A/N: Let me start by saying this was supposed to be a 13k chapter. LOL. But I cut it into two parts because I imagine myself reading a chapter THAT long with a LOT of things happening and I just couldn't handle it. So yes, this chapter and the next one will hold a lot of important turning points. Some of you have seen some of these coming. So yeah. Thank you for still being here.
All mistakes are mine and because I was listening to the new Taylor Swift record while I was trying to proofread this. Emphasis on try.
TEN
I'm Not the Only One
You say I'm crazy 'cause you don't think I know what you've done.
.
LOS ANGELES
Santana still feels a little bit wary of the ring that's been residing on her finger for a few days now. It's weird because she had planned on having it resized the other day and the man at the shop said it's her size; and that it should fit her well. She managed an absent-minded oh before she walked out of the shop but not before she saw the knowing expression on the man's face.
She briefly wonders if there are many girls in this city who comes to that place and tries to refit something that should already fit them perfectly.
She rolls her eyes at her own thoughts.
What is wrong with you, Santana Lopez?
She rarely entertains her inner thoughts but that question seems to be popping around more often these days. It's weird because she wants badly to have an answer but the more she asks the question, the more she's lost in finding the appropriate solution.
Perhaps, what is not wrong with you is the better question to ask.
"Yeah. I'm fine," she says into the phone to Brittany as she walks to the lobby of the studio. "I'm just taking the rest of the day off. I'm just tired, is all."
Brittany says something about wedding magazines and Santana nods unconsciously, "Yeah. I'll pick one up on the way home."
Brittany tells her to not forget.
"I won't," she says with an exasperated sigh.
Her fiancé then asks her about Rachel and when she's coming in to pitch her ideas—and that's when Santana freezes because no, she hasn't told anyone aside from her parents (which she didn't actually, because Brittany was the first one who called them to share the news).
In short, none of the people in New York know about the engagement.
"Inviting Rachel in would mean I'd have to tell her I'm engaged," Santana says with more bite than intended. She doesn't know why but it's starting to really get on her skin.
"You haven't told her?"
"I haven't."
"Why?"
Frankly, she doesn't know.
"She's going to be your maid of honor, right?"
Santana's heart races at that.
"Quinn is going to be my maid of honor and," she pauses to take a calming breath, "why are you asking about Rachel? It's Quinn you should be asking about."
Brittany doesn't respond right away—and Santana really, really wants her to say something. She wants Brittany to give her an idea of what she's thinking. But of course, the other girl doesn't say anything that's relevant to the swarm of thoughts in Santana's head.
She hears Brittany sigh. "Okay, that's your decision but tell them soon, okay?"
Santana shakes her head in frustration but she doesn't let her voice show it, "Okay."
"I gotta go. Bye, San."
"Yeah, bye."
"I love you."
"You too."
She quickly hangs up after that because she still can't stand the awkward air that follows after she failed to say those three words back.
Santana sighs heavily as she walks past the front desk.
"Rough day?" Felicia, their receptionist, asks.
Santana forces a smile, "Rough month."
Felicia smiles at her, "It's gonna be better, sweetie."
She returns her a genuine smile simply because Felicia, next to Malcolm, is Santana's favorite person here at the office. She's in her mid-40s, has an awesome sense of style, and glowing dark skin. She's the funniest person in this office—of course, next to Santana.
"Thanks, Felicia."
"Okay, girl. Let me just ruin your day more," she says with a chuckle. "You have some invoice to sign here from last week's tour. Amelia from HR wrecked herself by drinking more vodka than her tiny body can handle and now, I'm HR, too."
Santana grimaces at the image that popped in her head; Amelia's a small woman with the alcohol tolerance of a toddler. She walks over to the desk as Felicia hands over a couple of receipts. She's reaching out for a pen when she sees the photo flashed on Felicia's desktop screen.
It's a photo of a newborn.
Santana smiles, "'sthat your baby?"
"You must be really out of it, honey," Felicia says with a sympathetic smile toward her. "Look at that baby boy. He's three weeks old and last I checked, I didn't labor recently."
Santana laughs at her own mistake, "God, I'm sorry."
"God will forgive you, chiciquita," she says with a playful snap, "But I won't. Do I look like I just had a baby?"
Santana laughs again, "You'd be gorgeous anyway, I'm sure."
Felicia rolls her eyes endearingly and glances at the photo briefly. "That's my girl Nancy's baby."
"Nancy?"
The older woman nods and pulls out her phone and browses some pictures. She leans on the desk to show Santana a (scanned) photo of two girls taken a couple of years ago. Santana takes a look.
Felicia points at one of the girls in the picture; one that looks like her, "We we're in high school. That's me in my heyday and that's Nancy right there." She then points at the other girl.
Santana's eyes widen because wow, that's 20 plus years of friendship right there.
"You're still friends?"
"Yes, sweetheart," Felicia says as she pockets her phone.
"Wow."
Felicia nods proudly, "Friendship is weird but you gotta keep it when it works."
And just like that, guilt settles at the pit of her stomach again.
When she wouldn't say anything, Felicia asks her, "You got friends from high school?"
The thought makes Santana smile fondly, "Question is, do I have friends not from high school?"
Felicia laughs, "Lemme see a picture."
Santana nods, giving in. She fishes her phone once more and searches for a photo of the three of them. Of course, she's going to look for a photo of the Unholy Trinity because no matter how much time has changed so many things, there's no denying that friendship was real.
"Here," she says as she shows Felicia a picture of the three of them taken way back in their cheerleading days.
"That's Brittany right there," Felicia utters, pointing at Brittany. "And is that Daisy?" she asks, pointing at a beaming Quinn.
Santana's attention snaps to her, "Who?"
"Daisy."
"That's not Daisy. Who the hell is Daisy?"
"That's Daisy."
Confused, Santana shakes her head, "That's my friend Qui—"
"—remember when you went to that music festival in April and you weren't here for two straight weekends?"
Santana nods.
Felicia shuffles through her files as she narrates nonchalantly, "Remember when you came back, I told you about a beautiful white girl who visited you on the Friday before the first weekend. The girl who didn't know you were out?"
Santana tries to recall. "Yeah but—"
"Well, I told her you went to cover Coachella with your girl and she left. She wouldn't leave a contact number or an email so we eventually forgot about her and she never returned anyway."
Realization dawns on Santana.
Felicia nods, "That's your friend from high school. Daisy."
Something that feels close to butterflies and bitterness and softness settles at the pit of Santana's stomach, replacing the guilt that almost ate her alive earlier.
"Are you—" she stutters. "Are you sure?"
Felicia rolls her eyes, "Girl, a face like that comes in here, you don't forget about it."
Santana's heart rate picks up.
Quinn came to visit her. Quinn never told her.
She lets go of a breath she didn't know she was holding and blinks her eyes rapidly at the realization.
Quinn came to visit her when she wasn't here. Quinn never told her.
It almost feels like she's having a hard time breathing until she catches sight of a vase of flowers sitting at the corner of the lobby.
It's a vase full of daisies—a vase that's always full of daisies.
That fucking idiot.
The girl didn't even had a plan coming here.
That. Fucking. Idiot.
.
NEW YORK
"Seriously?" Kurt asks as she walks toward Rachel's small living room with Emily in tow. "You two aren't done yet?"
Rachel and Hanna are sitting on the floor across each other with the small wooden coffee table in between them. On the table lays a Monopoly board that looks as if a game is close to being done. All boxes have hotels—and Emily has to make the math in her head.
"I was still in New Haven three hours ago when you said you're starting a game with Rachel," Emily says, mostly directed at Hanna. "You're still at it."
Hearing Emily's voice, Rachel's dog quickly rushes from his place near Rachel's room and greets Emily and Kurt.
Hanna briefly eyes Elijah and the way he's excitedly wagging his tail, greeting Emily with such joy as a half-blind dog could muster. She steals a look at Emily before giving Rachel yet another one of her death glares.
"Declare bankruptcy, you bitch," Hanna tells her.
At this, both Kurt and Emily burst in laughter.
Emily walks toward them and settles the stash of canned beers on the floor before she sits with them. Kurt hands Hanna a bottle of sparkling cider before he moves to the kitchen to get ice.
"Never," Rachel says, matching Hanna's death glare.
Emily looks at them smiles to herself.
Rachel rolls the dice.
"Eleven," Rachel says before she moves her piece across the board.
Her piece lands on her own block.
Rachel sneers, "Yes."
The way Emily sees it, the game is pretty even and either of them is one move away from getting the other bankrupt. She almost laughs because it's only one of the few times they've played Monopoly because no one wants to play this game anymore—because Quinn always wins.
Hanna groans as she picks up the dice. She takes a deep breath before shaking the dice on her hand and throwing it to the table.
"Nine."
Emily holds her breath. If Hanna lands on any of Rachel's properties—all of which has a hotel in them—Hanna is over.
Hanna moves the piece across the board.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
She lands on Indiana Avenue, one of the three red blocks—that has Rachel's hotel in it.
"Yes!" Rachel squeals so loud. "You got made, Marin. You got made!"
"Damn it!" Hanna throws her hands in surrender.
Emily laugh at her two friends.
Kurt walks back in with glasses and a bowl full of ice cubes. "Okay, kids. Turn down the dramatics." He takes a seat beside Emily and both of them just go back to watching Hanna and Rachel again.
"Say it, Hanna," Rachel says, beaming proudly. "Say, I'm bankrupt."
"No, Rachel," Hanna says, frowning at her opponent stubbornly.
"Okay but we had a deal," Rachel says as she takes her phone out and snaps a picture of the board. "I'll be posting this victory on Instagram and I will Tweet about it."
"You have like, three followers," Hanna deadpans as she caps the cider so easily. "Your fathers and one fan that doesn't even have picture. For all I know you made that account yourself."
Emily and Kurt laugh at this.
"I have more than 300, 000 followers. Not all of them are eggs," Rachel says with a smile. "Last chance, Hanna. Admit that I beat you."
Hanna scoffs. No, she can't let Rachel brag about that on social media. "Fine, Rachel. You're the best in Monopoly next of course to the monarch queen herself."
Rachel sets her phone down and claps in victory, "Yay!"
Hanna rolls her eyes.
"Speak of the monarch queen," Kurt says as he hands Rachel a glass and a can of beer. Emily passes Rachel the ice. "How's it going?"
Hanna glances at her phone. No messages from Quinn. "I'll bet it's going really great because she hasn't texted me yet."
Kurt smiles, "I hope this one works. Disney Princess has been single for so long now."
"Um," Rachel gets their attention. "I've been single for years."
Hanna rolls her eyes at her, "Yeah but it's not about you."
Rachel only smiles at Hanna and mouths, "Loser."
"Oh you're going with that?" Hanna challenges.
"Wow," Emily says, eyes wide at her friends' behavior. "Mom Quinn left one night and the kids are suddenly not alright."
"Shut up, Em," Hanna bites as she takes one full chug from the bottle of cider. "My money's on death penalty."
Kurt perks up on his seat, "Ooooh. I like this! How much are we talking about here?"
Rachel shakes her head and looks at Hanna pointedly, "First, her name is Spencer not death penalty and second," she turns to Kurt, "we shouldn't be betting about Quinn's lovelife."
"She's not gonna know!" Hanna complains.
"I'll tell her," Rachel counters.
"You're a bitch."
Rachel nods, "So you've said a million times."
Kurt dismisses their mini-banter with his hands. He points at Hanna, "Seventy bucks."
"Cheap ass," Hanna says, wrinkling her face. "A hundred bucks say death penalty and Quinn will go on a second date."
Kurt looks at her, "Fine! A hundred bucks say they won't."
Emily butts in, "Shouldn't you be betting on Quinn's happiness, Kurt?"
Kurt rolls his eyes, "Of course I am. This is just for the sake of betting."
"Hanna, Kurt," Rachel scolds.
Hanna gives her a look, "What? You're still betting on your friend who has no plans on coming back?"
"Hanna!" Emily warns.
"What?"
Rachel sighs in frustration, "Fine. I'm with Kurt."
Hanna nods in victory, "It's on."
The diva just nods as she turns to Emily, "You have to place a bet."
Emily, always the saint, shakes her head, "No."
"Em," Rachel whines.
Hanna watches Emily and Rachel's banter and she raises an eyebrow.
She calls her 'Em' now?
"No, Rachel," Emily denies her firmly.
Rachel sighs in defeat and gives up, "Fine."
Hanna hides a surprised expression as she takes another chug from her bottle.
Did Rachel just accept a 'no'?
That's new.
.
LOS ANGELES
Santana doesn't realize the tears prickling at her eyes until she's halfway through randomly sorting everything in their closet.
She took the half day off mostly because she's tired and depressed and annoyed—because Brittany's too obsessed with planning the wedding and Santana couldn't match the enthusiasm; whereas a few years back, Santana would've been the one more excited for this.
This is the happy ending everyone is talking about, right?
She's sitting cross-legged on the floor with a shoebox in front of her. She and Brittany keep all their receipts—from random dinners to credit card receipts—in this box. She realizes they're quite hoarders, never throwing anything away thinking they might use it for something else someday. Somewhere in the house, they have a stash of takeout ketchup and hot sauce, and unused tissue paper.
And Santana really doesn't know why she's almost tearing up while cleaning up the closet—or why she suddenly just wanted to clean up the closet in the first place. It's a habit she developed throughout her stay in Los Angeles. Every time she's sad or if one record doesn't get picked up, she'd find something to organize or to clean. It distracts her from her thoughts.
It doesn't seem to work this time however.
She's reading through the receipts one by one, considering which ones to throw away and which ones to keep for sentimental value. She has Courtney's upcoming record playing in the background—an eight-track country album that sounds like Taylor Swift's first record. She's not necessarily listening but she hopes to spot the mistake if ever the production failed to get it all right.
Blinking her welling tears away, Santana sorts through the receipts that seem to date back from last year. She realizes most of these are Brittany's receipts and it mocks her that some of it are still from New York. She smiles at the memory of that diner they frequented. She misses their burrito already.
She does the whole thing absent-mindedly until a particular piece of paper gets her attention—only because she's seen it too many times.
An Amtrak boarding pass.
She takes a closer look.
Present this document for boarding.
There on top right side of the paper reads: ROUND TRIP.
And on the top left side, the destination codes are written.
NYP to NHV
Santana knows these station codes by heart. New York Penn Station to New Haven.
It all comes back to Santana that this is one of the many reservations she never used—because yes, she had planned on visiting Quinn. She had planned too many surprised visits, took too many days off from the diner, booked too many train rides, but she never pushed through with anything. She'd intended to throw every single reservation she had because she was never ready to be alone with Quinn.
She was never ready to see Quinn because she was never sure of anything ever. Looking back at it now, Santana thinks she'd been such an idiot. One visit could've changed a lot of things—and maybe that's why it was so scary.
Santana's never been so good at dealing with changes. So, she stood—stands—still because it's easier that way.
She's not sure why the past chose to resurface today. First it was Daisy and now this. Maybe, the universe is telling her something. Maybe, she should take a break and listen to what these signs are trying to tell her.
But Santana is stubborn and hard—and right now, she's so sad that maybe she should just throw these things away. She doesn't need any more reasons to question her new life because she really can't afford to take a step back now.
This is her new life. She should stay in this moment.
She takes a deep breath before she decides to stop whatever sentimental bullshit she's doing. She's about to shove the boarding pass back inside the box when her eyes land on the name of the ticketholder.
PASSENGER (S)
Pierce, Brittany S.
Identification is required for all passengers.
The strange feeling of guilt and sadness is quickly replaced by something else. It went from surprise to dread, to realizing that it's not her ticket after all. That it's Brittany's ticket and Santana goes from asking what's wrong with you, Santana Lopez to asking herself if she'd missed more significant signs along the way.
Something crawls up on Santana's system when she realizes what this could mean.
The logical thing to do is to look at the travel date—and even when she dreads it, Santana takes a look.
And it's right there does Santana realize that maybe, there really is a lot more to what happened last year than meets the eye. If this ticket is any indication, Santana is sure there's something she doesn't know. For over nine months, Santana thought Brittany had been clueless about the whole Quinn thing but right now, she feels just how wrong she might have been.
She's getting goosebumps just thinking about the possibility.
Brittany went to New Haven days before they left New York—and unless Brittany had some last minute dance show in Connecticut, Santana is sure that Brittany came to visit Quinn.
Santana is overcome with both anger and sadness—and the foreign feeling of Brittany's betrayal. She should be giving her fiancé the benefit of the doubt. She shouldn't be jumping to conclusions.
Maybe, Brittany visited Quinn to catch up.
She chuckles bitterly to herself because really, Santana? You're that blind now?
Santana stares blankly at the boarding pass. She hopes it's not what she thinks it is—because God, help her, if this is something close to what her insides are telling her, serious questions are about to be asked and she doesn't think they'd survived it.
.
NEW YORK
It doesn't seem so scary—the thought of saying yes to coffee with someone; at least it isn't as terrifying as she expected it to be. Not when she's sitting across this wonderful woman who, for some reason, couldn't stop talking about the overall effects of global warming to polar bears up north.
They decided to meet up at The Runaways, mostly because they both still refuse to call it a date—both saying it's just a casual meet up between people who want to get to know each other more; something Hanna had so passionately countered with: yeah, exactly how us normal people would define a 'date'.
The sun is setting and her coffee has long cooled but she and Spencer still haven't run out of things to talk about. It's one topic after the other—and Quinn has forgotten about the last time she was so relaxed around someone she barely knows.
Spencer is smart, and funny, and graceful. She holds doors open for Quinn and she's read all of Quinn's favorite novels. Best of all, she loves the way Spencer is so bold and outspoken; that when she says something, Quinn doesn't find it so hard to believe her.
"But Quinn, just imagine all the polar bears," Spencer says for the nth time in the last ten minutes.
Quinn laughs, "Why are we discussing this again?"
Spencer gives her a playful glare, "Would you rather we talk about the new Justin Bieber record instead?"
Quinn rolls her eyes, "He doesn't have a new album."
And she already regrets saying that.
Spencer is giving her an amused look, "You know this because?"
Quinn chuckles, "Oh please, I was in Glee Club, okay? It was a necessity to keep up with new trends in music. It's a habit I cannot get rid of."
"Back up, Ms. Soon-To-Be Teacher Quinn Fabray. Did you just say you were in your high school glee club?"
Quinn thinks she's already blushing, "Yes."
"Oh, this just got so interesting," Spencer says. "Tell me about Glee Club."
"Let's not," Quinn says laughingly, shaking her head. "It's gonna take me about a year to discuss just the drama alone."
"Woman, you will be the death of me," Spencer says as she looks up at Quinn. Her eyes are glowing with such admiration and respect; like Quinn is some sort of wonder.
Quinn gives Spencer a smile, her heart skipping minute beats. She feels something in her stomach that's sort of similar to butterflies. For a moment there, Quinn allows herself to get lost in Spencer's eyes. It's been a while since someone had looked at her this way.
Spencer looks at her like she's the only person in this room worth looking at and it takes Quinn's breath away every single time.
"What is it with you and references to death?" Quinn asks with a slight chuckle, just to keep herself from floating away.
Spencer shrugs. "I don't know. We've been sitting here for the last hour and a half but," a sigh, "when I look at you, I still have to remind myself how to breathe. I mean, have you seen your face?"
Quinn purses her lips together.
Spencer stares at her.
A beat passes.
And they both burst in laughter.
"Oh my God, Spencer," Quinn manages in between laughs. "That was so bad," she hurls a napkin toward the other girl.
Spencer just laughs and laughs some more before she tries to calm herself down. "I looked that up on the Internet," she says, wiping a stray tear at the side of her eye.
Still laughing, Quinn says, "You really, really have to work on your lines."
"I'm pre-Law," Spencer says, still amused at herself. "I'm not supposed to be good at all things cheesy."
"Whatever, you nerd."
"I'm not the one who was in a show choir."
"How dare you? Glee Club was fun."
"So was Spelling Club so do not judge."
Quinn laughs again, "Of course, you were in Spelling Club."
"And the Math Club and the Science Club. Question is, which club wasn't Spencer Hastings in?"
"I'd make a wild guess and say you weren't in a singing group."
"Does karaoke count?"
"Nope."
Spencer chuckles, "Then, no. I wasn't in anything arts related. I'm not a Quinn Fabray but hey, I tried."
"You don't wanna be me, trust me."
Spencer shakes her head, "No, I don't want to be you. I want to know you."
Quinn smiles, "Was that a pickup line?"
"Only if it's good."
Quinn just smiles and shakes her head at Spencer's antics. God, she really can't remember the last time she was such a girl around someone.
"Seriously, Quinn. Thank you," Spencer says, her tone slightly lower.
"For?"
"For this."
"Don't—"
"No, really," Spencer says, meeting Quinn's eyes. "I just—I hope it's not just me but—I'm really having fun and I've seen about three girls who came in here looking at me probably wondering how I ever got so lucky—"
Quinn laughs again.
"That wasn't a line," Spencer clarifies and Quinn stops laughing altogether. "People like me, we never get lucky very often."
There it is, a small moment of no holding back, of saying things just because she can—and maybe, that's why Quinn is so drawn to her. It's her honesty—Quinn decides—that she likes most about Spencer.
"What? Being the daughter of two of the most sought-after lawyers in New York isn't lucky enough for you."
"Touche," Spencer pouts. "That's great, too, but you here? It's the luckiest I've been in a while."
Quinn smiles. Yeah. It's not that terrifying at all. She looks at Spencer, "For what it's worth, I'm having fun, too."
.
NEW YORK
Today's been fun, Rachel thinks.
She got a break from her reading and rehearsals so she got to join The Gang in one of their many casual nights in. Rachel thinks it's sort of weird how their dynamic works. None of them are obsessed about clubbing or going out for drinks except for special occasions. They're content of staying in, playing board games and watching movies and TV shows. They like to talk about almost everything. Best of all, they let her pick the movie sometimes and they never walk out even if she picks a musical.
They eat the vegan meals she prepares every now and then, although of course, she gets a mouthful of complains from Hanna.
It's amazing to see how Emily and Hanna had eased into their dynamic. Before, it was just Kurt, Santana, and Rachel and now, it's Quinn, Hanna, Emily, Kurt, Blaine, and Rachel. And Rachel finds comfort in the solidity of this friendship. She'd lost count of how long Santana's been gone—but Rachel acknowledges that Santana's departure is the point where everything started to change.
When Santana and Brittany left, Rachel got Quinn back along with a few new friends. It's a tough break and she hates sometimes that Santana is so far away but Rachel celebrates small victories; like the fact that she hasn't lost Santana entirely.
Santana texts her, updates her, and Skypes with her every chance she gets. She misses her and she could tell Santana misses them, too. Rachel, of course, noticed how Brittany never reaches out to them anymore. If it wasn't for Santana, Rachel wouldn't know anything about the girl's whereabouts. She thinks she's avoiding them and she would be worried if this was a normal circumstance. But Rachel understands why Brittany is pulling away, at least she thinks she does.
Brittany is pulling away because she thinks Rachel had taken a side; and if you'll ask Rachel, she'd most likely say yes because she's on someone's side and she's sure it isn't Brittany's. The other girl knows it, Rachel knows she does—because Brittany is a lot more observant than most people credit her for.
She wants to worry, really, but she already has so much things on her plate right now.
Her phone beeps and flashes the name of someone… someone she never asked for but sort of just happened. She smiles at the thought of it.
Hey, we're all waiting for you here. Come up now.
Everyone is already upstairs (at Quinn and Hanna's apartment), preparing for yet another one of their massive board games.
She types a reply and sends it. I'll be there in a minute. I just have to check my Facebook.
The reply is almost instant.
Okay but make it quick or I'll come down there to get you myself.
She smiles bashfully to herself (oh no Rachel, what is wrong with you?) She puts her phone down and grabs her laptop. She's supposed to be on Skype with Santana right now but the other girl bailed last minute.
And Rachel tries to ignore the bad feeling she gets everytime she thinks about it.
She sits by the couch and opens her laptop. She opens the browser and heads to Facebook immediately. Aside from her Facebook fan page, she keeps a private Facebook account just so she wouldn't lose touch with everyone she personally knows—like the glee club, her staff, her colleagues.
When she opens her personal account, she's surprised at the number of notifications she has. 34. She immediately feels something crawl up her skin—a very, very bad feeling.
She clicks the notifications tab and out of all the many things in there, one update catches her eye: Brittany Pierce tagged you in a post. Apparently, it's the post that's giving her all these notifications. Mercedes Jones likes a post you're tagged in. Michael Chang commented on a post you're tagged in.
She clicks the post in question and the second it opens, Rachel is sent into an automatic catatonia. She freezes and she feels her heart pinch for some weird, inexplicable reasons.
Brittany Pierce
Popped the question! She said YES! – with Santana Lopez and 13 others.
Brittany tagged Santana and her, and a lot more people in this status that only means one thing.
Brittany proposed.
Santana is getting married.
Brittany tagged her and 13 others.
Santana is getting married and Rachel couldn't help but worry about the one person she wishes isn't tagged in this status. She feels a ton of mixed feelings like anger, sadness, and just shock in general. She swallows audibly as she hovers her cursor over 13 others.
She hopes that Brittany isn't as cruel as that.
As she hovers over the link, a small box appears with the names of the other people tagged in the status. Kitty Wilde, Puck Puckerman, Tina Cohen-Chang… and Rachel skips all the irrelevant names until she spots the one she'd feared she'd see: Lucy Quinn Fabray.
A breath escapes Rachel's lungs as tears well in her eyes.
Her mind is invaded by thoughts of poor Quinn that she misses someone entering the front door.
"Rachel! Do you have a spatula?"
Hanna's voice startles her. She looks up at her and her face must have given an indication.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Hanna asks, her voice softening in an instant. Her usually tough persona is suddenly replaced with concern. Rachel thinks that maybe, this is why Quinn and Hanna are such good friends.
Coming up empty of words, Rachel just stares blankly at Hanna before re-reading the Facebook post that's somehow messing up with her sanity. She tries to think that Brittany isn't this cruel but the evidence is right in front of her.
Brittany proposed. Santana said yes.
And Brittany is making sure Quinn knows.
Hanna walks over to her, "Your face is doing that weird thing. What's happening?"
"I, uh—"
"Oh, this is bad, you're stuttering."
Rachel just silently hands Hanna the laptop. The other girl takes it without a word and starts reading whatever is on the screen.
There, Rachel watches Hanna's face and she figured that Hanna must've gotten the message really well because the color drains out of her face. Hanna's usually chirpy expression turns into something so dark, and protective—like she wants to throw the laptop square into the face of whoever is causing all of this drama.
Hanna takes a deep breath as she closes her eyes. She hands Rachel the laptop back.
Rachel just keeps on watching her and it's scary how a girl as tiny as Hanna could muster up such a fierce aura of protectiveness. It's a look you see on a woman when somebody is trying to hurt their sister. For a moment there, Rachel wonders how deep Quinn and Hanna's friendship goes because the way she sees it—Hanna is about willing to cut anyone who wants to hurt Quinn.
With a shaky breath, probably because of trying so hard to hold her anger back, Hanna says, "I'm gonna get Emily."
Rachel places the laptop on the couch and stands up, "Where are you going?"
"We're gonna get Quinn."
"Wait, maybe there's—"
"Trust me, she's already seen this by now."
"How do you know where she is?"
Hanna shrugs, "I don't know but I'm sure she'll call either Em or I."
"I'm coming with y—"
Hanna meets Rachel's eyes coldly, "Make a damn phone call, Rachel. Ask your friend to stop hurting my friend because if you don't do it, I swear to God I will. And trust me, nobody wants to see me angry."
The other girl walks out hurriedly.
And Rachel is left alone with feelings of anger and sadness, and just shock in general.
Some major drama is about to go down—and this is it, that dread she's been feeling.
This is it.
.
LOS ANGELES
Santana sits by the living room just as Brittany comes home from work. The room is dim and cold in a way that perfectly fits Santana's mood. She's on her sweatpants and an old The Killers t-shirt, her hair mussed and her mascara ruined by the amount of crying she'd done in the last few hours.
She'd cried and prayed that her suspicions are wrong; and also because she can't wrap herself around the idea that she's still trying to deny what seems to be so obvious. Santana had repeatedly asked herself how come she missed all the signs; how come she'd been so blind—and she can't help but realize that this is all her fault; that she'd broken Quinn's heart for someone who's been lying to her all this time.
Still, she wishes she's wrong.
If Brittany makes up an excuse, Santana is sure she'd take it; because she's a coward—that's all she's ever been since she left New York.
Right now, however, Santana feels numb and she just wants the truth so bad.
"Hey, babe," Brittany greets her with a smile on her face.
Santana just stares at blankly at her.
As if not sensing Santana's mood, Brittany skips right next to her on the couch and kisses her cheek, "Did you get the magazines?"
Santana nods, pointing at the newly bought magazines sitting on top of the small table.
The blonde smiles as she reaches out for one. "How was staying in all day?" Brittany asks as she starts to browse one of the wedding magazines.
Santana could tell Brittany is tense; that the other girl saw her puffy eyes but she refuses to recognize it. She swallows audibly, "It was fine. I cleaned up our closet."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Santana replies. "You can only imagine my surprise when I found this," she says as she pulls the boarding pass out from under the stack of magazines.
She hands it to Brittany and Santana—Santana stares at her fiancé's face just to see how she'll react. She sees it. The panic in Brittany's eyes when she sees the piece of paper Santana is handing her. Her eyes widen at the realization and Santana clenches her fist because the look on Brittany's face is a dead giveaway.
Brittany is guilty of something.
A numbness settles inside Santana; a bitter, angry kind of numbness.
"So, you went to New Haven days before we left New York," she states, still looking at Brittany whose eyes are still stuck on the boarding pass placed on her lap. "Tell me, Brittany. What were you doing in New Haven?"
Brittany slowly looks up at her and meets her eyes. For some reason, Santana doesn't see anything there but pure defiance. Whatever Brittany did in New Haven, she isn't sorry about it. "I went to see Quinn," her fiancé confirms.
"Without telling me?"
Brittany chuckles bitterly, "Are you sure you want to have this conversation, San?"
For a moment there, Santana is taken aback by the sheer ruthlessness in Brittany's tone. "I think this is the kind of conversation we should have had a long time ago," she says.
The other girl nods, a bitter smile still plastered on her face, "Yeah, let's talk about Quinn, Santana. Let's do that."
And it just clicks.
It all just clicks in Santana's head.
Brittany knows everything.
The realization renders Santana speechless; and Brittany takes the opportunity to ask her an equally just as damaging question. Brittany adjusts calmly on her seat as if confronting Santana is something she'd prepared herself for. She meets Santana's eyes, "How about we start with the fact that you slept together? No," she corrects herself. "Let's start with the fact that you don't want to tell me about sleeping with Quinn. How about you tell me why?"
Again, the sheer cold-bloodedness in Brittany's tone shocks Santana. She's never seen her like this.
When she wouldn't respond, Brittany smirks, "Or maybe, you wanna start by telling me what it really means to you—I don't know, Santana. Tell me how you wanna do this because I can't think of a way to talk about this without one of us getting hurt."
In her head, Santana recalls the last few months. It all now feels like a giant lie—and maybe, that's all it's been. She's been too much of a coward to realize that she's been living a lie for the last nine months and right now, it's all crashing down like an avalanche.
Santana feels her feet leave the ground.
This make or break.
This is stay or leave.
.
I live for writing unapologetic Brittany, in case you're wondering. LOL.
Anyway, this isn't an intended cliffhanger. I just really needed to cut it somewhere. The next chapter is intense, I guess.
Thoughts?