Piano's Point-of-View
A/N: First off, I would like everyone to give a moment of happy remembrance for Cory Monteith.
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His passing has really hit me, even though I didn't even know him and people give me shit about it, but it still hurts. I can't even imagine what his friends and family are going through and my thoughts are with them all, especially Miss Michele.
It's like learning one of your heroes died before they even hit their prime, before they could be recognized for how great a person they really were. Maybe I'm just projecting some of my own losses that I haven't fully dealt with, having lost friends in the war, but either way Mr. Montieth will remembered in my heart as a good man.
That being said, it feels strange writing fanfiction on Glee now. I promise to finish my WIP's but they may have a more serious/angsty undertone that I can't help but let bleed into my writing.
WARNING: This chapter contains intense feelings of angst and explicit sexual content. (Lemon)
Quinn
I'm lying on my side in bed, watching the clock on my night stand. Just waiting for the digital numbers to show 7:00 a.m. and the alarm to go off so I can press snooze. A second later, it does and I reach over and sigh. Another fitful night, leaving me feeling exhausted and I haven't even gotten out of bed yet. I roll onto my back and stare up at the white, stucco ceiling. Is it even worth it to go to class? It's Greg's class today and I know he'll just corner me afterwards and ask why I won't return his calls or messages.
I close my eyes, weighing the pros and cons of skipping Psychology, when I am hit with a memory. Hot and slick caramel skin sliding against my bare body, setting me on fire. I want you. I gasp and open my eyes, a lone tear escapes me.
She haunts me. I can't go a few minutes without thinking about her, either voluntarily or involuntarily, and every time I remember her my heart breaks all over again. It's like I'm lost in the middle of an ocean, drowning. The water is made up of broken glass and every time I try to breathe, the glass tears it's way down my throat and cuts me up from the inside. I am in complete misery and it's all my fault.
I'm such a fucking idiot.
I yank away my bed sheets, angrily, and head towards the bathroom, intent on having a scalding hot shower.
I'm at the park, just outside of campus, with a book open on my lap but I find myself people watching. Santana and I used to do this when we first met in junior high. We would make up ridiculously dramatic stories about random people passing by, give them a funny accent, and just have fun with our little game.
Now, though, I wonder about their real life stories. Like that teenaged couple playing on the swings, are they truly in love or is one cheating on the other with the best friend? Or the lonely, old man feeding the ducks. Why did he push everyone in his life away until this is all he had left?
Is anyone playing this same game on me? Have they figured out that my pretty, manufactured face hides many ugly truths? That no matter what, I never feel good enough, I'm always inadequate in some way. That my insecurities lead me to sabotage everything good in my life. That my subconscience need to regain the approval of my family, that's broken beyond repair, keeps me from being my true self; keeps me from being happy.
Yesterday, after many unanswered texts, I finally gathered the courage to call Santana. Of course, it went to voicemail but I can't blame her. For those few moments, when the phone was still ringing though, I couldn't control the rate my heart was beating and the speed of my thoughts. If she picked up, what exactly would I say? I'm sorry? How could that ever make up for the wrong I had done to her?
It wasn't enough, no words would ever be enough to express just how much regret I feel for my actions. No song could ever be enough to beg her forgiveness. No single act of honesty could ever be enough to win back her trust.
The buzzing of my phone breaks me out of my reverie, quickly I pull it out of my bag and hold my breath, could it be Santana? I read the name on the screen and feel my hopes dashed, it's Brittany. Trepidation fills me and I bite my bottom lip as I answer. "Hello?"
"Q, I've been trying to call you for days!"
"Really? Were you using a phone when you tried?"
"No, at first I was using the t.v. remote but then I found Kiki inside the fridge."
"Well, that's good. Now that you have successfully called me, what did you want to talk about?"
"Quinn, you already know what."
Her statement hangs in the air for a minute, she always knew how to get to the heart of things and people. "What do you want me to say, Britt? I messed up big time. I hurt San so much that she refuses to talk to me and I have no idea what to do to make it right. I don't even know if I'm able to make it right."
"But you want to try, don't you?"
"Of course, the least that Santana deserves is an apology, even if she doesn't accept it."
"Then you will get your chance at the wedding, I'll make sure of it."
The ceremony, well there was no actual ceremony, but it was a bust nonetheless. With Miss Pillsbury becoming a runaway bride, and Coach Sue reveling in the spotlight as usual, I don't feel so alone. Though, technically I am alone, sitting a few rows behind the old glee gang, at least I'm not the only one going through relationship issues.
While we were still anticipating a wedding, I couldn't help but zero in on the one who plagues my thoughts. She's as beautiful as ever, in a skin tight red dress, sitting next to Brittany and Sam. Mercedes is on her other side, followed by Blaine, Kurt, then Rachel, and it seems a little tense between the roommates. While muffled comments, or insults, were exchanged between the three , I caught her eyes dart quickly at me then away.
In the fraction of the second that I held her attention, I tried to decipher the emotions swirling within her deep brown eyes. I could only recognize anger. I remind myself to breath as a familiar pain seizes my heart.
After Coach almost shocked Mr. Schue into a coma, the church was slowly emptied out into the courtyard. I start wondering what plan Britt has that would enable me to apologize to San. She was very vague on the whole idea, and just asked me to trust her. Which I do but sometimes her ideas are too out there, guess I'll just have to be quick on my toes when it happens.
"There's my favorite white girl! Where's my hug?" Announces Mercedes. I laugh and give in to hugging her.
"How've you been, Cedes?" I ask when we part, grateful for someone to talk to.
"It's been busy, to say the least. I was hoping that coming back home would give me some rest and relaxation but there never seems to be peace within our group. We might need to stage an intervention before the day is done."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, turns out that Kurt and Rachel asked Santana to move out of the apartment since she keeps attacking their booty calls. You can just imagine how well that's turning out."
"What! How could they?"
"I know, right? San insists that she's better off without anymore homicidal urges, now that she doesn't live with them, but all three of them are a wreck. If only they could put their pride aside and just say I'm sorry, everyone would be happy."
"Yeah, easier said than done."
"Which brings me to you, specifically, you and Santana. What's the dirt? And don't even think about lying to me Fabray, I am the Gossip Queen, afterall."
I'm frozen, I've never had to explain my situation before. How do I tell someone who, the entire time they knew me, thought I was straight, that I'm not? Brittany, Rachel, and Kurt knew because of Santana while I never told anyone for myself. I don't even think I've said it out loud before. I'm not gay, or a lesbian, but I'm not straight either.
"How bout this," Mercedes tells me when I'm unable to answer her. "You can take your time telling me at the reception. You're always going to be my white chocolate soul sister and you can talk to me about anything."
"Okay," is the only thing I say before we make our way to the reception hall.
Even after everyone is done eating and people start dancing to the music, I still don't know what to say. No, that's not true, I know what to say but I'm scared of saying it.
"It's okay, baby girl, whenever you're ready to talk." Mercedes is rubbing my back, comfortingly.
I take a big breath. I can do this, I tell myself, even though there's a huge knot in my gut and another voice in the back of my head telling me I'm going to hell. "I've liked Santana for as long as I can remember," Cedes has no reaction to that revelation, meaning I have to elaborate more. "Liked as in I wondered how it felt to kiss her, and wanted her to be my girlfriend." That finally got the jaw-dropping response I expected and it felt like I might puke at any moment. "But when I finally got what I wanted, I screwed it up by cheating on her. Now she won't talk to me and I don't know what to do."
"So, you're telling me you're not straight?"
"Not entirely, no." There, I admitted it and my face felt like it would burst into flames. Still, I waited on baited breath what Mercedes would say next. Condemn me for all eternity? I know it was a crazy, irrational thought but it still popped into my head.
"Wow. Okay so, I'm not judging you but why did you cheat?" From one hot topic to another, she never did pull her punches, but at least she seems to still want to be friends.
"I think," I stopped to make sure I worded my explanation correctly and honestly, "I think that I was scared. I wasn't sure if she had real feelings for me or if I was just a rebound after Brittany. So just in case, I liked having someone as a back up." Speaking aloud my motives made me even more disgusted with myself. I sighed and my body seemed to deflate into sagged shoulders. "I was being foolish, especially thinking that she wouldn't find out."
"Do you regret hurting her or do you regret getting caught?" I already know my answer for that.
"I regret hurting her. In that one week we were a couple, it felt so right. She was still Santana but also caring and sweet and she understands me in a way no one else can."
"Q, I'm going to tell you something that only one other person in our group knows." The dark ghosts swirling in Cedes' eyes instantly pull my attention and I lean in closer. "Remember Shane? I cheated on him with Sam last year. The mystery summer guy I told you about was Sam before his family moved. Then when he came back and I was with Shane... I just couldn't stop my heart from feeling what it did. In the end though, I told Shane the truth. He broke up with me and then I ended it with Sam."
"What, why? If you and Sam felt the same way about each other, why not be together?"
"Because I didn't trust myself. Before the whole thing started, I never intended to cheat on Shane. He was a perfect gentleman and we had real feelings for each other. What I did hurt him so much that he cried in front of me." She goes silent and in that moment we share a deeper understanding of each other. She knows how I feel because she felt it too. "I always saw him as being so strong and look what I had done to him. He deserved better than the pain I caused him so how would it be fair to stay with Sam as if nothing happened? If I did that, what would prevent the cycle from starting all over again? When you cheat on someone you care about, how can you trust yourself?"
After Mercedes' revelation, she had a musical number to perform so I spent my alone time thinking about her words of wisdom. Did I trust myself? Have I ever trusted myself? Looking back on my past mistakes, I knew that the only thing I could trust myself with was self-preservation, aka saving face. Maybe that was enough for a younger me, but now it was disappointing. I never really thought about how deep my selfishness was until now. I felt ashamed.
Everyone was on the dance floor now, having fun. I found Britt dancing away with Sam but I couldn't spot Santana anywhere. My brows met in confusion, where could she have gone?
"May I have this dance?"
I look up in surprise and see Joe holding out his hand with a big smile gracing his features. "Sure, why not," I answer and he leads me forward.
We join our large group of dancing friends and I try not to let my face betray my thoughts. We exchange small talk, nothing too serious, and I am reminded why I like him so much, as a friend, that is. He has his faith, his beliefs and he sticks to them, never wavering. I wish I could be more like him, more like Mercedes, but I'm not.
The song is ending and I am being spun around playfully. Out of the corner of my eyes, I finally find her. She's sitting alone at the bar, drinking her third big glass of something that is definitely alcoholic. I thank Joe for the dance and excuse myself to talk to San before it's too late.
"I'll have what she's having," I say to the bartender as I sit on the stool next to the Latina.
"I.D. please," he says back and I pull out my Hawaiian I.D. effortlessly. He inspects it for a second then pushes the glass towards me, "Here ya go, Miss Stark." I smile at him in thanks before I take a sip of the unknown liquid.
It's cloyingly strong and I hold back my immediate reflex of cringing before turning to face the scowling beauty. "San, could we please talk?"
She laughs down at me, and I admit that it hurts. "What makes you think I want to talk to you? Can't you take a hint when I don't answer your texts or calls? I thought Yale was a place for smart people who slept their way to the top of the world." Ouch.
"Okay, I deserved that but at least hear me out. I want to apologize." I say in a rush, afraid that she might stand up and walk, or stumble, away at any moment. She's staring at her nearly empty glass, circling her finger around the rim. The scowl she had when I sat down is now pensive. A dim light of hope grows within me, at least she hasn't thrown her drink in my face. Then she turns to look at me and, in her eyes, the anger has returned with a vengeance.
"Too bad, you can't get everything you want. Even if you are the flawless Quinn Fabray." She gulps down the remaining liquor and fiercely walks away as if she hadn't drank a half bottle of Jack by herself. I watch her leave, fixated on the sway of her hips. With every step she takes, it's like she's saying 'see what you could've had.'
"Quinnie, here." My dark thoughts are interrupted by Brittany, who at some point must have ninja'd her way next to me. She hands me a plastic card with a smile.
"What's this?"
"The spare key to the room Santana went to." I'm struck speechless once I've figured her plan. I look at the card key like it's the last golden ticket to the Chocolate Factory.
"Thank you, Britt." I say sincerely and envelop her in a hug. "Why are you helping me when I hurt her so much?" How is it that she's even still my friend?
"It wasn't long ago when it was me hurting her and you helped me."
"Britt, is that you?" Her voice is broken and hoarse, as I enter the room more, I see why. Santana is curled on the bed and sobbing into a pillow that she's clutching onto for dear life.
"No." Her back is to me and when I answer, the shaking of her shoulders stop. She seems to bury her head under the pillow but then uncovers it so I can still hear he speak.
"Leave me alone, Quinn. I'm sure Joe wouldn't mind being another victim to your fucking games." The venom slowly drips from her words as I realize she must have been watching us on the dance floor. I take a few steps towards her form on the bed, wishing I could comfort her somehow but knowing that it'd just make things worse.
"I'm not leaving you until I apologize, properly." I finally say, remembering why I came here in the first place.
"Really? I thought it was one of your favorite things to do." She responds without a second of hesitation, causing my frustration to escape.
"Santana, I'm sorry! I'm fucking sorry, okay." I pause to see if my words have any effect. "I messed up this amazing connection we share and it wasn't even worth it. I don't care about Greg, or Joe, or anyone else that's walked through my life. I only care about you, I've only ever cared about you. No one else has been with me as long as you have, no one gets me the way you do. I don't want to be with anyone but you." Those few, truthful sentences made me feel like I just went through a triathlon. I feel ready to pass out, with how fast my heart is pumping, but I refuse to. I'm waiting for San's response which turn out to be a viciously thrown pillow to my head.
"You're so full of bullshit, get out!" She is sitting up and facing me as she yells this at the top of her lungs.
"No." I challenge her, immediately. "I'm not leaving you like this."
"I don't need or want your mother fucking pity!" A crack echoes through the air before I register that she moved off the bed. She slapped me. My cheek burns, numbly. Tears form in the corners of my eyes but do not fall. I deserved that. I turn my head back to look at Santana. Her make-up is smudged, tear tracks down her face, and swollen eyes narrowed in scorn.
"I bet the only reason you're here is cuz Patches found an easier lay that wasn't damaged goods. I bet you're just dying to get fucked, since you've hit a dry spell, that almost anyone will do. The only reason you didn't chase after a guy tonight is cuz they're either gay or already rolled around in the hay with you and know the crazy in your head isn't worth that golden vagina. So who's left, out of our incestuous little group, me. The only God-damned lesbian in this entire fucking town that actually gave a rat's ass about you. So what, if you stabbed me in the back and treated me as if I were a toy to be played with when it was convenient. All you have to do is batt your eyelashes, flash your tits, and the raging homo inside me would take over. Right? Tell me I'm right."
"Go ahead and slap me, insult me, call me out on all my mistakes. Just know that I'm sorry and want to work this out." I whisper, hoping she doesn't take me up on the slapping part, but knowing I would still stay and endure it if she did.
In the next instant, she growls and shoves me hard against the wall next to the door. The back of my head rebounds hard, but before I can gasp in pain, rough lips press forcefully against mine. My mind instantly goes into autopilot so I kiss Santana back with the same ferocity. It's hard, biting, and full of aggression and pent up frustration. Her lips, teeth, and tongue work in unison to manipulate my sensitive flesh and leave me struggling for air.
Suddenly, she pulls away from my mouth to whisper, harshly, in my ear. "This is your last chance to leave, Fabray," her statement is punctuated by her canines sinking into my pulse point. I moan helplessly, pressed tightly between her and the wall, I feel every curve and delicious dip of her body. I want you. My mind is screaming that she's dangerous right now, that I need to escape, but my body wants her and refuses to move.
When she is done sucking, vigorously, on the bite mark she made, she stares deeply into my eyes with rage and violent lust. It feels like the floor disappears from under me and I'm falling but I push my fears away and lightly grasp her jaw in my hands. She's justified in her anger towards me, but I know deep down, she still cares. So I place a wet kiss upon her lips, silently telling her that it's okay.
At the beginning, she was stiff, but eventually gave in and returned the kiss in full force. This gave me hope that maybe all wasn't lost, maybe she would forgive me and we could work through this. When we parted, I still held her as close as possible to me. Her arms were now wrapped around my back, keeping me pined to her body, and I could feel her heart beating wildly within her chest. We both were panting for air and when I looked into her eyes, it was like a battle between her emotions was taking place.
"San, I-"
"Shut up." She growls and surges forward to claim my bruised lips, once again. The violent lust has returned and I'm almost smothered by it's intensity. She's everywhere, all over me. Sharp nails drag down my back, at some point she must've unzipped my dress, leaving fire in their wake and possibly blood. I let out a pained gasp but that seems to fuel her on even more. Her knee wedges itself between my shaking thighs and she lifts it just enough to know that my panties are thoroughly soaked.
Her lips finally release my tongue, that she had been greedily sucking on, and I can feel her smirk against the neck. "You're just loving this, aren't you." San whispers into my ear. "You love being dominated. That perfect self-control you fool everyone with just means you want someone to take it away from you. You can't even deny it when your juices are practically flowing down your legs and mine." She then sucks on my earlobe and a surprised moan escapes my lips. I shamefully grind myself onto her thigh in defeat. She then chuckles, humorlessly. "That's what I thought."
Her hands scratch their way up the back of my thighs, to firmly grip my ass, and lift me off the ground. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around her hips and she carries me to the bed. Her hands keep massaging my backside, even as she lands us onto our destination, and I can't help but wish her hands would move somewhere else nearby. In the next minute, she removes my wet panties, jacket, dress, and bra.
She doesn't take any of her clothes off before she attacks my pert nipples. Goosebumps spread across my chest and up my neck. "Santana!" I moan in pleasure, thankful she hasn't bit me there, and thread my fingers into her soft hair. Her tongue swirls around my hardened flesh then sucks it between her hot, supple lips. While she switches her attention to my other peak, her free hand is trailing from my shoulder to my knees and back up, making my quiver in anticipation.
When her fingers slowly start to travel between my legs, she stops abruptly and orders me to turn around. I want to protest, but the darkness that's taken over her eyes make me fearful of her reaction. So I unwrap my legs from around her, get on my hands and knees, and wait for her to do with me what she wants. A part of me is apprehensive, in all the times we've had sex, San has never been this dominant. She would be adventurous with just the right amount of roughness and this is a whole different story.
Suddenly, another crack hangs in the air and my ass cheeks are on fire. The second time she spanks me, I grunt in pain, but her hand gently rubs and soothes my reddened buttocks. Oh God, what is she doing and why is it turning me on?
"Now Quinn, I'm going to ask you some questions that you must answer truthfully. If I don't like the answer then I'm going to spank you, ready?" I nod my head in embarrassment and it earns me another stinging, spank. "I can't hear you."
"Yes!" I squeak, quickly.
"Better. First question, were you cheating on me the entire week we were together?" Shit, I don't respond fast enough and San hands out my punishment, strongly. My skin is more sensitive than before and that last spank felt more like a lightning strike than fire.
"...yes." I saw, just loud enough for her to hear. For a moment, the pain in my chest helps me forget the stinging pain of my rear.
"Why did you do it?" She asks, anger ringing through her voice.
"I was scared." Another spank makes me yelp louder than before.
"Elaborate."
"I was scared that I was your rebound." I almost shout. I could feel that she wasn't satisfied with my answer so I take a deep breath and continue. "I was scared of what people would think." Her hand stops halfway to my ass and a tear escapes my eye. That's the real reason I do anything, isn't it? I'm always afraid of what people will think. I feel the atmosphere shift, San loses the hard glint of her eyes. I wonder if I should turn around but then I feel her tongue licking over my sore butt cheeks. It's soothing, but still stings as if I had tiny cuts all over my skin.
She places one hand on my hip, keeping me in position as she continues to sooth me, and her other hand starts to tease my dripping wet folds. It seems like my entire body has become extra sensitive, with the first passing touch against my clit, I involuntarily jolt. Unperturbed by my reaction, Santana moves back and forth through me at a steady pace. My need to have her properly touching me is fogging up my mind. I can't think of anything but the sensations she's making me feel and the torture of waiting.
"San, please..." I hear myself moan, barely recognizing my own voice through all the lust and want. She stop the ministrations of her tongue, leans her body over me, and pulls my head back by my hair to whisper in my ear.
"Are you still with him?"
"No." I say as strongly as I could. "I stopped seeing him after you found out." She seems to weigh my answer for a few moments, still lazily teasing my center.
"Did he ever make you feel this good?"
I stop my subtle rocking motion and look her in the eye as best I could, "No one can make me feel as good as you do."
I scream in absolute pleasure. Her fingers slide deeply into my core and I feel full, stretched deliciously so. Magic finger rotate inside of me and hit me just right, causing my toes to curl and obscenities to fall from my lips. Slowly, she pulls out just to thrust forcefully back in, even deeper this time. "Santana, ungh!" I cry as she picks up speed and starts ramming into my cervix. I have no idea how many fingers she has in me but I feel myself tearing apart. Even if I'm ripped in two, I would never tell her to stop. If anything, I want her to go harder.
"Fuck, Quinn! Your pussy is so fucking wet." And it is, I can feel it. Moisture keeps escaping like rivers as she continues to pound away into my heat.
"Santana!" I scream again as my orgasm rips through me like a tsunami. I almost want to black out, it's that intense. Aftershocks feel more like mini orgasms, my body is convulsing, but that doesn't stop San. Her fingers are still moving in and out of me at a fast rate but now her other hand is making tight circles over my clit. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take and I know Santana has impressive endurance.
Suddenly, I'm flipped onto my back and San is suckling on my nipples again. "Ungh! Don't stop!" I keep repeating her name between my moans, knowing that it encourages her like nothing else. Then I feel it, the second coming tightening my every muscle. I pull San away from my tit and kiss her as the force of my second orgasm crashes through me and I shatter like a glass house.
Before my sore body succumbs to sleep, the last image I see is my beautiful Santana with tears in her eyes.
A/N: Hehe, your dirty thoughts? Were you not entertained?