelligence, embodied by this room, in her life.
The sky was dark, bringing no light into the room. It relied, instead, on the desk lamp. Santana sat in the black swivel chair, feet up on the desk, leaning her back to the door. The pen in her hand tapped an open notebook on the desk, neurotically. A book on urban studies and planning theory splayed open on her lap, her eyebrows furrowing with concentration.
"I'll never get used to the look of you studying."
Santana whirled around in her chair to see Quinn, leaning against the doorway with a towel rubbing her wet hair. The hallway light made a golden aura against the blonde hair.
"Yeah, well, get used to it," Santana smirked. "'Cause this shit is crazy."
Quinn took a step towards her, her bare feet lightly stepping on the floor.
"Crazy like as in, did you know that there are studies on the way streets are made? Like people feel safer when cars are paralleled parked on the road because it creates this steel barrier between the walking person and the moving cars. People really study this stuff." Santana waved her hands in excitement. Her hair, tied up in a sloppy bun, flopped from side to side.
It is rare to see Santana enthusiastic about anything besides planning how to ruin a rising social status. The last time she was this excited was when Kerri Reynolds got booted off the Cheerios for sleeping around with Puck, caught on camera and handed over to Coach Sylvester, thanks to Santana's camera skills.
Quinn slowly inched towards her, finding a space to lean against along the edge of the desk amongst all the books. Santana crossed her arms across her chest, suddenly aware of how little a tank and shorts covered.
Her heart began to race, the heat from Quinn's body reaching her.
Quinn's hand reached out, approaching closer to Santana's legs…
…grazing along her calves on the desk…
…just to snatch the book on Santana's lap.
The blonde let out a laugh, enjoying the sight of Santana Lopez squirming under her touch. She flipped through the book, symbols and signs denoting the various elements of street design jumbled on the pages. The fan of the pages blew her hair back softly.
"Why are these books always so heavy," Quinn groaned. "Can you imagine carrying six of these?" Quinn tossed the book back and forth between her hands.
Santana smirked and sarcastically drawled, "Yeah, if only I were strong enough for something like that. Gosh…"
"So unfair."
Thunk. In the last second of the catch, Quinn's fingers fumbled and missed the tip of the book, landing heavily on the ground by the desk.
Quinn knelt down to pick up the dropped book. In a flash, Santana was on her feet, holding Quinn by her shoulders. Quinn squirmed in Santana's vice grip but couldn't move.
"Did you hear that?" Santana whispered. She tilted the side of her head to the floors.
Quinn strained her ears. The house was silent, except for the sound of her own heart beating.
Santana bent closer to the ground, pressing her ear against the floor. She brought her knuckles by her ears and tapped the floor. A hollow tk tk tk sounded. She glided one hand to the other side and tapped again. A thick thk thk thk sounded.
"It's hollow." Quinn looked at her quizzically, not knowing the answer to Santana's question. "I mean, why is there a hollow sound?"
"Don't be ridiculous, S," Quinn immediately became wary of the focus intensifying on Santana's face. It was hard to change her mind when Santana set it on something and Quinn felt that this, whatever this was, was not a place to go to without caution. It unnerved her, bringing chills to her bones. You deserve one more night of no worries, Quinn pleaded in her mind. She quickly covered up her serious concerns with a smile.
She pulled at Santana's fingers, dragging Santana up from the ground. "Come on, let's go eat some ice cream. I spied a tub of green tea ice cream in the freeze and you need to chill. Literally."
Santana let herself be pulled away by the smiling blonde, looking back at the ground where she knew with every fiber in her body, that something was there.
She couldn't sleep. Her feet were jiggling in bed, screaming to go to the study. Quinn fell asleep half-way through watching The Pianist. She always insisted on watching historical, deep, heart-aching movies like that when Santana was perfectly satisfied with Disney movies. The movie was about three hours long and so quiet; no wonder she fell asleep. If Santana's body could sleep, it would have knocked out in the first hour.
But this was a different kind of no-sleep. It was restlessness. She needed to know, the curiosity gnawing at the back of her mind. She shifted, turning to Quinn's face. Why is there a hollow spot? She couldn't figure out if she was being paranoid or suddenly aware of these shifting secrets in her house? There was no way she would have been able to pick out that difference in the sound of the ground and the sound of hollow ground if she wasn't so sensitive. What could be under there? Santana couldn't shake off this feeling that she needed to know, that it would be a step to knowing what was happening with her. She looked over at a sleeping Quinn.
How the hell does she do that, Santana wondered at the calm on Quinn's sleep face. Her eyebrows weren't furrowed with concern, she seemed to be genuinely enjoying whatever scenic dream her mind was playing. Her lips drawn back in a small smile, her cheeks flushed pink. Beats my nightmares, at least.
Santana turned away from her. Her bed sat in the middle of the wall opposite of the windows, leaving Santana grateful that she won't to have to climb over Quinn to get out of bed. She pushed off the blanket slowly and pulled her legs over to the side of the bed, careful to not let the shifting weight on the bed wake up the blonde. Leaving Quinn sleeping in her bed was starting to get a little too familiar.
Santana's bare feet didn't touch the ground when she stepped away from the bed. She smiled, taking in the moment that she didn't have to walk on the ground anymore; instead, her feet hovered just a few inches off the ground. The only sound made by her movement was the soft rustle of her clothes as she inched away from the bed.
Out the door.
Down the hall.
To her mother's study.
Quinn was hot, her dream getting the best of her. She shifted, adjusting the blanket to cover only half of her body and stretching her hand across the other side of the bed, only to find it empty.
Why is it that every time I wake up, she's gone, Quinn grumbled in her mind. This girl had no knack for relaxing, which makes sense since Santana didn't get to where she is today without being a go-getter. Still, it disrupted Quinn's sleep. Or the very pleasant dream she was having, at least. She could still feel Santana's hands running up her sides, fingernails lightly scraping her skin. Santana's soft breath sliding down, lips grazing across her abdomen. Quinn's cheeks flushed at the recollection of the dream. It didn't make sense why she was having these dreams about Santana. Probably just 'cause we're sleeping so close together. Quinn shook her head, accepting her own justification. It was probably that. Probably.
She looked over her shoulder, squinting her eyes to read the clock.
The small clock blinked "4:36 AM". She groaned.
A streak of light shined from under the doorway. The hallway light was on.
Quinn sighed, still not fully awake but felt herself getting there. She got up from the bed, giving one last stretch to shake off the sleep, and opened the door to the hallway. The marble that lined that floor just beyond the bedroom was cold, jerking her awake.
Please, please, please not this again.
The string of lights led her to the study.
She inhaled, holding her breath as she pushed the door open slowly.
The floorboards by the desk were torn open, like a beast clawed through them. The ripped out wood sat in a pile just beyond the desk. A small light came from the desk lamp, creating a slim silhouette of Santana's figure. Her blacked-out figure was leaning forward, gazing through a pile of….. what is that? It looked like xrays, medical documents, all printed and put into folders of neat sheet protectors. Folders littered the desk, the floor, spilling out of the clawed-out ground.
"Hey, S?"
Santana turned around, slowly, holding one folder in hand.
"What are you looking at? Did you find something?"
Santana looked up at Quinn's question, her mouth slightly agape, her brows raised in confusion. Quinn's irritation quickly dissipated at the sight of Santana's vulnerability. The brunette let the fear and confusion show on her face.
"Quinn…" Santana didn't know how to say what was in her hands, in those files. "I found me."
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