Santana wasn't ready. She wasn't ready.
Fuck.
Covered in slushie. She was fucking covered in slushie.
Rachel shouldn't see her like this. Not like this.
Santana's eyes darted around, searching for… She didn't know what she was searching for. She just knew she couldn't look at Rachel.
Because looking at her made Santana's body numb and hot at the same time. Her heart punched itself against her ribcage. Her lungs felt like they had shriveled. God dammit, why did it feel like her body wanted to make her pass out?
Rachel slowly took a step forward, far enough that she could let the door go. The click of the latch was deafening in the silence.
Their eyes met.
A mixture of emotions swirled in the depths of dark brown, a glassy sheen telling Santana that Rachel was just as lost as she was. Neither of them knew what to do. What they were supposed to do. They were both unsure if they wanted to stay or get the hell away. Honestly, that didn't that make her feel better.
Santana wished she could read further into Rachel's expression, but Rachel wasn't letting her. She had created a shield while she was gone, and Santana couldn't pierce through it. That stung. She needed to know what Rachel was feeling. Was she mad? Was she sad? Hurt? Did she blame Santana? Did she hate her? Was she disappointed in her like everyone else? Did she want Santana back in her life?
Did Santana even want Rachel back in her life?
Santana looked away. Rachel's eyes… They were too intense. The girl they belonged to could still read her better than anyone else. Unlike Rachel, Santana had only worked on a shield that kept everyone else out. She'd never prepared it for Rachel. Never Rachel. So if she let her look too long, Santana would be laid naked before her. And she couldn't do that. When she had left, Santana'd locked everything away, locking herself away in the process. She didn't want anyone to read her ever again. Especially not the girl who'd hurt her.
Santana swallowed, hating the old pain that shot through her. This was pathetic. She was being pathetic. She pushed back the rise of tears that burned her eyes. Fucking corn syrup.
Santana went back to the mirror in front of her. If she didn't look at her cousin, maybe she wouldn't pass out. Maybe Rachel would go away.
But she didn't. Quiet footsteps headed for her, and Rachel stopped a couple of feet away. Santana could feel her. She bit her lip, clenching her fist on the counter, digging her cast into the side of her body. She was not going to cry.
And she was sure as fuck not going to give in and pull the girl into her arms, no matter how much her skin prickled with awareness of her presence.
Rustle of cloth, and a small hand set down a handkerchief just within the edges of her peripheral vision, and Santana's heart thumped heavily. Thank you, she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't even open her mouth. Wordlessly, she turned on the faucet and picked up the cloth. Wetting it, she cleaned her face, turning the white blue before it ran down the drain. Santana watched the colored water, crushing the handkerchief in her fist.
She hated this. She hated the reason she had needed the handkerchief. She hated where she was. What was happening.
Rachel should not be seeing her like this. Not when she was worthless, homeless, identity-less. Why the fuck did they meet up now? Anger started building within her. Why was Rachel in the bathroom? Why was Rachel even back? She wasn't even supposed be here! Not at her high school, not in her city. Not standing the fuck right next to her.
She had left, ripping herself away from Santana's life. And when she had come back, she had taken everything away from her again. It was Rachel's fault Santana was standing here, having been slushied, wearing normal clothes, lost. It. Was. All. Rachel's. Fault.
Santana reacted before she knew what she was doing. Hissing, she violently threw the soaked handkerchief at Rachel, "You shouldn't be here."
Rachel flinched as the cloth hit her stomach, dropping to the floor with a soft squelch. She didn't watch it fall, her eyes snapping to Santana's instead. Raising her chin, she seemed to stand up straighter, reinforcing her posture. Firming her lips, the words that left her mouth cut deep, "Well. Congratulations on your first words to me to be those."
What. The. Fuck? 'Congratulations on your first words to me to be those'? What the hell was that? Was Rachel playing with her? She glared as hard as she could. Hot fury was easier to deal with than the anguish battering against her walls. Even if she wanted to take her words back, there was no way in hell she was going to now.
Rachel flinched again and looked away. Tears started building in her eyes, but she coughed, trying to hold them back. "This was a mistake," she whispered to herself, running one hand through her hair in a nervous gesture Santana remembered from before. Eyes skittering back to look at her, Rachel closed them and turned away, heading towards the door. In that split second, Santana had been able to see that her mask had slipped, and Rachel had let her in.
Pain exploded in her chest, surging out through the rest of her. Suddenly, her lungs released their iron grip, and her cousin's nickname burst out of her mouth in a harsh exhale. "Rache."
Rachel froze. She didn't turn around or answer her.
Santana took a step forward.
She didn't know what she was doing anymore. All she knew was that Rachel was crying. That still made her hurt. Swallowing and preparing herself for the jolt that she knew would run through her as soon as she touched the other girl, she hesitatingly brushed her fingers against the fabric of Rachel's shirt.
Rachel drew in a shuddering breath.
Santana's fingers burned as she wrapped them around a slim arm. "'Tana…" Rachel breathed, though Santana didn't know if it was in warning or invitation. When she made to move, Santana stopped her.
"No," she whispered, swallowing; Rachel still smelled like lemon and honeysuckle, "Don't turn around." If Rachel looked at her, she'd break apart.
After a second, Rachel nodded, her body relaxing slightly. Santana stared at the back of her head, the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. Her heart wanted to beat out of her chest. Her throat wanted to squeeze shut again.
This was a bad idea. She shouldn't be doing this. After what happened with Puck, she should know better. There was too much between them. Too much unsaid. Too much confusion. They probably shouldn't even be talking at all.
Fuck it. Santana was never one to follow what was best.
Before she could stop it even if she wanted to, Santana slid her arms around her cousin's waist, burying her head into her hair, pulling her in flush against her body. She melted into the feel of Rachel, heat and desperation flowing through her. "Even if you hate me," she whispered thickly, hoping the roughness of her voice hid the trembling, "Let me hold you. Just for a little."
She could feel Rachel trying to figure out how she should react, nervous energy thrumming through her body. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she relaxed, no longer keeping most of her weight away from her. With a deep, body shaking sigh, she nodded, pushing back into Santana's front.
Santana whimpered, tightening her embrace. She needed this. She needed Rachel. For however long she got to have her. For however long it was until reality intruded.
Because the truth was that this was fucked up. This. Her standing there, holding Rachel. She shouldn't be. Not after what happened between them. Not when they hadn't talked.
Not when it was obvious there was still something between them.
But before all the shit that happened, they'd been best friends. They'd grown up together. They'd loved each other deeply, without question. The girl she was holding hadn't just been her cousin. She'd been her everything. And no matter how much Rachel had hurt her and how much she had hurt Rachel, she'd always want her everything back.
The bathroom door swung open, startling them.
"S? Are you in here? C'mon, class is about to start, and – oh."
In that second, Santana had never wanted to kill Quinn more. Because as the blonde entered the bathroom, catching them, Rachel seemed to realize what it was they were actually doing. Shoving Santana away from her, she ran past Quinn with a mumbled apology.
Cold emptiness slammed into Santana, and she slumped back against the counter, raising her hand to her face so she could muffle the sob she felt coming.
"I am so sorry," Quinn whispered, walking over to her. Her voice was full of regret, "I wouldn't have come in if I had known."
Santana couldn't look at her. If she did, she'd end up either punching her friend or crying on her shoulder. She didn't know which one, and she really fucking didn't want to do either in the first place.
"Whatever," she grunted, the walls of the bathroom suddenly closing in on her. Only stopping to pick up Rachel's handkerchief and slipping it into her jeans pocket, not giving a fuck if it was still wet or dirty, she forced herself to go back out into the real world before she never left at all.
