Day 11 Part 1
Santana started to stir from her dreamless sleep. It was weird. Time really flies by, when you are asleep, huh? It didn't feel like hours had passed. Only… seconds. Maybe even less than that. Santana didn't know. Is this what death felt like? Just, the feeling you get when you are asleep? You don't feel anything. It scared her to think that when she died she would be spending eternity in that zone of unconsciousness. It really was not appealing.
Well, that motivated Santana to stay alive even more.
She opened her eyes to extremely bright light. She squinted, trying to not let so much light into her eyes and burn her retinas. She also put a hand just above her eyes, as a vain attempt to shade them, but to no avail. It was so bright!
It took Santana a couple of seconds to adjust, but when her eyes finally adjusted and she could see properly, she lowered her hands and looked around the room that she was in. If memory served her right, she fell asleep in the study, on the couch. It was surprising, then, that her back didn't hurt. She felt… new. Refreshed. She looked down and realised that she was sleeping in a bed. That confused Santana. Didn't she fall asleep on the couch in the study?
Santana raked her eyes across the room she was in. Why was everything so… bare? So white? She was in a room devoid of furniture bar her bed, and everything was either painted white or made of white construction materials like quartz.
Santana did not recognise this place. Her heart rate increased as she began to panic. Was she dead? Did she die in her sleep? What was this place? A cell for… recently dead people?
Before long, the door on the other side of the room, which Santana didn't even realise was there, opened and a person walked in. She was wearing a long, white dress that cascaded down the length of her body, her hair was meticulously done, she had light makeup on, with lime green eyeliner accentuating her beautiful hazel-green eyes. Shoulder-length blonde hair was flowing around her head, like rippling water. That girl was stunning.
Santana did a double-take. Her eyes squinted to see that person clearer. That person continued to walk towards Santana, eventually coming to a stop about a metre from the brunette.
Santana and the girl's eyes met and no one spoke for a long time. Santana just had to look at the girl's face really carefully, to make sure that her eyes were not deceiving her. She just stared at her, mouth opening and closing like an idiot. After what seemed like minutes, her mouth finally started to work again.
"Q-Quinn?" Santana gasped.
Quinn's lips curled up into a huge smile. "It's me," she whispered. "It's me!" she squealed, surging forward to wrap her arms around Santana in a hug. Eventually, they let go and held each other at arm's length.
"W-What are you doing here?" Santana asked, starting to chuckle too because she was so happy. "Wait… I thought that you died? Oh my god, am I dead too? Is this what happens when you die?"
Quinn giggled. "Slow down with the questions, San," she said, amused. "Well, yes I am dead, sadly," Quinn's face fell a little, but soon her expression perked up and she was beaming again. "Didn't you tell me to come and see you yesterday?"
"Wait, you actually can do that?" Santana asked incredulously. "I don't – I didn't expect to actually see you, Q. Oh, you don't know how happy I am right now!" Santana did a small jump in excitement, wrapping her arms around Quinn's back and holding her in another close hug.
Suddenly Santana felt a little unsure. "Are you real?"
Quinn gave her a small smile. "Do I feel real to you?" she replied with a question.
Santana squeezed Quinn's arm. "Yes," she said slowly.
"Then I'm real," Quinn smiled.
"Then I don't understand," Santana frowned. "Am I talking to your spirit or something? Or your ghost?"
Quinn laughed. "You're talking to me, that's all that matters." She looked around the room. "I don't really have all that long, but we can talk? That's what you said you wanted yesterday, right?"
"Yeah," Santana said, a little breathless. "You wanna sit down?"
"That would be nice," Quinn replied, and together they walked towards the bed and sat on it.
"You, um, remember how you died, right?" Santana asked tentatively.
Quinn smiled softly. "Unfortunately, yes."
"Then, uh, how come you look so… pristine? Like, you literally look like a supermodel," Santana pointed out. It was true. Quinn's skin was creamy, and her throat contained no sign of bruises that came when she got strangled. Her hair was done to perfection, and she smelled really clean and a little minty, nothing like how everyone smelled towards the end of the 'vacation' in Puck's family house.
Quinn blushed. "Thank you, San, but I wouldn't say a supermodel," she batted her eyelashes a few times. "Well, you wouldn't expect me to have bruises all over me for eternity, right? That would be horrible," Quinn shivered a little bit.
"I guess," Santana trailed off. Then she remembered what she had said when she said she wanted Quinn to come and talk to her. "Did you see Britt? Did you bring her with you? Don't be offended, but I'm also dying to see her."
Quinn's smile fell. "Um, I haven't seen Brittany yet. Actually, I haven't seen anyone yet. Um, I don't know when I will. But hey, I'm seeing you right now, right?"
"Yeah," Santana tried her best not to sound disappointed. "Just wondering, could you see everything that I was doing yesterday?"
"Now I wouldn't do that," Quinn's lips curled up into a small smirk. "That's an invasion of your privacy. Also, you were by my dead body the whole time. If I see you, I see myself and I don't really want to do that."
"Oh," Santana breathed. Her mouth opened again, but she couldn't think of anything to say. How come that she had so much to say when Quinn wasn't here, and now that Quinn was actually here, her mind drew up to a blank?
The girls just basked in each other's presence for a short while, before Quinn piped up again.
"Look Santana, I think that I have to be off now," Quinn sounded a bit reluctant to leave, as she stood up.
"Wait!" Santana surged forward and grabbed Quinn's arm. "Will I see you again?"
"I don't know," Quinn sighed. "I'll try and come visit you some other time, okay?"
"Please do that," Santana pleaded, drawing Quinn in for another hug. "I really missed you."
"I know, I'm awesome," Quinn teased. They let go of each other.
"Wait, just before you leave," Santana said. "Um, I hate to bring this up now, but you know who killed you, right?"
Quinn suddenly looked hesitant. "Look, Santana, I don't really think that's important. What is important is that Mike escaped yesterday night, so you are left in the house with Sam. Sam thinks that you killed everyone, so he will be coming for you now. Just, um, stay safe okay? Stay alive. Mike will be going to get some help I believe so just hold on and then you can be the best lawyer, okay?"
"Yes, Quinn," Santana said reverently. She sighed. "You are such a good friend."
Quinn smiled. "I'm so proud of you, Santana. I've never realised how strong our friendship was until yesterday."
"I'm so sorry about what happened to you, though, your death seemed like it really hurt," Santana said.
"It did," Quinn grimaced. "But it's all over now. I'll be watching over you, Santana. I'll be rooting for you."
"Thank you Quinn," Santana pulled Quinn into one last hug before Quinn really had to leave.
"I'll try to see you soon, okay?" Quinn called, as her form began to fade, turning more and more transparent.
"Wait! Quinn! What should I do now?" Santana called, but Quinn just smiled as she became less and less visible.
Eventually, Santana was standing alone in the white room. She looked from left to right and wondered what to do.
Santana's mocha eyes jolted open and she sat straight up. She rubbed away the residue of sleep from her eyes with her hands. As she did that, she could feel the bulge in her eyes, and with every motion of her hand, her eye hurt a little. It was so swollen. Was she crying again last night? Santana couldn't really remember anymore. The past few days have all been tears, tears, tears.
She rotated herself so that she could now sit back on the couch. Her back really hurt, so she leaned back, letting out a breath as her sore back muscles started to get a little bit better. The sun wasn't completely up yet, so she would imagine that it was early morning. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, most likely because of all that was going on these recent days, so she was a little sleep-deprived and very tired. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the headrest so that she was facing the ceiling.
Did Quinn's spirit really come and visit her? Of course, it could've just been a figment of Santana's imagination. Quinn didn't exactly say anything remotely helpful, things that could help Santana figure out who the killer was. Although, if what Quinn said was correct, and Mike did escape, the only other person left was Sam.
Was it Sam? Santana had always thought that it was him, but quite lately he had managed to convince her otherwise, that it wasn't him. Maybe it had been him all along. He managed to manipulate her and Quinn into thinking that he was the scapegoat. He was really suspicious because he was the actual killer.
Santana thought that she shouldn't jump to conclusions yet. Quinn may not be real, as much as it hurt her heart to think that. This meant that Quinn in her dream just voiced what Santana was thinking herself. What if Mike's escape was actually a trap and Mike was the killer? Then Santana was grateful that she didn't turn up, or she would actually be with Quinn and Brittany right now. But if Mike was the killer, then Santana probably will not make it out alive. He was stronger than her, faster, smarter. She didn't really stand a chance.
What did Quinn say about having not seen Brittany yet? Did that mean that Brittany was not dead? Another tiny spark of hope lit in Santana's chest. But Quinn did say that she hadn't seen anyone yet. So Brittany was probably dead as well, it's just that Quinn hasn't seen her yet. The tiny hope in Santana's chest extinguished.
Santana got up from the couch and stretched her limbs. She glanced over to the door and was pleased to see that neither the vase nor the pot had broken. She had managed to survive the night without any problems. But that may be because the killer didn't target her the night before. She walked over and tilted the armchair back, removing the vase and the pot from beneath its legs. That was when she saw a note on the floor, most likely slipped under the door. Frowning a little, she bent down and picked up the note. It was face down, so she couldn't see what was written on it. She flipped it over.
It read: Best of luck. Look in Britt's drawer.
It was written in a very scruffy manner, most likely scribbled. Santana assumed that this note was from Mike, who had slipped it under her door before he went for the escape. Judging by the fact that he had written Santana a note as he probably realised that she was not going to come, Quinn was right about Mike making a successful escape. One thing that bugged Santana, however, was how Mike knew where Santana was in the house for the night.
That was something that she couldn't figure out. Mike probably saw her lights on in the evening and just assumed that she was residing in there for the night. Or he just saw Santana moving things into that room. Oh well. Santana decided that that wasn't important. What could Mike have put in Brittany's drawer, though?
More curious than scared, Santana walked over to retrieve her jacket which was hanging on the chair, putting it on. She made her way back towards the door, opening it, and going outside. The air was quite cool and crisp in the corridor, which was a nice contrast from the stuffy air inside the study. It also helped quell the minor headache that Santana was having when she first woke up.
The door to the Unholy Trinity's room was open. Santana wasn't that alarmed by that, as she couldn't remember whether she shut the door or not. She slid into the room and trudged across to get to Brittany's drawer. Santana didn't exactly know what to expect when she opened the drawer, so she braced herself for the worst.
It could be a trap that Mike meticulously set. Or it could be a gift from Mike.
The drawer slid open. All of the contents that were inside Brittany's drawer were removed. Inside, was a knife.
Santana was a bit confused for a few moments. Then she remembered that Mike had a knife. He must have given it to her to protect herself from Sam, who Quinn had said would be going for Santana now. Inside the drawer, there was a note, most likely from Mike.
However, the handwriting didn't look like Mike's. It looked a little forged, or fake, as it didn't look like anyone's handwriting. Someone else wrote this note and tried to conceal their identity by trying to write by either mimicking someone else's handwriting badly, or just not using their handwriting.
The note read:
It is just you and Sam in the house now. Sam may try to kill you. If so, use this to defend yourself. If it goes down to life or death, kill him. I have faith in you, Santana xx
Why did whoever write this sign off with 'xx'? It made no sense. It seemed like something from a secret admirer. Who could have this been from? Of course, it could've been from Mike, but why wouldn't he just write normally? This could also be from Sam, but why would he warn Santana against himself?
Santana racked her brains for answers. Could this be from neither of them? Could this be… from someone who's dead? This could be from Quinn. Quinn was quite a feminine person, so it made sense for her to sign this off with 'xx'. Maybe she didn't want to write this in her own hand because she didn't want to creep Santana out, as she was dead. Also, it made sense as it was Quinn who warned her about Sam in the dream in the first place.
Did Quinn's ghost write this note?
A little creepy, Santana must admit. But she was grateful. She had Quinn's support. Thank you, Quinn.
Gripping the knife tightly onto her left hand, Santana wondered what she should do now. Should she wait for Sam to strike, or should she go attack Sam herself? Maybe Sam was still sleeping. Should Santana play the killer and kill him in his sleep? Santana doubted that it would work. She didn't know how strong Sam was. Yes, he had a bad arm, but Santana didn't know how bad it was. If he was able to carry Quinn yesterday, it was probably strong enough to overpower Santana.
The thought of an inevitable fight to the death made her a bit nervous. If this was two days ago, she wouldn't believe that she would be this nervous. She had no motivation to live then, so she would most likely just let the killer, who Santana was now assuming to be Sam, kill her. Now with Quinn's motivation, Santana was going to live for her family. For herself.
The idea of her cutting Sam, or anyone for that matter, with the knife that she was gripping in her hand was really morbid to Santana. She wondered if she would actually be able to follow through and stab him. It's something that your brain just tells you not to do, no matter the circumstances. But she believed that in the heat of the moment, fuelled by adrenaline and the primal intuition to survive, she would attack with the knife.
Santana shuddered a bit. Would she be able to live with the guilt of killing a person? Even if she made it out of here, what would that make her? A murderer? A killer? Assuming Sam was the killer, how was she any better than him if she killed him?
But Sam killed everyone. Remember that, Santana. He killed Brittany. He killed Quinn. Avenge them, or he will kill you too.
Santana set the knife on the bedside drawer, breathing heavily. Her hands were slightly sweaty. What should she do the whole day? Also, what should she do if she encounters Sam? She didn't think that she was ready for a fight. She had never really held a knife before, as she wasn't a good cook, let alone used it as a weapon. Sam would be really experienced with it. He killed about ten people already.
Does Sam even have a knife? Santana tried to think back to retrace where the knives went. Quinn had a knife. It went to Mercedes' group. Mike took it when Tina died. Now Mike gave it to Santana. So what used to be the Trinity's knife has circulated back to Santana. What about the other knife, that had never been found? The one used by the killer? Sam must have a knife.
A one on one brawl to the death with knives. Santana's stomach churned uncomfortably.
No, be brave, she chastised herself. Do it for yourself. Avenge Brittany. Avenge Quinn. You can do this.
She picked up the knife again. She kept a loose grip on it and started to swing it from left to right.
Pick up a rhythm. Pick up a rhythm.
It was soothing. She watched the knife as it went from left to right, back to left, back to right.
She was so concentrated on the motion of the knife that she didn't realise that her grip on the knife had become so loose that it flew out of her hand. The knife travelled a few meters, eventually wedging itself into the wall. Santana cringed at the knife being let loose from her hands. She could've easily hurt herself.
She may need more practice.
It's funny when you realise that you have a high probability of dying today. Santana didn't really have this feeling before as back then she had the company of Brittany and Quinn, so she thought that they were safe; the killer couldn't get her. Then Brittany went down, followed by Quinn. At that point, Santana wasn't exactly scared of death because then she would be able to see the two blondes again. She didn't really have the will to live then, but now she does, which is why her stomach is constantly flipping with anticipation. It really was not a good feeling, and Santana felt like she was going to throw up. She tried to take deep breaths to calm herself down, but it didn't work. Santana's nausea was a huge hassle: it made her vulnerable. If Sam came for her now then she would be dead meat.
Actually, that wouldn't be such a bad thing. She really wanted to see her blondes again.
No, what are you thinking? Santana chastised herself. Think about your family. Think about your little brother, who looks up to you. What would he think when he finds out that you just resigned to death without fighting?
Santana wondered how Sam was feeling. He was the killer, right? He was probably feeling confident. Excited maybe. When, no if he kills Santana then he would've accomplished what he came here to do. Why he would kill everyone here, Santana still didn't know.
She walked over to the closet and begun ruffling through the clothes. She thought that she would get changed because she hadn't showered in days and she was starting to smell.
A white shirt with a picture of a cartoon duck in the middle caught her eye. She dug it out and held it out in front of her. Brittany's shirt.
She brought it close to her face and took a deep inhale. She could still smell her scent on it. A tear made its way out of Santana's eye. She missed her Britt-Britt so much.
She took off her shirt and put the duck shirt on. Brittany was taller than her, so the shirt was a bit loose on Santana, but Santana didn't care. She was going to kill Sam for her Britt-Britt. She was going to honour her when she gets out, every single day. Live her life to the fullest for Brittany.
She went over to the bed and laid down upon it, above the covers. She grabbed a pillow that was close to her and put it under her head. She could smell the scent of both Brittany and Quinn in there. God, she missed them so much. They had both been so significant in Santana's life, she couldn't imagine not having them by her side in her senior year. She didn't think that she would make such close friends ever again. No one liked her. She was a bitch. She lashed everyone with her vicious words. She was such an unlikeable person. What did she do to deserve two such great friends? Santana shifted her head a little to the right, onto a wet patch in the pillow. Wait. Why was it wet?
It wasn't until a short while later that she realised that she was crying. Oh well. She wasn't going to stop it this time. Let it out, it is said that people feel better after a good cry. She needs to be in the right mindset when she is taking on Sam, if she wants to survive.
She flipped back onto her back, staring at the ceiling. She let her mind wander to where it wanted to go, which happened to be down memory lane.
Seven-year-old Santana was at the sandpit. The teacher told the kids that they had an hour to play, which made everyone cheer. An hour! That's so much time! That's sixty minutes! Santana was excited. A small downside was that Santana didn't have anyone to play with. She hadn't made any friends yet, as she recently joined her school after her family moved because her dad got transferred to another hospital. Her daddy told her that it was a bigger one than the one he worked at before, and this meant that he would get more money! Santana was really happy, because more money meant more ice cream!
Santana loved playing with sand. Her mommy told her that they came from a really hot place. This meant that they loved going to the beach! Santana wasn't allowed to swim in the sea yet, as her daddy was afraid that she would drown in the bad water, so she normally just played in the sand while her parents sunbathed by her side. She was a really good sand-castle builder! Her mommy said that she was a… ma… master! Yes! She didn't know what that was, but it sounds really, really good!
It had been about ten minutes into her playtime and she had already built a massive sandcastle! She was especially proud that she didn't use those bucket things that she sometimes sees other people using. She was smiling smugly as her sandcastle caught the attention of nearby children, who stared at it in awe.
Then one kid decided to come over and kick her sandcastle over! And as if that wasn't enough, he laughed at Santana and threw sand into her face!
Santana spluttered, coughing sand out of her mouth. It was so gross! She then looked at the flat surface of the sand in front of her. Where did her sandcastle go? Her lower lip started to quiver.
Then a girl with long blonde hair walked over to her. She was wearing a shirt with a unicorn in it. Santana loved unicorns! They were so cute! Then she looked up and saw the girl's face. She was also really cute!
"I'm really sorry," she pouted. Santana got caught in her deep blue eyes, they were so pretty! "That boy is a bully," she frowned a bit at the thought of the nasty kid who kicked over Santana's castle.
"It's okay," Santana sighed. "I can build another one."
The girl perked up. "Really? You build such cool castles!" she gushed. Then she suddenly looked down and started to fiddle with her fingers. "Can you teach me how to build one?" she asked bashfully.
Santana smiled. Was this lovely girl her first friend? "Of course," she replied. The blonde girl in front of her raised her head with a huge grin on her face.
"Yay!" she squealed. She held out her hand. "I'm Brittany."
Santana took Brittany's hand in her own. "I'm Santana."
"That girl looks really scared," Brittany whispered into Santana's ear as they sat next to each other in class.
Eight-year-old Santana looked over to where Brittany was looking at. Standing next to the teacher, was a small girl who looked really nervous. She was twisting her hands, biting her lip, and her left leg was shaking a little. Santana felt a little bad for her. She knew how it felt on one's first day.
"We have a lovely girl joining us today," the teacher announced. "Everyone make her feel welcome, okay?" she rubbed the girl's back with her right hand. "Why don't you introduce yourself?" she requested.
The girl looked petrified at the expectation of speaking in front of the whole class. Her hazel eyes darted from left to right, then back to the teacher, who gave her an encouraging smile.
"Um," she gulped, her voice tiny. "I'm Lucy, but I prefer to be called Quinn."
"Everyone, this is Quinn," the teacher echoed in a warm voice, in case anyone hadn't heard what the small girl said. She then turned her attention to Quinn. "Why don't you go sit next to those girls?" she asked, pointing to the empty seat opposite Brittany and Santana at the table.
Quinn nodded meekly and trudged over to the other two girl's side, sitting down quietly.
"Hey!" Brittany beamed. "I'm Brittany."
"I'm Quinn," Quinn mumbled. Brittany laughed.
"We already know that silly," she chuckled, amused. She pointed to the brunette next to her. "This is Santana. I already know that we're going to be besties!"
Quinn just looked down at her lap.
"Don't be shy, Quinnie," Brittany smiled. "You want to draw with us? You can use my crayons." Brittany held up a yellow crayon.
Yellow. The colour that Santana would learn to represent hope and friendship in the future.
"Okay," Quinn nearly whispered, taking Brittany's yellow crayon.
The girls drew for about ten minutes, while chatter from other children buzzed from all around them.
"Why do we call you Quinn?" Santana suddenly piped up. "Why not Lucy?"
Quinn made a face. "Lucy is a nasty name."
Brittany and Santana laughed.
Twelve-year-old Santana was lying on the grass in Brittany's garden, staring at the starry night sky. Brittany was directly next to her. Quinn didn't turn up that day, because she had some kind of dinner with her family.
That night, the sky was clear, meaning that they could see the crescent-shaped moon and lots and lots of stars. It had rained the day before, meaning that the ground was soft as the soil soaked up the water, and there was a vague feeling of moisture suspended in the air, giving the cool night breeze a cool, minty petrichor. As Santana and Brittany's backs were rested against the crispy flakes of grass underneath, they started to observe the map of stars above them, sometimes looking at them one by one individually.
This wasn't the first time that the girls had gone stargazing. They loved it.
"It's so beautiful," Brittany breathed from her spot next to Santana. Santana internally thought you're so beautiful, but she didn't voice that out loud. "It's amazing how all these stars have different colours, and some are bigger than others, aren't they?"
Santana turned her head to meet Brittany's eyes, which was a deep ocean blue shade under the dark circumstances. "It is," she agreed, voice barely higher than a whisper. "Look, we can see your star from here," Santana pointed to a bright blue star up in the sky. Brittany scooted over, pressing her cheek against Santana's to follow the brunette's fingers so that she could see which star she was talking about.
"Why is that my star?" Brittany asked, curious.
Santana turned to look at Brittany again. "Because it reminds me of your beautiful eyes, Britt."
Brittany blushed a little. "Well," she drawled, scanning the night sky for a star that could represent Santana. "There," she pointed to a red star quite far away. "That's your star."
It took Santana a short while to see which star Brittany was talking about. "And why is that my star?"
"Because red symbolises courage, and passion, both of which you have plenty of," Brittany said reverently. "It's beautiful. Just like you," Brittany added.
Santana smiled coyly. "And look at that one," she pointed to a bright yellow star, that was bigger than the rest. "That's our star."
"Our star," Brittany echoed absently in awe.
"Yellow represents friendship, and we are best friends," Santana grinned. "Also it is bigger than the rest of them, as the strength of our friendship is stronger than all the other measly ones out there."
Brittany giggled. "What about Quinnie?"
"Don't tell her I told you this," Santana said mysteriously. "But you are my best friend, not her."
Brittany sighed in contentment. "You are mine too."
The two girls lay in the grass for another few moments before Brittany spoke again.
"Did you know that it would take years for the light of the stars to reach us?" Brittany said.
Santana raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Really," Brittany nodded. "They are so far away that it takes ages for the light that they emit to reach us. For all we know, they might not exist anymore. We are probably looking at a 100-year-old version of the star right now."
"Wow," Santana mumbled in awe. "You are so smart, Britt."
"Ah, I'm not," Brittany waved a hand shyly. "I don't really get told that often."
"It's true," Santana persisted. "You know all of these wonderful things that I don't know. You're a genius, Brittany."
"Ah, yeah…" Brittany drawled, cheeks turning red again. The two girls laid there on the cool grass for a few more moments in comfortable silence.
"Um, Santana?" Brittany started tentatively. Santana looked at Brittany, but she wasn't meeting the brunette's eyes. She was fidgety and looked extremely nervous. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah, sure, go ahead," Santana replied, a little worried at Brittany's behaviour.
"Um, ah," Brittany blinked a few times, probably forcing herself to get the words out. "I've been wanting to ask you this for a while now."
"Okay, fire away," Santana said encouragingly.
That seemed to make Brittany even more nervous. She started to blush even more. "I, um, ah…" she faltered. Santana simply waited patiently for her to continue. "I-I really want to kiss you right now," she finished, speaking really quickly. As soon as she finished, her face turned a deep red, and her eyes widened a little as if she couldn't believe what just came out of her mouth.
"A kiss?" Santana whispered back, just to make sure. "Like… on the lips?"
"Yeah," Brittany mumbled. Then she started to panic a little. "Don't worry about it, I'm being silly," Brittany tried to take her words back. "Just forget I said anything."
"It's fine," Santana smiled. "Sure."
"S-Sure?" Brittany stuttered.
Santana pointed to her lips. "Yes," she whispered.
Brittany let out a nervous laugh. "Um, o-okay…" she scooted over so that the two girls' faces were close to each other. "I don't know how to do this…" she whispered, breath hitting Santana's face. It was really pleasant.
"Me neither," Santana whispered back. Brittany leaned in closer, and closer, trembling breath hitting Santana's lips.
After what felt like an eternity, Brittany's lips grazed lightly against Santana's.
"U-Um… are you sure about this?" Brittany asked against Santana's mouth.
"Yes," Santana breathed back. That seemed to give Brittany a bit of confidence, as her face started to move even closer to Santana's and their lips pressed more firmly together. Brittany and Santana both closed their eyes as she basked in the feel of each other.
To this day, Santana could still not describe how she felt when she felt Brittany's lips on hers for the first time. It was… exhilarating. Amazing. Magical. Enchanting.
A few seconds later, Brittany pulled back and looked at Santana's eyes nervously, biting her lower lip inside her mouth.
"Was… was that okay?" she whispered.
"Yes…" Santana mumbled back, still in a bit of a trance.
"D-did you feel…"
"Yes…" Santana mumbled again.
Brittany's eyes darted to Santana's lips again. "Can I do it again?"
Santana responded by closing the gap between the two girls again and latching her lips onto Brittany's. Brittany let out a small sound from the back of her throat, and that made tingles go all the way down Santana's spine.
After what seemed like an eternity of bliss, Santana pulled away.
"Wow," Brittany breathed, a bit dreamily.
"Wow," Santana parroted, a little out of breath.
Both girls started to giggle.
"I really like kissing you, Sanny," Brittany said.
"Me too, Britt," Santana replied.
The two girls leaned in again and continued to kiss innocently for a long time, while the cool night breeze stroked their backs, while the bright waxing crescent moon smiled down upon them.
Fourteen-year-old Santana was laying on her bed, Brittany by her side. She really enjoyed moments like this. Moments where the two girls would just talk. Santana felt so comfortable talking to Brittany, Brittany just seemed to get her. She was like a person where Santana could voice all her insecurities to Brittany, who would say reassuring or comforting things back, making Santana feel a bit better. Brittany was an excellent listener. She was so… caring, so kind, that Santana didn't know what she did in life to deserve such a wonderful girl as a friend.
Santana didn't really know where she stood with Brittany in terms of friendship. They kissed each other sometimes, although those times were far and few in between. Were they… girlfriends? Or just friends with benefits? Santana shuddered at the latter term. It sounded so… degrading. It wasn't really a representation of what Santana and Brittany were. Their kisses were intimate. They were innocent. Friends with benefits didn't really portray what Santana felt when Brittany's rosy lips were on hers. It sounded… meaningless, when that was the complete opposite of what they were. With every kiss, every caress, Santana felt butterflies in her stomach, tingles in her spine, as she could bask in all of her senses, enjoy and share a part of her with Brittany.
On the other hand, the term 'girlfriend' sounded a little too far to Santana. It also scared her. Were they lesbians? Her family was really religious. If Santana was a lesbian, would they accept her for who she was? She didn't even know if Brittany was a lesbian. All she knew was that they were really close friends who kiss from time to time.
As Santana moved into her adolescent years, she started to get some… urges. She didn't know how she didn't see it before. Brittany was incredibly attractive. Her lithe figure, graceful posture, absolutely gorgeous eyes. Santana was really attracted to her best friend. She really didn't want this to happen. She tried to push those feelings down into the depths of herself, but they just came back stronger. She couldn't help herself.
There were occasions where she would have increasingly indecent dreams of her best friend. It made her feel ashamed. She should never look at a person who had been nothing but the best person to her that way.
But she couldn't help it. She had eventually admitted to herself that yes, she had a huge crush on Brittany, her best friend.
She may even go as far as saying that she was in love with Brittany. In retrospect, she probably was then. She just didn't understand what being in love felt like, so she had just classified it as really strong attraction.
That night when Santana was laying on her bed with Brittany, she just couldn't control her urges anymore. There was a slim chance that Brittany also wanted what Santana wanted. Santana thought that she would explode if she held on any longer. She needed to be brave and step out of her comfort zone.
"Um… Britt?" Santana whispered. Brittany turned her head to meet Santana's gaze with the azure eyes that she had grown to love. They were so pretty. Santana could look at them all day, swim in them, get lost in them.
"Yes, Sanny?" Brittany said softly. She seemed to sense Santana's nervousness, as she furrowed her brows a little in worry. She looked adorable.
"C-Can I ask you something? And promise that you won't get mad at me?" Santana asked.
"Why would I get mad at you?" Brittany replied, her cerulean eyes turning a slight shade darker in worry.
"B-Because, um, what I'm about to say might change everything," Santana mumbled.
"You'll still be my best friend," Brittany reassured her. "No matter what happens."
"I'm not so sure…" Santana faltered.
"I'm sure," Brittany smiled warmly. "What were you going to ask?"
Santana's heart was pounding. This was the moment. "Can I, um, sleep with you?" Santana's eyes flickered downwards, mentally preparing herself for rejection, humiliation, anger.
Brittany's reaction was not what Santana expected. She laughed. "We already sleep together, silly!" Brittany scooted over and held Santana in her arms. "See? We cuddle at night when it's cold!"
Santana's face burned a little more at Brittany's innocence. "N-no, Britt. What I meant was, um, the other sleep."
Brittany frowned, confused. "Other sleep? What do you mean?"
"I, um, want to do, ah, things with you," Santana whispered. When Brittany still didn't understand her, Santana decided to just stop being ambiguous and come out with it already, like ripping off a plaster. "Can we have sex?"
God, that sounded so awful. What kind of question was that? Brittany is going to hate you now.
"Oh," Brittany's jaw slackened in realisation. "Oh," she said again, starting to blush, turning a deep red. "I, um –"
"I'm so sorry," Santana apologised profusely, shaking her head. "I don't know what I'm thinking. I'm making things awkward between us. Can we just forget what I said? Please?"
"N-no!" Brittany stumbled. She took a few deep breaths to compose herself. "I've always wanted to have sexy times with you."
"W-What?" Santana gasped. "Really?"
Brittany nodded bashfully. "I was never brave enough to tell you. I didn't want to ruin our friendship."
"Britt, I will always be your best friend," Santana said sincerely.
Brittany shifted a bit. "I'm so glad you asked me. I always knew you were brave. You're my bright red star."
Santana smiled and the two girls stared into each other's eyes for a few fleeting moments.
"S-So… how do we do this?" Santana asked.
Brittany chuckled nervously. "I don't really know, Sanny. I've never done this before."
"Me neither," Santana breathed back.
"I guess we can start by having sweet lady kisses and see where it takes us?" Brittany suggested.
"Sounds like a plan," Santana whispered before leaning in and connecting her lips with Brittany's. It was euphoria.
Santana remembered that it was raining on that day. Before that fateful night, Santana had always thought that rain acted as a mood-damper. But, as the two girls made love to each other for the first time to the constant, faint buzz of the raindrops hitting the floor, rain held an entirely different meaning to Santana from then on. Rain… was a symbol of what Santana and Brittany really were. It was so strong it was indescribable. A rainy day will always bring Santana back to one of the best days of her life. The day when she made the most intimate connection with Brittany. She was sure Brittany felt the connection too.
She remembered how it felt to have Brittany underneath her. She didn't really know what she was doing then, but she started to learn as she started to do things that elicited a positive reaction from Brittany. At first, Brittany was really insecure with her body, but Santana made sure that it was worshipped and eventually Brittany settled down, relaxing. Santana felt a bit like a conductor, orchestrating different parts of the ensemble in front of her, which would evoke all kinds of harmonious melodies to come out of Brittany's mouth. The little sounds that she would make were music to Santana's ears. Brittany was a little embarrassed at how loud she got as she neared her climax, but Santana reassured her that it was perfectly normal, and it showed her that she was doing it right. When Brittany returned the favour, Santana was even louder. She just couldn't help it. The way that Brittany made her feel was beyond words.
Their first time was not perfect, in terms of the technical parts of making love. Both girls were inexperienced and fumbled quite a bit. But, to Santana and Brittany, their first time was absolutely perfect.
Both girls lay panting in their bed, underneath the covers, for a long time afterwards.
Brittany looked over to Santana. "Um… was I good?" she asked, insecure.
Santana turned her head and smiled warmly. "You were amazing," she whispered. Brittany smiled coyly and her cheeks pinked.
"What does this mean for us?" Brittany asked.
"What do you want it to mean?" Santana replied with a question.
"A-are we dating?" Brittany asked, somewhat fearfully.
"I-I don't really want to put a label on what we are," Santana started slowly. "But it would be amazing if I could call you my girlfriend."
Brittany beamed. "Girlfriends." She closed her eyes as the term rolled off her tongue.
Santana smiled back. "Girlfriends."
"Brittany, please!" fifteen-year-old Santana begged as she chased Brittany into the toilet of the restaurant that they were eating at.
Brittany whipped around, glaring at Santana with fiery eyes that were normally so cool and collected. "What do you want?"
"Please! I beg you! I promise I will do it one day! You just need to give me time!" Santana pleaded.
Brittany laughed coldly. "Time?" she scoffed. "It's already been one year. One year."
"I know!" Santana rushed forward to take Brittany's hand in hers. "Please! Give me one more chance!"
A few angry tears made its way out of Brittany's eyes. "And how many chances do I have to give you? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? You always say that Santana, but you never follow through!"
"I know, I know! Britt, please, just one more! I promise!" Santana pleaded frantically.
Brittany's eyes turned a different shade. It was darker, swirling with the depth of suppressed anger that she had felt but never let out.
"Don't make a promise you can't keep, Santana," Brittany said coldly. "Do you know how much it hurts for you to introduce me as a friend? I thought we meant so much more than that!" Brittany choked back a sob. "I'm sorry, Santana, but I've had enough. I don't want to be your secret fuck-buddy anymore."
"Britt, you're not a fuck-buddy," Santana cried, that word like poison in her mouth. "You're so much more than that to me! You're my everything!"
Brittany chuckled mirthlessly. "Well, you're doing just fine showing that," she said sarcastically. "I don't want to be your secret. You either be out and proud with me, or not have me at all."
An ultimatum? No. Santana could not deal with that.
"Britt," Santana tried to reason. "You know that's not fair! You don't know what will happen when I –"
"And I don't care!" Brittany shouted back. "Am I not worth it? I thought that we could overcome anything together? That anything was possible?" Brittany scoffed. "I really thought that you were a brave person, Santana. Turns out that you are a coward, aren't you?" With that, Brittany snatched her hand back as if she had been burnt and stalked out of the room.
Santana felt as if Brittany's words had stuck a knife in her chest and twisted it. Her whole body hurt. She crumpled to the dirty bathroom floor, crying her eyes out.
Santana trudged back home dejectedly after the evening get-together had finished. Brittany had left without her. Santana felt her heart break all over again.
Brittany was her everything. She loved her so much. True, she hadn't admitted that to her yet, because she was so scared. Does it make her a lesbian? Her parents will probably disown her. She will be known as the disappointment of the family. Her parents will be devastated. And… god, her abuela. She will hate Santana. Santana just knew it. Why couldn't things be different? Brittany already came out as bisexual to her parents a while ago. Their parents were so supportive. Why couldn't Santana's parents be the same?
Santana didn't really feel like doing anything that night. She just got changed and got straight into bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, as tears kept coming out. Eventually, she couldn't hold it in anymore. Her body started to shake as she wept uncontrollably, shamelessly.
She didn't know how much time had passed while she just laid there, motionless, exhausted.
When she felt a tentative hand on her shoulder, she jumped. "Go away, mum," she mumbled, voice muffled into the pillow.
"I'm sorry," a voice whispered. Santana froze. She could recognise that voice anywhere. She flipped, and through the blurry haze of her vision, she could see Brittany standing over her.
"B-Britt?" Santana gasped.
"I'm really sorry Santana," Brittany mumbled, lips a bit pouted. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. They were mean, I didn't mean it." Santana didn't respond, she just looked down, not wanting to meet Brittany's eyes. Brittany stood there in silence for a few seconds before she walked over to the other side of the bed and laid down next to Santana. She flipped Santana around so that they were facing each other. "I know how hard it is for you," Brittany whispered, then her eyes flickered down, cheeks blushing in what Santana perceived to be shame. "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard, I'm so sorry. Please don't break up with me?" she said nervously, her hopeful blue eyes flickered upwards to meet Santana's again.
"I would never," Santana replied. "Look, Britt, I know that I said that I would come out many times, but this time I will for real. I just, um, need to get myself together."
"It's okay," Brittany said quietly. "Take all the time you need. I won't force you to do something you don't want to do."
"No, I have to," Santana persisted. "It's just that I care about you so much, you deserve everything in the world. How hard can it be? I'll just tell my parents that I love you and if they're not happy with it, then screw them."
Brittany didn't respond. She just beamed from ear to ear, looking into Santana's eyes with pure happiness.
"What?" Santana asked, worried that she said something wrong.
"Repeat what you just said," Brittany ordered, sounding really giddy.
"Um, I care about you a lot?" Brittany waited patiently for Santana to go on. "You deserve everything? I'll tell my parents that – oh god," Santana clapped a hand over her mouth and looked at Brittany fearfully.
"Say it," Brittany whispered.
"T-That I love you?" Santana croaked. "Oh god, I'm sorry. Is that alright? Does that creep you out? Oh god –"
"Do you mean it?" Brittany asked hopefully.
Santana couldn't meet Brittany's gaze. Shyly, she nodded.
Brittany squealed in pure delight and surged forward, wrapping Santana in a bear hug. "Oh my god, I'm so happy! I've been waiting for you to say it for forever!" she peppered Santana's face with kisses. "I love you too! I love you too!" she beamed, landing her kisses on Santana's mouth this time.
Later that night, they made love. What was one of Santana's worst days had become one of her best. She loved Brittany Pierce. She finally admitted it to herself, admitted it to Brittany. That was a step forward in the right direction.
"Brittany," Santana said one day as they walked through the car park of the school, Santana slightly behind Brittany.
Brittany turned around. "Yeah?"
"Look, as scared as I am right now, I don't want to hide anymore," Santana stated. She then held out her hand. "Hold my hand?"
Brittany looked a little cautious. "Are you sure? People might see us, and you don't want anyone to see us." The last part of what Brittany said, to a stranger, may sound normal. After all, Brittany's tone hadn't changed at all. However, after all these years of knowing Brittany, Santana could read Brittany's body language and the way she talks like a book. She knew that Brittany said that last part spitefully.
Well, that was going to be put to an end. Now.
"I don't care anymore. Not being myself is making me unhappy," Santana said, looking slightly upwards, straight into Brittany's eyes. "I want to show you off. Make everyone jealous of what an awesome girlfriend I have. I don't want to live under a mask anymore. If they don't like it, then screw them."
Brittany's mouth opened and closed for a few seconds.
"R-Really?" she gasped.
"I've never been so sure of anything in my life," Santana said defiantly. "Hold my hand?"
"Ah!" Brittany squealed, bounding over and wrapping her arms around Santana in a tight hug. "Yay!"
They pulled apart after a while. Santana took Brittany's right hand with her left. "Don't think that I'm doing this because you are forcing me to," Santana said sincerely. "I want to do this for myself too. This is who I am. I'm proud of who I am."
"I'm so proud of you," Brittany gushed, as they started to walk towards the main entrance of the school, swinging their conjoined hands together enthusiastically. "You're the best person ever!"
"I love you," Santana smiled.
"I love you too!" Brittany beamed. Then her face fell for a brief moment. "Wait does this mean that we can hold hands in corridors?" Santana nodded. "And we can carry each other's books, walk each other to class?" Santana nodded. "Does that I can kiss you in school too?"
Santana leaned up and pecked Brittany's lips. "Definitely."
Brittany's beam was so bright that Santana believed that it was brighter than the sun. "But aren't you scared?"
"I'm going to be honest, a little," Santana admitted. "But I don't care. You are everything to me."
Brittany did a few hops, probably because she had so much energy to burn right now. "You don't know how happy you just made me."
"I'm really happy too, Britt."
It was true. That was the day Santana started to feel free. Feel like herself. Feel like she didn't have to live up to anyone's expectations. She was free, she was weightless, she had Brittany. She felt like she could take on the world.
Santana's pillow was completely wet. She didn't really know how long she had been lying in this bed, just reminiscing on the past. She wondered what the future held for her. She wondered how life would change without the two girls by her side. She wondered what senior year would be like without the glee club. As much as she hated to admit it, glee club had become her family. Would she be stuck with those stuck-up cheerleaders in senior year? Now come to think of it, she didn't even want to stay in the Cheerios. She would probably quit.
Maybe distract herself with heavy work, make herself top of every class, graduate with flying colours, become a successful lawyer.
As for her future love life, well, she couldn't really see herself with anyone but Brittany. It would probably be quite disrespectful to the blonde to find herself a new girlfriend. It would mean that Brittany was replaceable. Brittany was not replaceable. Her future love life would probably be non-existent.
She needed water. Her throat was really dry and it hurt. Maybe she should go downstairs and get some. Of course, she may come across Sam.
Everything will be fine, however. Santana looked down at the duck shirt she was wearing. Brittany will be watching over her. For Brittany. She looked over to the knife on the bedside table.
"You are my friend today," Santana whispered. She held a tight, now practised grip on the hilt of the knife with her left hand. She walked over to the door and strode outside.
She didn't bother closing the door behind her, let alone locking it, because she felt no need to do that.
Santana felt refreshed. There were no more bottles of water left in the pantry, so Santana settled from drinking straight from the tap. She didn't usually drink from the tap, as she had been told that the water was not clean. But she couldn't bring it upon herself to care at this moment in time. As well as drinking some water and moistening her throat and lips, she decided to wash her face and hair as well. Now she could've done this in the shower, but she couldn't really be bothered to walk back upstairs, risking an encounter with Sam, as she didn't find a point in doing so.
It was a nice, calm feeling as she felt the cool water cascade over her face. It felt… cleansing. Refreshing. When she finished, she gingerly rubbed her swollen eyes, and raked her wet fingers through her hair, brushing it back. Some wet strands of hair clung onto Santana's face, but Santana simply removed them and tucked them behind her ear.
She looked at the knife placed on the counter. Sam probably had one too. But she would win.
Sam took everything that was good in her life. He took away Quinn. He took away Brittany. Adrenaline surged through Santana's system. Waves of anger coursed through her. She had always known it was him. She should've taken him out while she had the chance.
She has a chance now. And she wasn't going to fail.
Should she hunt Sam down? No. That would be silly. She would be playing right into his hands. She would wait for him.
He will come down. Eventually. Santana's instincts will tell her what to do when the time comes. She gripped onto the knife.
Soon.
"I had really hoped that it wasn't you, Santana," Sam's voice echoed from the staircase. "I don't understand. Why did you kill everyone here?"
Santana snapped her head up from where she was sat at the dining table towards the voice. This is when Sam walked into the room.
He was unarmed.
What?
"What do you mean?" Santana demanded, standing up and grabbing onto the knife tightly. "What did you mean, I killed everyone?"
Sam gestured towards the knife. "Look at what's in your hand. You killed everyone. Why?" Sam's voice didn't seem challenging at all, which is not what Santana expected, what Quinn had told her. Sam seemed… defeated. Resigned. Disappointed.
"You lie," Santana hissed. "This knife in my hand is for self-defence. This is the knife Quinn took. Quinn, the sweet girl that you harshly choked to death!"
"With my hand?" Sam chuckled dryly, using his right hand to hold up his left. "What you are saying makes no sense. I am in no condition to kill anyone. I am not in the right mentality to kill anyone. So answer me, Santana. Why did you kill everyone?"
"Sam, I didn't kill anyone," Santana made it as clear as glass. "I know for a fact that it wasn't me. So, who else can it be? It doesn't take Sherlock to figure that one out, Sam. You are the only one who is alive, other than me. If it's not me, then it's you."
"Just shut up, Santana," Sam said. "Just stop pretending that you aren't the killer. I never killed Quinn. I never killed Brittany. What I don't understand is why you would kill the two girls closest to you. I get that my time is up. You have the knife. I have nothing. I just want some answers before I die."
The mention of Brittany's name made Santana's blood boil. How dare Sam, the killer, accuse Santana of murdering her girlfriend, the person that Santana loved more than anyone else in the whole world?
"Stop playing the victim, Sam," Santana growled. "I knew it was you from the start. You have this sob story of what your lovely family had become. You have no motivation to live. You got rejected by Mercedes, then Brittany. You just want to take everyone down with you, don't you?"
"Well, it seems like I'm not going to get any answers," Sam sighed. The two of them were quite some distance apart, maybe about five metres or so, but they were still dangerously close. Santana could just lunge forward and thrust the knife. Likewise, if Sam had something hidden in his sleeve or something he could easily attack. "So," Sam held out his arms. "Are you going to kill me now? Or are you going to wait until tonight?"
Damn Sam. He was a pretty good actor.
He killed everyone, Santana reminded herself. He killed Brittany. He killed Quinn. He took everything.
He took everything.
Gather up all your energy, Santana. Summon your inner demons. Unleash all your hidden anger, at loss, grief, despair.
Let strength come upon you.
Time to play the killer.
"Yes, I am," Santana hissed, voice dangerously low. "Only because you'll kill me tonight otherwise."
With incredible energy of someone who was supposedly exhausted and sleep-deprived, Santana left the table so that it wasn't in the way. Instantly afterwards, she dived towards Sam, knife held loosely in her left hand, and just like she was practising, she swung the blade in a wide arc, heading straight for Sam's head.
Sam had fast reflexes. Maybe it's because of his time in the football team. Maybe because he was the killer. Santana didn't know, but it didn't matter. Her fiery eyes were trained on one goal and one goal only: kill. Kill the person in front of you.
Sam dodged the knife swing by jumping backwards. The knife got really close to his face, nearly scratching it. But not close enough. The knife completed its arc without hitting anything, and since Santana put a lot of power under her swing, she lost her balance slightly, so she wasn't able to defend herself fully when Sam grabbed a glass cup that was lying on the counter next to him and launched it towards the brunette.
Santana managed to dodge the cup itself, but it shattered on the ground just in front of her, sending shards of glass flying hazardously towards her. Most of them hit places that didn't hurt that much, like her feet or maybe her calf, but one large shard flew high enough to cut Santana's thigh. It tore through the leggings that Santana was wearing, cutting the skin underneath. It wasn't that bad, however, thankfully. Also Santana was grateful that Brittany's duck shirt was still intact. If it tore, then Santana would be so mad as it was one of the only things left that still had a piece of Brittany on it, however meagre, so it automatically held infinite value to the brunette.
It was a little strange to see Sam fighting back like this. Wasn't he the one who was resigned to his fate, hoping for a 'swift' end? That obviously wasn't the case. This meant two things. Sam was the killer, so he is going for Santana now. Or Sam was not the killer and the primal instinct to do whatever it takes to survive is overtaking Sam's system. That was really unlikely, however, because Santana could not think of anyone who killed everyone if it wasn't Sam. Wasn't everyone else dead?
Could it have been Mike, who just escaped, leaving the two innocent people to fight it out to the death in the end, so that he gets away with all he had done? It made sense, he gave Santana his knife because he didn't need it anymore. Santana did not know how he escaped. Maybe he had the key to the gate and just left. Did he even escape? She knew that he did, from Quinn. Now come to think of it, Quinn was not a reliable source of information. She may have not even been real. What if he didn't escape? Let the two of them fight and come back in for the final kill?
No. It could not have been Mike. He had really good intentions.
Could it be someone who she thought was dead already? Who could've faked their deaths? Santana could not think of a person. Maybe it was Finn? He died of poison, right? Maybe he faked it? But Santana could not imagine the dorky, uncoordinated giant killing everyone. He is physically incapable anyway. Could it be Kurt or Blaine? She never actually saw their dead bodies. Someone just mentioned that they died. Nah, they're too pristine to kill anyone. Could it be Puck? She didn't see his dead body either. Considering what he did to Brittany the day he supposedly died, Puck was not a bad shout.
Or could it be the ghost of Rachel Berry? Santana knew that this was ludicrous, but wouldn't this be a very Rachel thing to do? She killed herself in the most disgusting way possible, then her ghost haunted the rest of them, finishing them off, because you couldn't have a glee club without her?
Santana would laugh if it was Rachel who killed everyone.
Shut up, Santana. Your theories are getting more and more ridiculous. You are in a fight here. Sam will kill you if you don't get yourself together, and fight back.
Yes, your legs hurt. But this is life or death. Kill or be killed.
Santana gripped her knife harder in her hand and straightened herself up. Sam backed away a few steps, then bolted from the dining room.
Against Santana's better judgement, she chased after him. Sam ran off into the kitchen, so Santana ran into the kitchen too, brandishing her knife.
Santana couldn't see Sam. She could swear that she saw Sam only a moment ago. Damn! She lost him. She spun around wildly, trying to gather where Sam went.
Suddenly, Sam appeared behind Santana and wrapped his right arm around the brunette's neck, having her in a headlock. Santana grunted as her vision started to pale, kicking at Sam, who was behind her. She tried to thrust the knife that was still in her left hand backwards, hopefully impaling Sam's stomach or chest. But Sam managed to get a hold of Santana's left arm with his own left arm, preventing it from moving.
Santana struggled furiously against Sam's hold. Sam just kicked the back of Santana's knee and she crumpled to the ground. The knife clattered uselessly to the ground.
Was this the end? Sam was so much stronger than Santana. He wasn't even using a knife. He was killing Santana, unarmed.
Santana managed to gasp one more breath of air, keeping her thoughts coherent. She needed to survive. She would not fall victim to Sam. She thought of the duck shirt that she was wearing. If not for you, do it for Brittany.
For Brittany.
With newfound strength, Santana thrust her elbow backwards, which connected with Sam's solar plexus, making him double forward, effectively loosening his hold around Santana's neck. Santana managed to claw her left hand in Sam's hold and twist, so that Sam recoiled back, setting Santana free completely.
Taking this opportunity, Santana grabbed the knife that was lying close to her on the floor and rushed at Sam. He was slightly off balance, but he managed to dodge Santana's strike by sending himself sprawling onto the ground. Santana spun around to face Sam and swung her knife downwards for the kill shot.
Time seemed to slow down.
Was Santana going to become a murderer?
Sam had other plans. With unbelievable agility, he rolled to the side so that Santana's knife wedged onto the ground, right where Sam's face was a second ago. Sam swung his legs around in a wide semi-circle, catching Santana's foot and effectively tripping her.
Sam tried to seize this moment to take the upper hand. He stood up and tried to pounce on Santana, pinning her down. But before Sam could get on top of her, Santana swung her knife again and it hit Sam's left arm.
Sam cried out in pain as blood started to roll down his already bad arm like a waterfall. It was so fast. So… red.
Santana got up shakily to her feet and towered over Sam, who was groaning on the ground, unable to get up.
"J-Just tell me why you did this, Santana," Sam said, a few tears making its way out of his eyes. "Why did you kill everyone?"
"I didn't," Santana hissed. "I'm sorry." Acting on impulse, and against her brain's constant warning, she brought the knife down fast. It hit true on Sam's throat.
Blood spurted everywhere in lots of different directions, some on Santana.
Santana clenched her eyes closed really tightly, as she couldn't bear to look.
It was about a minute or so of pure silence, except for the quiet sound of flowing blood, before Santana dared to open her eyes again.
She only took a glimpse of what had become of the blond boy in front of her before she retched, vomiting straight on the floor. She didn't care. She wasn't going to clean it up. She had no energy.
Her chest started to heave as she took rapid, deep breaths. She just killed Sam. Did that make her a murderer?
She didn't dare retrieve the knife that was still wedged in Sam's throat. She ran out of the kitchen and upstairs, into the bathroom.
All she could see was red.
She was a murderer.
She is a murderer.
How on earth is she going to live with this for the rest of her life?
She jumped into the shower and turned it on as fast as she could, still in her clothes. As hot water soaked through the duck shirt she was still wearing and onto her skin, she started to sob.
What had become of her? She just killed someone.
She just killed a person. Someone that used to her friend.
She watched as the water started to turn more and more transparent from the initial deep red. She watched as the water swirled clockwise around the drain before being sucked in. Is this what was happening to her now? Being sucked in into a world of evil?
She couldn't bear to wear her clothes anymore. She ripped them off her body as fast as possible, feeling hot water spray her bare skin.
I'm so sorry, Brittany, Santana apologised. I ruined your shirt. I know you really liked it.
I'm so sorry.
Santana got dressed in some of her clothes that she got from the closet. She didn't deserve to wear Brittany's shirt anymore. She didn't deserve anyone. She didn't deserve anything.
Not after what she had done.
She was a murderer.
She laid back on the bed that she had slept in so many times over the past week or so. Did she even deserve to live anymore? She had broken all morals that her parents have tried so hard to teach her all her life.
She did say that she wanted to see them again. Life was not over. She still had them.
But they didn't have Santana. They have someone dressed in Santana's skin. A ghost. A murderer.
Santana stared at the ceiling. What on earth was she going to do now? There was no one alive. She didn't know how to get out.
She will die here of starvation.
Santana closed her eyes in pure despair until she heard something. She sat up, suddenly fully alert.
The sound of the front door opening, and banging shut.