A.N. – This chapter and I did not get along very well. I'm still slightly iffy about it. Your thoughts would be very much appreciated. Thanks for reading.
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Fifty Words for Forgiveness
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Bittersweet
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Your ass was doomed.
Sitting in the front of Rachel's car, while waiting as she said goodbye to her dads, you sighed. The two of you were heading over to Brittany's house for her Glee Girls Sleepover, and you couldn't be dreading it more. Nothing about the upcoming evening screamed 'fun!'.
For starters, you were hiding in Rachel's car. Yes, it was parked in her driveway, right outside her house, but her fathers had no idea you were there, and according to Rach, it was probably better they didn't. Apparently, they didn't find her moment of delinquency earlier in the week appropriate, and if it had been any other occasion, she would have been grounded. Given that you were her partner in crime, and your history with the girl, they weren't your biggest fans. In all honesty, you were positive Rachel had saved you from being skinned alive when she told you to duck down in the passenger seat.
Moreover, if that was not enough to worry about, imminent death by your best friend's parents, you had to try and think of an inspiring speech to give Lord Tubbington.
You had promised Brittany that you would give Lord T a talking to once he returned from rehab, and this whole sleepover was built around his return. There was no way you could back out, nor would you want to. Brittany was relying on your words to keep her cat on the straight and narrow. Why she thought you had the words of wisdom needed for that little ecstasy addict, you didn't know, but you were still stuck between a rock and a hard place. There really was no other option but to think of something inspirational.
Then, once that was taken care of, you were actually going to have to spend the evening surrounded by the glee girls, including Kurt. Whoop-de-fucking-doo, because they were your favourite people. If it had just been Britt, Rach and yourself, everything would have been fucking grand, but no. Instead, you had to share the air with Mercedes, Kurt, Tina, and Quinn.
Quinn.
She'd been giving you whiplash with her mood swings all week. Her questioning on Monday suggested she believed you about fifty words, but her actions on Tuesday implied she was angry with you. Wednesday turned out to be no better, her eyes cold and dark, watching you all day, glaring. Yesterday, she had been more reserved with her looks, and instead just looked wounded. You had done that, somehow. So today, you assumed she would either be prissy with you, or ignore your presence entirely.
Both sucked.
You just needed her to come around, show a little more acceptance towards fifty words, and then you would be able to take the next step. She had to stop being angry at you for your lack of speech, because that wasn't anything you could control. If things had gone the way you wanted them to, you would have confessed your true feelings for her long ago.
Alas, you were now stuck in limbo.
Against your better judgement, you sent a silent prayer begging that you'd make it through the evening ahead unscathed. Your heart could only take so many beatings from that blonde before it gave in, gave up, and gave out.
Hearing the slam of a door, you looked up from behind the dashboard and watched Rachel run towards the car, bags in hand. She threw them in the back before jumping in the front. Quickly, you sat up and put your seatbelt on, knowing damn well that she wouldn't even start the car if everyone wasn't buckled in correctly.
"My dads' think you're the devil," she derided, shaking her head vehemently.
"I am," you added, frowning in confusion. As much as you hated to think it, you very much felt like Satan.
Four.
"Stop that!" Rachel cried, horror marring her features as she smacked your arm. "Don't waste your words, you've been doing so good today!" Straightening herself out, she checked her mirrors before putting the car in reverse and easing out her driveway. "Plus, you are not the devil. They're overreacting, and they only used that word because they think you've tricked me into 'sinning'. Honestly, I think they're trying to make me feel guilty because I haven't taken an interest in the bible studies classes they've been attending. And before you say anything, because I can just see you waiting to question me, my Jewish daddy goes along because he doesn't want my Christian daddy to think he doesn't care about his religion. It's all very political."
You bit back a laugh as she rolled her eyes, and grabbed your phone. She had found an awesome app for you that read out any input text, and the two of you had been using it when scribbling on paper became too much for her poor conscious to handle. Seemingly, she was being haunted by trees, crying at her feet, weeping pieces of paper, every night for the last week.
"Regardless, I'm a bad influence. How much trouble are you in?" the monotone voice asked, as you held your phone up for her to hear. She had already turned off the music in the car, pre-empting this.
"You're not a bad influence. If anything, I'm a bad influence on you. It was me who begged you to skip, if I remember correctly, which I do. Plus, I'm not in that much trouble. Really, it's not that bad. I actually think my daddy is proud of me. Dad, on the other hand, is upset I would sink to such lows. But please, they can't expect perfection twenty-four-seven. Even Angel's fall from grace," she replied, waving her hand dismissively at their comments.
While her remark was meant to ease your worries, instead it brought a whole new set up. The two of you were driving closer and closer to your very own fallen angel. God, could you even refer to her as yours anymore? Surely she'd made it clear she wasn't your anything.
"Whoa, what is that face for? What did I do?" Rachel asked, worrying seeping into each word.
"Nothing," the phone recited.
"Come on, don't lie to me. I found that app so you could explain your feelings in more than one word, at least have the courtesy to use it properly. What's going on in that head of yours?"
Rolling your eyes at her persistence, you started typing out a longer reply to appease her. The two of you needed to be on the same page for tonight. She was going to keep your grounded, stop you from doing anything stupid, and safe guard your heart tonight, whether she knew it or not.
"I'm just not looking forward to spending an evening with Quinn. I can only do wrong when it comes to her. We're not ready for this, yet. We need more time." Listening to the phone recite your words, Rachel nodded and mashed her lips together in thought.
"Nothing needs to happen tonight, San. Just keep your distance. Quinn is curious about what's going on, so she might actually have questions, and that can only be encouraged. But, remember, I have your back. Any tricky situation you need help getting out of, I'm there. I'll be your buffer, if you need me to be."
Shooting Rachel a thankful smile, your worries were eased slightly. She was on the same page as you, without you having to ask, which helped. It still hadn't filled you with confidence for later, but how could it? The situation was too unpredictable to make any assumptions, especially with Britt running the show.
Sinking back into the seat, trying to get a little comfier, you put the radio back on and the two of you drove in silence the rest of the way. Thankfully, Rachel knew you needed the downtime to put your thoughts in order. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, tonight was a big night.
You could either take another step closer to reconciling with Quinn, or you could shoot yourself in the foot and lose any chance you ever had. No pressure or anything.
Pulling up outside Brittany's house, Rachel turned the car off and spun in her seat to look at you. You waited, knowing she had some words of wisdom to share before the two of you were to make your grand entrance.
"Try and relax. This is meant to be an enjoyable night, and honestly, I'm looking forward to it. I'm hardly ever invited to these sorts of things, especially the ones with you and Brittany present. So can we maybe try and have a good time, please?"
"Definitely," you replied, a tinge of guilt hitting you. You fought it off with a warm smile her way and gave her hand a squeeze before exiting the car. Rachel followed suit, grabbing the bags as she did so, and the beaming smile on her face told you that she wasn't holding your past against you.
Five.
You'd do whatever Rachel needed of you to ensure she had a good time. You owed her that at least.
The two of you stood on the doorstep as you rang the doorbell and waited patiently for it to open. You could hear Brittany calling to the door, saying she was on her way, and then heard the jingling of the lock as she worked to open it.
"Hey guys! You two are the last ones to arrive, so the gang is all here. Come on in!" she said, smiling brightly at the two of you. "The others are in the den. San, do you mind taking the stuff upstairs while I take Rach through?"
You waved your hand, to tell them to head on in, and accepted the bags before heading for the stairs. Given how familiar you were with the house, it didn't take long for you to dump your things with the other bags at the bottom of Brittany's bed, and then make your way back towards the den.
Brittany stopped you in the hallway, before you could see the other girls, however. She was smiling at you in her usual giddy manner as she dragged you to the study at the back of the house. You were frowning in confusion, waiting on some kind of explanation, which she was quick to give.
"Lord Tubbington's in here resting," she began. "I didn't want him to run out of energy before the festivities really started. There's a big night ahead, after all. I made cake, and brownies! I even made vegan ones for Rachey to eat!"
You knew you'd need to warn Rachel not to eat the brownies. Knowing Brittany like you did, that was not something that would go down well, and you were not in the mood to deal with that mess tonight.
Stopping outside the study door, she dropped your hand and fished the key from out of her pocket before unlocking it. She made no move to open the door, though. Instead, she handed you the key and pointed towards it.
"He might be a little grumpy because I locked him in, but once he sees you, he'll relax. I wanted to leave it as a surprise. Just say what you can. I'm sure he'll appreciate it as much as I do." Leaping forward, she gave you a tight hug and then pushed you towards the door, leaving you no option but to open it and head inside.
The only plus to this situation, you noted, was that you wouldn't have an audience. Unfortunately, being trapped alone in a room with Lord Tubbington outweighed that pro tenfold. That little shithead was a violent motherfucker when he wanted to be. Just because he was big didn't mean he was slow. No. Have you ever been hit by a thirty-pound cat? It fucking hurts.
Thankfully, his size usually meant you could find him, but glancing round the room, you had no such luck. He wasn't loitering on the desk, or the desk chair. Nor was he rolled out on the floor anywhere. Crossing the room, you kept an eye out for him, just waiting patiently for the sneak attack. Maybe Brittany had been wrong, maybe she hadn't locked him in here.
Dropping onto the couch by the window, you sunk back into the cushions and sighed. Where the fuck was he? Was Britt pulling your leg? Had the bugger slipped out an open window or something? Yeah, Santana, slipped out. He's bigger than a fucking tire but he can slip out a crack in a window. Fucking genius you are.
Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms and kicked your legs up onto the remainder of the couch. That's' when he struck. There was nothing you could do. It all happened in slow motion. One minute you were lounging on the couch, the next you were watching what appeared to be a cushion flying towards you from the top shelf of the bookcase. How the fuck he got up there, you'd never know.
There wasn't any time to prepare. There was no time to move. He hit you like a fucking battering ram. His shitty claws landed in your thighs, and his hissing and devil noises had you freaking out enough to try and push him off you. Landing with a thud on the floor, Lord Tubbington continued his verbal assault as you assessed your broken legs.
You weren't moving. You were incapable of moving. He'd kneecapped you. Fucking ninja cat had destroyed your legs. Biting back the slew of insults waiting to burst out, you growled and shook your head. You couldn't afford to waste your words. You just couldn't afford to waste them.
Brittany owed you her firstborn for this fuckery.
And really, if this was what Lord Tubbington was like off ecstasy you'd become his own personal dealer just to turn him back into the fat rump of a cat that never moved. It mellowed him the fuck out, so what was Brittany's problem?
It took a few moments, but Lord T eventually chilled the fuck out. He slunk himself towards the desk and somehow managed to heave himself up onto the chair. You watched carefully, just to make sure he wasn't going to try something, before stretching your legs out with a groan. You were now bruised and bloodied, and you had nothing to show for it. The little shithead still needed a talking to.
Realising that this was going to be harder than you first thought, especially given you'd left your phone upstairs, you pursed your lips and rose from the couch. Brittany had always said Lord Tubbington could read, and given how you were not wasting your precious words on that bugger, he was going to have to read your inspirational speech.
Scoffing to yourself, you approached the desk slowly, eyeing him like a lion waiting to attack. Thankfully, he seemed uninterested in you, allowing you to grab a pen and some paper. You really didn't know what to say, it was a cat after all, but you gave it your best shot.
You were out of your fucking mind to be doing this, but fifty words was proof of that already.
Placing the piece of paper on the desk, hoping to get it in Lord Tubbington's eye line, you noted it wasn't. Sighing, you moved round the desk and decided to just go for it, biting the bullet before you got shot. As fast as possible, you grabbed Lord T and picked him up, only to drop his fat ass on the desk next to your message. He was looking at you like you were a peasant, but you had no time for his judging eyes.
Tapping the note with your index finger, his eyes followed the movement and he honed in on it.
Read this!
I'm delusional to think you will, but apparently you can, so you better fucking do it, Lord T. I'm not kidding around. This is important! Britt is worried about your drug-addicted ass, so you need to stop messing around. How many times do you want to go to rehab? How many times do you want to make her cry, huh?
You've got another chance. She's trusting you. Don't let her down, Lord T. We all have faith in you. And if you dare attack me again, I'll go Lima Heights on your ass and make you into a throw cushion. That also applies if you hurt Britt-Britt again. Got it?
Why you had ended the note with a question was beyond you. It wasn't like he was going to be able to answer the damn thing. Alas, you'd done all you could, and you really didn't want to spend any more time with him. Giving him a salute goodbye, you slowly backed away from the desk, never taking your eyes off him in case he went for a sneak attack, and opened the door to leave.
Hopefully that was enough for Brittany. You'd tried, that's all she had asked of you.
Locking the door behind you, in case he tried to escape and get revenge for your manhandling of him, you dropped your head against the wood and took a deep breath. No way were you letting him out. Swallowing the key sounded like the best idea ever. He was never leaving. You'd need to convince Brittany to keep him in there for good, or at least until you left.
"What are you doing?" a voice asked, freezing you in place. You knew that voice far too well, far too intimately, and it was far too close to you for your brain to even think about functioning correctly.
Turning, you found Quinn, only a few feet away, smiling at you bemusedly. You could feel the heat in your cheeks as you dropped your head, biting your bottom lip as you did so. She chuckled and took a step closer, biting her lip in turn.
Good lord, where the fuck was everyone else?
You hadn't wanted to be alone with this girl. She was dangerous. Those eyes, those eyes were like an atomic bomb to you. She was going to decimate everything in your very soul, leaving you useless for years to come. Those goddamn hazel eyes.
"I'm glad I found you," she whispered, as if confessing a secret. You raised your eyebrows in question, as if doubting her words, and she nodded. "Yeah, I really am glad I found you. I wanted to talk," she admitted, taking a step closer.
You were standing on one side of the door frame with her on the other, the positions reminiscent of how you'd both lean against lockers at school. Like then, there was barely any space between you, or so it felt like it. She was too close; you weren't ready for this.
"I was thinking that we could maybe speak in private, sometime tonight. We need to clear the air and…" she paused, chewing her bottom lip incessantly and without thinking twice, you raised your hand and cupped the side of her face, pulling her lip away from harm.
Only after did you realise what you'd just done, and the shock set in. You dropped your arm like it had been burnt, and took a step backwards, shaking your head in apology, willing the words to stay in your mouth. You couldn't apologise verbally, because there was so much you needed to apologise for.
"It's okay, it's okay," Quinn said, shaking her head as well. "Relax, S. It's fine."
It wasn't. It wasn't fine at all. You weren't meant to do that. That was an intimate action two lovers would share, not whatever the hell you two were. You couldn't entertain thoughts like that, not when you didn't know where things stood.
She wanted to talk, she didn't specify what about. For all you knew, she could want to be just friends with you. She could tell you she's accepted fifty words but that she's not forgiven you for rejecting her so. She could tell you to go to fucking hell. You had no idea.
"I didn't mind you…doing that, so don't worry about it. I mean, it's nothing you haven't done before, and old habits die hard, I guess," she babbled, shrugging her shoulders at you, oblivious to your mental freak out.
Nodding, you went to ask her what exactly she wanted to talk about, and preferably when, but the approaching footsteps had you closing your mouth. There was no point asking a question when you were only going to be interrupted.
"San, are you done yet?" Rachel's voice rang out, coming down the hall. She was looking at something in her hand, having not looked up while she continued speaking. "Brittany said you were talking to Lord Tubbington, and I was hoping you were finished, because we're talking about watching a movie or…oh."
Pausing at the end of the hall, Rachel froze, her eyes falling on Quinn and then on you. You could see that she didn't know what to do next. Had she just interrupted something important? Had she done you a favour? Did you need her to leave? Did you need her to rescue you?
Wiping down her skirt, she took a few steps back, still in sight but far enough away to stay out of whatever conversation was taking place. You sent her a thankful nod, hoping she knew that you wanted her to stay just there, and turned back to Quinn.
What you saw was confusing, but in some regards, it made perfect sense. It certainly explained some of Quinn's recent behaviour towards the brunette at the end of the hall.
"You're jealous." It wasn't a question, you could see the answer in her eyes so there was no need to ask. Your words broke Quinn's glare on Rachel, and she looked back at you.
Seven.
"Do I have a reason to be?" She glanced Rachel's way again, judging her where she stood.
"Depends," you replied, shrugging one shoulder. Quinn's eyes inflamed with your response, her gaze shooting back to yours quickly and stopping you dead. She was completely misunderstanding you.
Eight.
"I see," she remarked, but she really didn't.
She could only be jealous of Rachel if she wished to be your best friend, because Rachel was nothing more than that. She never would be anything more than that. Hell, she only took that position because Quinn couldn't stand to stay yours.
"Perhaps we shouldn't talk, then," Quinn said shortly, standing up straighter as she did so. "I get the picture."
"No-" you started, shaking you head at her and reaching out for her wrist.
Nine.
"Don't, Santana. Just don't. I get it. Let's leave it at that." There was nothing more you could say as she walked away, passing Rachel as if she was a speck of dirt on the floor.
Sighing, you dropped back against the study door and ran your hands over your face and into your hair. It was misunderstanding after misunderstanding with the two of you, always. Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time before the situation grew too volatile and one of you lashed out. You'd either blow and fire your words at her, or she'd admit defeat and walk away from you for good.
"Want to talk about it?" Rachel joked, cracking a nervous smile. You chuckled under breath and shook your head. There was no point. It would be a waste of words, as well as be a burden Rachel didn't need. Tonight was about her having fun.
Content with your response, she hummed in understanding and leant against the wall next to you. After a few seconds, she handed you your phone with a smile, one you returned, and then went back to staring aimlessly off. No doubt she was waiting for you to recompose yourself before making your way back to the group.
"I think Lord Tubbington is deaf," she announced out of the blue moments later. You shot her your 'what the fuck?' look, and she quickly backtracked for you. "It makes sense. Brittany says that she talks to him, but he never listens. She pours her heart out to him, and yet still, he reads her diary. Why? Maybe he can't hear her, but longs to understand what she's saying. I really do think he's deaf. It would make perfect sense. He never comes when he's called on. He doesn't respond to any verbal commands, only written ones. He's very much deaf. Okay, okay, I'm not losing it, I promise. Please stop looking at me like that."
"Did Brittany give you a brownie?" the monotone voice from your phone asked. Half way through her babbling you knew you'd have to check. It didn't seem likely that the affects would have kicked in if she had eaten one, but with her fast metabolism and small body weight, god only knows what would happen.
"What? No. Why? Should I have one?" Rachel asked, frowning at the peculiar question.
"Fuck, no." You shook your head to reaffirm your point, but were only met with her confused look. She shrugged off your concern and ignored you, meaning you were going to have to watch her carefully later.
"Anyway, Lord Tubbington is deaf, I'm sure of it. So, I'm sorry to say, your words were wasted on him."
"I wrote it down for him," the phone recited, earning a bright smile from Rachel as she bounced in excitement next to you.
"Aww, really?! It's just like you knew! Oh my God, maybe you did! Maybe I telepathically sent you a message! How amazing would that be?" She was practically giddy at the thought, and you tried not to roll your eyes.
Fifty words, you could accept. Her psychic abilities, you could accept. Her being telepathic, not a chance.
"Amazing." Rachel shot you an unimpressed look and crossed her arms over her chest.
"The phone may have said that, but I can still tell when you're being sarcastic and I do not appreciate the sass. Now, come on, Britt's asking after you." She was done with you, and wandered off back through the house, leaving you no option but to follow after her and see what was going on.
Arriving in the kitchen, you found everyone else and waved your hellos. Rachel had already informed them that your throat was still in a bad way and you were unlikely to be talking much. They didn't question it, much to your relief.
You tried to catch Quinn's eye again, just to see if she would even acknowledge you but it was a lost cause. She glanced away quickly and struck up conversation with Mercedes, one you were definitely not going to get involved in; not that you could, anyway.
Rachel made up for her sour mood, however, and had you smiling at her ramblings to Kurt about which musical was ideal to set the theme of the evening. Brittany was looking at them like they were talking another language, and Tina didn't look pleased with the prospect of sitting through two and half hours of signing.
Their discussion was quickly shut down, however, when Brittany informed them that it was tradition to watch a Disney movie. That, of course, led the two of them to go and look at the collection so they could make the best pick. One would think they were planning to invade a small country, the way they were going on about how it should be approached, length of time needed, ample amount of supplies necessary, and if everyone could come to an agreement that met everyone's needs.
Heading into the living room, everyone gathered around the cupboard containing the films. Britt had the best Disney collection you'd ever seen, and you knew that this conversation was going to take a while, so hung back by the door and waited it out.
They were working on compromising, and also what defined a 'true' Disney movie. Did Pixar count? Or did it need to be a Walt Disney classic? Could they have one with singing? What one had the best musical score? What one had the best known songs so those that wished to sing could?
Rachel was in the midst of it all, and you shot her a smile when she looked round for you. She seemed to be enjoying herself, and for that you were pleased. You didn't want to have to go all Lima Heights on their asses for ruining what was probably one of her few sleepover experiences.
"Okay, you guys decide, and San and I will get the snacks!" Brittany called, having enough of the indecision. She smiled brightly at you and began to leave, only to stop and turn back. "Oh, and if you could make sure you don't get blood on the carpet, that would be great. It's so hard to wash out."
Quinn was the only one to crack a smile, knowing that Britt was fucking with them, and you watched her drop into the armchair for a prime view of the impending debate. Brittany was giggling to herself as she left everyone's shocked faces behind, with Kurt looking at the rug as if it was contaminated. You followed her, chuckling under your breath and shaking your head. It took a while for most people to work out Britt's sense of humour, but you loved it.
Sadly, your laughter died in your throat at Brittany's next words.
"I think you should talk with Quinn," she whispered, moving past you to grab bowls from the cupboard.
You froze, unsure where her words had come from and shook your head at her. She wasn't paying attention, and was emptying food into the bowls, oblivious to you.
I can't, my words, you scribbled, sliding the note in front of her to read.
You would have used your phone but you didn't want the others to possibly overhear this conversation, which was also why you didn't want to talk with Quinn. Having that type of conversation via a note or using some stupid monotone voice app was not what you had in mind. Brittany wasn't fazed by what you wrote, however, and she actually grinned at you instead.
"That's why you should have Rachel there. She can talk for you. She knows enough about what happened between you and Quinn to fix things. Let her ask the questions you need answers to, and it'll help."
No, no way, B. Quinn will kill Rachel. She'll kill me!
"She won't kill you, silly. Maybe Rach, at a push, but I'm sure it won't come to that." Shaking your head, you tried to let Brittany know just how against this idea you were, but she was ignoring you. Humming to herself, she grabbed the bowls of food and pranced out the kitchen like nothing had happened.
She was going to trap you, you just knew it.
One movie later, they finally settled on Beauty & the Beast, and yep, Brittany had set a plan in motion. Conveniently, she wanted to show Kurt, Mercedes and Tina her motocross equipment. They were too polite to turn her down, and she insisted that Rachel, Quinn and yourself, who had all seen it before, stay put.
Watching the backs of them head out of the living room and towards the back of the house, you realised you had underestimated Brittany severely. You really hadn't thought she'd manage to get you all in the same room together, let alone without anyone else present.
Goddammit, Brittany, this was not going to help. If anything, this was going to resort in one dead body, and Christ knows you were not going to be the only one left cleaning up that mess. She had been warned, this was all on her.
Glancing round, you noted the same 'what the fuck do we do now?' look on Rachel's face as your own, and looked to Quinn. She was glaring at Rachel, and then her eyes met yours, the glare changing into a frown. No doubt she thought you'd set this up. As if. This was one of your worst nightmares.
"I think I'm going to get a drink of water," Rachel said, rising to her feet, trying to escape. You weren't having any of that, though, and quickly grabbed her sleeve and tugged her back onto the couch with you. "Or maybe I'm not," she muttered, avoiding eye contact.
Quinn was watching the two of you carefully, almost as if she was looking for signs of more. She wouldn't find any, you were only friends with Rachel, but from your earlier discussion, there was no way Quinn would believe that.
It was ridiculous, really.
If it hadn't been for Quinn, you never would have made amends with Rachel, and you certainly wouldn't have become her friend. She had wanted you to earn your forgiveness, to repent for the sins you had committed, and you had. You had begged and pleaded, and it had worked out for you. So why she was so angry about that, you didn't know. You had only done what she had told you to do.
The only upside to her reaction, however, was that she clearly still cared about you. That was the only plausible explanation your brain was providing you with. She was jealous, she was angry, and she was hurt. All of those emotions made it easy for you to conclude that she still felt something for you.
You could only hope that it was what you felt for her. If she simply wanted to be friends again, it would break your heart all over again. But no, you were holding out on the idea that a part of her still loved you, that despite what you'd said and done, she still wanted to be with you, privately, at least.
Pulling out your phone, knowing the other two weren't going to do anything to resolve the tension in the room, you thought you'd get the ball rolling. Knowing Brittany like you did, she would probably not come back until she was sure things were patched up. The girl had some kind of power, you were sure of it.
"We need to talk, otherwise Brittany will keep putting us in situations like this," the phone rang out, attracting their attention. Rachel nodded in agreement with your words, but Quinn rolled her eyes.
"There's nothing to talk about. Everything that needs to be said has been," she argued, crossing her arms over her chest. You hated when she did that, steeling herself for what was next to come, protecting herself from you like you were going to hurt her.
"Actually, I don't think anything has been said-" Rachel began, hoping to patch things up. She was only trying to help, but in all honesty, she shouldn't have said anything.
"What do you know, Rachel? Huh?" Quinn barked, and you flinched at the venom being spat so viciously. "You know nothing about what's going on between Santana and I, so don't think-"
"In reality, Quinn, nothing is going on between Santana and yourself. The two of you aren't even friends."
"And isn't that convenient for you?"
"I don't know what you mean by that," Rachel replied, shaking her head.
"Yeah, of course you don't."
"What you're implying is incorrect, Quinn." You nodded in agreement with Rach, and watched as Quinn shook her hair away from her face, catching your eye as she did so. "Santana and I are friends, nothing more."
"You don't need to justify yourselves to me. It's not my business." She was right, there. It wasn't her business. She had made sure it wasn't her business. So, when Rachel went to speak, you put your hand on hers to stop her. She eyed you curiously as you did so and shut her mouth, accepting your decision.
The next part was trickier. You didn't want to hurt her feelings, but you knew nothing would be achieved with her in the room. Pointing at the door, you motioned for her to give you some time. You could see her reluctance, but she did as you asked and sent you a smile on her way out the door.
Quinn was watching with disgust, anger flaring in those hazel eyes you loved so much. Jealously looked fucking good on her, but it was a fucking nightmare to deal with. Placing your phone down on the coffee table, you grabbed the notepad Britt had put out especially for you and wrote what needed to be said.
Rachel's my best friend. You only have reason to be jealous if you wish to fill that position, but I was sort of hoping we were past that phase.
She didn't take the note when you handed it to her, so you left it right in front of her on the coffee table for her to read. Whether she read it or not, you didn't know, you couldn't tell, but you'd tried. Things were getting messed up due to stupid misunderstandings, and at least you had tried to fix this one.
If you had your words, you knew things like this wouldn't be happening, and it pissed you off that you now had to fight extra hard to prove your feelings. But maybe this struggle was necessary, especially when it came to Quinn.
Together, the two of you sat in silence and waited on Rachel's return. She wasn't long, and her curious look had you shrugging in response. As if knowing, she pouted and dropped onto the couch next to you. Then the three of you were left waiting on Brittany and the others.
Thankfully, they didn't take long, but you knew from Brittany's face that she could sense nothing had been resolved. Her shoulders dropped in defeat and she patted your shoulder affectionately on her way over to sit next to Quinn. She had tried to help, and for that you shot her a smile, but it was pointless. Quinn wasn't willing to talk, and until she was, you knew nothing would change.
The others were oblivious to the slight turmoil taking place, and came back in carrying the cake and brownies Britt had made. This was then accompanied by wine coolers, and you just knew the next few hours were going to be a test physically and mentally.
You weren't worried about yourself, but rather about Rachel. You had never seen the girl drunk before, but given her weight and size, she was surely going to be past her limit on two wine coolers. On top of that, if she had a brownie you would be returning a very fucked up Rachel Berry to her fathers in the morning. That couldn't happen.
You can drink, but no brownies, got me?
Rachel nodded at your note, but still rolled her eyes. You could tell she was thankful you were watching out for her, but also that you didn't have to. Whatever, she was your friend and you wanted to make sure she wasn't getting herself into something deep. Those brownies could fucking waste her, given an hour or two.
Happy with her answer, you sunk back into the chair and pulled her closer, giving room for the others to settle down. The movie was out the way, and Kurt and Mercedes were already gossiping about someone, so it was only going to be a matter of time before someone mentioned games.
It only took another minute or so, and words 'Truth or Dare' were being thrown about. Grabbing a wine cooler, you set in for what was surely going to be an interesting watch, and shot the girl next to you a smile. She grinned back, and then dove off into the ground rules for the game.
This sleepover was turning out to be exactly what you needed it to be for her, thankfully.
*0*0*
Lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, you sighed.
Rachel was sound asleep next to you, and you were pleased she looked to have had a good time tonight, but your mind was still clogged. You wished things had been different. The evening had been good fun, a nice way to relax and take the edge off, but so much had happened with Quinn you didn't even know where to begin.
You wished tonight's events had happened another time. You wished you had another shot at explaining. You wanted to make things right, to see where things might go, to find out if she was still reluctant to come out, but you couldn't ask. It would be suicide to ask.
The sound of the door opening had you sitting up to have a look. You thought it would be Brittany, or Lord Tubbington if he'd escaped from the study, but instead it was another blonde; the one who you'd just been thinking about.
Quinn saw you were awake and motioned for you to be quiet, pressing her finger against her lips. You frowned in confusion, but nodded anyway, showing her you understood. Dropping her hand, she indicated for you to follow her, and you didn't even have to think twice about doing that.
Once in the hallway, Quinn shut the door softly behind you and ran a hand through her hair. She was anxious, her eyes looked tired, the hazel a mere gleam around darkened pools of black.
"Do you think Brittany will mind if we raid her parents' liquor cabinet?" Quinn asked, already on her way down the stairs. She knew you'd follow. When did you not?
Brittany's parents probably wouldn't even notice the missing alcohol. As long as the two of you didn't touch the good stuff, Dr. Pierce's prized liquor collection hidden at the back, then everything would be fine.
The two of you moved through the house like pros, having done this many times before, and quietly snuck towards the study. The key was still in the lock from earlier, and you waited for Quinn to unlock the door. Opening it a fraction, Lord Tubbington made a break for it, skittering past you both. Neither of you batted an eye at this, and were actually thankful he had left.
Once inside, Quinn closed the curtains while you flicked on the desk lamp, illuminating the room very softly. Harsh lights were not necessary for what might end up being a harsh conversation ahead. Turning back to the door, you locked it from the inside and put the key up on the mantelpiece.
You didn't need interruptions. This needed to be private. It needed to be between the two of you. Things had been building, emotions, words, and the time was right. Not everything would be solved, you knew that, because too much pain had occurred. But, maybe, just maybe, the two of you could work something out, be something more than what you currently were.
Ironically, you realised as you took the bottle Quinn was handing you, alcohol had never played a part in your relationship. With Brittany, it had started with making out at parties, and then both of you were slightly tipsy when you slept with each other. But, with Quinn, alcohol had never been needed. All of your confessions had been spilt out from a sober and clean mind, with not a drop of booze in sight.
Now, though, it was required just to drop your guards, to rip open the old wounds, and to reveal your secrets. You both needed it to ease the upcoming pain. There would be plenty of it, you were sure, so as you clinked your bottle with hers in toast, you knew to prepare for the worst.
"So where do we begin?" she asked, unsure what to do next.
You grabbed the notebook from the desk. There was no point trying to have this conversation properly if you were only going to run out of words half way through and be unable to say the important parts.
What do you want from me?
"I don't know anymore. I thought I wanted us to be together, but…I don't think that's possible."
Why not?
"Because it feels like it's too late, like we're both holding onto something we should be letting go of. We had our time together, our moment to be together, and it didn't work out," she replied, and you both took a hefty gulp from your bottles. That thought stung, that she was willing to throw everything away so easily.
So you're giving up completely? You don't want to even try?
"What's the point of trying to force something? I don't trust you, Santana. Not like I used to, anyway," Quinn said, her voice exasperated and tired.
What do you mean you don't trust me?
"I think you're scared. I think you're too scared to admit how you feel about me, and that's why you're refusing to speak to me."
Fifty words is real!
The fact that she was so hot and cold about Fifty Words was driving you insane. You had explained, you had pleaded for her to understand, and sometimes she did, other times she didn't. How did that work? Why couldn't she just accept what you were telling her? What was her problem?
"So you keep saying, but that's not possible. Shit like that doesn't just happen. It makes no sense. I can't…I can't understand it, let alone accept it."
"I need you to, or we won't work," you said, frowning at the direction this conversation was going in.
Seventeen.
"That's not an easy thing to do, okay? You're asking me to accept something that makes no sense!"
I know it doesn't make any sense, but I'm stuck like this regardless. Trust me when I say I've tried to work out how this works, why this has happened, or when it will go away, but I've got nothing. Do you really think I would have let so many of our conversations go to waste if it wasn't for this stupid word limit?
"You forget, Santana, that this daily word limit appeared at a very convenient time for you." That had you frowning and you shook your head, but Quinn stopped you before you could write any more. "I told you I loved you, I begged for you to make your mind up, and you turned me down. Then, you came to me claiming you had messed up, but when I asked to hear those three little words, you couldn't give them to me. How do you think that looks for me? You run when you're scared, and you keep running from me."
Now who is the one running, Quinn? I've tried to approach you, to fix this, to make things right- She placed her hand over yours and shook her head.
"You hurt me, when you turned me down, you really hurt me." Her eyes became glassy and she looked away, whispering the next words that fell from her tongue. "You didn't want me. I laid it all out for you and you turned me down. You promised me you would never hurt me, but you did."
"You wanted us to be a secret. I was terrified!" She turned at the sound of your voice and looked at you with so much sadness you wanted to cry. This was such a mess.
Twenty seven.
"And I wasn't? Santana, you're the opposite of who I should be in love with. You're a girl, and my family, my congregation condemn homosexuality. What do you think they would do to me if they found out? This would be so much worse than Beth. They would throw me out. I would have no one."
"You'd have me."
Thirty.
"Didn't Brittany tell you the exact same thing when you weren't ready to come out?" That was like a slap in the face and you sat back, putting some distance between you. The sting from her words had you clenching your teeth and frowning. Bringing up Brittany was uncalled for.
"None of this matters, anyway," Quinn said, shrugging her shoulders. "I can't…I don't know how to accept Fifty Words, because in my eyes, you're still scared. You've always been scared. Regardless if I could come out as being gay tomorrow and have everyone accept me, you would still be scared of your feelings for me. How can you possibly expect me to take a chance on us when you spook at the mere thought of us being together?"
It's not just about us. It's about you accepting yourself.
"That's the thing…I do accept myself. I just know others won't."
It was a moot point. Quinn didn't see why she should be open about who she was, who she was in love with, and you weren't going to return to hiding. You had no way of convincing her you weren't scared, and she had no reason to believe your words given how inconsistent they had been in the past.
"Where do we go from here?" she asked after a few moments of silence. The two of you had filled it with drinking, trying to take the edge off the burning and stabbing pain in your chests.
You weren't sure where things went from there, but you didn't want this to be the end. It couldn't be the end. There had to be more. This wasn't all Quinn and you would have, no way.
"If…if you ever change your mind, come find me," you whispered, hoping that was enough. You really couldn't do anything else but wait.
Thirty nine.
"And what if it's too late?" Quinn asked, turning her head to look at you.
"It'll never be too late." You couldn't give up on this girl, you just couldn't. If she needed time, you'd give it to her, because there was no way you were going to move past her.
Forty four.
"What about Rachel?"
"We're friends," you stressed, having already gone over this. How many times did you need to say it?
Forty six.
"She likes you."
"And I love you," you replied, her point inconsequential.
Fifty.
Quinn sat shocked, looking at you like you'd lost your mind, blinking once before dropping her head into her hands. You heard her take a deep breath and you watched her wipe the tears away from her cheeks before turning to you.
"You're such an asshole," she mumbled, fighting back more tears and shaking her head.
Okay, that really wasn't the response you were hoping for.
"You're such a fucking asshole, Santana. Do you know how long I've been waiting to hear those words? And what, you give them to me now, when we can't be together?! Why? Why would you do that?! God, I love you so fucking much but you're an asshole right now, a complete and utter asshole." You frowned and looked away, ashamed from her berating, but she wasn't quite done with you.
Quinn's hands came out and she cupped your face, taking you completely off guard, and then she was closing the distance, her lips hard against yours. Kissing her back, nipping at her bottom lip, you whimpered at her groan and fought back for dominance.
You had no idea what had possessed her to attack you like this but you weren't going to complain, not with her hands now wandering under your tank. Good lord, she was on some kind of mission, pushing you backwards on the couch, sliding one thigh between your legs, and dropping her lips to your neck.
This was wrong. This was so, so wrong. You shouldn't have been doing this. You really shouldn't have been doing this. The two of you had just made the decision to not be together, so this made no sense. You both knew you were going to have to walk away tomorrow morning, and that was going to be so fucking painful, but yet you couldn't stop, you couldn't push her away, not when she was kissing you like her life depended on it.
"Say it again," she groaned, her teeth scraping against your neck. You moaned loudly in aggravation and whimpered when she looked at you. "Are you out of words, or are you just being an asshole?"
You held up your index finger, hoping she knew you were meaning option one, and you whimpered again, leaning in to kiss her. She kissed you back, the pace slowing, until she was leaving only light pecks on your lips.
"When you get those words back, you better fucking say it San, you better say it-" You nodded quickly and reached for her, pulling her lips back to yours. There was no more time for talking. You hadn't kissed her in so fucking long.
One night, if you were only getting this one night with her, then so be it. You were going to make it count. You were going to make her think about what she was giving up by walking away from you, because that's exactly what she was doing. The ball was in her court. You had given her everything you had to offer, and it all lay in her hands.
Bucking under her, you gripped the bottom of her oversized shirt and began to tug it up her body. You needed to feel her skin against yours, relearn the workings of her body, and make sure this was a night she couldn't forget. Working with you, Quinn broke the kiss and sat up on your lap. She made quick work of unbuttoning the shirt, and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
All you could hear was your heavy breathing as your eyes were trained on her. Fucking hell, you thought you had dreamt her perfection. Swallowing nervously, you pushed yourself into a sitting position, bringing Quinn's body so much closer. Her knee pressed between your legs was providing the best kind of friction through your sleep shorts, but the couch was too small for this. One of you would end up rolling off or injured.
Kissing the junction between her breasts, Quinn's hands entangled in your hair and pulled you closer. You listened to her whimper and whine, her hips trying to buck against something, as your hands caressed her hipbones and the top of her underwear.
"I love you," you whispered, staring straight up into those hazels you had fallen so hard for. Thankfully, your words had returned, and you hadn't floundered on that confession.
Three.
"I love you, too." Quinn dropped her forehead against yours and gave you a soft peck on the lips. "Get the blankets out that cupboard, okay?" You could do nothing but nod as she slid off your lap and out of reach.
Doing as she asked, you grabbed the spare blankets while she collected the pillows that had been adorning the furniture. Laying them down on the floor in a heap, she pulled a blanket from your hands and placed it out on the rug. She then took pride of place on it, waiting for you to join her.
You sat down next to her and threw the blanket out at your feet, turning back to see her watching you. She looked just like the girl you had fallen in love with, her mask gone from sight, those hazels on fire with emotion, and that sweet little smile aimed your way. Good lord, you'd missed her, you'd missed this. It was bittersweet, but fuck, you needed this, you needed her.
Carefully, her hands reached out and you helped her pull off your tank top, leaving you bare. She moved closer, so the tops of you bodies was touching, and kissed your neck softly, as if memorising you. With your head dropped back, granting her more access, and your eyes shut, you knew this was as close to heaven as you would ever get.
Pushing you onto your back, Quinn crawled on top of you until she was straddling your hips, and ran her fingers through your hair. You failed miserably at trying not to nuzzle into her touch, and found yourself letting your defences go, dropping all walls, opening every door, and granting her unprecedented access to you.
If this really was the beginning of the end, with the days ahead unknown, then you needed to make the most, make her remember what you were giving her, what she was giving up.
Letting her lead, you watched as she kissed her way down your sternum, her fingers running up your thighs, until she was level with your sleep shorts and underwear. Lifting her eyes from the bow you'd tied to keep them up, she looked straight at you and licked her lips, her fingers coming up to undo it.
Once undone, she slid both garments down your legs and pushed them away from the two of you. You watched her every move, her every look, and tried to steady your racing heart as her body moved back towards yours. Dropping a soft kiss to your lips, she worked her way back down until she was kissing the inside of your thighs.
She was teasing you, worshipping your skin, trying to kiss every inch of it, and you knew this night meant as much to her as it did to you. Taking a shaky breath, you tried to fight back the wave of emotion that was threatening to hit. You both knew this was it until further notice. The situation was at a stalemate.
Her tongue suddenly took a broad stroke of you, and you bucked in surprise, whimpering as she chuckled. Of course, she'd find that amusing. God, if you didn't love her you'd have kicked her ass for that. Holding your hips down, she went back to teasing, sucking, licking and driving you insane. It was impossible to stay still, your hands gripping her hair and tugging with each broad swipe, and your eyes clenched shut as she increased pace.
Holy fuck. You were on fire, your body was humming in anticipation, the heat of the room making you sticky uncomfortable. She was killing you, taking you so fucking close to the edge and then pulling you back. You were so, so close, so fucking close, and she was holding you back.
You wanted to cry in frustration, and your hands were tugging harder on her hair to let her know to cut that shit out. You couldn't, you couldn't be dealing with that right now. You needed her, you just needed her, but this was torture. Whimpering louder, you pulled her hair, making her move upwards towards you and kissed her hard.
Your tongue could taste yourself on her lips as she kissed you back harder, nipping at your bottom lip. The noises you were making were obscene, and you were so thankful that everyone was upstairs and that Dr and Dr Pierce were out of the house for the night.
"Why?" Quinn groaned, your fingers sliding down her body in retaliation for her teasing you. "Why can't we just be like this? Why do we have to tell people?" she whimpered, her hips bucking in frustration.
"I refuse to hide who I am, who I love," you answered, kissing her again, your tongue flicking against hers, battling for her to submit to you, to accept your answer.
Thirteen.
"Please?" She was begging you, groaning at your reluctance, and you were fighting so hard to stay strong, to not give in to the angel asking you to be her secret sin.
"No." You shook your head and wiped the few stray tears running down her cheeks and pulled her body closer with your legs, wrapping them around her waist. "I love you, but I can't."
Twenty.
You weren't going to apologise, because you weren't sorry. You couldn't give that part of yourself up. You had worked too hard to get there, hiding with her, what you were, would be impossible. Every time she asked, her eyes pleading yours, you felt overwhelming shame for being gay. She needed to stop asking, she needed to accept that this was something you just wouldn't do.
"I can't come out, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry but I can't do that-" You didn't need to hear anymore. You'd heard those words before, and it was like a broken record. "I love you, so fucking much, San," she moaned, those hazel eyes burning into yours.
It didn't matter how much she loved you, she wasn't ready to tell anyone about it. You were pretty sure if Quinn had her way, no one would know about it; neither Brittany nor Rachel. Especially not Rachel. It could be her dirty secret, you could be her dirty secret, but it was better this way. Things would be better this way, or so you kept trying to convince yourself.
How it could be better, you didn't know, because knowing that these were the last kisses you two might share was breaking you apart. Why was the world so fucking cruel? What gave people the right to condemn others for loving someone? Why couldn't this gorgeous girl openly love you?
"I love you, too, so much." Too much; more than she would ever know.
Twenty six.
Manoeuvring Quinn onto her back, you settled yourself between her thighs and kissed her soundly, your lips sliding over hers, her tongue peeking out to brush against your bottom lip. Your hands ran up her ribcage, cupped her breasts in your hands, and you fought back a moan. She was so fucking soft, and you wanted this, you wanted this forever. You wanted time to stop, to freeze the two of you in this study for eternity, so you never had to part. God, why couldn't you be with her? Why was she so ashamed of being with you?
Pushing that thought to the back of your mind, your lips kissed their way down her jaw and over her pulse point, sucking on the skin softly. As much as you wanted to leave your mark, you knew you'd leave one anyone, regardless if it was visible or not. Whether she wanted to publically admit it or not, she was yours. Her heart, her body, they belonged to you, and you were going to treat them with the respect they deserved one last time before she walked away.
*0*0*
Stirring a little bit later, you felt Quinn's body slide out from the covers next to you, and you heard her moving about the room. Your eyes were too tired to open, but you reached out across the floor in search of her body. It was around there somewhere, and you wanted it back.
"Hmmm, what are you doing?" you groaned, finally opening your eyes when you felt her settle on your lap. She was wearing her oversized shirt, half the buttons undone, giving you a beautiful view, and smiling softly at you.
Thirty one.
"A reminder, in the morning," she replied, biting her bottom lip in concentration as she removed the lid from the dry marker she had found. You frowned at her as she advanced on you, but couldn't help let her draw on your skin. You were distracted by the thighs currently under your hands, and the discovering that she wasn't wearing underwear.
"What's it say?" As much fun as it would be to explore her partially naked body further, she was drawing on your skin, and you were curious.
Thirty four.
She put the lid back on, put the pen to the side and then admired her handiwork on your forehead. Her hazel eyes were alight from the booze and her artistic skills, and you felt the warmth in your chest spread to your fingertips. Even if she'd drawn a freaking penis on your forehead, you'd endure it just for that look on her face.
"It's the number fifty," she replied, sliding down your body so she could rest her chin on your sternum and stare at you. God, you loved when she was this affectionate.
"Why?" The question needed to be asked.
Thirty five.
"So I can't forget. If what you say is true, and Fifty Words is real, then I need to remember that tonight you gave me the three most important words I've been waiting to hear from you. You gave me some of your words. I can't forget that. Tomorrow, when I look at you, I'll remember exactly what happened, and why. Maybe then, I might think of a way to keep you."
There had to be better ways for her to remember, but that bottle of Jose Cuervo lying half empty next to your makeshift bed had made it impossible for you to think of any. It didn't matter. It would wash off. Plus, it was kind of sweet, Quinn's drunken ass smiling at you like that, so proud of herself.
You cupped her face and kissed her again, desperate to soak up as much of her as possible. You knew come morning she'd be gone and this, this would be over. She may have mentioned finding a way of keeping you, making this work, but you knew that would never happen. She had chosen, as had you, and now it was a waiting game before the sun rose and cast reality back onto you.
It was only a matter of time.
*0*0*
You woke up in the study, alone. The covers were rumpled over your body, and the booze was still lying out. It was pretty chilly, without your bed mate to keep you warm, and you figured Quinn must have left not long ago.
Of course, she had. There was no reason to stay. She wouldn't want the others finding you both like that. It would raise too many questions, and neither of you would be willing to provide answers.
Sighing, you crawled from under the covers and rustled together your clothes. The clock on the wall told you that Brittany would at least be up. The others might have been having a lie in, but that was doubtful.
Before leaving, you tidied up the mess, putting the booze away and folding the blankets to be washed. After doing so, you tip toed out and headed towards the stairs, only to be caught with one foot on the bottom step.
"There you are! I was looking for you," Rachel called, her feet padding towards you. "Everyone is in the kitchen, and Brittany's cooking breakfast. I said you were having a lie in, and insisted that they let you sleep. Though, I actually had no idea where you were. Where did you sleep last night?"
She had followed you up the stairs and into Brittany's room, where you quickly pulled out proper clothes from you bag to get changed into. Rachel was polite enough to turn away from you while you did so, and turned back once you had cleared your throat for her to look.
"What's with this?" she asked, reaching up and tapping your forehead.
At first, you had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, but then it clicked. Quinn. Last night. You'd told her. She'd believed you. She didn't want to forget. She wanted to remember, remember you giving her your words, remember you telling her that you loved her.
Grabbing a post-it note from Britt's desk, you scribbled your reply and handed it to her.
Quinn.
"Ah." No more was needed to be said on Rachel's part. Apparently, that was enough for her to understand. Psychic abilities, maybe? Either that or she knew better than to ask when it came to the blonde. "Well, we should maybe wash it off-"
"There you guys are!" Brittany chimed, her head popping round the doorway. "Come get breakfast, I just finished up." She was waiting on the two of you to follow, so any plans of removing Quinn's penmanship from your skin were scrapped.
Coming into the kitchen behind Rachel, you helped carry things through into the dining room, and then you were pushed into a chair by Britt. Apparently, you were a guest and didn't need to assist. Whatever.
The rest of the group came traipsing in, each carrying things as well, and everyone settled down at the table. They kept sneaking glances at you and frowning, and you knew it wasn't going to take long before one of them had the guts to ask about it. If Rachel hadn't asked, you totally would have forgotten it was even there, and now you wished she had left it alone.
The significance behind Quinn's drunken scribbling didn't need to be shared.
Unfortunately, no one else got that memo.
"Why do you have the number fifty written on your forehead?" Kurt asked, shooting you a curious look.
"It's the number of sexual partners she's had," Rachel blurted out, looking for a suitable lie for you. That was not a fucking suitable lie, however. You shot her a foul glare and she coward slightly, wincing at her words.
"What?!" Tina spluttered, choking on her orange juice. "You've been sexually active with fifty people?"
"Jesus, Satan," Mercedes said in disgust.
"Joseph, Mary, Gabriel, Judas, Michael, fish, wine-" Brittany began listing, counting on her fingers as she did so.
"Britt, we're not naming things from the bible," Quinn interrupted, giving her a soft smile as she did so.
"Oh." Looking puzzled, she dropped her hands and pouted for a second. "I totally would have won if we were, though."
"Totally," Quinn replied, nodding in agreement. Brittany accepted her answer and tucked back into the pancakes in the middle of the table, tearing pieces off to dip in the pot of maple syrup.
"Have you really been with fifty people? And what exactly did you do with them all?" Kurt questioned, sliding into the chair next to Tina.
"Gosh, Kurt, if you don't know that then I suggest you look it up online or something," Rachel answered, clearly trying to steer the pressure off of you. It wasn't working. You were going to murder her. You were literally going to murder her. Maybe then her dads would have a reason to hate you.
"I've been with fifty people," Brittany announced, actually taking the heat off of you, as the table then turned to questioning her.
"Maybe you shouldn't advertise something like that. It might give people the wrong impression," Tina suggested, looking at you as if she felt sorry for you. Pft. There was nothing for her to pity, especially after last night, and really, this whole thing was pissing you off.
Rachel seemed to sense you were close to snapping, however, and quickly hauled you up from the table, giving everyone her show smile as she did so.
"How about I help you wash this off, hmm? We wouldn't want to give the wrong impression now, would we?" You weren't meant to answer, apparently, as she dragged you towards the nearest bathroom, safe from the others.
Once inside, door locked behind the two of you, Rachel put the toilet seat down and made you sit. You were shooting her a foul glare, one she was pointedly ignoring, and waited. It only took a second, as when she turned back with a washcloth to wipe the numbers off your forehead, she caved.
"Okay, I'm so, so sorry! I thought my lie would help! I didn't know they were going to demand your sexual history and then the massacre that followed. Please stop looking at me like that, I honestly thought I was doing good!"
Your eyes widened as you went to scream at her for 'doing good', but she quickly back peddled before you had the chance.
"Yes, yes, I know doing good does not mean making you out to be sexually adventurous, but still. It just slipped out, Santana. I would never imply what I just implied on purpose. And FYI, I hate using such words as 'whore', 'slut' etc. They put shame on a girl for enjoying sex, and that is completely inappropriate. If one wishes to enjoy sex, one can, and no word shall imply otherwise!" She was going off on a tangent, and frankly, you were past caring.
"Stop," you interrupted, signalling with your hand for her to do just that.
Thirty six.
"Right, sorry," she ended, dropping her head. You rolled your eyes and grabbed the hand with the cloth in it, causing her to look up. Pointing at your forehead, you asked her with a smile and a rise of your eyebrows if she'd continue wiping it off, to which you nodded.
Sitting there, her hand rubbing the numbers off your forehead delicately, you rolled your eyes at yourself and grabbed her hand again. You were taking your semi-hangover out on her, and that wasn't fair. You needed to stop being a douche. She was only trying to help. A smile worked when you didn't have words, but you did, so the least you could do was use them on the only girl who had stood by you throughout this crap.
"Sorry," you said, shrugging at her. As usual, she smiled as if you'd just told her the best news ever and quickly went back to what she was doing.
Thirty seven.
"So what happened between the two of you?" Rachel eventually asked, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. You actually expected her to ask sooner, but no doubt your sour mood had held her back.
Taking a deep breath, you exhaled slowly while your mind decided to bombard you with snapshots of last night. Her kisses, her tears, her cries of ecstasy, her declarations of love, her empty spot next to you when you woke up.
"We slept together."
Forty.
"What?!" The shock on Rachel's face was almost comical, but you were in no mood to laugh. Reality was crashing back in on you.
"I told her I loved her, then had sex." You said it as if everything had been so simple, as if you hadn't let her insecurities ruin what would surely be a beautiful relationship.
Forty nine.
"So are you two now back together, dating?" It was obvious that she didn't know what to make of this development, and was hoping for the best. Her eyes betrayed her, though, and she knew your answer wouldn't be the sweet salvation you had been pining for.
"No."
Fifty.
"Why? I thought that if you told her you loved her things would…" Rachel stopped speaking when she saw you tap your forehead, indicating you'd used all fifty words. Giving you a sad smile, she pulled you into a hug and let you relax against her. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Santana."
Despite what Quinn said about Rachel liking you, you actually believed her, and you were sorry, too. Christ, in what universe did you think it would be better to taste the forbidden fruit? Why, why had you been so armament about telling her how you felt when you knew it would never go anywhere? Were you trying to torture yourself? Were you trying to create a living hell to live in?
This, this was what you had hoped to avoid. You didn't want this. You didn't want the angel to ignore you once more, and she would. Quinn wouldn't be able to handle her conflicting emotions towards you, and she'd run. She'd hide away, up in the clouds, far from your reach, and you couldn't do anything about it. You had tried.
Just like you'd fear, Satan was back in hell, and this time, there would be no reprieve. The angel you had fallen so hard for would never return. Her God, her religion, your persecutors, would forever have a hold of her, and you could do nothing but love her from afar, hoping that maybe, maybe one day she would fall from grace again, back into your arms.
You weren't going to hold your breath, that was for sure.
*0*0*
