"It is wise to direct your anger towards problems - not people; to focus your energies on answers - not excuses."
― William Arthur Ward
Anger has always been a part of you. Your abuela has basically injected you with anger on a daily basis. When you were only five years old, your abuelo died and she never got over it. It seemed like he left her with nothing but pure anger. You still loved her, though, with everything that you had.
Growing up, your parents never had much time for you. Your dad spent more time working than with his family and your mother worked as well until you went to high school.
Your abuela was all you had. She raised you. The bitter woman who lived in Lima Hights Adjacent in the old house that she and your abuelo had built by themselves.
Your father didn't even come to your graduation ceremony. He was working – as always. Then again, your abuela wasn't there either, because you aren't the granddaughter she wanted you to be. Because you were sick of hiding (okay, technically, that was Hudson's fault seeing as he was the one to push you out of the closet). Because she doesn't love you anymore, maybe never has. She only loved the vicious, intelligent, straight girl she had raised. Not the gay daughter in love with her best friend.
Yes, anger has always been a part of you.
You wake up a little disoriented when you feel her body shifting and her muscles tighten beneath you. Her breathing seems slightly forced and you immediately open your eyes and lift your head from her chest to look at her.
"You okay, Q?"
"Yeah, it's just, lying on my side for too long isn't good for my back ad I woke up in the middle of the night and moved us but I guess the damage was already done."
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say anything?"
"I was comfortable."
"First of all that's sort of a paradox and secondly, what the actual fuck, Quinn?"
"It's no big deal, San. I just need to stretch a little. I'll be fine in no time."
You role off of her and onto your back. There are no words for how much it pains you to see her like this. Absolutely none. It's heartbreaking. Especially the fact that she takes it so easily. Like she simply accepts that this is what her life will look like. It's not fair. She's so young and – God – she had to go through so much even before the accident that changed everything. But, above all, you're angry. You're fucking angry because nothing can ever just be okay.
"San, stop."
You simply turn your head and stare at her – you realize that basically all of your badass-ness is completely ruined in moments like this – because you don't know what you're supposed to stop or what she wants you to say right now. Sometimes you wish she'd be easier to read.
"Stop thinking that this shouldn't be happening to me."
"But it's true. It isn't fair." You want to stomp your foot Rachel-Berry-style but you're still lying in bed. You're lying in bed with Quinn Fabray.
"The accident was my fault, Santana. I'm actually grateful. The guy in the truck only had a few scratches and I'm not spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair. Maybe you should start seeing it my way. It's a lot easier to accept this way."
You just stare at her and then you smile. It's a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. It's something. Quinn has come a long way from the head cheerleader she had been in sophomore year.
"I see, your therapist's rubbing off on you, huh?"
"So, maybe she is," she tells you, smiling. A full on smile, one you rarely see on her face and you realize it's all that you needed to see. She's still here, after everything, she is still here.
She goes to therapy shortly after and you pick up a book from her bedside table and leaf through it. There are dozens of marks and the pages are battered. In the middle of the book you find a note with the blonde's handwriting.
"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer." – Albert Camus
At this point, you feel like you're intruding. You thought this was just some book but, clearly, it wasn't. You close it again and are about to put it back on the nightstand when you hear a knock on the door.
For a second, you debate whether you should answer the door. Just as you decide that you shouldn't – because, obviously, whoever is on the other side wants to see Quinn and you're clearly not her – you hear a voice call out. "Quinn? Are you home?"
You jump up from the bed and open the door to a smiling Katie. It's like the girl never leaves. What does it take for her to get the damn message? Quinn isn't into her. Right? Or is she? No, she very clearly said she didn't want to give her the wrong message by telling her that she was gay. That means something, right?
You straighten up and look at her with clear animosity. It's easier than mulling over why you cared so damn much. "Yes?"
"Santana." Her lips form a tight line and you know she likes you about as much as you like her.
"That's my name. What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to check on Quinn. I check in with her daily since she fell. Just to make sure, you know?" She plays with this, the fact that she lives here and can just come by whenever she wants to and you clearly can't. "So, is she here?"
The anger inside of you makes it hard to not lash out at her full force. It's a reflex. The HBIC reflex and you're desperately trying to hold it back. You know that Quinn would be extremely mad if you put that girl in her place. "She isn't," you simply tell her, hoping it'll be enough to make her leave.
"Alright, I'll just come by later then." The nerve.
"Oh, there's no need, Katie. Q's fine. And I'm here, so no worries. Also, no need to come by tomorrow. I'll still be here. I'll look after her." You smirk because you can see the jealousy boiling beneath her skin. This girl has it bad. She's so very obviously into the blonde. But she's not good enough. You don't know why because she really hasn't done anything to make you think that but you're still sure she isn't. She can't be. You know these things. Mexican third eye, right?
"Sure, just tell her I came by." And with that she turns around, desperately trying to hide both the disappointment and sadness that she's feeling and not doing a good job. You can practically feel it yourself and you almost feel bad for her. Almost.
On your walk yesterday Quinn had shown you where she goes to therapy and you decide to pick her up and go for a walk with her, maybe get some breakfst somewhere. You're pretty sure the blonde hasn't eaten before therapy. Situations like these make her anxious and when she's anxious she forgets to eat. So, you grab ger cane and your purse and lock her door on the way out.
She smiles at you when she walks out of the building – it's a little on the sad side but it's still a smile, one that tells you that you might have just made things a little better for her, no matter what this session has brought forward for her.
You smile back because, honestly, how can you not? You hold her cane out to her and are surprised when she walks into your arms instead of taking it. She doesn't say a word, not one. When she steps back and takes the cane, you're left staring at her.
"I thought we could maybe go for a walk and have breakfast somewhere?!"
"Sounds great, I haven't eaten yet."
"I know," you simply tell her as you offer your arm to her.
"Santana, you ordered almost everything on the menu. Who's supposed to eat all of that?"
"You, blondie. You need to gain some weight. I'm just making sure you will."
The blonde sighed and you almost feel bad. But then you remember how very thin she was at the beginning of junior year, just weeks after giving birth. You remember how she just kept losing more and more weight throughout the year.
"How's Marley?" And that is not something you expected her to say – at all.
"How do you –"
"San, I know you. I know you've been keeping tabs on her, probably through Tina. So, how is she?"
"I, uhm. She's –"
"It's a good thing that you care, S."
"She's better. She's in therapy." This is so weird. It's not that you care about the girl all that much. You don't really know her. You care about the situation more than anything else. Apart from Tina, no one knows that you're still making sure Marley's fine. You kind of blackmailed Asian Number One into it. She's a gossip anyway, probably trying to be both Kurt and Mercedes at the same time. But Quinn? She just knows. No asking needed. She actually knows you.
"Good for her," she says and it's absolutely painfully obvious that she's trying to make it sound casual when it's anything but.
"You feel guilty. You think this is your fault, don't you?"
"Yes," she agrees and this amount of honesty, without any screaming or crying or slapping involved, is so rare that it's both painful and beautiful, maybe even beautifully painful.
"It wasn't your fault, though."
"It kind of was. I should have seen it."
"Actually, you're the person I knew wouldn't see it."
"What? Why? We got into a fight over this."
"You didn't see it when it was you. Why would you see it now?"
"I – but, I don't understand. You were so upset."
"I was. But not necessarily with you. The situation made me angry and the fact that people – again – were too dumb and selfabsorbed to see it happening. And Kitty actually pushing her into it deeper on purpose –" you break off. There is absolutely no way that you're able to finish this sentence. You simply can't. You're just so angry…with yourself.
"It reminded you of yourself before you had noticed."
"I – yes," you sigh out, utterly defeated.
"You weren't the one that caused my eating disorder, San."
"Q, you were so healthy during your pregnancy. You finally had it under control. And I ruined all of that progress."
"I don't think you understand, Santana. It was never gone in the first place. I was eating for Beth, not for myself. That's why it was so easy to fall back into old patterns once I gave her up. Nothing made sense anymore anyway. I wasn't healthy. I just loved Beth too much to hurt her."
She's raw, completely vulnerable, 100% honest. You don't think you've ever seen her like this before. All of a sudden, she seems completely unafraid of being open in front of you and it warms you from the inside out.
Quinn ends up going to at least one of her classes and then you take her out to dinner afterwards which is, of course, not a date. It's fascinating to watch the changes in her and you can't help but wonder sometimes how someone like Quinn comes to exist.
Still, after another night wrapped up in your little bubble that the two of you have created, you find yourself back at the train station and find that those two days went by entirely too fast. You just have to make her promise to visit you soon and she does. Even tells you she wants to see where you work and will have Rachel come with her which is just, no, absolutely not. And you find yourself realizing that it's not even the Rachel part that makes your mind yell 'no'.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Look, San, at first I didn't like it, okay? Just the idea of you working there and wasting your talent there, didn't sit well with me at all. But, I get it, okay? I just want to be a part of your life and that job is part of your life. A big part, actually."
"I'll be busy the whole night, Quinn. It wouldn't be any fun. Just tell me, when you'll come and I'll tell Madison that I need the weekend off."
"And where's the fun in that? Rachel will keep me company, no worries. And I demand a Melissa Etherdidge song because I just can't believe I missed that. And I totally want to meet Madison. She seems nice. I need to thank her for last week anyways." She wants to meet Madison? No, just absolutely no. That is the worst idea ever.
"I'll think about it." Your mouth and brain seem to be completely disconnected at this point because Quinn and Madison meeting is about the worst thing you can imagine right now.
You get rewarded, however, when the blonde kisses you on your left cheek, lingering a second before wrapping you up in her arms and whispering "that's all I need to hear" right next to your ear, leaving you to stupidly nod against her neck.
When you find yourself sitting on the couch next to Rachel, blindfolded, with Kurt fawning over the two of you for a surprise that you're almost sure you don't want, you wish even more that you could just go back to New Haven, right now. The prospect of working tonight doesn't make it any better.
But then, Kurt actually surprises you – positively. "Oh my God, Kurt! You gave my boyfriend pillow a sex change. That's so sweet." And it is. It is sweet and you can't comprehend why he would go to such great lenghts for you as if you could ever deserve any of it.
And he's just so absolutely non-chalant about it. "A little perfume and voila."
"If you ever tell anyone about this, I have no ethical problems with Hummel-cide." If anyone ever saw this, you'd never hear the end of it. You get up from the couch, just a tiny bit uncomfortable with Rachel's silence because that girl doesn't do silence.
"You don't seem as excited about yours," you hear Kurt say on your way to put your girlfriend pillow away.
"This is weird. And I'm not lonely, okay? I don't need anything to cuddle with. Just 'cause Brody moved out doesn't mean that we're not gonna get back together." No freaking way. Just no.
"Okay, no!" Kurt glares at you because he knows exactly what is coming and hell yes, it is. There's absolutely no way that you'll actually let the asshole anywhere near Rachel again.
"What?" Rachel just looks at you confused and you think for a second that she might throw you out again and defend the man-whore, so you just go for it. Nothing to lose now anyway.
"I'm sorry," and you find that you actually are. "It is over and it's gonna stay over. I was wrong about Brody being a drug dealer but I was just wrong about what he was selling. Your boyfriend wasn't a caterwaiter, he was a gigolo. Like 'Magic Mike' with happy endings for money."
And Rachel for a second just sits there until – "That's not true, right?" You're about to say something when she turn towards Kurt, begging him to tell her that this was just some big fat joke, one more prank you're pulling on her. "You didn't – you didn't know about that. It's not true, right? Right?"
When she gets up and storms away you actually feel bad for her but you also feel vulnerable. You feel like you are the one in the wrong.
"You're welcome," you yell after her, pretending that it doesn't hurt that she doesn't even acknowledge what you did for her.
"Why did you have to do that?" Really?
"It was for her own good." And it was. You just know it was.
For some reason you agree when Kurt asks you to marathon watch "Facts of Life" with him and you actually have fun. You actually enjoy spending time with him and maybe, just maybe, you'll actually visit from time to time after moving out.
You're deep into your conversation with Kurt (your girlfriend pillow tightly wrapped around you, her name is Alex), telling him how you need to make a musical out of the show and play Joe, when Rachel comes back to the apartment.
"Can I be Blair and we can do a duet?"
And of course Kurt can't help but comment on how cute that is. You feel like strangling him. Instead, you turn towards Rachel.
"Well, that depends on what, uh, happened with you and the American Psycho."
"Yeah, we had a – a pretty mature and honest conversation. You know, we decided that we're obviously gonna be professional because we're gonna see each other all the time and be in each others lives because we go to the same school. But, uhm…but, yeah, it's…it's over. For real." You feel like you can breathe again when she says that and, right now, it doesn't even matter anymore whether she acknowledges what you did. You suddenly feel like all of it was actually worth it.
But then, she surprises you. "And, you know, I really have you to thank. Because you didn't give up and you really were trying to make me see and I, I appreciate you getting Finn to come and defend my honour, I know that was you. So, I swear I will never doubt your Mexican psychic third eye again." Hell, yes, now that is what you call progress.
Kurt still seems wary about her reaction, however. "Why the long face? You've got a hot boyfriend pillow in there named Colin. I named him Colin after the non-threatening boy in 'The Secret Garden' 'cause I know you loved it. Don't be sad."
"I'm not. I'm good. I…I feel…ready. You know, I'm ready for my 'Funny Girl' audition, and to maybe start seeing older guys…" And there she is again. Rachel Barbra Berry, determined as ever. And Kurt hums to show he agrees with both statements.
"And I'm definitely read for our new and permanent roommate." And for some reason, you just leave that hanging in the room and smile at her. You don't feel the need to tell her, for the thousandth time that you don't want to live there anymore. Because you are, in fact, lonely. And a girlfriend pillow will certainly not be enough to keep you company in this big, scary city.
"But, I'm gonna use the pity card just for a second since I'm the one who's heartbroken and going through a breakup and found out that my boyfriend was some weirdo man-whore, I'm gonna get to pick the movie tonight, okay? And, I think we should pick the best guilty pleasure movie musical ever…"
And just when you think you actually start liking Rachel Berry…
"The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places."
― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
No change in my situation so, again, I apologize for any typos, etc. Next up: Quinn in NYC. I hope you liked the chapter. Any kind of feedback is, of course, appreciated. Thank you to everyone that reviewed, favorited and followed and those who simply silently continue reading this!