Chapter 13
What if I run out of road on the highway? Would you turn off the engine?
NOW
Have you ever imagined yourself driving across an empty highway, with the telegraph poles stretching as far as anywhere?
Who was sitting beside you?
It had never been any question of how much Santana loved Brittany, it was always a question of how much courage she had to show her. When they were eighteen she'd promised her, that she would always be the person standing at the end of her highway. The car could break down, it could disappear, she could lose her vision to drive, but nothing would ever stop her from getting back to Brittany. There's a story that her grandfather had always told her, before he passed away, it was about a small water droplet, that had separated from the glass cup it had always belonged to. It had fallen down the drain and become lost amongst the thousands of other droplets in the world. It took all of its will power and all of its strength, but the little droplet finally made its way back to the cup.
She was going to find Britt.
She was going to go to Ohio, she was going to fly there and beg Brittany to remember her. How could she not, Santana was supposed to be at the end of Brittany's highway. She was standing there with a sign telling her that she loved her, and that no one else would ever be right for her. She had been having these surges to buy an airfare and track Brittany down herself.
Q had called her irrational.
"Santana," she had said over dinner the other night, "What have the doctors continuously told you?"
"They don't know Brittany like I do," she had snapped.
They had argued, because they were both as stubborn as each other and it had resulted in Rachel storming from the room.
Santana knocked on their bedroom door, and let herself inside without waiting for an answer. Quinn stood over the bed, her suitcase sprawled open, she was folding clothes and placing them inside.
"Can we start speaking again?" she asked tentatively.
Quinn eyed her, "Do I have a choice?"
"Q," Santana reasoned, throwing her hands in the air.
"I'm sorry," she replied, dumping her jacket in the suitcase and sitting on the edge of the bed. She indicated for Santana to sit beside her.
"I'm being a bitch," she said.
"I'm being an irrational straight up bitch,"
"You've always been that way," Quinn smirked.
Santana pretended to hit her.
"San," she reasoned, "I will never pretend to know what you're going through, but jumping on a plane at whim and flying back to Ohio," she paused to prevent the suitcase from slipping off the bed, "Is madness,"
"Q, Britt needs me!"
"Oh San," she murmured, " I don't want to say this, but Brittany doesn't know she needs you. Think about her. Think about waking up and only knowing things like your first name. Knowing that you live in Ohio with your parents and you're in junior high. To find out that in actual fact, you're twenty five, in a hospital room, in New York,"
Quinn had always been so rational. Santana couldn't answer her, which was so strange because she had always been able to answer Quinn.
"Santana understand what this means for Britt, if you suddenly show up. It means she's gay, not in high school anymore and getting married to a complete stranger,"
Santana felt her insides fall out beneath her, Quinn had always been so direct, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to hear that.
"I'm sorry," she replied noticing Santana's reaction.
"It's fine, it's the truth isn't it?"
Quinn sighed brushing her hands through her golden hair.
"I swear to god Santana as soon as I get back from L.A if you want to get on a flight, I'll pay for them myself,"
"Oh god Q," she responded, "don't be stupid, between your job and Rachel's determination for an early production, I can't ask you to drop your lives like that,"
Quinn stared at her, with the same look she had carried from high school. That look which expressed fearlessness. The only person who had ever been able to wipe that look from Quinn's face was Rachel.
"San, this is you and Britt we're talking about. I'd drop the world for you both. Don't be ridiculous, and you're an idiot if you don't think Rach wouldn't do the same,"
Santana's shoulders slumped, "Don't go,"
Quinn smiled, "This job pays so well San, and it's for Jason Christopher, L.A's leading fashion photographer! It's just a few days, I promise... I need this," she smiled slightly, before looking at Santana with the utmost seriousness, "Look after my girl will you,"
Santana nodded, "You know I will,"
"Come," Quinn said, holding her arms out, and Santana fell into them, breathing a sigh of relief.
. . .
The Broadway atmosphere in New York is intricately the most beautiful in the United States. Each of the theatres are designed in their own individual way. Some are modern, others are small and quaint, and some are so wide you can hear your heartbeat echo. But all of them have one thing in common; it's you, the stage and the story being presented before you. Quinn had only been gone a few days, and Santana had already seen a change in Rachel.
"Santana!" she had shrilled this morning as they had argued on whether Santana was going to spend all day in bed, "I love you, I'm a mess about Brittany as well, and I hate Zoe for what she's done but I need you right now. I'm so stressed about the upcoming show I don't even know what to do with myself. Quinn is in L.A and I just need my best friend….please!"
Rachel had never been a calm person, but when Quinn was next to her, she balanced Rachel out. Made her more placid. Santana sat behind the audition desk, lamp to her left, Kurt on her right, watching Rachel hassle her actors onto the stage. The director of the show stood beside Kurt, beaming down at them.
"Whenever there's a crisis, Rachel comes to the plate,"
Kurt smirked, "The exact words of our glee club teacher,"
He frowned, "What?"
"Never mind," Santana responded.
When a memory is not shared, its always so hard to find that familiarity. That's why new memories are always meant to be made. The only problem Santana found was that she just wanted the old ones back.
Rachel's production New York in the Snow, had been written and processed by the Broadway Theatre Guild and audition allocations had been settled. Until last night when the lead actor had called to say he'd broken his leg. Rachel had literally had a fit. There were no brown paper bags, so Santana had to make her hyperventilate into a vacuum cleaner bag. Now sitting in the Booth Theatre its walls decorated with stain glass windows, and a ceiling that looked like the open night sky, Santana and Kurt watched her work. Santana had pulled some strings at Julliard to get Rachel a line up of actor's that weren't going to be duds. It was so much easier to sort the excellent from the best, rather than trying to find a gem in a pool of rocks.
"Are you having de ja vu?" Kurt whispered leaning into her ear.
Santana stared at their friend ordering nervous actors about on stage and smirked. Rachel Berry, sure thing for Broadway President. Last week she had wanted to literally buy the Booth Theatre herself.
"When's Q back?" Kurt asked.
"Not soon enough," she responded glancing at the notebook sticking out from her hand bag.
"Write it down, San,"
She glanced at him. Kurt had always been so intuitive. Even from the very beginning when she had made a point to ignore him in the school corridors, or taken a stab at his sexuality, he had always known what was underneath her carefully crafted shell. Kurt had always known what to say and when to say it.
"Santana," he said as he straightened his blazer, "Just write everything,"
Santana looked down at the notebook, the pages were stained from the times that she wasn't able to hold the tears back and it had smudged the pages; and left her crisp tears for the world to see. Maybe if she ever got this to Brittany, she'd see how much pain being without her really caused.
She smiled as Kurt handed her a pen, "You write," he grinned, "I'll tell Rachel what man candy she should be hiring!"
The last thing Santana registered before she bowed her head, was Rachel informing an actor that if he did not shave his own chest, she would do it with a lawn mower.
BACK THEN
Open your eyes B, it's me, I've been here all along
Senior Year, its already begun
Summer had been long. It had been hot and lazy and on three separate occasions Santana had almost ripped Brittany's clothes off.
One; they were ridiculously drunk and Brittany had told her she was the prettiest thing she'd seen in her whole life, Santana had melted.
Two; it had been scorching hot all day and Santana had suggested they go for a swim, Brittany had forgotten her swimming costume, she'd gone naked, Santana had died and then melted.
Three; they had fallen asleep watching an old black and white film and had woken dazed and sleep disorientated. Noses to noses, lips to lips and Santana had inhaled Brittany. Their legs were tangled and Santana could feel her torso pressed against Brittany's. Titanic hit the freaking iceberg.
Everyone thought they were the best friends that were overly sexually experienced, but really Santana just guessed her way through experimentation with Puck. Half the time she didn't enjoy it and just sat there empty. Brittany hadn't said anything about sleeping with Artie, and Santana prayed that literally everything of his was paralysed from waste down. Thinking that four wheeler was allowed to be with her in that way, made her hate life.
Summer was over, senior year had hit and Santana was still with Puck, only their relationship had dwindled down to nothing more than sleeping together. He never spoke about anything with her other than if the Titans won out of school games. The night before school had started he did the one thing that made her realise maybe he was going to turn out okay. He had sent her a text message saying that he wanted to sing with her in Glee Club this year, for their last year.
You have a beautiful voice San, I'll always believe in your voice, no matter what happens.
Brittany, was still with Artie. Santana hated him. She didn't even have a concrete reason to hate him, he had done nothing to her, but she still hated him. Santana had slept at Brittany's house nearly every single night, or at least when she wasn't in Puck's truck or Brittany wasn't wheeling around the streets with stubbles McCripple-Pants. She had learnt poker to the point she and Michael were playing with real money. After the seventh week of vacation she'd worked out that any of the money she was losing he was placing double back into her backpack, so by the time the Fourth of July had rolled around she had over $100 in her bag. She bought them all gifts, and shouted Italian. She loved Brittany's parents. She loved them so much she could walk into the kitchen in the mornings when Brittany was still asleep and just be with them. She'd never been part of a household where two parents were completely in love with each other. They didn't fight in the way her parents had. Their conversations were meaningful, every glance, and every touch meant something. It was everything she wanted with Brittany. Why the hell did fear have to exist in the world? Life would be so much easier without fear.
"Guys listen!" Mr Schue yelled, walking into the room, silence fell over them as he took control of their attention.
"We've got a long stretch ahead of us guys, a long stretch till nationals, and I strongly believe we are firm contenders,"
Puck cheered, and Santana rolled her eyebrows.
"Mr Schue," Rachel asked her hand cascading into the air.
"Yes Rachel," he smirked.
Santana would forever marvel in the man's patience, how he had not managed to peel of his own sock's and shove them down dwarfs mouth she would never know.
"Are you going to place references down on our college application forms?"
"Oh Rachel!" Mercedes moaned, "We've only just started senior year, can you give the college forms a rest!"
Rachel huffed, "Mercedes, it is my full intention to go to the college I desire,"
"Tuition for Hobbits?" Puck asked and the class cracked up.
"Guys enough," Mr Schuester warned, "Rachel is right, you guys need to think about college options, graduation will be knocking at the door any minute"
"Do you want me to open it when it gets here Mr Schue?" Brittany asked.
Santana immediately shot her hand out and took her pinkie; she wanted to pinch her cheeks. As usual Brittany looked at her confused, as though what she had said was actually normal.
"For the next three weeks I have an assignment I want you all to work on,"
The class sat up as he headed to the whiteboard and wrote the word that was going to be their focus for the next few lessons. A slight murmur rippled through them.
"Duets?" Kurt asked.
"Exactly," he responded, "So I want you to pick partners, and the winning duo will get a free meal at Breadsticks!"
Santana and Brittany sat up immediately.
"Firstly though, I want to introduce Sam," he pointed to a blonde haired boy sitting next to Finn, "Sam has just joined us this year, so please make him feel welcomed,"
Santana eyed him up and down, he was cute, but Jesus you could fit a fighter jet into his mouth.
"Think this through guys, pick the songs that will best show off your voice, throw in a dance routine if you want, but have fun!"
A million songs were already racing through Santana's mind.
Mr Schuester made Santana stay back again after class, to which was going to make her late for the jog Quinn had suggested.
"Ms Sylvester will kill us if we've gained weight over summer," she had said and Santana had guiltily thought about all the marshmallows Layla had been stuffing down her throat.
"Santana," he said, as he packed away the chairs, to stack them against the wall, "What college are you interested in?"
Why was he taking such an interest in her?
"I really don't know Mr Schuester,"
"Oh come on Santana, surely there's one place you have your eye on?"
Well yes, but it would be impossible for me to get into, and you need a kick ass reference to which all of her teachers either hated her, or didn't know she actually existed.
"No, not really,"
He eyed her, in that same look that for some reason acted like some truth serum. Mr Schue seemed to be able to bleed the truth out of her no matter how hard she tried to send him off in the another direction.
"Julliard," she choked out.
He raised his eyebrows and she flushed red.
"I told you it was stupid,"
"No Santana, I was actually hoping you would choose a college such as that,"
She looked at him, and he could see how much she doubted herself.
"We'll work on it this year okay?"
Santana nodded, unsure of what it meant, but he believed in her, a grown adult actually believed she could make it. Maybe when graduation came knocking, she wasn't going to slam the door in its face.