BOO. Yeah, here's another chapter. Written just for you, despite my busy as hell week. Rehearsals and performances every day this week from ten to ten- or later. Fun times. Sooo enjoy. C: And don't forget to review. ALSO THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M SO. Less-than-three!
I was really struggling to handle all of the stuff going on in my life. I'm not a complicated person, really. In my mind, things are fairly consistent, fairly simple. If I love someone, then I love them, and why does it matter if they're a boy or a girl? But of course, the world is not like that. People are not like that. Santana was not like that. My best friend, despite her habit of planning every step she made, tended to attract the complicated. It was harder for her to see that things like love were not really as hard as she thought they were. After Born This Way, we kind of made up. 'Kind of' being the most important words here. We were friendly, but we weren't acting like friends. Not the way I was used to. I missed talking and cuddling and spending the night at each other's houses. She'd been avoiding me and I was really confused and really hurt by it all. I just wanted my best friend back.
Not that I didn't have other friends, because I did. I was friendly with just about everyone in the entire school and pretty close to everyone in Glee. I had Artie and Quinn and Mike and Mercedes and Tina and like… everyone else. I was more concerned about Santana, who had… well, no one, really. Sure, she could whatever guy she wanted over at her place in less than ten minutes and yeah, Quinn cared about her, but there was no one else who really knew her like I did; no one else who heard her, no one else who saw her- really saw her. And in a way, there was no one else who really saw me, either. We completed each other's puzzles and I didn't see why she was so stuck on hiding who she was. If she didn't want to be a lesbian, she didn't have to be. Labels are for Crayola crayons (because let's face it, the different shades could get confusing if you didn't have labels that told you one was 'red-orange' and another was just 'orange'). But people don't come in pre-packed boxes. People can be so, so different from one another. Not just in color, but in shape and size and heart and soul. There's no way to find a label to fit all of that at the same time.
That isn't to say that labels are useless because I'm pretty sure having a word to claim really helps people to figure themselves out. Santana, I knew, didn't like the sex she had with men. If she did, she wouldn't have to go to me after each and every time with one. When you have sex you like with someone, you aren't eager to jump into bed with the next available person. If it's good, then you want that same person again and again. That's why, I knew, Santana continuously came back to me. What we had was… I don't think I'm good enough with words to think of one. Amazing? Perfect? Even they seem too weak. The point being that sometimes people needed a word, and if such a word existed, hers was 'lesbian.' She just needed time to accept that. And that was fine. I could wait for her to figure that part out.
But I couldn't wait for my friend anymore.
I just didn't know what to do with my time. It became something to waste whenever I wasn't with Artie, which is more than Santana seemed to realize. At school and sometimes after school, I was with him. But my nights were free. Most of my weekends were free. I just waited and waited for something to happen without getting any results. So I came up with Fondue for Two. It started out of boredom one day, me filming little silly things with my cats, Charity and Lord Tubbington (Charity being the more camera shy of the two). I had always had a secret love for the news and journalism and stuff so I thought, why not make myself a TV journalist? When people seemed to like those, I moved on to other topics of interest- and what interests high schoolers more than, well, high school? I don't really know why I did it. A mixture of reasons, I suppose, mixed with coach Sylvester reviving the school newspaper. I didn't like her, but she had what I wanted. A voice. So I took it and I ran with it.
Then I did something kind of dumb. I outted Santana on my show.
I don't know why I did it. I mean, there I was, sitting with Tina and Mercedes discussing school gossip, when it came pouring out of me. "I heard a rumor that Santana plays for the other team. And I can confirm that rumor- it's one hundred percent true." I licked cheese off of my finger and wondered why the heck I'd just did that- Santana would kill me. Santana would be so scared and hurt and angry. This was worse than that time I'd accidentally on purpose let it slip on a party call with the glee club kids. This was public viewing on youtube. Anyone with internet access could view it. And I had just outted my best friend, then confirmed that it was, in fact, true. I was quick to change the subject, but it had been done. I needed to think of a quick way to deny it because it wasn't fair to her. It wasn't my secret to share, it was Santana's.
What Prom Queen Candidate is spending a Lot of Time in Her Closet?
The headline seemed to jump out of the page at me, despite the slew of other articles. I kept looking at it over and over, wondering how in God's name the rumor had spread fast enough that the article had been printed in the newspaper the very next day. I couldn't deal with this. Santana was going to… God, I didn't even want to know. Reputation. That all important word again. This was going to be a hit to hers, and probably not a very positive one. If people got this, if people actually believed it… Her chances at prom queen would go down. I didn't want that. As much as I'd rather she be herself, doing it like this was not the right way. I needed a story, and fast. Of course, me thinking fast never ended up with the best stories…
"This is your fault!" She marched in brandishing the newspaper and I knew I was out of time. My eyes went wide as I stared back at her, wracking my brain for something, anything, to cover this up. I didn't want her mad at me. Not when we were already on shaky ground in our friendship. "You told everyone I play for another team on your ridiculous melted cheese show." It was funny how Santana said things I know she didn't mean when she had her defenses up. For one, I knew for a fact she watched Fondue for Two every time I posted one. She always commented on it, saying something about whatever gossip I happened to be speaking about. The next thing I noticed, because we were Brittany and Santana and it was easy to notice things like this with us, is that she did not use the word 'stupid' to describe it. Santana called a lot of things stupid, but it was never, ever something she connected to me. It had been that way since we were five.
"Wait, are you mad?" Duh. I knew she was. I've never had to ask that, even if she was very rarely mad at me. The thing was, it had been happening between us way too often lately and I was actually not as startled as I should have been. But that wasn't the point. I was still trying to cover it up, still trying to make it better. I couldn't lose her again. "You do play for another team." Don't mess this up, Brittany. "You were on the Cheerios and now you're… only in the New Directions." Lame, but it would play. Everyone thought I was stupid, after all. Santana, though, didn't believe it. She rolled her eyes, anger coming off of her in scary waves.
"And you couldn't think of any other way to say that?" she snapped back before her attention was snagged by the drama taking place next to us. I watched her through it, watched her process, and I knew almost exactly what she was thinking as if I could read her mind. Their drama was bigger, more explosive. Everyone's attention had been taken away from us to focus on Finn, Sam, Quinn, and Rachel. Everyone's but mine and Santana's and Artie's, actually. She gave me one final look then before making an angry sound and spinning away from me. Later, though, she would realize that no one thought I meant she was gay anymore and she was in the clear. Later, she would stop being mad. I was sure of it. I really, really hoped so. My eyes stung as I watched her walk away from me again, sadness shaping my features. When she was seated and facing away from me, I looked away, only to find Artie watching me with narrowed eyes. I offered a smile and a shrug, but he turned away with a frown, and I couldn't help but worry. Why was he mad at me, too? I couldn't win today.
I thought it had all blown over. I mean, mostly my mind was on Santana and how we hardly ever talked, but because she seemed to have mostly forgiven it by the next day, I thought everything was okay again. I was wrong. Because suddenly there was Artie asking me, "What's going on with you and Santana?" and I was suddenly unsure of what to say. Currently? That was easy enough to answer.
"Nothing." Not a lie. Right now, there was really nothing going on. We were hardly even talking, let alone 'going on' or whatever. I remember feeling guilty, and yet not feeling guilty at the same time. It's hard to explain, really, because I knew that what Santana and I had been doing before was technically cheating. That was bad, and it wasn't Artie's fault that I was dating him even when I was in love with someone else. I loved him and I didn't want to hurt him, but I was always so bad at lying. So when he went on, I tried to make it seem like I didn't realize. It was self preservation at that point and I didn't think, just talked. They were things she'd said, after all. Just… out of context. I couldn't lose Artie too, though. I couldn't lose them both. Maybe it was selfish, but I didn't want to be alone. Not then.
He went on and all I could think while he talked was that he had really horrible self-esteem. I felt bad for him, felt bad for doing what I did, and I really wanted him to realize that I really did like him. He was such a sweet guy- nice and funny and sweet. He paid attention to me and he cared. Sometimes, though, I think he was focused too much on himself. This… Well, it really wasn't about him. He'd kind of gotten stuck in the middle. So when he said that Santana was using his weaknesses to break them up as some sort of weird plot against him… Well, I had to defend her. I knew that wasn't what she was doing. The only reason she was with me was for me. Artie didn't know that she loved me. Artie didn't know that what we shared wasn't about sex or… what was the word he used… Manipulation. It was about feelings- it always had been, even before Santana had admitted them. "No." On this I was firm. I couldn't let him get that picture of her. "Everybody thinks she's a bad person, but she's not." She held me when I cried during Finding Nemo because I was afraid I would end up like Dori. She helped me with my Spanish homework and didn't cheat because she knew I hated cheating. She helped me get Charity when the cat got outside and climbed a tree, even though she hated her. Santana loved me. Santana wasn't the Santana everyone thought she was. Not inside where it counted. It was really starting to frustrate me that no one could see it. Now, I'm not mad anymore at Artie for what he said then. I was, but looking back now, it was what ultimately brought Santana and me back to a level that was more familiar.
At the time, though, it was like being slapped across the face.
"God, Brittany, why are you so stupid?" That word. I hated that word. That was the one word that could tear me down instantly. He said it and I could feel the shock shoot through me, every part of me frozen as I stared down at him. I waited for him to take it back, waited for him to apologize, but neither thing happened. He kept staring back as if waiting for me to say 'Well I'm stupid because…' But I didn't have an answer for him. I felt like I'd been torn apart from the inside out, my heart beating too fast in my chest while my breaths came out in ragged gasps. Then my face crumpled and the tears started.
"You're the only person in this school that never called me that," I choked out before turning and walking away. I didn't know what to do. I'd left my books in my locker, but I wasn't about to turn around and go get them. I needed something. I needed someone. Santana. It was the only name that kept going through my head until finally I fumbled out my phone and sent a text, my hands shaking so badly that it came out a jumbled mess of typos. It didn't matter. She'd get the message and understand it perfectly. Because she's Santana. No one understood me like she did and I needed her so badly now.
She was at my side in minutes and I found my favorite drink pressed into my hands (she must have snuck off school grounds for it), the smallest smile tugging at my lips despite my sadness. It was such a Santana thing to do. As quickly as the smile appeared, however, it fell again. So stupid, so stupid, so stupid… The words kept going and going and going in my head, like that ride at the fair that went around in circles. My face crumpled and more tears fell. I could feel them, hot and wet on my cheeks, and I hated that he could put them there with just the one word. Words, though, were important. Even if I messed them up sometimes, I knew they had value. Words like reputation. Words like loser or freak or stupid or dyke. Words like love and dating. Words like Santana and Brittany. Words like forever. I never underestimated the importance of words, especially when only one could push me over an edge like this one. "Why would he call me that?" I sniffled, and Santana sighed a little as she ran a hand up and down my arm.
"Because he's an asshole." Her voice was gentle, soothing, but there's an edge to it that I know means she's really, super angry. Even madder than when I outted her on Fondue for Two, which was saying something. Santana stepped closer to me then, tan fingers wiping my tears away before she cupped the back of my head and drew me closer, fingers running through my hair. It was the closest we'd ever been in public, the most intimate gesture she'd ever given me at school. I was surprised and fought not to show it, eyes focused on the drink I'd yet to take a sip of. "And because he doesn't understand you like I do." That much was true. I'd always known that. It just surprised me to hear Santana echo the thought as if she'd known it all along, which I guess she had.
"He was usually really sweet to me," I mumbled at last, stirring the drink I held slowly. I was hurting. I didn't think it would hurt this badly, but it did. I had loved him, and despite the fact I hadn't been in love with him, it still cut deep. But he said some mean stuff about you. Like he knows you better than I do. I couldn't just say nothing… He's the only one at this school who's never called me that."
""Okay, not fair," she mumbled into my ear. "I was five. I didn't even know what stupid meant." That earned a smile from me because I remembered perfectly well the one time Santana had called me stupid. It hadn't even been at me directly, but at the pink unicorn I'd been drawing. She hadn't said that word since.
"It still counts," I countered, but I was teasing, trying to make the situation feel less heavy than it did. I was scared she was going to run off and push Artie and his chair off a cliff or something if I didn't keep her with me. I heard her laugh just a little, a quiet chuckle beside me as she nuzzled briefly against my cheek. Then she was pulling back again slightly, looking at me in all seriousness. "The point being," she said at last, "That he's just a stupid boy and you deserve so much better than him." I heard the silent like me but she didn't say it, so I tried not to think it. "And B. You are one of the smartest people I know. I'm not even bullshitting you right now. It's not fucking grades that matter. It's people, and it's heart. And you're the best at both of those things. Now come on." Her fingertip booped my nose before her arm circled my shoulders, leading me away from the cafeteria, and the gesture took me back to a time when we were happy. I missed her. I missed being close to her. I needed her.
"Okay." As we walked, I leaned my weight into her and let her steer me. I remember feeling tired, but so warm from her closeness. I didn't have the ability to control what I said anymore. I was so, so tired. I just wanted to curl up in her arms and sleep for days. "I love you, San," slipped as we completely left the school and headed out towards her car.
Yet she didn't go tense, she didn't stiffen beside me. I felt her hesitate a moment before her lips pressed to my hair and she whispered, "I love you too, Britt."
We ended up back at her house, I think because she wanted to make sure I was alright. It was easier to watch over me when I wasn't all the way at my house, surrounded by my family, easier at hers where there was no one else around. And honestly, I wanted to be there too. We'd been apart for too long and I hated thinking of her here by herself all the time. I wanted to be there for her as much as for myself. We talked for hours- about Artie, about David, about school and glee and music and whatever else came to mind. We watched movies because we could. We held on to one another because it was how we were.
And after we went to bed, when she leaned over and kissed me, we didn't talk about anything. We said it all with our lips and hands and bodies, moving together with so much beauty that I couldn't help the fact another tear fell. I didn't know why I was crying, but Santana didn't seem bothered. She kissed it away as we rolled slowly over together, her body hovering over mine. I stared up at her without shame, fingers trailing zigzagged lines over tan skin as she watched me. For a long time, we only looked at each other. I remember wanting to just… absorb her into me, every part of her, so that I could have her forever. I can remember every sensation. The way her skin felt, the way my name sounded on her lips, the way she didn't smell of cologne or mint toothpaste or cigarette smoke- just pure Santana. The way she leaned close to me, her dark hair falling in a curtain around our faces, shielding us from the world as her hand came between us and she filled me. I can remember every loving word that caressed my skin as she whispered them into me, kisses falling on every inch of skin she could reach. I remember how it felt to reach between us and slip inside of her in return, fitting easily back into the familiar warmth of her and our love. I suddenly understood why Artie couldn't possibly comprehend this, because surely only those who had found their soulmates could know what making love to them was like. I watched her rock against me as we found a familiar rhythm, watched as every well-known – and yet, rediscovered – expression shaped her breathtaking features. I could see the love and joy and need as she so lovingly moved inside of me, her lips parted just slightly.
"Te amo, Brittany. Te amo, te amo, te amo." And maybe I wasn't smart, but I'd known Santana forever and I was actually pretty good at Spanish, so I knew exactly what she was whispering over and over as we went under the waves of fulfillment together. I was content to drown in her arms as long as she'd keep saying it forever. Te amo, te amo, te amo.
"I love you, I love you, I love you, Santana," I whispered back, and I kissed her face over and over to sooth her as we came down together, both of us shaking in the aftermaths. Her fingers curled into mine and we both wrapped around each other, content in silence for a long time.
"I have to tell you something, B." She whispered it from where she lay beside me and I glanced over, studying her face closely. It had been some time since we'd last spoken and our voices sounded almost strange in the darkness.
"What is it?" I whispered back, sensing its importance. When she hesitated, I added quietly, "You can tell me anything, Santana. I would never, ever judge you."
Santana's eyes filled, her hands flexing in mine. "I'm a lesbian," she whispered brokenly. And then again, louder, "I'm a lesbian." It wasn't news, but I knew she'd never really said it out loud before. Not like this. So I could only stare, amazed that she was saying it then. She scooted forward and pressed into me, burying her face in the crook of my neck. "I'm a fucking dyke, Brittany." And then I held her as she soaked my skin with her tears, her small frame shaking with the violent sobs I was sure tore up from her very soul. I held her, and for once I didn't know what to say to my best friend in the entire world. So I just held on as she let her self-hatred pour out, my fingers tracing the words 'I love you' over her bare back again and again and again.
Please love you, too.
I remember a time when we'd been young – maybe thirteen or so – and we sat down to watch a movie together. We'd picked it based purely on the title, as we did when we had Random Movie Night, thinking it would be similar to Bring It On (and all its sequels- we loved that series). It didn't take us long into the film, however, to realize that But I'm a Cheerleader was… well, not at all like it. Cheerleading was in it for maybe two seconds, but there was a lot of focus on boobs and butt and I was a little confused. That wasn't how I thought of cheerleading. Evidently Santana wasn't impressed, either. "Shit, this is a gay movie," she groaned as she reached for the remote. I shooed her hand away, grabbing it myself to hide it between the cushions on my other side.
"Santana, I want to watch," I whined, poking out my lower lip in a small pout. I wanted to see where it was going- I didn't like when I couldn't finish a movie. It would bother me until I got to see the end. She, of course, knew this well and rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned back to the TV without a word- I always won. Over the course of the film, she made small sounds of disapproval or disgust, though she never commented. It wasn't until the scene at the gay night club that I noticed her squirming uncomfortably beside me. Then the actresses on screen were kissing and she was yelling, "Okay, gross!" and lunging at me to try and get the remote. This ended up as a struggle between us because I wanted to see the end, which of course led to her yelling "Gimme the remote, Britt!" before tickling me. I cried out and laughed and squirmed, tears streaming down my face. I had rolled backwards in an attempt to get away, but she had followed, straddling my hips to continue her attack.
A few minutes passed and we were panting on the couch from the struggle, Santana hovering over me with one hand pinning my hands above my head while the other rested on my hip where she'd been digging in aggressive fingers moments before. I couldn't help but smile at her, and she smiled back warmly. I didn't notice then, but remembering now I recall how close our faces were; a breath away, so close that my lips might have been tingling had I known at that age what it felt like to have hers on mine. But I didn't realize then how we lined up perfectly, how faultlessly our bodies fit. All I could think was that it was nice and warm and comfortable and safe and so Santana that I wouldn't have minded missing the movie if I could stay there all night. She must have realized, though. Suddenly she was rolling off of me, sitting up on her end of the couch to face the movie again. She didn't ask me to turn it off and I took it as silent agreement that I had won (again) and let the movie play on. She didn't say a word or make another sound. She just watched, dark eyes taking in every reaction the people had to the actresses.
And missed, I think, the way the characters in the movie were happier together than they ever were apart.
Later I rambled on about how good the movie was and how glad I was the two girls had gotten to run off together because "People who are in love should always have happy endings." Santana scoffed.
"Those two were gross. Two girls kissing isn't right. She should have just gone home and gotten herself a boyfriend who wasn't as creepy as the one she had. Puck never does that with his tongue." Santana smirked to herself as she climbed into her bed, yanking the blankets up over herself. I frowned and shook my head a little, turning off the lights before climbing in beside her.
"Why does it matter if they're two girls if they love each other?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. "It shouldn't matter, right? Feelings are what counts."
"Girls can't kiss girls, Britt," she mumbled, rolling over to snuggle into me as she always did. "It's wrong. Just don't worry about it, 'kay? That's all you need to know." I nodded slowly and fell silent, listening to her breathing until it reached the familiar rhythm of her sleeping. I thought maybe this one time Santana was wrong and I was right. A person's a person no matter how small. That's what Dr. Seuss said.
I didn't understand why a person couldn't be a person no matter who they love.
Years later and there we were, curled up together in the same exact bed. The positions were the same, Santana curled into me with my arms around her. She had cried herself to sleep and I didn't dare let her go, knowing that if I did, all of her demons would get her in her dreams. I thought back on that time she'd said kissing girls was wrong, how adamantly she'd believed it. And now here we were. Santana confessed to being exactly what she hated.
Didn't they always say that admittance was the first step?
Okay, done with this one. Gonna split up rumours becaaause… I can. C: Review and stuff and stuff. Also, any typos? My apologies. Too lazy to edit.