It's true when they say life works in mysterious ways. You go through the motions of your life and don't really expect anything to brighten the monotony. Popularity digs its talons into people; it finds a way to seep into the mind and heart, growing and clinging on the synapses like a tumor. So, you find yourself in the depths of its grasp, going through the motions. I didn't expect to wake up that morning feeling the very thought of her seeping into those very neurons, into the monotony of my life.
"Here's your book," I attempted gently, leaning over to gather all her scattered papers. "Are you okay?"
She was shaking so vigorously, still pressed to my chest as if attempting to tether the strings of our life-sources. I felt my own tears falling as she sobbed in response, her left hand reaching for her book. Its pages wrinkled under the force with which she shoved it into her own chest.
"Do you see my backpack?" She whispers, wincing at how roughly the question came out. I didn't know at that time that this trait would make me fall head over heels for this girl. She was worried I would be offended by her gruffness, but it only attracted me.
"It's right here," I whispered as I held it close to her left hand. "Would you like me to help you put everything in?"
She hesitates, maybe in an attempt not to come off rude, "I-it all has to go in order, I don't even know where everything is. She shifts onto her knees, hands sweeping as she looks for her materials.
I didn't know what else to do to ease the anxiety she must be feeling, so I gently pulled her against my chest again. She calmed, listening as I began to speak. "You can trust me, okay? I'm going to hand you everything one by one. I won't leave unless you ask me to."
"Okay," she whispered as her left hand felt the raised bumps of the first book.
"My name is Brittany. Yours is Santana, right" I smile as she nods softly, her fingertips working over the next book I hand her.
"Yeah, I'm new here. We just moved. We needed to be closer to my Abuela," she says quietly.
"This wasn't a very good welcome to our school," I frowned.
"I'm kind of used to it. I kind of stick out like a sore thumb," she jokes but her laugh sort of sticks in her throat like it hurts.
"It is kind of hard not to notice you." Did I just really try to flirt aloud? Kill me now. I sigh in relief as she blushes, and I'm about to apologize as she clears her throat.
"Thank you," my heart flutters as she grins and tucks a piece of dark hair behind a beautifully tiny ear. Neither of us realized her bag was packed as we sat in front of each other, blushing. My eyes shifted to her cane that was still in pieces.
"Here's your cane. I hope they didn't break it," it looked to be in pieces to me, but Santana expertly ran her hands along the pieces, clicking them back together.
"They would have to try a lot harder to break this thing. It should be classified as a weapon," she grins and I laugh.
"Would it be rude if I asked you a question?"
"I like questions," she pats my hand reassuringly and I can only think about how soft her skin is. I snap myself out of it quickly.
"Have you always been blind?"
"I was born blind, yeah."
"Can I ask you another question."
"You can ask anything."
"Would you like to hang out this weekend?"
"I would love to."
She was so nervous that day I came over for the first time. I stifle my giggles that surface at the memory as best I can, trying not to wake her. She looks too beautiful. I just can't help but smile because she's the most beautiful girl I've ever met. I laugh again at that because we're definitely not girls anymore. I can't complain about that, though; not when the sheet has slipped down to hug the curve of her hips, leaving the expanse of skin open to my fingers. I rest my cheek against the pillow as one hand strokes the fallen hair from her face and the knuckles of my other hand trace the grooves of her back, the muscles waking up under my touch.
"What are you giggling about?" Her voice is scratchy, a dimple threatening to make an appearance.
"I was thinking about the first time I ever came over to hang out," I whisper shyly, brushing my thumb across her cheek.
"Yeah? That feels like a lifetime ago," she grins as she stretches, bringing my hand up to her lips.
I swallowed thickly at the feeling of her lips against my knuckles, at the feeling of her fingertips tickling down my palm. Part of me feels guilty because it's not meant to be sexual, and I don't want her to think I don't feel the seriousness of her touch. I don't ever want her to think she's less than what she truly means to me, and I can't stop the lopsided grin that forms at the memory of our first kiss. It's a memory brought on by the feeling of her palm resting on my cheek and the pad of her thumb brushing against the thickest part of my top lip.
I don't things were ever completely platonic between us. We never really had an actual conversation about what that meant for us; I just think there was this innate, mutual understanding that there were feelings. This was so different than anything I'd ever experienced. The buildup of trust was raw and real and new. She had never kissed anyone. It came out as a shy confession, followed by an even shyer revelation that she'd never had her hand held. I knew this and the only thing in the world that I cared about in that moment was that she got to feel someone's palm against hers for the first time. So, I gently whispered that I was going to hold her hand.
Our first kiss came nine weeks after we first met. She was self-conscious about that. I would have waited a lifetime for a chance to kiss her. It came as a surprise. One minute, I was sitting with a brailler in front of me, tongue poking out in concentration as her fingers positioned mine in the correct combinations for the letter B, then an R, followed by an I. I gasped at this, feeling proud that by letter T I was able to complete Dots two, three, four, and five on my own. She giggled at my excitement. Her hands moved mine to spell something I didn't recognize at first. She voiced the letters as she gently pressed my fingers down.
"C, a, n, space, I, space, k, i, s, s, space, y, o, u… question…" she bit her lip as she pressed my fingers into the combination for a question mark.
"Of course," I didn't move my hands from hers. I just let her brush her thumb against the thickest part of my top lip. My heart was going to bounce right out of my chest. It was slow and soft and gentle, tentative. She wasn't sure what to do with her lips, but they felt perfect against mine. She halted, silently asking me to take the lead. I kissed her a little harder, just enough for her mouth to loosen and react.
I kissed the thumb that was tracing the same spot it's been tracing expertly for four and a half years, "It's the best life ever."
"I love you," she whispers after lifting herself from her stomach, lowering herself onto my front. It's a sensory thing, wanting to feel every part of her body grounded and in control. I can't help myself from taking in the way her muscles ripple, the way a piece of my own hair sways in the path of her breathing as she tucks her face into my neck.
"I love you, too, baby," my hands on her hips slide down to the under sides of her knees, urging her to bend her legs so that she's half straddling me, half tucked into me. She gasps as my hands trail a path up the back side of her thighs, over her hips, over the xylophone of her ribs, coming to a gentle pause at skin of her breasts. "Do you want me to go further?"
She doesn't verbalize a response; she just nods with urgency and with a hand that caresses through my hair. She holds my face in place as my lips make firm, wet lines across her pulse. There's a confidence in the way she breathes and the way she holds me as I make her gasp. It's a confidence that I helped build within her by, consistently and without fail, showing her with her hands the affect she has on me.
"Please."
I sit up and bring her legs to bracket my hips, resting my back against the headboard. Her fingers find their way to either side of my face, her lips kissing me hard as a moan slips past them. My fingers follow the patterns of the tendons in her neck starting to strain, down to the grooves above her collarbones, to the swells of her breasts. I take my time running my knuckles against the skin where they meet her torso. My eyes follow the path my fingertips make down her abs, watching the skin twitch as I brush just under where a small pudge in her belly forms from her position against me. I watch the way she sucks a lip between her teeth as I sneak a finger between her labia, the pad of my finger coming to rest where she needs me most.
"Are you ready?" I ask and she smiles. Knowing what's coming helps her process things she can't see. I laugh because her response is a roll of her hips and a gentle knock of her forehead against mine. Her smile turns into an open-mouthed moan as I start a gentle pattern against her clit. I can't help my own moan when her hands find my breasts, palming against me as she starts rocking. The wetness gathers there on my fingers, my throat suddenly dry. I slip two fingers down and in and groan at the way her body seems to sink into and accept me. My thumb plays at her clit, letting her hips set the motions.
"You're so beautiful," I gasp out as she leans her cheek into my palm, turning to kiss it at my words.
"I love you," she can barely get the words out on a particularly hard rock of her hips. My eyes almost cross as I feel her hand trailing between us. I didn't realize how ready I was until I felt myself being spread. Her free hand is gripping my bicep with all her might as if she lets go, she's going to float away. I feel myself already on the edge, but I'm ready to see that look on her face, those creases between her eyebrows. I'm ready to feel the twitch of her lips against mine when she moans her release into me.
I harden my thrusts, curling my fingers, "come for me, San."
I swallow the lump in my throat as she tips her head back, creases between her brows prominent. Her hair tosses down her back as she shudders and loses rhythm. Her fingers against me lose rhythm, too. But the messy touches launch me into a release I wasn't expecting. She leans forward against me, breathing into my ear how beautiful I am. In this moment, with her hand still tightly curled around my bicep, my palm still against her cheek, our hands still bringing each other down, I realize her mind is my reason, her heart is my passion, and her arms are my shelter.