Chapter XXXVII
A/N: Greetings, readers. Thank you, yet again, for your continued support.
FYI, the text sections that are in italics are flashbacks. I've done this in previous chapters, but this one is pretty flashback heavy so I thought I would give you all a head's up just in case it wasn't clear.
To the twoone guest, if you ever wanted to log-in or register and PM me sometime, I would be happy to discuss all of your issues with my story. As it stands, I disagree with you whole-heartedly, which means I won't be making any changes based on your selective reading.
I apologize if that seemed negative to anyone. I really am grateful for everyone who reads. And here goes...
Santana's POV
If I were a more responsible student, I would be spending the train ride with my nose a textbook, but I was swiping thoughtfully through the pictures on my phone instead.
My neck ached. I didn't sleep well the night before, because I had been so anxious and excited for today. For her.
Life seemed to be moving at such a fast pace lately, that it was nice to sit still for a while. Sit still on a moving train, sure, but let's not get too technical here.
I personally thought it was pretty stupid that this was the first time in almost four weeks that I was seeing Quinn. She was less than a two hour train ride away. But, she was throwing herself into every activity that her mother and father had ever been involved in. I also thought that it was pretty idiotic for her to be so closely following in her mother's footsteps when her mother's one ambition in college was to find a husband.
I mean, a sorority, really Q?
Not that I thought that sororities were by default bad. I was sure that being in a sorority was much like being a Cheerio in high school. It was a means of obtaining social status, but she could have at least chosen one where the list of famous people that pledged didn't consist entirely of powerful men's wives. But of course, she had to pledge the one that her mother did.
As for me, I put myself out there and went to a Glee Club information session at Columbia. It wasn't at all like our Glee Club at McKinley. They showed us some of their videos of past performances, and they were terribly boring. Total yawnfest. They just stood there with these vacant expressions on their faces while they sang.
Not to mention, that everyone stared at me like I was going to slushie them the whole time I was there. Well, they probably didn't use slushies there, but you know what I mean. I stuck out like a sexy sore thumb.
The twenty minutes spent in that room sent me spiraling back to the high school environment. It was almost jarring for me, because at Columbia so far, I had felt like a complete unknown. Hell, I was an unknown. I was nobody.
People didn't know me as head bitch Santana Lopez from Lima Heights Adjacent. People didn't know me as the cheerleading captain. People didn't know me as the only out lesbian in the school or the girl who was attacked by six guys at prom. People didn't know me at all. I could be whoever I wanted to be here.
Did I miss having the crowds part for me as I walked? Part of me did, sure. But would I go back for it? No.
People bumped shoulders with me in passing and didn't immediately sputter into a string of apologies. The HBIC glare that I would always instinctively give after didn't faze most of them as it always had fazed the kids in high school. It was odd for me to not be that character anymore, but I was starting to like it.
And you know, I missed my friends, every single day, but I wanted a fresh start. I wanted a life without the baggage. It was so refreshing to not have those labels on me anymore.
Growing up in such a small town, I had to fight tooth and nail for people to know as little about me as possible, but here, here people only knew what I chose to tell them.
As for the Columbia Glee Club, it was all gospel shit anyway. I couldn't handle that. I was going to have to find another outlet for performing.
Being a college cheerleader wasn't in the cards for me either. I was actually offered more than a handful of scholarship opportunities for cheerleading before I graduated, after all, I had led the squad to two National titles. But, it felt to me like that part of my life was finished. It ended on the perfect note, and it wasn't a book that I needed to open again.
I didn't want a new Sylvester in my life. I wanted to make my own path, and I didn't want to be under anyone's thumb.
Now my classes, those were enjoyable for me. Thankfully, I was able to get some of the standards out of the way before college because I had taken some community college courses my senior year. I loved my Introduction to American Politics class. Some of it was pretty basic, but for the most part, I couldn't get enough.
So to sum up my short stint in college so far, I hadn't found my proper place yet, so to speak, but I had found plenty of places that just weren't for me. And this unknown exploratory phase for me was an exciting place for me to be.
Another positive was that I wasn't stuck living in a dorm like Quinn. Instead, I was living in my mom's swanky New York apartment. It was spacious and fully furnished, and it meant that I was able to see my mom more than every couple of months. It would be more like every couple of weeks now. Some kids went to college in order to move out of their parents' pad, and here I was moving in.
As soon as my mother returned from her current job in France I was sure that we were both going to have to make some changes. Aside from financially, I had been taking almost complete care and responsibility for myself for the past four years. I didn't know how our relationship dynamic was going to work. To what degree would we be roommates? To what degree would we be mother and daughter?
It was abnormal for me just to have groceries in the fridge that I did not purchase myself.
My mom couldn't have been more excited about our arrangement, however. It was her idea, after all. When I told her that I had been admitted to Columbia, within minutes, I had an email from her secretary outlining all of the different routes that I could take to class from her apartment. The next email followed three hours later with possible design ideas for my room. The email I received the following day was a straight up bribe. My mom promised me that any money that she would have otherwise spent on a dorm, she would put aside for me, and I could use that money to get my own place one day.
None of that was necessary to sell me on the Columbia idea. I loved New York. It was unlike any other place that I had ever traveled. It felt right when I received that acceptance letter. It fit. Mom was a great bonus.
Another bonus, New Haven was only a train ride away from New York. I was less than two hours away from my little blonde future business major. Yup, that's what she supposedly wanted to do. Business. And not like quaint little art store business. Corporate shit.
Quinn, who had an entire stack of sketchbooks in her closet at her parents' house. Quinn, who spent all of the money that she earned at our job, on stuff for her camera. Quinn, who could paint incredible landscapes from memory.
Business didn't thrill her. It wasn't a reason for her to get up in the morning. She didn't ramble to me excitedly about microeconomics. We had more than one argument about this topic, if you couldn't already tell. It aggravated me how much she was living for everyone else but herself.
But, her father had long ago convinced her that she could never make a living in the art world. So, she was going to graduate and work for her dad instead. Because really, that man needed to have even more control over her.
I hated him.
Obviously Quinn and I were having very different college experiences so far. I was exploring, and she was following to a "T" the track that someone else had written out for her.
Aside from that, long distance relationships were difficult in general, but a secret long distance relationship was even harder. She was busy as all get out already, and when she wasn't head first in someone else's ass, she refused to call or Skype me when her roommate was around.
I would promise to be absolutely platonic, I would tell her that all I needed to hear was her voice, all I needed to see was her face, but she was convinced that her roommate would figure it us out. I was basically in a text relationship. Me and my keypad, we were pretty damn monogamous.
Okay, that wasn't quite fair. She made an effort to memorize her roommate's schedule in order to figure out when we could speak, and she had locked herself in study rooms on several occasions to Skype with me. She was definitely trying. It was just hard.
Making this whole weekend happen though was a fight. Quinn had sworn up and down that she was going to come visit me in New York for our anniversary (after making sure that my mom was not going to be around, of course). But, two days ago she told me that she had too much work to do and wasn't going to be able to make the trip. I assured her that we could do work together, and I promised that I would make sure that she got everything done. She wasn't having it.
Come to find out, that there was a pledge party on Saturday that she was required to attend.
I felt like I was chasing someone that was supposed to already be mine.
But screw her, if she didn't think that I was going to make this work. If she couldn't come to me, I was going to come to her. Her roommate was visiting home for the weekend anyway, so she wouldn't have to be super paranoid all weekend. It wasn't an entire apartment to ourselves in New York, but I just needed to spend time with her.
I knew she was trying. I knew that Yale was her father's stomping grounds. He knew pretty much all of her professors. I tried to be as understanding as possible. It was just fucking difficult to go from our incredible summer together, no, from our incredible year together, to our current state of being.
She was still the only one that I wanted. I loved her with every fiber of my being.
I knew from the inception of our relationship that it was never going to be easy between us. This is what I signed up for.
Did I sound bitter? Because I was.
But I wanted to focus on the good things about our relationship and about our past because not only was this our first weekend together in weeks; it was also our one year anniversary celebration.
The pictures that I was swiping through on my phone were certainly helping. I wasn't a photographer, like Quinn, but I did love me some cell phone snapshots. I switched the song on my phone, and lost myself in my photos and the music.
Honey, when you doubt my love for you
Look into my eyes what I'm going through
Even if we change and fall out of
You hold my hand and it's better than love
The first one I paused on was from Puck's bonfire after our junior year Powderpuff victory. Mercedes' had her arm around me, while we were sitting on a log by the fire, half of Quinn's face was in the shot, and she was smiling affectionately at the two of us. It was before the blonde had found me on Puck's jeep. There was a hint of something there in those hazel eyes. It still surprised me that it took me so long to notice it.
I scanned through all of the prom pictures and the "One Flip Wonders" pictures from the after party. Puck and Sam were flexing in most of them. Sadie and I were looking like a pair of cocky HBICs and Quinn either looked completely disinterested or was openly glaring at Sadie in every picture that she was in. It was pretty comical.
Speaking of Sadie, I needed to give that girl a call. She had moved out of Ohio after Christmas my senior year, and I had only had sporadic communication with her since. She had booked a couple dance gigs, I knew that much. She was in Boston the last time I had heard from her.
I almost teared up at the pictures from Cheer Nationals of my squad and their white bandages. A couple months ago, Dakota had let it slip that Quinn was the one who had planned the whole bandage display. Less than a week after I had broken Quinn's heart by sleeping with Sadie, Quinn was organizing this awe-inspiring demonstration of support for me. Who does that? The day that Dakota told me, once I had successfully found my girlfriend, I didn't stop kissing her for hours.
Save me from myself
You got my back when I need help
It's no one else in the world
You will always be my girl
You will always be, you will always be
You will always be my girl
I missed my cheerleading squad. I skyped with Dakota more than I did Quinn. Quinn and I assisted with cheer camp a few times over the summer, more for the girls than for Coach. We had taught Dakota well, and she was predictably chosen as Captain, but she was still nervous, and was full of questions that I was positive she already knew the answers to. I was proud of her.
I whipped quickly through the pictures from last year's summer. My wasted summer, as I liked to call it. No offense meant to Sadie, of course, but that was precious time that I should have been spending with someone else.
Brittany posing with the various marching band instruments forced me to bite back an audible laugh. The presence of a different drooling geeky guy watching her attentively in every frame made the pictures extra hilarious.
She was still in Lima, for now, but she had graduated at least, and was no longer dating Wheels. I wasn't confident that her heart was ever in that relationship, but knowing Brittany, she would have no trouble finding someone else.
I had a few creeper pictures of Quinn sleeping. Okay, well more than a few, but can you really blame me? She looked like an angel when she slept.
Puck and I were fucking hot in our Halloween pictures together that Kurt had taken for us once my body paint was finally finished. Swiping through, all of my friends' costumes were great. Especially Quinn's. Aside from the shit with Finn, that was such a good night.
I paused at a picture of Puck and his mother fighting over a wishbone at Thanksgiving. She had told him that he didn't need the use of it, because she knew all of his dreams were going to come true. It was freakin' cute.
I couldn't remember ever having a better Thanksgiving. Quinn even came over eventually after she was done with her own familial responsibilities. Puck's mom ultimately managed to convince us to play Monopoly. For the record, Quinn only won because she was a dirty cheat of a banker.
Winter break was more of the same, as Puck's mom began to realize how truly absent my parents were. She wasn't like the other mothers. She wasn't as caught up in the small town gossip, and thus wasn't well-versed in everyone's situations. She was focused on taking care of her son, and wasn't concerned with playing stupid political housewife games. She was an amazing woman. It explained why Puck had so many awesome qualities.
She made a real effort to involve me in their family traditions. They were Jewish, but I didn't care. Religion doesn't make a family, in my opinion. Otherwise, Quinn and I would have the greatest families of all time. I was invited over Christmas day as well, even though they didn't celebrate it. Puck's mom maintained that I wasn't going to be alone. By March, she was insisting that I call her "Momma Puck."
Quinn for her part, brought over this Rachel Berry sized Christmas tree to the house, despite my protests that the maid was going to curse me out in broken Spanish if the needles got everywhere. She carried it inside herself, like a total BAMF. She contended that it was necessary to have a proper place to put my presents. She was the cutest.
Apparently, my presents for her weren't quite good enough, because she declared that I owed her a photoshoot in only a Santa's hat as well. I was pretty sure that I could have gifted her with her very own island and she still would have declared that the photoshoot was required.
I had "snapped" a picture of us on New Year's with our matching ludicrous hats at Dakota's party. Quinn was wearing her tipsy smile, and I was kissing her perfectly sculpted cheek. We looked so happy that it was borderline disgusting. She told me that night that I needed to go ahead and pencil her name in for every New Year's following. She clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as she said it, but I kissed her embarrassment away.
Sometimes dreams they don't come true
I was scared that night when I met you
Well, I stayed patient and I was kind
Telling you to take your time
When she finally found the nerve to show me her Yale acceptance letter, I forced her to take a campy picture with it. She was nowhere near as thrilled as I had expected her to be. My girlfriend, who ruled over our entire school, was actually shaking by the time I was finished taking her picture. I spent that entire night making love to her, assuring her with every whisper, kiss, and touch that wherever I ended up, I would still be hers.
Turn my life around
You made it okay to let you down
There's no one else in the world
You will always be my girl
You will always be, you will always be
You will always be my girl
I had a handful pictures from our senior class trip to the ski resort. Quinn made so much fun of me that day; she was convinced that I was dressed for the apocalypse rather than a ski trip. Cold just isn't my thing, okay?
Snowboarding seemed fun and all, but the cold aspect of it, I could do without. She did look adorable in my goggles though.
She saved my ass more than once as I ran into fences, other people, and even a ski lift post. Due to her family's affinity for skiing, she was definitely more comfortable on the slopes than I was. She was aggravatingly graceful, and she zig-zagged through other people like it was nothing.
I, on the other hand, was a danger to myself and others. I wasn't accustomed to being that bad at anything, and I was all kinds of embarrassed that our whole senior class could see me flailing and yelping while sliding helplessly down the bunny hills to my inevitable doom. People were not supposed to see me like that. Ever.
Quinn wasn't a snowboarder though, and I had refused to ski, so Puck spent most of the day attempting to teach me on the less advanced hills, even though I knew he was capable of going down the more challenging ones with his snowboard.
Quinn made frequent appearances though. She had impeccable timing. To my embarrassment, I was usually face first in the snow when she came around.
It was almost worth it to hear her melodic laugh as she brushed the snow off of my burning face, however. Puck even stood guard for us at one point, holding up his own snowboard for us to block anyone from seeing us as we kissed. He only tried to peek in on us once, before Mercedes came barreling down the hill on her skis, managing to knock all three of us down.
Mercedes told us repeatedly that winter that she was grateful that science had not advanced to the point where Quinn and I could make children. She argued that that much pretty would be the end of the world as we knew it. I had to agree with her on the prettiness, we were a pretty smokin' couple.
So when I'm walking down the road and feeling bad
Can't understand the things you do
Nothing turns out the way we planned
You're still my baby and I'm still your man
I swear that during that winter Quinn purposefully wore her purple and midnight blue scarves as frequently as possible. She found a way to coordinate them with an unusual amount of different outfits. I transformed instantly into the one word wonder every time. She loved every second of it. Especially with all of the creative ways that I found to get her alone on those days.
Work hired a replacement for Sadie early in the New Year. He was some broad-shouldered artsy-fartsy jackass named Trevor. He was a junior from the school that Sadie went to, and although he looked like our jock boys he was all sensitive and shit.
It was nice to have a permanent dance instructor to teach with again, because it really was awkward trying to demonstrate with middle schoolers. But, Sadie and I used to trade off who led the dances, and of course, this guy assumed that he would be leading every time. Whatever. I guess it would have been a little strange for me to be leading his 6'2 ass around the floor.
Despite all of the muscles, the kid wasn't a football player, or a baseball player, he was on the dance team. He loved going to New York to see the ballet with his parents. He loved visiting all of the museums. He could spend days wandering the halls of The Met, he claimed.
His perfectly coifed hair could have given Kurt some hair competition. I figured he was on team gay before the end of our first conversation. He complimented my eye makeup on our second day of work for Christ's sake, and I never caught him checking out my ass like the rest of the guys we worked with.
I didn't have a problem with him at first, in fact, I was starting to like the guy. He was smart and really good with the kids. They loved him, actually, and it was nice to have a break from them whining about Sadie being gone. After our first couple weeks together, I was contemplating inviting him around to hang out with the group sometime. Rachel and Tina would have loved to pick his brain.
Quinn had taken two weeks off of work to visit Yale with her parents, and to help her father with some more bullshit. On her first day back, when Trevor and I were leaving our "studio" space, Quinn was also leaving her class. I was very aware of how his steps almost slowed to a stop at the sight of her. I was also very aware of his lovestruck expression when I introduced the two of them. Boy was not gay. So not gay.
After that it was like every time I looked away for a second, he was by her side chattin' her up. He knew about things that went way over my head. He could discuss photography crap and the brush techniques of various artists. He made her laugh the laugh that I loved so much at jokes that I didn't even get. It was a shitty feeling.
It wasn't typical jealousy for me. I had been jealous of every boy she had ever been with, but this was different. He made me insecure, and I didn't wear that look well. Oh my god, and he would talk to me about her!
"So you and Quinn have been friends for pretty much forever?" Trevor asks with this stupid expectant look on his too-perfect face.
"Yes. We're very close." I answer as I scrub down one of the mirrors, glaring at him in the reflection. Very close.
He stands there behind me, not helping me at all, by the way, with his hands in the pockets of his dance pants, pushing them down just enough that I can see the hip "V" that always seems to drive the hetero girls crazy.
I'm about as gay as it gets, but I can still appreciate the "V". But his, his I don't appreciate one fucking bit. It makes me want to force feed him a mountain of cheeseburgers while an IV pumps chocolate milkshakes mercilessly into his body.
"Is she seeing anyone?" He swallows, and it almost endearing how unsure of himself this Adonis is. It probably would be endearing to anyone else, but I want to shove him out the door and tell him that we don't want none of his charm here.
Yes. Yes. A Million Times Yes.
"She's taking a break from all of that while she focuses on getting ready for college." I lied.
It is what we had agreed to say. Quinn hasn't gone a significant amount of time without a relationship since the eighth grade. Even during her "off" seasons, she was always linked to a romantic interest of some sort. Relationships are her thing.
And this is Quinn we're talking about here. People are bound to ask her out, and people are bound to ask why she doesn't have a boyfriend when she has so many boys chomping at the bit to get at her. But, she's also known for her ambition and that laser focus of hers. It isn't unthinkable that she would toss relationships aside for a while to concentrate on preparing for her future of success.
As for me, people don't ask why I'm not in a relationship. Come to think of it, that would be pretty laughable if someone did. I have never been considered to be the relationship kind of gal.
I am definitely a relationship girl now. That's for sure.
"Oh. That's a shame. For me, that is, but it's great that she's so driven." He appears sad, but not completely defeated. How very sensitive of him.
Yeah. It is. She's great. I'm aware of this because I'm her fucking girlfriend. I love the shit out of that girl. Step Off.
"You should respect what she wants." My teeth grit with my directive and my grip tightens on the spray bottle I'm holding as I turn to face him.
"I know, but you wouldn't understand. She isn't like the girls that go to my school. It's like I never realized how polluted the air I had been breathing all of this time was until I breathed in her fresh air." His blue eyes contract in their dreamy state, and I hate him.
"That's the gayest thing I've ever heard." I snap, and the asshole just smiles at me as if he feels sorry that I'll never feel what he feels.
I feel everything. She's not just my fresh air. She's my air. Period.
"I have to tell her. With her leaving in a few months, I will regret it forever if I don't." He asserts, and I can barely keep myself from throwing my spray bottle at his chiseled jaw.
"That's pretty dramatic, don't you think, Twinkle Toes?" I growl, and his eyes narrow.
"Do we have a problem? You were cool the first couple of weeks, and now you're either rolling your eyes at me or throwing insults in my direction. I think it's safe to say that you're one of the rudest people I have ever met." He stresses, and I smile condescendingly at how very polite and weak his insulting ability is.
"You had big heels to fill here, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hideous, and you're failing miserably at it." I lie again.
Sadie was great, but Trevor will be at her level within a year or less. He surely isn't failing.
"When I started here, people said that you were a bitch, but that you used to be even worse. I don't know how anyone tolerated being around you." He wonders, and I think I finally have my opening.
"Did you just call me a bitch?" I step forward in challenge.
Give me an excuse, fuckwad.
"No. I have respect for other people. Something that you sorely lack." He corrects and now he's the condescending one.
"I will ends you." I threaten as I take another step.
"You're a joke." He smiles contemptuously down at me, and I drop the spray bottle and the towel.
"What are you two doing?" My girlfriend's voice interrupts, and I wonder how much she has heard.
I glance over at her, and I instantly come close to regretting how I've been treating Trevor, and not because of how angry Quinn looks. I get it. Above all people I get it.
She has paint on her pants, and her hair is in a messy bun that tells me that she forgot to put it up before her class, and had struggled to do so properly without getting paint in her hair part way through her lesson.
She's beautiful. Trevor isn't the first person who has fallen in love at the sight of her. He won't be the last.
But god, she is so much more than that.
"Dancing, obviously. Prince Mediocre here has something to tell you, Q." His eyes widen in alarm, and I smirk in triumph.
Quinn, for her part, just looks confused.
"Santana. Be nice." She commands, and I cross my arms, waiting for the blowhard to confess his undying love for my girlfriend.
"I'm not going to say it with you here." He states, pulling his hands out of his pockets.
"Say what?" Quinn inquires, and I watch her as she takes careful note of my body language.
"I'll take these supplies to the closet, and I'll meet you by the front desk when I'm done. This shouldn't take long. He seems like the one minute kinda man anyway." I snatch the basket, and flash Trevor a warning glance on my way out of the room.
If he is going to tell her, and least it is going to be on my terms.
I count as the minutes pass on my phone once I reach the front desk. Six whole minutes have passed, and just as I am about to charge in there and throw that meathead off of my girlfriend, Quinn finally emerges.
The target of my constant affection appears to be pained, and my heartbeat becomes rapid. He can give her so many things that I can't.
"You're an idiot." She breathes, taking my hand to lead me out to my car.
I'm afraid to ask. It's been building in me for weeks. Questions that I have, but questions that I fear the answers to. My music plays as soon as I start my car.
She's out of my league
And that's the kind of girl I need
I am the underdog
But I'm about to take the lead
You can't worry about the others
They can't turn my head
And when I'm with another I wish it was you instead.
"Is this why you've been treating him like we treated Berry sophomore year?" Those eyes of hers are on me as I pull out of the parking lot, but I can't bring myself to look into them.
"He's an asshole." I mumble.
"Yeah…he's really not. Not at all. He's sweet actually." She argues, and my jaw tightens.
I'm not trying to force it
But I've got one thing on my mind
I'm not going anywhere soon
I'm on a mission baby I've got the time
"Got it. Well, that certainly explains why you've been batting your eyes at him and flirting with him for weeks." I reply bitterly, watching as my knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
I left my gloves at work. Don't really care at this point though.
"Pull over." She orders, and I ignore her.
"Santana. Pull. Over." She emphasizes in her not-taking-no-for-an-answer tone, and I sigh heavily as I turn into the nearest parking lot.
"What? I know how much easier it would be for you with him. Your family would love him. He looks like a fucking movie star. He likes all the same stuff you like." I realize how bitter and pathetic I sound, but I can't seem to stop myself.
Let me in, might as well be with you
Let me in, I know how to make you miss me.
I got a secret for you, if you promise not to tell
Sometimes you feel a little closer to heaven when you raise a little hell.
"He's great, but he has this one huge flaw, and it's a total deal breaker." She contends, and my eyebrows rise, putting the car in park before finally twisting my neck to look at her.
"And what's that?" I ask. Seriously, it's like this guy was created just for her.
"He isn't you." She smiles at me softly.
You ain't got worry about the others
They could never be this real
"I watch for you. I always have. I'm constantly waiting for you to enter the room, because I know that once you do, I will feel more alive. I have looked upon this face of yours almost every day for the past thirteen years, and it still takes my breath away. Remember that night at the nightclub when you asked me what my water was? It's you. Loving you is like swimming for a fish, or dancing for Brittany. I belong with you." Quinn confesses, and her eyes never leave mine.
My breathing slows as she works to assuage my fears.
I do remember asking her the question as Brittany was dancing. We weren't supposed to be calling attention to ourselves, and there our tall friend was in the middle of a large circle doing just that. Quinn had said that just like you can't put a fish in water and expect it not to swim, you can't put Brittany in a nightclub and expect her not to dance.
"You don't ever miss, you know, being with guys?" I ask hesitantly, and I watch as her lips twitch. I think she's trying not to laugh.
I know it's stupid but sometimes I wonder if she ever pictures someone of the opposite gender when she's with me. It's stupid because I can always see how very there she is with me. All I have to do is look at the way she looks at me. The answer is always there. It's a shame that it took me so long to notice it.
"Are you serious, San? Baby, I'm not missing anything with you. I have everything with you. This isn't about gender for me." She leans over the center console, cradling the side of my neck with her hand.
"You are the one part of my life that no one has pushed me to go after. You are the one thing that is just for me. You are the one thing that I have done completely for myself. I chose you of my own accord. I am not with you for my parents, or my popularity, or my grades, or my reputation…You are all mine. My choice. My love. My everything." Her hazel pleads with me to believe every word.
Usually when Quinn says "big" things to me they are by accident. A slip of the tongue, or a hurriedly sent text. Here she is putting my feelings above her own insecurities. The gravity of her feelings for me scare her, just as the gravity of my feelings for her scare me.
You'll feel it with me
You'll feel it with me
"I love you." I proclaim against her lips as if those three words could even hope to compare with everything that she just said.
"I love you too, baby." She must be confident that the parking lot is empty, because she doesn't make her usual scan around us before pressing her lips to mine.
The caress of her lips calms my anxieties but excites my heart. I shift to reach to touch her cheek, but I halt at the sensation of her lips spreading into a smile against mine.
"What are you cheesing about?" I inquire. Her smile is infectious, even if I have no idea why she's smiling.
She lifts her thumb, pushing it affectionately into the dimple on my cheek.
"It's just funny to me to think that you would actually worry about me leaving you for someone else. Sometimes I really worry about your sanity." She muses, and I turn my head to playfully bite down on her thumb.
"It wasn't that long ago that you chucked my favorite drumsticks across the studio, Q." I remind her, and her smile transforms into a mischievous one.
She begins to outline my lips with her middle finger.
"Last month when we were in Victoria's Secret and the saleswoman asked me if I wanted her to measure my bust, you threatened to "bust" her perverted face in." She counters, as she continues with her distracting attentions to my lips.
It's almost enough to sidetrack me from responding to her adequately.
"You didn't see how she was looking at you! Also, there were at least two dozen other people in that store and she beelined it straight for you." I argue, although it is difficult to speak properly now that her finger is running leisurely along my bottom lip.
I slide my tongue out to meet her finger before dipping my head down to bring the tip into my mouth.
I watch with great interest as her irises contract, and her breath hitches audibly.
"And when the clerk at the skate rink offered to help me put on my skates?" Her voice has almost lost its challenging tone, but the girl is definitely trying.
"Have you seen your legs? I mean c'mon…" I hum against the tip of her finger, sucking lightly as I wait for her retort.
"I was wearing jeans!" She contends with a shaky husk.
"You could be wearing a fucking snuggie, and you would still look hot, Q." I explain, gliding my tongue along the length of her finger before taking it completely into my mouth. She tastes faintly of acrylic paint, but I don't care.
"You would hit on me in a snuggie?" She questions quietly, her chest heaving under my gaze.
"It's better if we don't test that one, babe." I pause for a moment, reveling in her half lidded eyes before I answer.
"Enough talking. Take us home." She commands, withdrawing her finger from my mouth, and deliberately placing her hand near the inside of my thigh.
It's all the encouragement I need.
I just couldn't help myself from recording evidence of Quinn's cooking efforts for my birthday. Shit was everywhere, and the food looked a mess. It tasted even worse, but fuck me if I was going to tell her that. She was so nervous, and had worked so hard. She had borrowed her mother's cooking manuals and everything for the process. Apparently, she wasn't a natural at everything. Most things, yes. Cooking, hell no.
She knew I was lying when I claimed to love every bite, but I finished my entire plate anyway. I even tried going back for seconds to provide evidence for my enthusiasm before she wrestled my plate from my hands and fucked me against the fridge instead. Dinner was a D- but the sex was an A+.
I scanned through a few pictures of Quinn not just sleeping in bed, but sleeping in all kinds of random places. Awkward positions on airplanes, her chair in the choir room, the football bleachers, half-on-half-off of one of the mats in my basement, her AP calculus seat, the trampoline in the gymnasium, partially wrapped in a curtain in the auditorium…that girl could fall asleep anywhere. It was one of many quirks of hers that I loved so much. Admittedly, more often than not, it was my fault that she was so tired.
I also had a series of pictures of some of her sketches from her sketchbook. She was always very careful about which drawings she allowed me to see. Some of her sketchbooks were completely off limits, but I loved every single thing that she permitted me to see. My girlfriend was unbelievably talented.
I am sitting cross-legged on the floor, just outside of Quinn's bedroom closet with one of her sketchbooks open in my lap. Quinn is alternating erratically between pacing behind me, and crashing down on her bed to make fruitless study attempts.
"Q baby, for the fiftieth time, I don't have to look at this if you don't want me to. I know this shit is super personal for you, and frankly it is hard to focus on it with you huffing and puffing behind me the whole time." I offer, tipping my head straight back to look up at the anxious beauty.
She bends down to kiss me from above, and she tastes like the dark chocolate that I had brought over for her. I'm not a dark chocolate fan, it has always tasted a little too bitter for me, but on her lips it tastes like heaven. Her lips could make me a fan of anything.
"I want to share with you. I'm just not used to it. My soul is exposed on those pages, you know?" She explains, running her fingers through my hair, leaving my scalp tingling when her touch disappears.
The thing is, I don't know. I don't have something like this. Playing my drums for people was intimate for me, yes, but it still wasn't the same. My pages of truths are about as close as I can come to this, but I know that this is more of her than I could fit in three weeks worth of words in her locker.
"Here, love." I place the sketchbook off to the side, and hook my arm around her knees bringing her onto my lap with her back to me.
I wrap her up tightly in my arms knowing that it calms her to feel absolutely enveloped. I rest my chin on her shoulder as she nuzzles down into me. I will never get enough of her citrus and vanilla scent.
"Show me what you want me to see." I request, and she reaches for the sketchbook.
Her touch is so delicate on each page, as if she is concerned that a firm touch will somehow transport her back to where she was when she made each sketch. I study her with as much interest as I do her pages. There is more emotion on her face than I can possibly comprehend.
"Why so many threes?" I ask, after a few minutes of sitting in our intimate silence.
Three trees, three people, three swings, three moons, three intertwined shapes, three musical notes, three clouds, three rings, three televisions, three books, three lamps…on every page there are three of something, something that is distinct from the rest of the drawing.
"If I tell you, you can't tease me about it, okay?" She caresses the three windows in the current sketch.
"I won't." I promise, kissing the side of her neck to punctuate my vow.
"These are all from before we exchanged "I love you"s. It was my way of expressing it when I was too afraid to say it to you out loud. This is going to sound really stupid, and I'm not sure if you ever noticed it, but I also used to squeeze your hand three times, or I would leave three marks on your skin, or pat your thigh three times when I wanted to say it but was too scared to do so." She confesses bashfully, and I kiss her shoulder.
"I think that's the most adorable thing I've ever heard." I proclaim, and she elbows me spiritedly in the stomach.
"You said you wouldn't tease me!" She whines, and I laugh, holding her firmly in my lap despite her attempts to escape.
"I'm being serious." I inform her, and she stops trying to wiggle off of me.
I turn her head to achieve as much eye contact as possible given our position.
"I wish I knew how to articulate how talented I think you are, babe. I'm in awe of you." I explain, and the flush of her cheeks is immediate.
"I hate it when you make me blush." She complains, but leans back into me to rest her heated cheek against mine.
"Hey, don't knock the blush. My search of that blush is what started this whole thing." I chastise her teasingly.
I find her hand, pressing my thumbnail into the flesh of her palm, firmly applying pressure, dragging my thumb down like I did on my birthday before she kissed me. To this day, it never fails to make her hips arch.
She inhales sharply before releasing a loud exhale.
"It's nice to have something. You have all of these talents like your drumming and your voice and your…" She lists, and I close my eyes at her ridiculousness.
"You're so talented, don't even start. Do you remember the day when you made us go over to Brittany's house to work on putting together our tryout for Glee?" I remind her.
"Yes. You bitched the entire time we were there, and said that I was going to turn the Unholy Trinity into Loser Cubed. You also said that I sucked so badly that we probably weren't even going to get in. Oh, and that you were going to laugh in my face the first time I got slushied." She recounts, and I pull my face away from hers to blanch against her neck.
Fuck, I was horrible to her.
"I hate how good your memory is sometimes. Here's the real story, Blondie. When you showed us what you were planning for "Say A Little Prayer", you gave me goosebumps. And they wouldn't go away for anything. I was so afraid that you were going to see them that I claimed to be freezing and ran up to Brit's room to steal one of her sweatshirts." I relay the truth, and I feel her sigh against me.
"That's funny, because looking back, I'm pretty sure that the first time I heard you sing Valerie, I felt something that could only be described as gay panic." She confesses, and I laugh into the curve of her neck, urging her to show me more of her sketches.
And from that day forward when we were around other people, three taps on a surface was how we communicated our love, three blinks of an eye in a crowded room, three squeezes made with hidden hands.
With another swipe of my finger I came upon a picture that Puck had sent me of Quinn and I's embrace after our senior Powderpuff win. We dominated that field as Juniors and we annihilated as Seniors. They never stood a chance in hell. We were Titans.
Mercedes had taken Prom pictures of Quinn and me for us at my house, despite the fact that Quinn and I were, of course, not going together. I was definitely off that day during all of the preparations. Dealing with all of the memories of the year previous, coupled with not being able to go with my girlfriend to prom had put me in quite the dark mood.
Quinn was so patient with me that day. Every time I snapped at her, she would just do or say something sweet in return. I didn't even have to explain to her why I was upset. She just knew. Whenever I lost myself in thoughts of her date dancing with her instead of me, she would remind me of what I did to her in the dressing room while we were prom dress shopping. She always knew how to lift my spirits.
Puck was my date, and honestly, since I couldn't have Q, he was the only other person in the world who I wanted by my side that night.
I asked him to accompany me in front of all of the Glee dorks, in the form of a song, naturally. I sang a cheeky version of "Tainted Love" and he accepted my proposal without giving me too much gruff about it. Sure, I wasn't going to bang him, but I was a hell of a lot of fun, and he loved me.
Quinn went with Joe. He was the perfect choice for her super-Christian family since he was the President of the Breakfast Club (not like the movie, but the religious group). I was not happy with her choice. I actually really liked Teen Jesus, and it wasn't just my irrational jealousy that bothered me about the situation.
I was jealous that he would get to dance with her when I had to keep a particular distance, sure, but my main concern was him. Quinn was so beautiful, and sweet, and charming, and he was bound to feel something that night that she couldn't reciprocate. I shouldn't have cared, because I knew in my gut, that she would never feel that way about him. She was all mine. She had made that clear countless times. But, it felt pretty shitty to me that Joe's feelings were a casualty of our secret relationship.
Still, Prom was nowhere near the dramatic affair that it had been in years past. Puck and I won King and Queen. Which was nice, I'm not gonna lie.
Kurt apparently came in a close second for Prom Queen which was an unfortunately clear indication that our school was still full of its share of bigoted assholes. I never told him about the votes. Some things are better to just not know.
People got real messy at the after party, which I had hosted once again. It was the last Prom for many of us and we celebrated. Hard.
Now usually, I could hold my alcohol. But that night, I definitely drank past my limit. How could I not with Brittany blubbering about how everything was going to change, forcing me to make a promise to keep in touch with every shot she had us take?
Unfortunately, that night ended with me hugging the toilet. My drunk ass had barricaded the door with all of the towels I could find, because there was no way in hell that I was going to let anyone, Quinn especially, see me empty the contents of my stomach.
Not-so-drunk Quinn outsmarted trashed Santana, however, and breached my towel barricade. She held my hair back, rubbed my back, fetched me water, and did all of the proper caretaker things.
I whined the entire time about how unattractive it was and how she was never going to want to have sex with me again. I told her that she was going to find some hot girl at Yale that she had never had to watch yak.
She repeated the words I had said to her once on her driveway, only with her own twist. "Haven't you realized that I would rather hold your hair back while you're getting sick than fuck anyone else?" I remembered just groaning in response. In that moment, she was so pretty, and she smelled so good, and she was being so sweet, and there I was, a sloppy drunken mess. It wasn't fair. It was the first time I had ever had someone there for me like that.
She was a lot of firsts for me.
Thanks to my wonderful girlfriend and the fact that I had probably emptied myself of any alcohol in my system, I felt relatively fine the next morning. I was in the middle of cooking with a grumpy hungover Puck (there was no way I was letting Quinn near the kitchen) when Quinn discovered that Mike was passed out half naked out on the porch. The three of us carried him inside as soon as we were able to get some semblance of control over our laughter. It was proof that I did not have the roughest night of the bunch.
While I did say that Prom was much less dramatic than the year before, the days following sure weren't.
It started with a local news crew showing up at our school. There was a slight buzz around the appearance, but nothing major. Coach Sue had always had her share of local stories and interviews. She was a National champion cheerleading coach and she was quite the character.
I never would have guessed that the crew was there for me.
McKinley student who was crowned Senior Prom Queen was attacked at last year's prom
The headline eventually read. I hadn't really thought through the whole irony of the situation before it was so boldly pointed out to me.
It was written like a story of triumph. The writer acted like I had rose from the ashes or some shit, when in reality, it was Quinn and my friends who had pulled me from the wreckage.
The crew found me in Glee and I was not the only person that they chose to interview. Puck, for example, was quoted in the article itself. The small-time reporter asked him if I went with him to Prom because I feared the repercussions of taking a girl again. He said something along the lines of, "No. She's not scared. She's the toughest person I know."
Despite his attitude during the interview, he was pretty excited to see his name in print when the article came out.
I was asked a similar question, and I informed the nosey woman that taking Puck as my date this year had nothing to do with what had happened last year. I said that, "People should be able to take whoever they want to go with to Prom regardless of sexual orientation. It shouldn't matter. It's stupid that it does."
I didn't know if they had expected for the story to be about how last year had forced me to jump back into the lavender closet, but that was certainly not what they ended up with.
My mom called me within an hour of the article's online posting. I was sure that she had some sort of alert set up for her search engines for the important people in her life. She never knew when she was going to have to do some "fixing" unrelated to her work. I hadn't even told her about Prom Queen yet, but she was so proud.
I knew through the phone that her eyes were watering when she declared, "Baby, you are going to do such big things." Despite my better instincts, I asked her why she sounded like she was about to cry. My mom was not a quiet woman, but she responded softly, "I just wish I could take more credit for the woman you are becoming, mija."
In true Lopez woman nature, she made an excuse to get off the phone before I could listen to her start to cry. It was difficult for me to feel too much sympathy in that moment. I knew it had to be hard as a mother to not have an active role in your child's life. But really, that had been her choice. She chose her career.
I didn't hate her for it. I knew that I was an accident that resulted from a mistake made between two people who never belonged together. I wasn't sure that my mother had ever wanted children, and my father, well he would have rather had someone like Judy Fabray to come home to than my mother. When my mom was knocked up, because of my father's family, marriage was the only option.
But, it was foolish for her to think that she didn't deserve credit for the person I had become. She had taught me many things. Good and bad. Without the choices she had made, I would be nowhere near as strong or as independent as I was. I probably wouldn't have needed to find a family within my friends.
With a different mother, maybe I would have been more like Quinn, too afraid to explore. Maybe I would care more about expectations, if there were people who actually had expectations for me. No one waited with bated breath to see if I was going to be Valedictorian. No one had placed all of my application dates on a calendar in the center of my kitchen. No one had registered me as a legacy for a sorority with the expectation of me pledging one.
Anyway, benching my mother issues for now, the local article was picked up for syndication from various news sources within a week of being published. I was getting phone calls with questions to my house (yes, my mom still insisted on having a house phone). People were bugging Coach Sylvester and Mr. Schue. The article was posted on various websites, accompanied by the YouTube video that the AV geek had posted the year before.
Apparently the whole thing inspired some people or some shit.
It became a big issue around town, to say the least. Figgins was catching shit for supposedly promoting "queerness" at our school, whatever that means.
I received a request from a nationwide anti-bullying initiative to speak at a couple middle schools and high schools in Ohio, as well as New York after I was settled in there. I said yes. I didn't think that that was the sort of thing that someone could say no to. But, I only agreed to the whole shebang after making sure that it was okay that I didn't exactly have the cleanest slate in the bullying department. Apparently many of their speakers were former bullies themselves.
I made Kurt come with me to the Ohio ones. I knew he had experienced far more animosity when he came out than what I did. It seemed very therapeutic for him. His dad even came with us once. Burt Hummel almost made me fucking cry with the way he spoke about his son, and how brave he thought Kurt was. Kurt was lucky that he had Burt with him every step of the way.
With the anti-bullying component, a counter campaign was initiated in Lima. Spearheaded, in part, by none other than Russell Fabray. He even spoke on the local news with a few others about how anti-bullying groups were really just anti-religious freedom groups. They claimed that anti-bullying organizations discouraged students from speaking out about their beliefs, and promoted the acceptance of morally reprehensible lifestyles. Sure, Russell. Sure.
Needless to say, there was a shaky period there where Quinn had to sneak out of the house to be able to see me outside of school. Once summer started, we spent much of our time hanging at Mercedes' or Puck's houses. I was grateful for her restaurant outburst in November, because it was indescribably nice to be able to hold my girlfriend's hand around other people. Behind closed doors while no one else was around, but nice all the same.
We spent much of that summer as a foursome due to the circumstances of our situation. I wasn't complaining. Mercedes and Puck were two of my favorite people.
Before summer kicked off, however, Quinn and I took the most impressive group of Cheerios yet to Nationals to win our final National title. We kissed Dakota simultaneously on the cheek on the day she was given her C necklace. We were very much like proud cheerleading parents.
Quinn and I took our final picture together in the Captain office shortly after Nationals. We posed on the desk as I held my phone over our heads. There were more than six pictures, because Quinn kept turning to kiss me at the last second, and I really wanted a normal picture of the two of us.
We weren't just girlfriends after all. We had successfully led together and that was a giant accomplishment for two HBICs to have. Sure, we had our leadership disagreements, even those that couldn't be solved by angry frustrated sex, but they made our squad better. They made us better.
The picture of us laughing was taken just after Quinn had joked about spraying down the desk. She argued that we probably owed it to Dakota to clean the desk after all of our activities that had taken place on it while the door was locked and the blinds were drawn, and I protested, arguing that it gave the desk character.
I wondered out loud if we were the first co-captains to get busy on that desk, and she boob tapped me with this expression on her face that made it clear that she had never contemplated that before. As if she wouldn't have hit this anyway. I mean, really.
Unlike our four years of cheerleading national titles, our national Glee win was our first. We finally won Nationals. That was an odd sort of thought, because hundreds of glee clubs, maybe even thousands, never even made it to Nationals, and yet I thought "finally" when the title was actually ours. Maybe I was just accustomed to greatness, or maybe I just wanted my Glee family to feel as special as they were. Lame, I know.
After I finished smiling like a goofball at all of our Glee Nationals pictures, I bit down on my lower lip, forcing myself to push away the memory of the day when we seniors said goodbye to the choir room.
Mike is crying quietly, while Rachel all out sobs in Kurt's arms, although he is obviously attempting to avoid getting his pleated shirt wet. Mercedes and Puck sit in the seats that they had often frequented, and Mercedes tries to calm everyone down by saying that we would always be close. It only serves to make Rachel cry harder.
Brittany, Quinn and I all hold hands in silence.
We entered that room as purported infiltrators. We were there to ruin the Glee club, and to ensure that Finn wasn't going to ditch Quinn for the Hobbit.
We entered that room as three girls who believed that being at the top of the school food chain was the most important place to be. We entered that room believing ourselves to be some sort of superior beings.
We are leaving as equals.
"We aren't dying here, people." Quinn reminds all of us. She's putting on a brave face, but I know her heart is breaking just as much as the rest of ours are.
"But this is where our dysfunctional little family was born." Kurt responds.
"I never thought it would or could be like this." Mike speaks, wiping his face on his sleeve. I want to hug him, but I know that will make it worse.
He has one of the shittiest situations of all of us. Tina is only going to be a senior next year, and Mike is going to some tech school in Texas. The day he told me his plans, I swore to him that if he ever stopped dancing, I was going to kick his ass.
"If you all are so determined to turn this into some weepy after school special, please tell me that one of you has a drug problem, and that you have brought some to share." Puck pleads from his seat. He's just as bad as Quinn. He loves this place, and he loves these people.
As for me, I can't even look at Puck. At least Quinn and I will only be a train ride away from each other come fall. I'm not even sure that I'll be coming back to Ohio for the holidays, because mom is probably going to be selling the house. Even if I was sure about coming back, I can't imagine only seeing my best friend on holidays.
What the fuck was I supposed to do on Saturday afternoons without him?
I want to punch him for making me love him so much.
"I don't want to ever forget this." Rachel blubbers.
"We have to move on, Rachel. No one said anything about having to forget." I interrupt the pity party. This emotion needs to be reined in, stat.
Rachel unburies her head from Kurt's shoulder to look at me strangely.
Oh, I called her Rachel. Weird.
Brittany kisses my cheek, and rests her head on my shoulder, but I pull away to leave the room before I turn into a sobbing mess like the Hobbit.
I hit the graduation pictures next. It was a bittersweet day, to say the least, and the color of those robes…they were so not flattering. Even so, Puck and I looked pretty adorable.
"Stand closer!" Puck's mom orders, as she struggles with balancing her camera and my phone. Puck's grandmother keeps standing forward to assist, but Puck's mom is having none of that. She's continually swatting her mother away.
Puck drapes his arm around my shoulders and I wrap mine around his waist. This doesn't feel real. Much of me doesn't feel old enough or ready enough to be graduating.
This is a life event that my mother assured me that she would be here for, but she had some kind of work emergency, of course. I was prepared to drive myself to the indoor stadium.
Puck's mom had ascertained this fact, by calling me on our last day of school. She didn't even bother to go through her son, she went right to the source, and gave me no other option but to come to her house on graduation day. I am blessed. Maybe not, conventionally so, but in every other way, I am.
"But Momma Puck, your son, he has sprayed far too much cologne on himself!" I complain as Puck pulls me tighter to him to make it even worse.
He laughs at my grunt, holding me against his hip as we wait for his mom to take the pictures.
"He only did that to impress you. Goodness knows I have tried to limit him." She giggles, raising her camera to her eye.
"It's better to take it away. Deodorant only policy." I shoot back at her while trying to have the right smile at the right time.
"Maybe if you were his girlfriend he would listen to you." She suggests, wiggling her eyebrows, while snapping the first photo.
Puck groans, as soon as the picture is taken.
"Ma, for the last time, Santana is only my friend." He corrects, gesturing for her to get on with the necessary picture taking. He looks quite handsome in his robes even if the color sucks.
"You two are attached at the hip; it is time you make it official! She's beautiful, and smart, and she keeps you in check. You have to get in there before someone else does." She recommends and her mother nods in agreement behind her.
If this were anyone but his mother, Puck would have jumped at the chance to make a joke about being "in there".
Instead, he opens his mouth to speak in my defense, but I nudge him to stop. I don't need him to fight all of my battles for me.
"I can't feel that way about him, Momma Puck. I'm a lesbian." I admit with a swallow.
We have been spending a bunch of time together recently, but Puck didn't make his usual sexually lewd lesbian jokes around his mom, and I couldn't exactly talk about my girlfriend, but I thought that he had told his mom at some point. I guess I was wrong.
Puck's grandmother gasps, Puck throws his head back in a loud chuckle and his mother just nods as if she did know all along.
"Oh I know, I just didn't know if there was any wiggle room there for my son." She winks, exchanging her camera for my cellphone to take the next picture.
I let out a sigh of relief, and Puck looks at me as if I should have known that I had nothing to worry about.
"If there was any wiggle room at all, it would be for your son, I assure you, but I'll make sure that he ends up with a good girl though, okay?" I promise, and boy do I mean it. Whoever ended up with my Puck was going to have some big ol' protective best friend hoops to jump through.
"I know you will. You always have a place here. A place with my boy and a place with me. No matter where life takes you." She promises in return, and as sweet as it is, I must say that I am getting tired of all of the emotional conversations lately.
"Ma!" Puck chastises.
Ms. Puckerman's mother is still making a disgusted and confused look in the background, and proceeds to make another disapproving noise. While Puck's mom may have known about my sexuality, his grandmother apparently did not.
Momma Puck turns on her without further hesitation.
"Oh grow up, mom. No one asked you." Puck's mother snaps.
My mouth falls open perfectly in time with Puck's. Puck's mom snaps a picture of our shocked states before she turns completely on her own mother.
"Santana is second in her class. She is a multiple national champion. She can sing like a dream. And she did all that with barely any parents to speak of. She isn't a drug addict. She isn't a criminal. She's a great girl. She kept my son out of trouble for most of high school while I was stuck working nights at the hospital, and she somehow got him to shave that awful landing strip off of his head. I would sooner you pass judgment on me than on her." She rants, and it is another 20 seconds, at least, before I realize that my mouth is still open.
I had a couple discreet pictures of our Valedictorian, Quinn. From behind, of course, since I was on stage as her Salutatorian. I wasn't even mad that she had beaten me out for the top spot this time. She was so happy and so proud of herself, that I couldn't even bring myself to be jealous. She had earned it.
Additionally, I found out later that night that whispering "Valedictorian" against the canal of her ear was a surefire way to get laid.
The pictures of Quinn and I on the beach weren't as clear as the others in my phone. She refused to stand still for them. It was okay for this girl to take pictures of me stark naked, but she flinched and covered herself whenever I raised my phone to capture an image of the body that I so desired in a bikini.
There were a handful of pictures of my dance students and my drum students. One of my drum students cried on my last day with her. It broke my heart to think about it. I knew what it was like to be left.
Quinn and I closed together on my last day there. She brought her camera with her to work, and spent some time by herself in the storage room taking pictures. We had sex in there for what was probably the dozenth time as soon as she was finished with her pictures.
Being in there together was like an aphrodisiac for us for some reason. Not that we ever needed one. The very first time that we closed together after we started our relationship, she had me crashing into one of the shelves before I could even get out my question that I had about the lights in her paint room.
I was one thrust of her hand in my shorts away from an orgasm when she stopped. To say I was agitated would have been an understatement. When I tried to reach my own hand down to finish what she had started, she smacked it away, snaking her tongue out to clean my wetness off of her own fingers.
I asked her what she was playing at, and she asked me, completely out of the blue if I had ever messed around in the storage room with Sadie. I answered in the negative, which was the truth. When Sadie and I were together I had no interest in doing that with her in the storage room, because that was my space with Quinn. She finished making me orgasm without any further hesitation.
I was in a much better mood than when I started the train ride by the time I reached the pictures I had taken of my mom's apartment to send to Quinn. Not that she hadn't seen it already, but I had made some changes since she had helped me move in.
"How do you expect to fit all of this in your car?" Quinn shouts to me while I'm in my bathroom gathering my toiletries.
"Can't I just strap it to the top of my car or something?" I suggest, and I can hear her signature "Santana is ridiculous" laugh, from my bedroom.
"This is why I told you to wait for me to do this, babe." She scolds, and I run out to tackle her anal retentive ass onto my bed.
She is definitely the organized one between the two of us. I'm plenty fine with throwing everything into boxes and calling it good.
"No no no! You can't procrastinate with this anymore." She cries out as I kiss her neck, so I decide that tickling her is a better plan.
She reflexively kicks me in the shin before rolling me over onto my back.
"What am I going to do when I can't touch you every day?" I lament beneath her, allowing my eyes to freely rake over the form of the person I am going to miss most.
"You'll just have to start touching yourself again." She teases, once again avoiding the seriousness of the situation.
"Who says I ever stopped?" I shoot back, and her face is priceless.
"We have sex all the time! Mercedes even found me contact information for a sex therapist when she found out how much we have sex. How is it not enough for you?" She asks incredulously.
I laugh enthusiastically beneath her at her Mercedes admission. As if the powerhouse diva is any sort of sex expert. I make a mental note to see what kind of details Quinn has given Mercedes about our sex life. I am intrigued.
"It's only when your parents take you away from me." I finally concede, and she looks relieved.
"Oh thank god. I was about to drive you to the nearest doctor." She exaggerates, and I roll my eyes, running my hands beneath the hem of her shirt to touch her bare skin.
I can tell from her eyes that she notices that the sadness is back in mine. I don't want to be away from her. I don't want us to change. I don't want the weight of what is to come on my chest.
"We'll be okay." She promises, bringing herself flush against me to kiss my jaw.
I am grateful that she was able to convince her parents that she was driving to New York with Rachel Berry to help her move in, while she would be secretly coming with me instead. I am super excited to road trip with her and to have a couple days together in the City before she takes the train to meet her parents at Yale. I am not excited to say goodbye, however. Not one bit.
I find the hallow of her collarbone with my lips and she sighs into me.
"I have to basically redo all of your packing. We don't have time." She breathes, but I know from the reaction of her body that she wants to make time. And I need her. Desperately.
"Q baby, please…" I beg, using the one term of endearment that I know she can't say no to.
"Mm…okay, but no marathon." She concedes, and cranes her head back to give me better access to her neck.
"No marathon." I agree half-heartedly while I help her out of her shorts.
The last picture one was of what I had done to my room so far. I remembered when I sent that one because it was shortly after Quinn and I had finished having a text argument.
Rachel and I were the only Glee clubbers that were in New York City. She got into NYADA, unsurprisingly, but for some reason Lady Hummel did not. We weren't hanging out or anything, but she had stayed at my place last Friday.
I hadn't invited her, but she had been complaining to me via text and through the duration of a couple voicemails that her roommate was bringing home guys at all times of the day and night and that she hadn't been able to catch any sleep. She claimed that the lack of sleep was really hurting her in her classes, and that she was worried that she was going to get cut from the program.
When I opened the door to the midget, I told her to go away. She asserted that she had to stay over, and she begged me until I finally just walked in the opposite direction of the doorway.
When I complained to Quinn about the Hobbit's presence in my apartment she was hardly sympathetic. In fact, she seemed quite angry with me. Her text response told me as much.
Santana, you know that she has some kind of thing for you, and you being nice to her is only going to make it worse.
Ew.
For one, I didn't want to think about Rachel's "thing" for me. I'd have to be a total moron not to notice it sometimes, since Berry was anything but subtle, but it wasn't something that I wanted to pay any mind to. I was sure that someday soon the flower cart guy would give her a free leaf and she'd be smitten with that dude instead or maybe one of her classmates would let her borrow a leotard and she'd be in instant crush mode. I really didn't care.
Second, I didn't invite her. I wasn't being nice to her on purpose. Third, her situation was pretty shitty, and we did have an extra room. It wasn't like we were going to have to share a bed or anything like that.
Whatever. I didn't think that it was even jealousy that got Quinn all riled. She knew that Berry wasn't on my radar like that. I was sure she was just concerned. Whether she admitted it or not, my girlfriend was fond of the Hobbit.
My nose scrunched, and I turned my legs in the direction of the train window, and away from the man sitting next to me who smelled like rotten Cheetos. This wasn't even the subway. He was suited up, and probably commuting home from work. There was no excuse for that stench. Not cool, man. Not cool.
I only had a couple more stops until the ride was over.
My phone buzzed in my hands, and I smiled, as always, automatically at the name.
Quinn: I can't believe that I have to sit through two more classes before I get to see you. I am going to hug you so hard.
Santana: That better not be the only "so hard" thing you do to me.
Quinn: I promise that it won't be. I'm insanely excited to see you. I'm not going to be able to pay attention.
Santana: Welcome to my life. You're a constant distraction.
I started to stand as the train came to a halt at my station. I was going to have to hurry if I was going to set everything up before Quinn got back to her dorm after her classes. She thought that she was picking me up from the train station in a few hours when, in reality, I was surprising her.
I know, Santana Lopez the romantic. Who would have ever thought?