A/N: Many thanks to the reviewers. I appreciate it so very much.
For the readers out there: if you've done things you regret, if you loved someone so much and pushed them away until you lost them, this is for you.
Especially for SKM, who is the Quinn of my life; and SLA, who would be Puck. Though it would be seriously weird if you guys got together. Blegh, yuck. Haha.
Chapter Seven [Part Two]: Don't You Leave Me
My life was reduced to a series of cacophonic bursts that got me moving to the beat of a drum that constantly changed in rhythm.
Or maybe I just couldn't hear the beat anymore, and all I was doing was attempting to make sense of everything happening around me, trying desperately to find cohesion in all the things I used to have control over but were fast slipping out of my grasp. My effort at pretense was pathetic, though, because things just fucking didn't make sense.
Not without her.
"I can't believe you." was the only thing Quinn said that night, when she dragged me off the roof after Rory came to pick Brittany up. "I can't fucking believe you."
I know, I wanted to say then. I don't believe me either. But I said nothing, and Quinn must have seen something on my face, because her scowl faded and she pulled me into her arms instead. I didn't have it in me to push her away.
A few days later – after many sleepless nights and skipped meals – I found myself sitting on the couch of Puckerman's basement. School was resuming in a few days, and I there was no way on earth that I was going to go back sober.
"I think you should slow down." Or at least, that's what I think he said. It was difficult to distinguish the words he was saying with the low buzz in my ears, tuning out other sounds around me. "Shit, Lopez. Can you fucking hear me? Slow down."
I shook my head – or I tried to, at least, my head seemed unnaturally heavy – and lifted the bottle up to my lips, inadvertently scraping my teeth with the rim.
"Fuck." I felt myself saying, the swearword sounding like mush to my ears. "Fuck, Puck, you suck," I dissolved into a fit of giggles that were painful to do and hear.
"Well, shit." He seemed to mutter. He looked at me with an expression that clearly was the epitome of brotherly concern. It pissed me off for some reason.
"Whatcha lookin aht?" I demanded, trying to reach forward to push his face away. I was obviously a lot more drunk than I thought, because I ended up missing my target and falling across the floor. The impact of my face falling flat on the cold linoleum should have hurt at least a little bit, but all I felt was a weird tingle from my nose. I clenched my hand, but the bottle I was holding seemed to have rolled away. I shrugged.
"You're bleeding, San."
I winced, phantom slicing down my torso like an imaginary knife splitting me in half. "Duun't cahll me thaat." I tried to yell, but it was too late. Like a nuclear explosion I was bombarded with the image of Brittany in my mind, her eyes broken, her tears sharp and clear on her cheeks. I tried to push myself to my feet, but all I ended up doing was filling my mouth with warm, rust-tasting liquid. A second later, when I registered that it was my blood, I spat it out, saliva mixing with it on the floor.
"No, no, oh come on. I don't want your freaking drool on my floor, too." He groaned. I felt his hands wrap around my shoulders, heaving me up slowly. "Come on, get up." He lifted me into his arms and guided me back into his couch. "Please don't try to fall." He begged, pushing me as far into the cushion as possible.
My eyelids began drifting downwards just as he reached into his pocket, furiously punching out a number on his keypad. The blood was still trickling down my nose, leaving paths of sticky tingling, and in my mind all I could see was her her her.
"It's Puck." I heard him say, his voice urgent. "She's wasted, I need you to come over… Yeah, I know I shouldn't have made her drink so much – how the fuck was I supposed to know she couldn't handle… Jesus, just come over already, she's bleeding on my couch."
I felt the couch sag a little, then his warm hands on my face. "Lopez, what the fuck are we going to do with you?" He breathed, just as I felt something cold and damp pressing against my nose. I jerked away from it, moving my head away. The movement made me feel like puking.
"Keep still, will you?" He snapped. "I'm trying to stop the God damn bleeding."
My eyes opened then, but only to tiny slits. Everything around me was going in and out of focus, like I was looking at the world through a really bad camera lens. Puck's face zoomed in and out of the picture, until I go dizzy just looking at him. He pressed a white cloth to my face, holding down for a long moment. When he pulled it away, there was a blob of red on it, like a Rorschach blot. If I stared at it long enough I probably would have her in it, too.
"There, now you don't look so Holloween-y." He said softly, wiping my face one final time. "I've got to clean up the mess a bit." He sighed. "Before someone steps on your beer or your saliva or your blood." He shuddered. "Gross."
"Sorry." I tried to mumble, closing my eyes again. I turned my head against the light and straight into the soft material of the couch, burying my head as far as it would go, trying to fight back the crystal clear picture of her in my mind.
I fell asleep dreaming of the ocean in her eyes.
/
"–fix things?"
"–don't know…pretty fucked..."
"–don't get it…"
"–long story…Sectionals…attacked…Britt's mom…San's dad…bullying in school…"
Low whistle. "Shit, that is pretty fucked…"
I rolled to another side and the voices quieted for a moment, and in the silence I fell back to sleep dreaming of the sound of her voice.
/
I opened my eyes.
My mouth tasted like a sewer and my head was pounding like a war drum. I groaned slightly and turned to the side slowly, trying to figure out where I was with as little movement as possible. I blinked several moments before I realized I was still on Puckerman's couch, a thick blanket draped over my cautiously. I pushed it off slowly, trying to sit up without inducing the feeling of puking.
There was a glass of water on the table nearby, along with what I seriously hoped was an aspirin. I needed one desperately like air.
I stood slowly, stretching my weary muscles. I took the glass in my hands and took a small gulp, before taking the pill and throwing it into my mouth and depleting the rest of the water. Just as I set the glass down, my eyes roamed the room unconsciously, freezing when I spotted two other people.
I walked slowly over towards them, careful not to make a sound. Fully dressed, Quinn was sleeping with her back to Puck, her pink hair covering most of her face. Puck, also completely dressed, had an arm draped over her waist, his fingers intertwined around hers.
It was amazing to see, but it hurt in the most painful way imaginable.
"I'm happy for you both." I said in a low voice that I knew they couldn't hear. My eyes watered involuntarily and I raised my hand to wipe away the tears that managed to escape. "So, so happy." I tried not to choke.
I walked back over to the couch, took the blanket, and carefully draped it over both their sleeping forms. Then I made my way up the stairs and out the door, walking out into the cold air.
/
Senior year was supposed to be the year I finally got everything, I thought to myself as I navigated my way through the crowded halls of McKinley, ignoring the insults being thrown my way. Why was it that it was rapidly disintegrating into the year I was losing everything?
I raised my eyes from ground level and saw her standing a few feet away. My entire body froze in response, like I had spontaneously grown roots that anchored me to that spot in the hallway.
"Hey, Santana!" It was like a loud wake-up call. Like a reflex, I automatically turned my head towards the sound of my name, craning my head a little to see a little better.
Stupid, really.
I shut my eyes and held my breath when the contents of the cup was tossed into my face, but I was surprised when it wasn't freezing, or even relatively sticky. I heard someone gasp nearby, and I could have almost sworn it was her, but before I could whirl around to confirm it another cup was tossed into my face. The liquid was clear, and dripped easily from my skin. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn it was just water.
"Some holy water for you, Satan!"
Oh, I see.
Biting back a sigh, I wiped most of the liquid away with the edge of my sleeve, simultaneously blinking away the liquid pooling in my eyes. When someone thrust what felt like tissue into my hands, I took it gratefully and dried my face with it.
"Thanks." I mumbled, surprised when I realized that it Kurt standing in front of me, Blaine not so far behind him. I took an involuntary step back, unsure of what to expect.
Kurt looked at me for a long moment. But for once he was looking at me like he didn't want to skin me alive, instead wearing an expression that was thoughtful and searching. I swallowed, stammering, "Uh…Hi."
Blaine glanced at Kurt, almost as though looking for instruction. Kurt inclined his head in a small nod at me. "Hello, Santana." He said, before straightening his jacket and patting away imaginary dirt. When he found nothing else amiss in his outfit, he looked back at me and murmured, "It will help you a lot if you carried tissue regularly." Then he turned around – Blaine followed – and walked away.
/
"Are you playing hooky?"
I looked up from the reviewer I was making to the big, hulking figure of Dave Karofsky standing over me. "Are you talking to me?" I asked, frowning.
He looked pointedly across the empty library. "Unless I have some mental disorder which keeps me from seeing other people."
I rolled my eyes at his lame attempt at sarcasm. "What do you want, Karofsky?" I asked tiredly, looking back down at the reviewer.
Much to my extreme annoyance, he pulled out the chair adjacent to mine and sat down easily. "I'm doing my job." He replied, clasping his hands together. "What are you doing there?" He asked, leaning forward towards the reviewers.
"Job?" I hissed, shoving the papers together so he wouldn't see the contents.
He nodded, pointing at his shiny, red jacket. The Bully Whips uniform. Stunned, I looked back at him. "We were disbanded."
"We've been reinstated."
"Reinstated?" I echoed in disbelief. "We dissolved automatically after prom last year. Who in their right minds would reinstate us?"
He inhaled slowly. "I think you should know the answer to your own question."
I blinked, my heart thudding to a stop. "No." I shook my head. "No way."
My skepticism was met with a quiet stare.
"She–" I paused, a lump forming in my throat. I struggled with the words for a long moment, trying to get them to leave my throat. When I failed, I settled for a strangled, "Why?"
"She saw you being bullied the other day. The holy water thing? Yeah, she saw that." He leaned back, his arms crossing over his chest. "Then she talked to me yesterday. She asked me to…" his eyes swept over my small frame, "…protect you."
"I don't need protection." I responded automatically.
For some bizarre reason, that made him smile. "Yeah, she said you were going to react like this." He motioned towards my incredulous expression. "She told me to protect you anyway, even if you didn't want me to."
"But…why? Fucking why?"
He said nothing to an extremely long, painful moment, his expression slowly shifting to something serious and sad, and maybe a little bit jealous. "I think you know why."
I felt my bottom lip quivering, and I had to look away so he wouldn't see the lone tear slip torturously slowly down my cheek.
Later that day, I opened Brittany's locker in the empty hallways. Karofsky was with me, watching with guarded eyes as I put in the latest reviewer. He said nothing when I tucked the folded sheets into a prominent position, and again said nothing when my fingers lingered a little bit too long on the photo she had of the two of us.
/
It happened when January was coming to a close.
I was in the library, completing the reviewer for yet another class I was missing. It was ironic, really: most people assumed I was cutting class because I didn't have the patience to learn anything. But by breaking down the subject matter as thoroughly as I could, I was effectively learning the material so much more than in the typical classroom setting.
Not that it mattered, though. At the end of the day, a cut class is still a cut class. And I knew that if I managed to perform well in a test that covered topics I wasn't around to listen to, they'd just accuse me of cheating. It's pretty fucked up, but with the different kinds of shit in my life, it barely mattered.
I trudged towards Brittany's locker, slightly relieved and slightly proud at the completion of the sixth reviewer this month. The subject matter was a bit complicated, and winding it down to basic terms developed a killer migraine in my head that made me want to fall asleep so badly.
I raised my hand to the lock and carefully set in her combo. When I finished, I yanked at the padlock expectantly, but it remained tightly clasped.
I blinked, suddenly feeling insanely wide awake. Reaching for the lock again, I re-did the same combination, only to get the exact same result: the lock wouldn't budge, not even an inch.
She changed it, my mind was repeated endlessly. She fucking changed it. For the first time since freshman year, she fucking changed her locker combination.
Numbed, I moved to my locker beside hers and opened it on a random whim. What I saw taped to the insides of my locker door punched the air out of my body like a fist to the sternum.
I took the note in my hands, reading and re-reading the four words in her unique penmanship, until I could see it clearly engraved in my mind.
Please stop. It hurts.
I felt defeat, crushing and all-powerful, sweep through me in a single blow, hitting me in the face like a perfectly aimed shot. My knees gave in, the air pushed out of my body, my joints snapping closed involuntarily. I imagined my guts exploding inside of me, acid spilling out into different organs of my body, melting tissue and throwing off my internal pH value.
"Whoa, hey, are you alright?" Quinn's voice burst into the bubble of my consciousness, her arms wrapping under my armpits from behind and pulling me back on my feet. "What's the matter?"
I looked at her, feeling completely and utterly lost. "Q." I managed to gasp, grasping the edges of her sleeves tightly, holding on for dear life. "Q." The note crumpled in my hand, but I refused to let it go.
"I'm here." She said, panic leaking into her voice. She gathered me in her arms. "I'm here."
/
It was the morning of a February school day, but I was still lying flat on Quinn's massive bed, unwilling to be coaxed out of it for the fourth day in a row. Quinn had tried to talk me into all the reasons why completely missing school was hardly the solution to anything, but all her rationalizations had fallen flat on deaf ears. Puck had sneaked in through the window and had attempted to pull me off the mattress, but all that got him was a superbly thrown punch in the nads that had him limping towards the bathroom. Rachel and Blaine had even showed up late one afternoon, trying to charm me into the extravagant New Directions rehearsals for Nationals, but singing and dancing were the last things I wanted to do on earth.
"So what then?" Rachel demanded, her voice taking a slightly hysterical tone. "Are you just going to stay here and allow yourself to lose your talent?"
I looked at her then. Her eyes were shining with sincere concern, but it did nothing to make me feel any better. "There are worse things to lose. Please just go." I buried my face back into the pillows, closing me eyes.
When I looked up again, I was alone in the room.
/
It was such a fucking cliché, but my iPod became my best friend. My iPod, which I recently reduced from thousands of songs to only seventy. Quinn had jokingly called it The Sound of Heartbreak just the night before, and though I had smiled thinly back, we both knew she was right.
It was the second week of my self-isolation, and I was sitting in the spotless Fabray kitchen, swirling around the cereal in the bowl mindlessly. Music was blaring into my eardrums, and I didn't bother to think about what track was playing at the moment. They all had the same effect, anyway: they took the emotions swirling in the pool of my heart and amplified it until I felt like I was drowning in them.
I will softly pull away in this broken, beautiful mess I've made. And in the dead and quiet, I will slowly fade in this masterpiece I made. - Is there anyone out there, somewhere I can belong? - We could have had it all. - It's over and done. - Lost and buried under everything that I need, when all I want is you. - I'd kill myself to make everything perfect for you. - But I set fire to the rain. - I'm never going back again. - Next time, I'll be braver. - Hearts are filled with holes and emptiness. - Are you listening? I need you now. - Don't stop now, I need this to hurt. Burn it into my mind. - Save me with your love tonight. - Love is a losing game. - Don't waste your time on me, you're already the voice inside my head. - I can't breathe easy. - Let me hold you for the last time, it's the last chance to feel again. - I don't want to swallow such a bitter pill. - I'm undone, without you now, I'm in a million pieces.
There it was. A sampler of the fucking soundtrack of my life, summarized in roughly 280 minutes of music.
I emptied the rest of my breakfast into the sink, and crept up the stairs towards Quinn's bedroom.
"Get dressed." A voice barked at me as soon as I opened the door. I looked up in surprise. Kurt Hummel was standing in the center of the room, his bright, flamboyant outfit looking drastically out of place. Quinn was seated by her desk, looking at me critically.
"What?" I asked dumbly, staring at him. "What are you doing here?"
"You're coming to school today, Santana." He informed me, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground. "So go and take a shower and get dressed."
I shook my head, heading towards the bed. "Don't feel like it." I mumbled.
"Well, neither does half the population of students in America. But you know what? They go anyway."
I plopped back down on the bed, ignoring him. Quinn was by my side instantly, slipping her arms around my torso and pulling me up to a sitting position.
"Get off me." I reacted, flinging my arms out in a wild attempt to push her off.
"You have a promise to keep." She growled all of a sudden, pinning my arms to my side. "Or have you forgotten? You have a fucking promise to keep." I saw Kurt raise his eyebrow subtly in curiosity.
Quinn and I glared at each other for a long moment before I finally deflated. "I can't." I pleaded. "Quinn, I can't. You know I can't." I burst into tearless sobs. "She doesn't want me to."
She grabbed both my hands. "You can." I shook my head. "Santana." Her grip tightened, and she pulled me so I was forced to look her in the eye. "If there's anyone on this planet who can, it's you, Santana. You want to know how I know how?" I sniffed slightly. She pressed on. "Because you've got people like me who are here to help you."
/
"I can't believe I'm doing this." I muttered darkly, weaving my way through the hallway with Quinn, Karofsky not far behind us. "I legitimately cannot fucking believe I'm doing this."
"Get over it." Quinn shot back, but not unkindly. "I've got to put away some shit in my locker." She nodded towards a corner of the hallway. "Meet you in class?"
"I don't even want to be here." I moaned, crossing my arms over my chest. Quinn glared. "Fuck, fine. I'll see you in class."
She nodded, satisfied, before making her way towards her locker. I was about to turn around and march directly to the library, when I caught a glimpse of Rachel's retreating form and something just clicked in my mind, confidence flooding my system in a flash.
"Berry!" I hollered, making my way to her. Karofsky followed without hesitation. Rachel stopped at the sound of her name and rotated, meeting my eye.
"Santana!" She replied, in a surprised but pleasant voice. Her face transformed into an approving expression. "It's great to see you back." Her gaze shifted to the Bully Whip behind me, her eyebrows rising ever-so-slightly.
"I need a favor." I blurted out abruptly, skipping all the small talk altogether. Her eyes snapped back to me, suddenly uncertain.
"Uh–Alright."
"I need you to tutor Brittany."
She looked at me for a long moment, her mouth opening slightly. "I-I'm sorry?"
"I need you to tutor Brittany." I repeated slowly. Her entire face shone with confusion, before she replied, in a considerably softer voice,
"Santana, I – are you serious?"
I nodded vigorously. "As serious as I can possibly be."
Her eyes travelled left and right for a few moments, his brow furrowing in deep thought. "Why me?"
"Other than the fact that you are freakishly smart?" I rolled my eyes, taking a deep breath. "You're the one person she would never suspect was acting under my request."
Rachel frowned slightly. "Santana–" she began haltingly, "while I do hold the highest respect for what you're trying to do here–"
"Please, Rachel." I begged, shutting my eyes in agony, wishing, hoping, praying to God she would understand. "It's just… I can't. I can't be there for her and…Someone needs to be. Rachel, just, fuck, please. I'm begging here."
She sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead with two fingers. "I can't promise anything. But I will try."
"Thank you." I said, as honestly as I could manage. "Rachel, I… I know things haven't been ideal, but…thank you."
Her eyes met mine, and for a moment I felt an odd sense of kinship with her. "Well..." She gave a small shrug. "For Brittany." She gave me a small smile, then turned around and walked away.
Beside me, I felt Karofsky take a step closer, a warm hand closing itself over my arm. I dropped my gaze, feeling suddenly very small and tired. "Yeah. For Brittany."
/
"There's something I want to share." All the heads in the choir room turned to Brittany, who was bouncing nervously on her chair. "Something I want to sing." She clarified.
Mr. Schue was clearly surprised, but he stepped back anyway, saying, "Oh, wow, that's great, Brittany. Take it away!"
I suddenly felt extremely tense, my fingers digging deeply into my knees. Beside me, I saw Puck and Quinn exchange a nervous glance.
Brittany stood up and slowly made her way to the center of the room. Her gaze seemed plastered to her multi-colored sneakers for a long moment, before looking up at us.
"This was actually supposed to be for Valentine's Day, but I…" She swallowed nervously, "I think maybe now would be the right time to sing this. Since, you know," She gave me a meaningful glance. "Since we're all here."
"Holy shit." I heard Quinn whisper beside me. I was thinking the exact same thing.
Brittany turned her head towards the piano man and gave a tiny nod.
"So little to say but so much time,
despite my empty mouth the words are in my mind.
Please wear the face, the one where you smile,
because you lighten up my heart when I start to cry."
I felt my entire throat close up. Her vocals weren't perfect, but the emotion with which she expressed herself was incredibly powerful. It blew me away into an ocean of emotions that tossed and turned with turbulent waves.
"Forgive me first love, but I'm tired.
I need to get away to feel again.
Try to understand why, don't get so close to change my mind.
Please wipe that look out of your eyes, it's bribing me to doubt myself.
Simply, it's tiring."
She paused, her voice wavering slightly. Her blue eyes turned to me, locking with mine, and I just knew. I knew that she was singing to me. It was the first time anyone had ever sung a song for me, and it was the most painful thing I'd ever experienced.
"This love has dried up and stayed behind,
And if I stay I'll be alive.
Then choke on words I'd always hide.
Excuse me first love, but we're through.
I need to taste the kiss from someone new."
Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and the sniffing from the other occupants in the room informed me that many others were crying, too. My chest felt like it had gaping holes in it, a giant cavity where my heart used to be.
"Forgive me first love, but I'm too tired.
I'm bored to say the least and I, I lack desire."
She never looked away.
"Forgive me first love, forgive me first love, forgive me first love, forgive me first love, forgive me, forgive me first love."
She paused, her voice breaking. For a moment she dropped her head, her body trembling slightly. Then she looked back at me and finished in a quiet but strong voice,
"Forgive me first love."
/
Quinn found me sitting in the janitor's closet, my face tear-streaked and my soul in tatters in my hands.
She sat down beside me, took my hand, and said nothing.
