Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.
A/N: Hey, thank you again for the reviews – seriously made my day. Quickly wanted to say I have amended part of chapter 9, well, I have slid in an extra paragraph. I was in two minds about putting it in but thought things might make a little more sense. All I'll say is this – don't jump to conclusions/ make up your minds just yet.
This chapter can be considered a bit of a filler chapter, just wanted to have some gratuitous Brittana talking time. I'm working on the next chapter – currently up to 4,000 words and counting. It's going to take me a little while so please bear with me.
Song recommendation: Glass Vase Cello Case by Tattle Tale.
FF recommendation: Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas by LyricallyObsessed33. Great fluff fic to get you in the mood for Christmas!
Sincerely C x
I hear Steph shouting, the sound reverberates throughout the house, bouncing off of walls and echoing down to me. But I feel trapped, unable to move from where I stand and go to Santana's aid.
The sound of my bedroom door slamming and five seconds later my sister speeds on past. Steph looks furious. Just for good measure she bangs the front door as she leaves making it rattle slightly in its frame. With a screech of her car tyres she pulls away and the house is left in tranquillity.
Silent.
Soft feet pad down the stairs but when I look up to see Santana's face she is scowling. With her eyebrows dipped and her mouth tight - looking as if she had a taste of something sour - she quickly changes her expression of her anger into something neutral.
"Listen," she says softly as if pre-empting another tirade. "Quinn is having a house party tonight; her mom is out on some kind of cruise so I – ugh, do you want to come?"
I hadn't been expecting that, I was waiting for her to talk about what had just happened. Sometimes she leaves me so confused and I wonder exactly what it is that goes through her mind. However, I shake my head no; I have a plan for tonight.
"It's the weekend Britt Britt, come on? For me?" She inches closer to me; her eyes are wide and open.
I look at her face, staring intently committing every aspect to memory. I resolve right here and now that I will do this last thing for her. I will spend these few hours with her before I commit myself completely to my goal.
"Fine." I huff out, crossing my arms across my chest. She smiles minutely at me blissfully unaware that anything is amiss.
"Great I'll pick you up at 9 ok?"
"Is it ok if I drive instead?" I ask. The old me would've said ok, I would've gone to a party gotten drunk then gone back to Santana's house and have slow, drunken sex in her bed. But this wasn't the old me that she was dealing with.
"Sure." She says sceptically. Then as an afterthought she makes me pinky promise.
I want to pull her soft hand to my lips and place a kiss there, but I don't, I stifle the urge to.
It's 9:30pm and Santana had taken far too long to get ready for a drunken party just at someone's house. But when she finally walks out, she looks... she looks pretty, I don't tell her that though. Instead I say that we are running late.
The roads that lie before me look like silver ribbons, set in odd shapes, twisting and looping to fit the scenery and disappearing into the horizon. There's no one on the road, it's quiet and all that can be heard is the steady rumbling of the car engine and Santana's heavy breaths.
This night, the scenery, the abandonment - it all antagonised a deeply suppressed fear. But I move and breathe and speak, because I know I'll be at peace soon. I feel sated and rested.
I glance out of the corner of my eye at Santana, storing away this image for later. Her dark hair slightly mussed by the cool winter's breeze. Her lips are shining looking moist and seductive; every now and again she bites lightly on her bottom lip. Her eyes are so dark I can barely see but I imagine them. Santana's eyes have always been the gateway to her emotions. Sure when she cried you would see tears and if she was fearful they would widen. But what most people couldn't do was see her upset before the tears, that gradual build up or sorrow that showed itself so plainly and yet, so many people dismissed it.
Her eyes are the most beautiful part about her.
Her shoulders are bare, the skin so soft and inviting but I don't touch, I grip the steering wheel tighter.
"Are you ok?" I ask, her breathing is erratic and I can tell she is trying her hardest not to look at me.
"I'm fine." Her tone is icy. A sliver of fear slides down my back uncomfortably making me squirm. I wonder if he hurt her. I take another look at her and there are no bruises unlike when it had been me, but she still seems contemplative.
"San you're not fine what is it? Has someone hurt you?" My voice goes higher and higher as scenario after scenario floods my thoughts.
"No? No one has hurt me." There is a beat of silence. "Can I ask you something?" She still won't look at me and instead settles her gaze on her lap.
I nod reluctantly and she clears her throat.
"What did you do to your hands? Quinn wouldn't tell me." Again, she catches me off guard.
"I-" She turns to face me and the words I want to say die on the tip of my tongue. "Quinn doesn't know what happened either she's teasing you."
"So what did you do?" She prompts.
I feel torn between telling the truth and lying. But the way she is looking at me, the way she cares about me and only me, my mind is already made up.
"I was upset and I smashed up the bathroom mirror and then I started punching it. To be honest San I didn't feel a thing." She doesn't seem shocked by the news just a little sad.
"Why were you upset?" She is prodding at a tender subject, treading tentatively on what she hopes are safe ground.
"I think you know the answer to that already." I make sure my tone is light, but it is a warning.
"Tell me?" She dips her head lower examines her fingers for a moment and then reaches over the console to touch my arm.
"Please trust me" she looks so pained and I don't know what to do.
I let out a sigh. I won't lie to her.
"It was because of you San. I heard you and Puck were going out and I got angry and I felt cheated. I needed you and you weren't there for me." I pull over and park the car. We haven't reached Quinn's house yet but this is not going to be a short conversation.
"I was there for you when you were coming to terms with your sexuality, I kept all of your secrets and even when you didn't want to talk I still sat with you. Hugged you. Kissed you." She stares directly into my eyes as if she is prepared for whatever verbal onslaught I am about to give her.
"I felt like, unless I wasn't the old me; you know, the dancing, ditzy blonde who doesn't have two brain cells to rub together to generate a singular thought – that you wouldn't be happy. Sure we both knew that I played it up just for kicks, but I know you want me like that. You have always been the strong one; I have been the reasonable one. But that isn't me. You abandoned me."
She has taken my hands into her own, not moving them but examining the bandages wrapped around my knuckles. She is probably trying to figure out just how bad the damage is.
"Keep talking" she whispers.
"I have nothing else to say." She shakes her head slightly; her fingertips smooth over my knuckles as she begins to undo the bandages. I snatch my hands away trying desperately to re-tie them.
"Please?" She says. I said to myself that within these few hours I would give her what she desired. So I hold my hands back out. Her touch is as gentle and soft as feathers, when she sees the state of my knuckles she swallows hard.
"This was because of me?" Now would be the time to tell her.
"N-" Just tell her.
"I...I..." Tell her.
"Yes it is." I grow frustrated because I'm not in control anymore. I am not the ruler of my own actions. I'm so angry at myself, but I think Santana thinks it is directed at her. She let's go quickly and makes sure she is on her side of the centre console.
"Sorry" I say meekly trying to make her not feel bad or hurt.
"Do you want to hear what I have to say?" I look at her outline, so small and vulnerable the passenger seat looks like it is engulfing her. Swallowing her whole.
"Go ahead."
I sit quietly waiting for her.
"I'm not going to justify my cheating," I want to interject because that is clearly what she is about to do.
"-but we make mistakes. You know me. You know I fuck up all the time no matter how hard I try not to. Not that I'm saying you should accept me fucking up all the time. I mean you get me right? It's just - it's all coming out wrong. Look, I love you. I know I haven't been showing it but, I want to start. Can we start over please? I'll end it with Puck and you'll tell me exactly what is on your mind and then we can go back to normal."
I so badly want to go back to normal right now; but Santana is asking the impossible of me and she doesn't even know it.
My heart beat picks up. I swallow hard and feel my hands shake slightly.
I turn around in my seat to face her. My mouth has gone dry and right now I'm wishing for a bottle of water.
"San. I want to tell you something. I have to tell you something about me."
Her breathing hitches as my own breaths have become shallow and weak. My head feels light, as if on the verge of spinning. The moment feels oddly surreal, and I'm transfixed by her.
I will tell her my secret but I'm still sticking with my decision for tonight. I have gone beyond that point of being saved and there is only one way I know how to stop it. To quit this feeling of isolation and emptiness.
"It's the reason for why I am the way I am. I've practiced saying it so many times by myself - about how I would tell you. It's so difficult and I don't want you to be mad at me. It wasn't my fault."
I feel the terror rise up, the overwhelming uncertainty of how she is going to react. The courage I had a moment ago is quickly dissipating.
"San, look at me." My voice is shaky. When she looks up I see the fear there, she is scared about whatever my secret is – I wonder quickly what she thinks it is. If what she is imagining can actually be worse than the reality of it.
"San..."