A/N: First of all, let me explain why it took me this long to add the second part when you all know I have it written down. It's because Taylor Swift happened and one of the songs from her new record inspired me so much that I had to add some parts to this and instead of a 7k chapter, you get yourselves a 9k. HAHA. The song was just so fitting like for a moment, I thought Swift is reading this.
Anyway, on a more serious note. THANK YOU. The reviews from the last chapter are some of the sweetest, most insightful reviews I've gotten ever. You amaze me by the way you're just as deep into this story as I am and never in my whole life did I think I could engage people into my writing the way it's happening right now. So, just, THANK YOU. You all are awesome, and 'awesome' understates it so much.
WARNINGS: (1) Possible triggers (2) I bawled writing this, so yeah (3) I'd put a warning about a long chapter but since a lot of you even wanted a full 13k, I guess we're done here.
ELEVEN
Clean
You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore.
.
Nine Months Ago
NEW YORK
Santana watches her go.
And Quinn, with every step out of the loft, fights the urge to turn around; to look at Santana one last time before she completely disappears out of the way of Glee Club's perfect happy ending. She fights the urge to run back to Santana, hug her tight, and beg her not to go.
But Santana needs this—at least that's what Quinn keeps telling herself. Quinn tries to make herself believe that Santana isn't really choosing Brittany; Santana is choosing the future she wants for herself. Santana is chasing a dream and Quinn happens to be an intangible factor. These thoughts are enough for Quinn to make it to the stairs to the chilly streets of New York.
Tears are welling in her eyes but she doesn't let them fall. She looks back at the building she probably won't be visiting for the next few months, maybe years. That's only when Quinn realizes that perhaps, we never really know how tied we are to someone until we start walking away from them.
Quinn doesn't know which direction she takes but she walks. She walks non-stop until the voice in her head stops telling her to go back, stop her, tell her how much she means to you. Quinn walks fast but the farther she goes, the voices get louder.
So, Quinn runs—a classic Quinn Fabray move. Run bitch, run fast—because that's what you do best.
She bumps into people who throw her unkind words but she doesn't stop at every watch it, bitch she gets. She doesn't stop at cabs honking at her loudly and drivers screaming dumb bitch toward her. She doesn't stop. Quinn only runs.
And runs.
And runs until her lungs couldn't take it anymore.
By the time her whole body gives up, she's on a quiet and dark street with only the flickering lamp posts serving as a guides.
She can't breathe.
She's heaving and every breath she takes feels like burning acid straight to her lungs.
I can't breathe.
She sits by the sidewalk gutter, ignoring curious looks from a couple of people passing by. It's late at night and it's dark—and maybe they won't see Quinn falling apart. Maybe, they won't realize that yet again, heartbreak has found another open heart in the dark.
She's heaving, her hands are shaking, and her tears are now starting to well in her eyes. The air around her is thick and she wants to scream but she couldn't find her voice. Instead of making a sound, she hears something inside her break, slowly and excruciatingly.
Her heart is beating irregularly, her lungs refusing to expand at every breath, her hands are shaking, and she feels her knees succumb to the coldness of the city.
Crying helplessly and breathlessly on the side of the street—this is a new low; and she realizes that she just keeps on hitting new lows every week. Like, what is wrong with her?
What is it with her and her habit of leaving the door open for people who only know how to leave?
She's tired—her body is tired, of running, of breathing, and of constantly fighting against what it really needs. Her lungs are giving up on her and perhaps, she should've kept in mind that her lungs aren't whole, that her lungs are never gonna be whole again.
Maybe, just like her heart. Maybe, just like Quinn herself.
The lack of oxygen is making her vision blurry but then it's also because of tears. It's also because of the feeling of not being someone's choice, of not being enough.
She takes a deep, painful breath and God, it hurts. It feels like being on that hospital bed again. It feels like sitting there without feeling her lower limbs and hearing the doctors say her lungs are never going to be as young as her again, that exhausting it to its limit might kill her.
And maybe that's what it's doing now, killing her.
Another deep breath.
"Are you okay?" she hears a voice asking her. She can't find it in her to turn around and tell them a lie.
She grabs her phone blindly and dials Hanna's number.
"Quinn, where are you?"
Quinn turns to the female stranger now sitting beside her with a worried look plastered on her face. "Where am I?" Quinn asks her with a shaky breath.
The middle-aged woman looks at her with such worry, "Stockholm Street, tell your friend it's closer to Evergreen Avenue."
Quinn nods and turns back to the phone.
"Stay there, Quinn, okay? We're coming to get you."
"You heard her."
"Yes and Quinn?" Hanna mutters. Despite the cloudiness in her brain, Quinn senses the anxiety in her friend's voice.
"Hmm?"
"Breathe."
"I'm trying."
"You gotta try harder."
"Okay."
"Be strong, Quinn, okay? Now hand the phone to the lady you're talking to."
Quinn hands the phone to the woman she just lets her eyes stare at the concrete road, the road so oblivious to her pain.
Moments later, she feels a soothing hand tracing patterns on her back. Hanna is giving the stranger directions because Hanna knows about her condition, and now maybe, the very, very kind stranger knows it, too.
"I'm not usually like this," Quinn says, her voice breaking mid-sentence, her tears again forming in her eyes.
"We all have our moments," the stranger tells her. The woman then hands the phone back to her and she puts it over her ear.
"My whole body is in pain, and my brain, and my lungs."
"You'll survive it, Quinn," Hanna says from the other line.
"What do you do when you feel as shitty as this?"
She hears Hanna suck in a breath, "I remind myself to be the person I needed when I was a kid. Then, I repeatedly tell myself to protect her because she deserves so much more."
And Quinn only, finally, cries.
Hanna and Emily arrive a few minutes later. The take her to the cab and she knows they're heading to the nearest hospital—and on the way, Quinn swears to herself that she isn't gonna let anyone hurt that kid again.
She swears she's never gonna let herself feel the kind of pain that could kill her. It's scary because tonight, it almost did.
/
It only takes her nine months to throw that promise out of the window because surprise, surprise, here she is again, running out of The Runaways—because how fitting.
Quinn is running away again because there it is again, that pain in her heart and in her lungs; and the voices in her head saying she lost again.
It had been such a good day. She's spent such fun time with Spencer and this just proves how one second could change everything because one moment she's agreeing to pizza with Spencer; one moment, they're planning to head out to visit this Italian place Spencer knows.
One moment, Spencer excuses herself to use the bathroom before they left the café and all moments lead to the moment she's checking Facebook while waiting for Spencer.
And now, she's in this moment again, running away; trying to see how far she can go this time until her lungs no longer can hold her together.
Brittany proposed. Santana said yes.
And Brittany is making sure she got the message.
Well damn, message received. Message fucking received.
Quinn runs as fast as she can because that's all she ever really knows. She feels bad leaving Spencer there but she—smart, funny, graceful Spencer—doesn't deserve any of Quinn's tragedy. She doesn't deserve this Quinn whose lungs aren't even whole enough to keep her together.
Nine months—and here she is, still unable to wrap herself around the fact that she'd been too late, that Santana has chosen Brittany and they'll get married, have kids. Brittany will see all of Santana's dreams come true and Quinn will forever be the sacrifice Santana had to make to get everything she'd always deserved.
She's happy for Santana, she really is.
They don't talk much but when they do, she hears it the way Santana speaks—the girl is in a good place in her life right now; a life that doesn't have much room for Quinn. And that's the part she hates the most—she's saved all this space in her life for Santana and yet, Santana isn't even around to fill the space, to bridge gap.
She thought she did it. She thought she's done feeling sorry for poor Quinn who's probably too crazy for anyone to love. It wasn't easy, letting go of it all wasn't easy for Quinn. There were nights she wondered what difference it would've made if she didn't leave that night, if she stayed and fought until Santana decided to stay and choose her.
There were so many long nights that she wondered how biology could explain that sharp pinch in her chest when she thinks about Santana—and the life they could've had. She had fantasies of dates, of quiet Friday nights, of loud Friday nights, of flowers on big nights, of hand holding, of kids, of marriage; of standing on top of the world with their hands intertwined, looking down proudly at everything they've been through. Quinn knows it wouldn't be easy but in her dreams, in her fantasies, Quinn Fabray had been willing to give it a shot; and in her years walking the Earth, she'd never pictured sharing a life with anyone but Santana.
It should've been a warning. Her daydreams should've given her fair warning that she's into deep but Quinn had ignored it and accepted the fact that she's never going to be Brittany Pierce. Maybe, life really is a bitch because all it does is make you believe you're okay until it finds the perfect timing to rip you apart all over again.
Besides, how many times have we tried forgetting a trauma, a mistake, only to wake up one day and realize it's still there? How many times have we tried to become the bigger person only to have all our troubles slammed right back into our face?
Her lungs burn from the lack of air, from the heaviness of the devil on her back. She closes her eyes and pictures Lucy, sad little Lucy whose only wish every Christmas is to be loved. She pictures sweet, innocent Lucy standing by the neighbor's door, hearing her own father say, I wish Lucy is just like all these kids at the party. She pictures poor Lucy at age 11, begging her mother to stop crying and hearing her say, he's not gonna love you Lucy, women like us, we're only meant to love but never loved back.
Finally, her knees give up.
She halts her steps in the middle of this sad, lonely street. She's deep into this neighborhood. There are only desolate dim lights and cars parked on the side of the street.
She feels the ground settle under her feet. Quinn has unshed tears in her eyes but she doesn't cry.
She finds a bus stop and she sits on the bench, settling her hands on her lap. Her whole body is trembling. Her head is spinning.
She's breathless and a part of her is numb. It's the lack of oxygen, it's the pain. It's the realization that she's killing herself again.
Maybe this is why people drink, maybe this why people do drugs—maybe, this is why we all have someone we love so fucking much; it's because we all choose to die in different ways.
Quinn can't breathe, can't think—but she can feel, boy, does she feel so much.
She takes her phone from her pocket and dials Hanna's number.
It only takes one ring.
"Where are you?" the concern in Hanna's voice is obvious, familiar; and Quinn hates that she's causing it again.
"East 19th Street near 2nd Avenue."
"Are you okay?"
Even though Hanna doesn't see her, Quinn shakes her head, "No."
"Em and I are coming to get you, okay?"
"Yeah."
"Remember how we do it, yeah? Breathe in."
Quinn tries to breathe, "Breathe out."
"Good. Just stay wherever you are and stay alert. Whatever happens, do not pass out."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
"Have you ever felt too much for someone, Han?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"She's killing herself right now in East 19th Street and I swear to God, when I get to her I'd kill her myself."
Quinn's tears fall. For the first time in such a long time, she allows herself to cry. But she smiles despite her tears because she has friends like Hanna and Emily who don't even ask, they just know.
When she wouldn't respond, Hanna speaks again, "You'll meet my friend. Her name is Quinn."
Quinn just listens.
"You'll meet her. She's very pretty even though she's sad so many days at a time. You'll see, when she smiles, you'll love her."
Quinn chuckles, "Pan's Labyrinth."
Hanna laughs, "Damn it, Quinn."
Quinn hears shuffling on the other line before Emily's voice comes in, "Just hang in there, Quinn, okay?"
"Okay."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
They don't hang up the phone and Quinn just sits there, humming a familiar tune. She's trying, real hard to keep breathing; to stay awake, alert. She has to be okay because she doesn't wanna end up in the ER again.
She tries to tell herself she's not that girl anymore.
.
LOS ANGELES
There's a long, agonizing silence after Brittany's mini outburst.
Santana puts herself in a place where she can only remember the good things, a place where the good outweighs the bad. With Brittany, it's all about the good things that make it work. She tries to blink away all the bad things looming in the distance.
She tries to imagine just moving past this, not making a big deal out of it. Whatever it is Brittany did, maybe Santana can forgive her—all her life has been about giving Brittany unlimited chances anyway.
Santana thinks about Brittany and she's instantly reminded of the day they first met.
It was the most uneventful kind of meeting, one you wouldn't expect would turn out to be such a passionate kind of love.
The day of the Cheerios tryouts in freshman year, she remembers seeing Brittany doing stretches by the side of the track. Her blonde hair isn't doing that cliché glowing under the sun but it does move gracefully with her every twirl and turn.
Santana still remembers that flutter in her stomach and that irregular beating of her heart. They officially meet at the formal introductions along with everybody else. Brittany started dancing and that's when Santana realized that she's one of the two girls everyone is talking about. One is a really brilliant dancer and the other's the new girl in town; the latter was Quinn.
By the end of the tryouts, after a few of them are asked to come back the next week, Brittany had approached Santana and maybe, that's where it all started. She smiled at her and Santana, who's mad and angry at the world, can't help but smile back.
They've been inseparable since then.
The time came and Santana finally realized that she's in love with her.
Sometimes, Santana still smiles at the thought—Brittany is her first love; and you know what they say about first loves.
It never dies.
It sometimes kills you, like the way it's doing to both of them right now, but the bottomline is—first loves aren't always perfect but you never forget the firsts. The kisses, the dates, the hand holding; even when life takes you far away from that love, your memory will take you back to it every now and then because it's good to remember the first time you had the courage to open your heart for someone else.
Unfortunately for first loves though, it isn't always necessarily the last.
"I don't know what's going on, B," Santana states and then sighs heavily.
She looks at Brittany and it surprises her how different she looks.
Sometimes, you look at someone you've known for a long time and it feels like you've memorized them like the back of your hand; then there are three-second moments where you look at them and you see something so foreign, so unfamiliar and it takes you by surprise.
It could be a single movement, or a dangerous flick of the wrist but it's something new; and sometimes it's a deeper tone in their voice or a whole new look in their eyes and suddenly, you don't know what to do with it.
Sometimes, it goes away just as quickly as it comes and they're back to being the person you know.
But right now, that whole new look in Brittany's eyes isn't going away.
Santana is sitting right in front of Brittany and she feels like she's trapped in a room with someone she met for the first time—and who the hell wouldn't hate that?
It's worse right now because she lived all her life thinking she knows the woman sitting across her and yet, she doesn't even recognize her.
It's like Brittany changed and forgot to tell her about it.
"You really don't get it, do you?" Brittany asks. Her tone is dead like a volcano before it erupts. On the outside it looks calm, serene but deep inside, the lava is boiling. If you touch it, it will kill you.
What now?
She asks herself this question because really, what does she want out of this conversation? What does she want to hear? She knows that Brittany went to New Haven to see Quinn but is that really what this is all about? Is this just really about something that happened months ago?
"I don't know, Brit. You obviously know this better than I do so if you might wanna share it with the class, be my guest."
Something inside her burns. She wants the truth but she also dreads it.
She wants the truth but only if it isn't gonna destroy her.
"You wanna know about this?" Brittany asks as she raises the boarding pass, chuckling bitterly to herself. "I went to see our bestfriend Quinn because I wanted to know how she stomachs not telling me you two slept together."
There it is.
Tensed, Santana stands from the couch and walks a couple of meters away from Brittany. She doesn't really know why but sitting there feels wrong. When they tell you that the volcano is about to erupt, you must never go anywhere near it.
"How did you know?"
Brittany remains seated there, "Does it matter?"
Santana shakes her head, "Brit, we were both drunk."
Brittany smiles so bitterly, "You weren't drunk months later when we were back together and you kept talking about her." Brittany mocks a voice, "I wonder what Quinn is up to—oh, Quinn will love that. I can't imagine what Quinn will say if—" she meets Santana's eyes, "I mean, what the hell, Santana?"
The girl in question just stands there awkwardly, wondering how Brittany remains so calm even though the resentment in her voice could crack the walls in half. There's a hint of something in Brittany's eyes that tells Santana she's seen this conversation coming, as if Brittany was just waiting for all the problems to surface.
"I was there in front of you, serving you the first seafood pasta I've learned to cook all my life and all you said was—" she mimics a voice again, "Quinn always hated shrimps."
Santana is swept away with the realization.
"I got my first job in New York and after you congratulated me, you said—" the mockery again, "Quinn will be so proud of you."
Santana doesn't respond because what is there to say?
Finally, Brittany stands up and walks closer to her. Santana's brain is telling her to run, to dodge—but she doesn't. She couldn't. Brittany meets her eyes and that's when Santana sees the tears welling, "You wanna know what I did in New Haven?"
A beat.
And then all at once.
"I fought for the relationship that's slowly slipping away from me," Brittany says, her voice breaking mid-sentence; her tears finally making its way out. "I fought for this relationship because nine months ago? Nine months ago, it felt like I was the only one left doing so."
"You should've talked to me."
"What was I supposed to say? 'Santana please don't ever realize you're not in love with me anymore'?"
"Brit, no—"
Brittany laughs to herself as she wipes her tears, "Stop lying to me!"
"I never lied to you, Brit! You're the one who's been lying—"
"Oh, no, no," Brittany says, her hands making wild gestures. She steps back and again looks into Santana's eyes with such loathing, "Don't you dare put this on me, San!"
Now, it's a yelling contest.
And the pieces start forming a decent picture in Santana's head.
"So, what? You'd tell me that all of this," she gestures to the whole house, "isn't part of some elaborate plan to keep me away from someone you're jealous of? For the record, Brit, nothing was going on—if that's what this is all about."
Brittany scoffs, not believing a word Santana just said.
"You tricked me into coming with you here!" Santana yells. There. She said it. "You were so scared that you were losing me so you," her voice shakes, "you told me we're coming here to start over when really, it's just you being so selfish."
"Tricked you?" Brittany counters. "I don't see what part of all of this is tricked because you have a good job, Santana. You make good music. You're doing something you're not able to figure out before—all because you came with me. And yes!" her voice gets louder, "Part of it was selfish. Love is always partly selfish because who the fuck wants to share?"
That renders Santana speechless.
Her voice suddenly weak and helpless, Brittany continues, "Who the fuck wants to wake up next to a person who spends all day talking about another girl? You've been here in this city for nine months but you're not here with me."
Santana really, really wants to say something but she doesn't know what to say. What do you do when the life you so believed in starts falling apart in front of you?
It would be so easy to reach out, apologize, and just go on with this life because this is easy. Los Angeles is calm and it doesn't drive Santana insane. Her relationship with Brittany is something she knows. It would be so easy to just go back to old patterns again but right now, the realization is hitting Santana right where it hurts.
She'd been so stupid to see it.
No, she'd been too scared to acknowledge it.
When she wouldn't respond, Brittany continues, "I didn't trick you into coming here. I presented you with an opportunity to start over and you took it."
Santana chuckles, "Oh, how convenient for you and your pretty little plan, huh?"
"You make it sound so horrible! You have a good life here!"
"But it doesn't make it alright, Brit. You lied to me!"
"No!" Brittany rebuffs. "You're the one who's been lying to yourself and you know what else, San?" There are her tears again, "You've been lying to me, too, because when you tell me you love me, I still have to remind myself to act like I believe it. I don't question it because it might make you realize that you haven't been in love me for so long now."
"Brit that's not—"
"There's a look in your eyes, San," Brittany says as she tries to wipe her tears again. The tears just keep falling anyway. "There's this look in your eyes that I used to see when you tell me you love me. Like before," she recounts, now calmly. "Like in high school. When you say I love you, I believe it because I see it in your eyes. That's gone now."
"We're not in high school anymore."
"Really? That's what you're going with?" she asks with a shaky voice. "Because I see it when you talk about Quinn and I only know because I've seen it too many times not to recognize it."
Suddenly, there's silence in the room; not the awkward kind of silence.
It's the kind of silence you spot when something is dying.
Santana takes a deep breath and releases it heavily. She puts both of her hands on her face in frustration. She knows she's frustrated but she doesn't know what's causing it. It's a combination of all of these things.
She can't process it.
She walks back to the couch, falls back to it, and just continues to cover her face with her hands.
Brittany continues, "Nine months of coming home to you and sometimes, you look at me like you're wishing I'm somebody else."
Out of words and still with her hands on her face, Santana utters the first thought that comes in mind, "You're so selfish, Brit."
"I know."
Santana finally looks up and sees Brittany, sitting on the floor across her with her back against the pale wall of their living room. Thinking about it, she never really found the chance to hang those frames she keeps in a box somewhere in this house. There are only pictures of Brittany's family and her copies of pictures from high school. Aside from her clothes, there isn't anything in this house that suggests that Santana lives here at all.
Except maybe for that cute Little Mermaid coaster she stole from Quinn's house back in senior year.
The couch isn't even leather for crying out loud.
Maybe, at the back of Santana's mind, all of this always felt so strangely temporary.
Weakly, she throws Brittany the only logical question she could think of, "If you say you've known it all this time, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you just let me go?"
Brittany shakes her head with a teary, amused smile on her face, "Because in this life, we can never really avoid doing something wrong. We just pick the kind of wrong we can live with."
For the nth time, Santana finds herself at loss for words.
Brittany starts tearing up again, "I thought that if I loved enough for both of us, it'll be okay."
"That's completely—"
"—wrong?" she interrupts her. "I know. I'm only realizing it now, that a relationship is two people not one."
"This isn't you, Brit."
Brittany nods, "I miss me, too, San." Her tears fall once more, "I miss it when I used to do things just because they made you happy. These days, I feel like I do things because I'm afraid you'll leave me and I don't know what I'm gonna do. And this isn't you either—the Santana I know wouldn't hurt me this much."
Defeated, Santana can only think of time—and how it has the ability to heal things or make them worse. She thinks about how time, with the right amount of pain, could change people; and maybe, that's what time did to her and Brittany.
It was never the big happy ending everyone is fussing about. It's always been the beginning of something that looks exactly like love.
But over time you realize, it isn't really love.
"What happened to us?"
Brittany shakes her head, "I don't know. It's like we clung to each other because we're too afraid to face the truth that it doesn't always work out."
Silence.
"I don't even know what's true anymore."
"Trust me," Brittany meets her eyes, "I know the feeling."
"I just…" a sigh, "I just can't with all this pushing and pulling, Brit."
"What?"
"I was fine before you came back with that big speech about how I can never replace what we had," Santana says and for the first time in nine months, she feels like she's telling the truth. "It's like you get to leave me to experience a whole new life, have a relationship with another person—and when Sam and MIT didn't work out, you came back. And I'm supposed to take you back each and every time because—"
She pauses because it overwhelms her, the way her tears flow out of her eyes. It's months and months of bottling it all up.
Brittany isn't the volcano.
She is.
"I just…" she stutters. "You let me live a new life, experience something with other people, make me believe I can survive without you; and you come home one day and tell me things like running away and being soulmates and I'm suddenly 17 again. So in love with you but just as clueless. And I know you feel like I'm settling here in Los Angeles with you but let me tell you that's how you've made me feel for the last few years when all those math and people didn't work out for you—so do not monopolize your pain."
She's breathless by the time she finishes her speech. She's out of breath but it feels like a weight is lifted from her shoulders.
"Are you blaming me for all of this?"
"No."
"Then why are we going back to that again? It's not about that anymore."
Santana shakes her head, "No. It's about you leaving and coming back whenever you feel like it. It's about me letting you take away all the progress I've made. It's toxic, Brit—the way we think we can save each other from getting swallowed whole by this world."
It's Brittany's turn to be speechless.
And it stuns Santana how utterly human she sounds when she uses simple words, when she doesn't color her sentences with pretentious expletives meant to cut someone right where it should.
"I don't know when it started happening but it's like we built ourselves this false idea that everything will be fine as long as we have each other but that's not true. We pretend we have something wonderful because we cannot deal with something that feels more real."
"Is that how Quinn makes you feel? Real? Solid?"
Santana throws her hands in surrender. "It's not about Quinn. It's about us and—"
"Yeah, it's about us but it's about Quinn, too."
"Leave her out of this."
"She tried to stop you, didn't she?"
"What?"
Brittany perks up from leaning on the wall to give Santana a look, "I went to New Haven to ask her to let you go with me and I know it was never gonna work because it's Quinn and she's stubborn. She never really listens to anyone—" her voice quivers, as tears fall once more, "—and I love her so much. I just didn't think the day will come that I'll fight her for your affection because she knows I love you; and Quinn is the first person who made me believe it's okay to be in love even if it's scary. And who do I run to after this fight, Santana?"
"It's not about Quinn."
"I think we've had enough lies for nine months so stop it. Just tell me, did she try to stop you?"
Santana just sighs hopelessly. There's no point in lying now, "You said it yourself. She's Quinn."
Brittany slumps back, "I knew it. See? This is why I'm not taking any blame for any of this."
And just like that, they're back to square one. And Santana is starting to feel all that rage again.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I did so many things that led to this point, San. But hurting Quinn? That's on you."
Santana furiously shoots up from her seat, "You cornered her into letting me go with you. Tell me how that's on me."
Brittany laughs mercilessly as she stands up, "She burned our friendship to the ground to ask you to stay and you still left. That one? That's completely on you and we both know that in the end, that's the hurt that counts most. So, congratulations, San."
It's like Santana's urge to cry just disappeared all of a sudden. She's suddenly feeling like she wants to shake the person in front of her until the real Brittany comes out because this, this isn't the Brittany she knows. "Who are you?"
"Pain transforms people."
"Into someone as cruel as this?"
"I'm not cruel, San. I just did what I had to do."
Santana shakes her head, "I don't even know where we're going with this."
It's heartbreaking, the way Brittany's face shows something so tragic; like she knows this is it. "There's no coming back from this."
"What are you saying?"
"That we're gonna make a deal," Brittany says, wiping her tears. She puts on a brave face and Santana knows it isn't real but it's something, like a start.
"What deal?"
"You tell me when you'll pack up your things and I'll have the decency to not be around when you do."
"Are you kicking me out?"
"I'm letting you go."
"What?"
"I think we're both done here. In a few days, you'll realize you're done lying to yourself when it's clear I'm not the one. Maybe I will too."
Santana laughs bitterly, "Oh, so now that we've come full circle with this and after all that speech about fighting for me, you just suddenly want to let me go?"
"Sudden?" Brittany asks her. "Did you even listen to any word I said? I've known this was gonna happen since we got here, San. It's like having both of your eyes open as you hit a wall. You see it coming and you know it's gonna hurt—and yet, it's still more than anything I imagined."
"I can't believe you."
"Like I said, we pick the kind of wrong we could live with."
"How could you live with the fact that not only did you let me hurt our bestfriend, you also trapped me into staying here?"
"I did what I had to do and I won't apologize for fighting for you."
Santana steps back, completely giving up now. She throws her hands to the sides, "Well, I hope you're proud of yourself."
She doesn't really know how it happens but she remembers grabbing a backpack. She remembers stuffing in whatever would fit in it. She remembers Brittany sitting on the couch, silently crying. She remembers taking her phone.
Next thing she knows, she's on a cab.
She has nine missed calls from Rachel.
She looks at the rearview mirror and sees Brittany standing by the sidewalk, watching her go. Part of it feels symbolic.
Part of it feels like an end.
And maybe later, when this whole thing sinks in, she'd start acknowledging that minute part that tells her it's kind of a beginning, too.
.
NEW YORK
Summer nights in New York have a weird way of making you feel like you're either on top of the world or under it. Deep into this neighborhood, Quinn could hear the faint sound of traffic; the air is slightly cool in the way you know the warmth of the day is just starting to ease out.
Quinn distracts herself by thinking how weird it is that she's in a bus stop and no bus has passed yet—and maybe that's good. If a bus happens to pass by, she'd probably get in and let it take her away from this place as if it will make the pain disappear.
She's humming the fifth Florence and The Machine song she knows by the time Hanna and Emily arrive.
Quinn doesn't see them at first; she only feels their presence the moment someone hands her an inhaler. She takes it and gives herself a shot.
Emily and Hanna take their places on both her sides.
She feels the medicine make its way to that part of her lungs that refuses to let her breathe properly. It doesn't burn or cut; it's like a minty feeling on her chest. For a moment there, she wonders if there's a similar kind of medicine for the heart, especially when the pain isn't physical.
She isn't gonna voice that out loud because Emily will go into a full rant about how people should stop using medical conditions as a metaphor. She doesn't think it's beautiful; she thinks it's a masochist thing to do.
"So, tell me," Hanna speaks up first. There isn't so much of anxiousness there but Quinn can sense the concern. "Who gets to punch you first?"
Quinn manages a small smile. It's not easy but she's already sitting breathlessly by a bus stop in a neighborhood she barely knows—what's there to lose?
They don't speak for a while, all parties knowing they should let the medicine work first. Without a word, Hanna takes Quinn's hand and stills its shakiness by holding it with both of hers. Emily snakes an arm around Quinn's shoulder and Quinn, by habit, leans her head on the taller girl's shoulder.
They're staring at the empty road and if anyone passes by, they'd think these girls are runaways; waiting for the bus that'll take them away from the cruelty of this city.
They'll never know that Emily and Hanna are the reasons Quinn hasn't run away yet; and maybe, that's how Quinn knows they're going to be friends for a really long time.
When Emily feels Quinn's body relax against her, she speaks up, "Sophomore year, just a couple of months after I met you two goofballs, you heard about this girl in the swim team who threatened to drown me if I kept stealing her spotlight—"
"—or that moment you so subtlety told us you're actually the rising star of the Yale swim team," Hanna butts in.
Emily laughs softly, "I wasn't bragging, you ass."
None of them are looking at each other. They're just staring at the empty road.
Hanna laughs, "Quinn came to your practice one day with that Queen Bee attitude everyone keeps talking about on Facebook."
Quinn smiles tenderly at the memory.
Emily nods and nudges Quinn, "You walked to the girl and crossed your arms in front of your chest and said 'you mess with my friend one more time—"
Hanna joins Emily in reciting Quinn's infamous line, "—you're gonna get what you're asking for and trust me, even I am scared of me."
Her two friends laugh a full belly laugh and it makes Quinn laugh, too. She still couldn't match their enthusiasm but her lungs feel more solid now, like they're part of her system again.
"The girl never talked to me again."
"She probably peed in the pool because she's so scared."
"Eew," is the first thing Quinn mutters since her friends arrived.
Hanna glares at her, "Of course, the first thing you'll say is in reference to the idea of someone peeing in the pool."
Silence.
And just when everything is starting to feel okay again, Quinn is reminded of why she's here. A pang of pain shoots up her system again like a vicious reminder that she isn't okay just because her hands stopped trembling.
"I'm sorry you have to see me like this again," Quinn apologizes and partly, she apologizes to poor Lucy, too.
"It was worse the last time," Hanna says.
Emily nods, "This is good, you know."
"How is this good?" Quinn asks.
"Because it isn't bad as the last time," the brunette replies. "It means there's progress."
Quinn sighs heavily, "I thought I was done. I thought I was okay."
Hanna squeezes her hand, "And you are."
She lifts her head from Emily's shoulder to look at Hanna, "Look at me, Han. Do I look okay to you right now?"
"Quinn," Hanna starts firmly. "All my high school life, up until before we became really good friends," a pause, "I was an alcoholic."
Now, Quinn feels a different kind of sorry.
Hanna was a different person when they met; and Hanna, right now, has tears welling in her eyes.
She continues, "I know how it feels like to snap back to that one thing that kills you—and it always happened on the days I was so convinced I'm done."
Hanna lets go of her hand digs something from her purse. She shows them a recovery medallion.
Quinn smiles.
Hanna lets out a teary smile, "Two years clean and sober."
Quinn could feel Emily is smiling, too.
"Do you remember when we first met?" Hanna asks her.
Quinn nods. It's the summer before sophomore year in college when Hanna had moved into her dorm, replacing her previous roommate who complained about her being so obsessive compulsive about the carpeted floor.
"I was drunk that day."
And Quinn had known it the second the girl walked in.
Hanna chuckles, "And the first sentence you ever said to me was, don't put your books on the floor."
Emily laughs at that and Quinn smacks her lightly.
The other blonde girl continues her story, "I was drunk for most of sophomore year but you put up with my bullshit because you heard the stories about my childhood and how my stepfather almost beat my mother to death. I told that story while I was drunk so many times and you listened every time. So when they asked me by the end of second year if I wanted to be transferred to another room, I said no, because—"
The girl pauses as her tears fall.
"—I don't know if there's anyone out there who will put up with me when I go home drunk… and lecture me about toothpaste on the sink the next morning."
Quinn's tears, once again, well in her eyes.
"And also because two months before the year ended, the hall monitor found two bottles of vodka in our room and when the counselor asked who the bottles belonged to… you—" she tries to steady her voice, "you said they were yours because you knew they'd send me to rehab again if they found out."
Quinn's tears fall; and she could feel Emily starting to get a bit emotional, too. Hanna started sobering up after that incident. She wasn't always successful at first but here she is.
Hanna continues, "You were kicked out of the Dean's List that year for misbehaving."
Quinn nods smilingly as she wipes her tears, "The only year I wasn't on the list."
Hanna rolls her eyes as she, too, wipes her tears. "I'm only saying this because I want you to know that it's normal to get confronted by our demons time and time again but it doesn't mean we're not okay. That just because you're doing well don't mean you don't miss all of it because you do—you miss her and it sucks. Then things like Facebook happens."
Quinn takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "I just don't understand why I keep feeling too much for things I can't reach," Quinn says silently.
"You're human, Quinn," Emily says. "We have a natural tendency to want things we cannot have."
Hanna nods as she smiles at Quinn, "You'll learn it, eventually. You'll know how to keep yourself together without the names of those who cannot love you back."
Emily nods and says, "One day, you'll learn to accept the fact that you'll see Santana in every stranger you meet. You'll see her name in every blank wall you stare at. But you know, Quinn," she smiles "someday, you will stop combusting at the thought of her."
Hanna rolls her eyes, "She's talking about her ex but okay, it works, too."
"Stop ruining the moment, damn it!" Emily cries.
Quinn laughs at this.
"This might happen again you know," Hanna says. "But Em and I, and your mighty inhaler, are always a phone call away and we will never get tired of coming after you; the way you never get tired of us when we rant about alcohol and ex-girlfriends; the way Saint Emily never tires to remind me why I shouldn't tell you of my plan to hurt Brittany physically because she believes it's not gonna help."
Again, Quinn laughs; and she's getting better and better.
"I don't want this to happen again. It's just too painful."
"Pain is a wakeup call, Quinn," Hanna says looking her in the eyes. "And most of the time, it's a good thing to drown because that's when we're reminded how to breathe."
And Quinn finally understands that, she really does.
Maybe it's time she sobers up.
Maybe it's time she starts caring for things that can see her.
Quinn takes a deep breath and she smiles as she releases it. Something about it feels absolute—like finally, she can really promise poor Lucy that she'll stop trying to hold on to people who just keep pulling away. Like finally, Quinn can look at herself in the mirror and recognize how far she's gone.
Hanna is right. Pain is a wakeup call—and if you ask Quinn, she's more awake now than she ever was and right there and then, she decides that she's not gonna let Santana—or Brittany—hurt her along the same faultlines.
Quinn's breathing still feels tentative but the heaviness of it all is gone.
She wipes her tears one last time and this time, she swears to herself that she's not gonna find herself again in a deserted street somewhere ready to disregard all the progress she made.
She's not poor Quinn or poor Lucy anymore. She's Quinn and she's a brave thing; and the only thing incomplete about her is her lungs.
Silence settles among the three of them again before Hanna starts shifting the conversation into something lighter. She tells Quinn about how Rachel beat her in Monopoly. Quinn mocks her endlessly. The emotional moment they had isn't forgotten yet but at least no one is crying anymore.
When Quinn fells like she can walk again without feeling like her lungs will give up on her anytime, she says, "I'm so hungry."
Emily giggles, "We will buy you anything you want and we'll eat like that time Hanna failed her midterm exams."
"Stop reminding me of that, you twat. See, it rhymes. For all you know, I'm a poet," Hanna says laughingly.
They were about to stand up and start heading back to the main street when somebody approaches them.
"Quinn?"
Quinn flinches in surprise when she recognizes the woman's voice. She turns to her.
"Spencer?"
Indeed, it is Spencer.
The girl walks to her and Quinn immediately sees the worry in her eyes. "Are you okay?"
"You still haven't left?" Quinn asks because it's the first one that comes out of her mouth. She has loads of questions like, 'you're still here?' and 'how did you find me?'
Spencer's eyes widen as if leaving never crossed her mind, "Wha—do you want me to?"
Quinn couldn't come up with anything because when she ran away from the coffee shop, she thought Spencer would've gone home and maybe hate Quinn for the rest of her life for leaving her there like that.
When Quinn wouldn't speak, Spencer speaks up. "When I didn't find you at our table when I came back, I asked the guard if he saw you head out," she pauses to give Quinn a silly grin, "all I had to do was say beautiful blonde lady and he knew right away."
Spencer is rambling and it almost makes Quinn smile.
Her two friends, however, are just standing there watching it all happen.
The girl continues, "He said you we're running out and you didn't look okay and how was I supposed to just go home? So, I did the math in my head, beautiful damsel who probably doesn't like her distress runs from a date… of course she wouldn't head to the subway. I've lived in this city long enough to know which direction you're headed so I ran after you. It's nighttime and it's New York, I thought I could distract the killer with my legs before he attacks and kills both of us."
Quinn hears Hanna chuckle silently.
Spencer pauses to catch her breath and also to grin, "Not to brag to but I was captain of our lacrosse team so, I caught up to you just before you turn the corner to this street."
Confused now, Quinn asked, "Wait. You've been here all this time?"
Spencer nods, the innocence in her eyes is so pure, "I was going to approach you because you were obviously not okay but you were pulling out your phone and I, again, did the math. Beautiful damsel who probably doesn't like her distress pulls out her phone. She's calling a friend who could most likely help her more than I can, so I stepped back."
"You saw me, sitting here?" she asks, although all she wants to know is if Spencer watched her be all broken like that.
The girl shakes her head, "No. I sat by the sidewalk behind that 4x4." She points to a parked car far away from them. "I felt like I was invading a private moment so, I put on my Cher Lloyd playlist and sat there. I didn't watch. I only peeked from time to time to check on you but I didn't see anything. I started playing Four Pics and 1 Word when I saw your friends—and wow, what do you girls have for breakfast because I want the recipe."
Quinn lets out a laugh at Spencer's antics. She is so blown that she almost doesn't believe it.
This woman.
"After all of that drama, you're still here?"
Spencer gives her a look as if it's a no-brainer. She shrugs, "I don't bail on people Quinn, unless they tell me to. You probably don't want me here after all of that but I'm just worried. I decided to approach you guys when I realized you're about to leave. I just wanted to ask if you're okay—which by way, you haven't answered me yet."
"I—I'm better."
Spencer nods.
"Why didn't you just leave?" Quinn asks.
She asks this question because she's just so used to people walking away. It shocks her that leaving wasn't Spencer's first move.
Maybe, she should also start giving people enough chances.
"I find it hard to drop a battle I haven't fought yet," Spencer tells her, her voice silent and sincere.
And Quinn gets it.
Spencer continues, "Plus I like you." She grins in a silly way, "I mean, I read your thesis from cover to cover. How do you not get this?"
This time, Quinn lets out a full laugh. She also hears her friends laugh at it.
Spencer smiles, pleased with herself that she was able to make Quinn laugh. It's a good look on her, especially after all of that. "Dou want me to leave? Or I can take you and your friends home? There's strength in numbers."
Quinn chuckles but doesn't respond.
Somehow, Spencer takes her silence as a sign. She lets out a heavy sigh. With a sad smile, she says, "Okay. I get it. I'm just glad you're okay; and like I said, I've lived in this city long enough. I can find my way out."
The girl steps back and Quinn feels her heart tighten at it.
Maybe it's time she starts caring for things that can see her.
Spencer was about to turn on her heels when Quinn finds her voice. "Spencer."
And Quinn could swear she heard her friends release a relieved breath, as if they've been holding it the entire time.
Spender releases a breath, too, "God, that would've been so embarrassing."
Quinn laughs softly, "You know an Italian place somewhere, right? We were just heading out to eat."
The girl beams, "Yes. There are about six Italian diners near this street."
"Don't be so cocky," Quinn tells her and Spencer just shrugs playfully.
It's the moment Hanna chooses to step in, "So, this is death penalty."
Spencer nods, accepting the moniker, "Some people call me Spencer."
Hanna chuckles, "I'm Hanna."
Emily steps in, too, "Emily."
"Nice to meet you two."
Hanna nods, impressed, "Okay before we all get nerdy and before we flirt about the flaws of the constitution, can we like, eat something?"
They all laugh in unison before they start to head out the street.
Spencer extends her hand to Quinn with a smile on her face; and Quinn feels something so good at the pit of her stomach. Maybe, it's really time.
She takes Spencer's hand.
It settles so warm against hers—and it's a foreign feeling to let someone hold her like that. Quinn thinks she deserves it.
It's in that moment Quinn finally believes she deserves to be happy, too.
At one point, Hanna sees their joined hands. She nudges Emily and the girl sees it too. They smile at one another, both secretly thanking whatever higher force allowed all of this to happen.
Quinn is letting someone in. Quinn is smiling.
At the end of a very long day, what matters is how we react to the pain that almost destroys us. The last time, Quinn ended up in the hospital.
Now, someone is holding her hand—and they're going to have late dinner.
Indeed, change is sweet when the timing is perfect.
Not to mention Kurt and Rachel each owe her a hundred bucks.
Yup. It's been a weird day.
.
Like I said, Taylor freakin Swift; and her new album.
Thoughts?