A\N: For once, I'm updating on Sunday as I should. This is the thirteenth chapter-stating the obvious, I know, sorry. As usual, I hope you like it, and if you can drop a review, that'd be wonderful, really.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own! Wouldn't be here writing fics if I did, would I?
I'm just a stranger, even to myself,
A re-arranger of the proverbial bookshelf,
Don't be a fool girl, tell him you love him,
Don't be a fool girl, you're not above him
Ingrid Michealson, Die Alone
She avoids him for a week, and she tells herself that it's because of having that fuckface around.
The worst part is that she tells him too.
He doesn't even answer her, because he's tired of her constant cowering. She breaks down, because she thinks he couldn't care less about her.
Her pride still prevents her from knocking on his door and tell him everything she's keeping inside, though.
It's not like she's keeping inside anything-
She screams and trashes her bedroom, because god dammit, she is keeping something inside.
And then she realizes that he's had the balls to come and knock on her door when she broke things up before-
And she gets down in a ball, and cries, hard.
He's fucking Sebastian Smythe, she's fucking Santana Lopez, they're both gay, she's left Brittany for him, and he hasn't been with anyone but her for months, now.
And she, like a little girl-
She strips of her pride, puts her bravado together, gets down two shots of tequila, and walks to his place.
Isn't it in vino veritas anyway?
I don't know if I'll be able to update regularly in the next weeks, as I'm having exams and I'm a bit behind with studying. So please, don't be angry with me if I won't update regularly! Well, you haven't been in the past, so thanks. Love you!