Title: Inside Out
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9.9k
Summary: Santana's back from Indiana for Senior year. She lived her five years ago, but there's something different about the place.
Warning: G!P
Notes: Apologies for the lack of update. But think you're gonna love the new fic I've got planned. Can't stop writing it so this one is delayed. Enjoy!
/
Girls like Britt don't stay single forever.
The sentence has been playing repeatedly in Santana's brain since Puck said it yesterday and it's eating away at her by the minute.
She's managed to not come face to face with Brittany again, and it's been about a week since she's been back at school so counting in the nurse's office, Spanish class and a very awkward toilet run in, she's only seen her three times. Three times should be easy to handle because she doesn't have to deal with all this bullshit hovering in the air, but it's let her mind run wild and she's concocted several scenarios that probably aren't true involving Sam and Brittany - and if anything - because of those meetings, so, it's probably made it worse.
So, she's distanced herself from everyone. She's managed to keep Dani at bay with brief video calls, Quinn's been nursing Puck and Rachel's has been nowhere to been seen as her and Jake are now like, official. She's gained popularity as well as the relationship, and due to Santana wanting to stay low, she's been staying out the limelight and overthinking herself into oblivion instead.
However, it also means that she's managed to catch up to all her assignments, including the Spanish one that she was going to do with Brittany, but seeing as their last interaction didn't end on the best of terms, she's done half of it and is sitting at her laptop, loading it up to email over the copy to the blonde. There's no way she's going to let her GPA go down, especially because of fucking Spanish, and it needs to be done and maybe if she emails over her half, Brittany will reply, and they can arrange to finish the rest. In like, public or something.
Away from prying eyes.
Except when she opens her emails, she's left frozen as brown eyes find an email sitting in her inbox with a small paperclip on the side, and Brittany's name staring back at her.
It's confusing, but she clicks the highlighted box and finds a document attached and anger flashes through her when she sees a small message that's blunt and to the point.
I've done my half of the assignment. Add yours and we can submit. B x
The feeling of rejection hits Santana straight in the chest. Sure, she'd done her half and so technically the assignment is finished which means she doesn't need to be alone with Brittany – even if she kind of wanted an excuse to be – but she was hoping they'd still be able to meet up and talk it over. Yet it seems that Brittany's just done her bit, sent it over and Santana's supposed to put them together and give them to Mr Martinez like a chump.
And it's irrational really, because Brittany only did what Santana did, except Santana had intentions of putting the final touches in together, and later she'll realise that, but right now, she slams her laptop lid shut and bolts out her bedroom with only one destination in mind.
/
The wind is cold as it hits her face, her keys jingling in her hand as she bundles into her truck.
There's still a considerable amount of pain coming from the unhealed wound in her shoulder, but due to the flurry of emotions clouding her judgement, she doesn't feel it. She's too angry. How could Brittany just do that? Why can't she even be around Santana anymore? How can Brittany think it's okay to just do her half and expect Santana to finish it up? Can they not even be friends anymore?
All those questions make her head spin, and the truck engine roars as she speeds down familiar roads until she comes to a large set of gates and her fingers tighten around the steering wheel as she stares up at the Pierce residence.
She has no idea why she's here – there wasn't ever a plan in place – but she wants to confront Brittany. She doesn't feel like the whole Spanish assignment thing is fair and honestly, she doesn't want to accept the fact that nothing is the same as before. They never had a strictly platonic friendship and now after everything, she doesn't think they can ever be just friends ever again and the opened email sitting in her inbox is hard proof that Brittany thinks the same, but they could at least try.
Santana's boots collide heavily with the concrete beneath her feet as she jumps out the truck, and she's pressing the buzzer on the gate and listening to the few beeps before a familiar voice comes through the other end and she remembers it to be the maid from last time.
"Hel–oh, what do you want?"
How friendly. She must be able to see her through the little camera on the buzzer. "It's Santana. Is Brittany in?"
There's a shuffle, but no reply and then the gate clicks and begins slowly peeling open. Santana jumps back into her truck, heading into the small driveway until she sees a too-familiar black SUV there and a fancy ass sports car parked beside it. The number plate reads S3N PI3RC3 and she rolls her eyes because obviously Rick Pierce has an expensive ride and personalised plate. Every piece of knowledge she gets on the guy leads her to believe he's probably a piece of shit, and despite him being slightly inviting the last time she was here, she doesn't get good vibes from him.
Anyway, that's not the reason she's here and she slams her truck door, shoving her hands into her pockets as she skips up the few steps, but she doesn't get to knock because the extra-large doors open, revealing a tall figure, concealed by the bright light from inside the house.
"Santana," Brittany's dad greets, but after adjusting to the sudden light shift, Santana registers the look of annoyance on his face.
His stare is another reason she gets those bad vibes. Still, she swallows and lingers awkwardly, half-way up the stoop because she was kind of hoping to go inside. As nice as this conversation is, she isn't here to talk to Rick.
"Mr Pierce," she says and pushes a smile to her face. "Is Britt in?"
Rick looks over his shoulder, up the stairs and that's confirmation enough, but he doesn't move in the direction she was expecting. No. Instead, he steps out on to the porch and pulls the door shut behind him, hand resting on the doorknob to block her path.
"She's… Busy," he smirks and now Santana knows she isn't going inside when the penny drops hard, fast and cold inside her chest. She also knows that no parent pulls shit like this if their kids are alone. More fuel to the burning flames inside Santana's chest and if she thought her brain was spiralling before, she was dead wrong. "And I think it'd be best if you left her alone. At least for a while."
She jerks her head back, confusion and hurt replacing the previous anger she felt from reading that damn email and her face faulters, lip quivers because she doesn't understand what's going on. It feels like there's a lot more happening behind closed doors; shit she isn't privy to and Puck and Quinn's words begin pounding at her head like a fog horn.
Girls like Brittany don't stay single for long.
Quinn told Santana that Brittany was busy and now Rick's just repeating that information and now she knows busy is basically codeword for Sam's around and fuck, fuck, fuck.
She really doesn't like how out of the loop she is. She just wants some solid answers.
"Mr Pierce–"
"Miss Lopez," Rick interrupts her words and for the second time, she jerks her head back. He was so welcoming the first time, regardless of how Santana felt about him at the time and now he's so… hostile. What the fuck? "I think it'd be best if you leave, now."
Santana exhales through her nose sharply, disbelief ringing through her. "But Mr Pierce–"
"Brittany has company," Rick cuts in, his jaw clenching, highlighted by the glow coming from behind him. He folds his arms over his chest and puffs hit out, seeming taller than ever even though it's probably only because Santana's down a couple steps. "They're studying, and Brittany needs more help than she can as it's Senior year, and it seems you bring drama with you, Miss Lopez, wherever you go."
His words shoot through her, and she knows he doesn't have a freaking clue, nor does he have any knowledge of the nature of the relationship that exists – or existed – with Brittany, but it still hits a little too close to home and she finds her chin lifting defiantly in response, an instant response to being told off. Rick notices, his head cocking to the side and eyes narrowing into slits as he glares down at her, but she holds strong.
She thinks she's right about him being an asshole, and the fact he won't let her in to talk to Brittany and is saying she needs to get lost because his daughter is probably upstairs getting shacked up with a guy – which is obviously miles better than Santana if they way he's looking her up and down with slight disgust – is only confirming that.
Vibes are never wrong.
"I just need to speak to her," Santana entreats, swallowing thickly. She doesn't want to leave without speaking to her. She won't go down without a fight.
Rick seems to think different though, chortling out, "I think we both know that's not going to happen."
"But Mr Pierce–" She tries again, taking a step forward up to meet him on the top step.
"No," Rick retorts, tone hard and emotionless as he matches the movement. He leans down a little and flares his nostrils. "You need to go now."
And Santana knows a losing battle when she sees one. All the fight inside of her is screaming to continue and push past the guy, or somehow sway him with clever words so she can go upstairs to Brittany, but she can't. It's staring her right in the face; the severe lack of needing to fight. There isn't any point because she's seen it so many times recently it's almost become boring. She saw it in Brittany's eyes when they were in the nurse's office, and she saw it in Quinn when a bullet went through Puck's shoulder.
There have just been so many occurrences recently that just keep dropping fucking huge obstacles in her path to Brittany and whereas she'd usually power through them, there's been so many she can't help but wonder if it's even worth it. How many times can a person fight for someone who doesn't want to fight back? And she sure as hell isn't going to push past a fucking Senator to get to his daughter. It'd probably only prove that she isn't the person that should be upstairs with Brittany 'studying.'
So, she just accepts it. As painful as it is, the fighting urge drains out of her faster than she can take a breath.
"Okay, Mr Pierce," comes from her mouth and she bites her tongue at the objection that threatens to spill. "I'll go."
A smirk tugs at Rick's lips, and Santana would love to wipe it off him, but violence is never the answer. It wasn't the answer back in the library on the day of the shooting, when Brittany reminded her that smacking Puck into outer space would only exacerbate things, and it isn't the answer now. She turns on her heel, counting the three seconds it takes for Brittany's dad to shut the door (loudly) behind her and she blinks against the sudden heat at her eyelids as she walks away.
It's time to give up.
/
Feeling heavier than ever, and with the adrenaline wearing off, Santana slides into the cab of her truck and groans at the throb in her shoulder.
Maybe taking off the sling like, five weeks too early probably wasn't the best idea, but it was getting in the way of mundane shit like getting changed and wiping her ass and she's always been impatient. Yeah, her body heals quicker than modern medicine dictates, but she still got shot in the shoulder and with the combination of the emotional pain she's in, swallowing a couple pills and going into a deep slumber seems like the best idea.
Well, until she hears someone call her name and thank God, it's not the first Pierce she was talking to.
Although maybe Brittany isn't that much better, right now.
Her head snaps up and she squints as she sees a figure come into view, hopping down the steps and wrapping a cardigan around her torso as the cold hits her. Fuck. Despite all this shit going on, Santana can't help but sigh at how beautiful Brittany looks every time she sees her, like she's just opened her eyes after never seeing the night sky. After going day and days with mere glimpses of her, any sighting is a thrill every damn time and Santana doesn't even get to stare for long before there's bright, blue eyes looking through the driver's side window and the door is opening.
"Santana," Brittany breathes, her voice hoarse from the small jog. The tips of her ears are red and it grips at her heart. "What are you doing here?"
Completely distracted by a pale nose tinging pink as well as the ears, Santana takes a moment to kick herself back into reality which, unfortunately, comes with the very recent discussion with the blonde's dad and it hits her all over again. The drama always follows her around, and Brittany happens to be the victim of it and it's not fair. Maybe that's why the blonde called off their thing and maybe Santana's actually fucked it up. For good.
So, she takes in a deep breath and rips her eyes away from the other girl. All she can hear inside her brain is the words Brittany left her with in their last meeting, about not apologising for how she deals with the ashes of what's left and it fucking sucks. Sam is probably upstairs, after their break in 'studying' and it all makes sense now because of course Brittany would have to burn down whatever they were to create room for whatever her and this new kid are. Quinn must have sensed something because that bitch has a sixth sense for that type of thing, and her conversation with Rick is the last piece of that puzzle.
Fuck. All that overthinking wasn't pointless after all. Her deepest fears have come to life.
And she goes to say that; goes to spill out how damn stupid she's been and drive away, leaving Brittany behind in more ways than one, but it's not what comes out.
"Guess you got rid of those ashes then," slips from Santana's mouth and the blonde pauses the movement on the door, cocking her head to the side in shock.
She's not the only one. Santana didn't mean to say it so hostile.
"What are you talking about?" Brittany asks, face scrunching up.
Santana chokes out a laugh, but it isn't funny. Nothing about this is funny. "Your dad asked me to leave," she shakes her head at the words. He did so much more but she can't find the words to explain that. She slides the keys into the ignition and goes to flick it on, but a hand covers her own, pausing the movement. "And I've got to because you've got company," she hurries out."
"My dad did what?" Brittany repeats, her voice higher as if she didn't know that. Her mouth is open, brows scrunched and eyes narrow like Santana's talking a foreign language. "I was just–"
"Busy," Santana interjects, voice sharp. Her eyes fall into tight slits as the word blasts through her brain. She hates that fucking word. "I know. You always seem to be busy recently."
There's a moment where she thinks the blonde's going to cry, but much to Santana's surprise, she doesn't. Tears would actually be better though, because all Brittany does is suck in her lips, as if she's disappointed to hear the words leave Santana's mouth and a hard, cold flash goes over those once bright blue orbs as she removes her hand from a tanned one. People say a lot about the blonde and her intelligence, and how sometimes she fills in test papers with crayons because they brighten up such boring subjects, but the last thing Santana would ever call Brittany is dumb.
Because she doesn't need to hear the words. She doesn't need Brittany to say anything because her silence is shouting volumes. The way she's clicking her tongue and laughing mirthlessly whilst her feet kick at the stones on the driveway is something that's going to register on the list of things Santana hates, and she gulps against the instinct to apologise and just spill out everything she's wanted to say for a week now.
But she knows she can't. She does bring drama to Brittany's world, and she still hasn't ended things with Dani.
It's still so fucked up, and she doesn't even know why she came here now. There's nothing she can do to make this better and if anything, she's made it worse by even coming to the blondes house.
"Whatever you want to believe, Santana," Brittany begins backing away, her voice croaky and there's tears threatening to spill from her blue eyes but anger is holding them back. "I don't have the energy for this anymore," she adds in a breath, and it rips the oxygen from Santana's lungs but the blonde stops, taking a long moment to stare before she continues again. Everything in Santana wants to interrupt but no words come to mind. She's never seen Brittany look so cold before. "And for your information, Sam's staying with us because his parents haven't come to Lima, yet. His aunt only has one spare room."
In some ways, that should be the answer Santana was looking for her, but she would've felt miles better if she had heard he was in the spare room or something, even though she's not allowed to feel this way. There's still a brunette cheerleader, who's Brittany's best friend, very much in Santana's life still, and as of a few days ago, there's nothing lingering between her and Brittany and to demand to know the nature of Brittany and Sam's relationship is beyond inappropriate.
But she still wants to know. It's like there's something in her chest that just has to know.
And the fact that Brittany's not filling in those gaps she desperately needs filling as she walks away, almost kills her.
So, she does the only thing she can think of, and apologises. "I'm sorry, Brittany," she whispers, but the words sink into her lungs and push heat to the back of her eyelids. She never meant to drag Brittany into drama, and it's for the best if she leaves this all alone. It is Brittany's senior year, as it is hers, and Rick knows what's best for his daughter, even if it goes against everything inside of Santana.
Brittany doesn't even look back though, just pauses for the three words and then shakes her head as she disappears up the stoop and back into her house.
It really is time to give up.
/
The drive home is three times as long because she loops the neighbourhood at least ten times as she tries to put her thoughts in order.
It's only when the fuel light blinks on her dash that she decides to head home. She doesn't have any cash or cards on her and sometimes she takes advantage of her dad's garage because they've got a pump in the back for annual services and test drives, and sometimes, she grabs half a tank from there when funds are low. Or when the sleazebag owner speaks to her or her dad like shit. Free fuel is free fuel, after all, but it's better with a dash of petty revenge.
She lets her head fall back against the seat, a long breath releasing from her chest as she flicks off the engine as she parks up. Thousands of thoughts create a flurry in her mind, and she shakes her head rapidly to rid the thoughts of tonight's events rattle through her. How can this be the end? After all the shit they've been through, this is now like, completely over and she doesn't want to go up against Senator Pierce because she knows she'll lose.
Even if he's got every assumption about her wrong.
Most of the lights are off inside her house, and she knows her dad's probably asleep because his bedroom light is off – his room is at the front of the house – and so she slides out her truck, clicking the locks shut and hurrying inside. As expected, it's dead silent when she steps in and she creeps into the kitchen to grab a drink before she registers the additional pair of shoes sitting by the back of the sofa, after pouring some juice.
But when she sees them, cold runs through her veins for the second time tonight and she carefully slides the glass back on to the counter.
"Dani?" Comes out from Santana's lips, and she makes her way to the bottom of the stairs by the front door to listen out for movement. Why the hell are Dani's shoes here?
Unless…
Oh fuck.
She ascends the stairs, using her good arm to support the movement on the rail and makes her way up to her bedroom to find the door shut, which is weird because it isn't usually shut, and her dad isn't anywhere to be seen. She pushes it open carefully, and the sight that's before her stuns her so much it swings open the rest of the way and collides heavily with the chest of drawers sitting behind it, startling the other girl in Santana's bedroom.
Because it's Dani, crouched on the floor by the television, adjusting a newly added plant pot in the corner of the room. All of Santana's furniture has moved; her bed is over by the window, there's a large space in the centre of the room now and for once, her room is sparkling. It's not like she's messy, but she just uses the floor as additional wardrobe space sometimes and it takes a long few seconds of staring before her girlfriend notices her presence.
"Santana," Dani greets, her smile wide and if it weren't for the utter confusion pulsing through her, Santana would probably smile back.
But instead, only questions leave her mouth. "What are you doing here? What did you do to my room?"
The other girl's face falls, her hands clasping in front of her and she nervously glances around the room. "It's called feng shui," Dani explains and gingerly comes over to Santana, staring up at her with big, brown eyes. "If you arrange your furniture in a certain way, it's supposed to promote healing."
The gesture is incredibly sweet, but on top of the fucking day Santana's had, all she feels is annoyance. Her brows finally release from where they were pushed together in the middle of her forehead and she manages to force a half-smile to her face, taking in the way her bedside table is opposite her room and the last thing she should be thinking is how she's going to hear her alarm when she usually puts her phone on said table, but that's what goes through her mind.
"Do you like it?" Dani interrupts, reaching for Santana's hands but at the touch, she can't help but flinch.
She can't deal with this right now. Not after tonight. And honestly, she feels like she's about to have a panic attack. Firstly, she's gone to Brittany's house to be confronted by her dad who spoke to her like crap, then Brittany didn't deny anything about her and Sam – not that she should have to, but still – and now Dani's here, in her bedroom, after moving all her stuff around and probably losing half of it that Santana had organised messily, and it's all too much. The past week has been so overwhelming, and to adjust to another new thing in her life is just pushing her over the edge.
"I can't do this," Santana says, struggling to breathe properly as she tries shaking her thoughts from her head. She's gone through enough change in her short life than anyone should in an entire lifetime and sure, it's sweet, but this feng shui crap is another thing she can't handle. If she can't find something like her socks or a pen or something, she'll have a mental breakdown.
Dani doesn't faulter though, even after the prior flinch and tries reaching for Santana again, but she just shrugs out the grasp and makes her way to the bed, feeling like her soul has left her body as she takes a perch on the mattress. Her hands fall to the sides, gripping tightly at the comforter and she focuses on the way her chest is rising and falling, counting her breaths as her head spins and body begins to rock.
It's coming. The word vomit is coming and she can't stop it.
"We can move it back–"
"No," Santana snaps, squeezing her eyes shut and nausea hitting her stomach hard. "Not the furniture," she adds and steels herself when her girlfriend very gently sits beside her, arm sliding around her back. She doesn't flinch this time, mostly because she's concentrating so hard on getting oxygen into her body so she doesn't pass out. "I can't do this," she swallows thickly and forces her eyes open, meeting dark brown ones. "Us, Dani… I can't do us."
And that's it.
It's out there.
The words hang in front of her eyes like neon lights and later, she'll realise there was a cool wash of relief from finally letting some truth out, but all she can feel now is pain. Pain from her shoulder, pain from her words, pain from her memories. It's thick and hot, burning through her veins and all of the past week or two comes down on her like a meteor. It crashes into her, wavering her vision and she doesn't even register Dani's complete and utter shock until a loud sob rackets through her ears and chills her core.
"What?" Dani gets out, brown eyes glazed with tears. Her face is scrunched up with confusion, and all Santana wants to do is apologise, but the other girl is standing up in an instant, glaring down at her and seeming taller than ever, even though she's shorter than Santana. "Are you–Are you breaking up–With me?"
It comes out through another choked sob, and Santana's mouth drops open, desperately wanting to say no because she never wanted to hurt her. She never wanted to see the pain in Dani's eyes because all this girl ever did was love her, through all the shit and what did she do in return? Fell for Dani's best friend, fucked her up too, then came back to crush Dani's heart.
Rick really did have a point. Drama follows Santana wherever she goes.
But the word never comes. In fact, nothing comes out and all she can do is tilt her head to the side, her eyes silently pleading to get forgiveness from Dani, but she knows that's far in the future, if ever.
And it says more than words ever could. It silently confirms the question asked and that's louder than any voiced answer.
Dani bursts into tears in an instant, make-up running down her cheeks and Santana can't help but stare helplessly as the girl rushes around the room, feet stumbling over each other as she gathers her bag and coat and disappears out the door. But she can't just let her go like that. It's not fair. Nothing about this entire fucking situation is fair and before she can make the conscious decision to, she's following the cheerleader down the stairs and reaching her as Dani gets to the sofa where her shoes are.
"Dani, please," Santana begs, her voice scratchy because she hasn't spoken since the words, I can't do us and her hand reaches out to grab at any part of Dani.
The other girl whips around, lurching out of reach and shakes her head, looking so devastated that Santana can feel the hurt radiating from her. She didn't mean to do this. She didn't want to do this. She wasn't prepared to do this, but she doesn't know if she would've ever been prepared for this reaction. She knew she was going to break her heart, and her dad's words of how you handle the pain, is what matters because this most definitely isn't handling it. This is making it worse, but she doesn't know what to do. Or say.
"No," Dani hisses, her voice harder than ever before. She slips on her shoes and because Santana's standing with her back to the front door, logic takes over and the cheerleader quickly rushes into the kitchen to the back door. "I have to go."
Santana follows, tripping over the rug the sofa sits on, but she catches herself on the kitchen counter trying to stop the girl, but no words come out. All she wants to do is get Dani to understand, because she hasn't managed to say anything more than she can't do this, and that's not how they should leave it. This isn't how it should end. Their relationship was real at the beginning. It was real for most of it, but it just doesn't compare to the electricity that Santana feels between her and Brittany, even if that's so far out of reach now than ever before.
It seems like the silence says more than words ever could, because Dani disappears without another word, going past the window as she erupts into tears again and all Santana can do is watch.
/
She stays in the kitchen for ten long minutes after her girlfriend – well, ex-girlfriend – leaves.
Silence rings through Santana's ears, and she hears that high-pitched sound because there's nothing moving inside or outside the house. She honestly doesn't know how she didn't wake her dad up with that commotion, but she guesses that an angel must be looking out for her somewhere because he doesn't come down. She wouldn't know where to start if he did and started quizzing her.
Instead, she pulls herself away from the counter, dragging her feet as she grabs the glass of juice from earlier, cocking her hip out to lean as she takes a sip. Her mouth is so dry, and so are her eyes, but she feels like she could cry a river. All evidence of the panic attack she was on the edge of has now disappeared, replaced by this emptiness inside her chest and there's a heavy thrumming of guilt joining in there too somewhere.
She broke up with Dani. She did it, and she thought it would make her feel a little better, but it doesn't.
It doesn't change anything. Nothing is happening between her and Brittany, and something is probably happening with the blonde and Sam, and so it's not like she broke up with Dani for her, which in the long run is probably a good thing, but right now, all this additional pain is clouding that thought.
Sure, she couldn't stay with Dani. Now she knows where her heart lies, or where she thinks it lies, and continuing a relationship with the girl would've been unfair. It's already been an inappropriate amount of time considering what's happening physically between her and Brittany alone, without the growing feelings she feels towards the blonde, but it doesn't make this any easier.
It was the right thing to do.
Sighing loudly, Santana drops her glass into the sink but stops instantly when her eyes fall to something sticking out between the counter and the fridge. It's a piece of clothing, grey in colour, and she carefully takes it out before the waft of sweet perfume invades her senses. It strikes her deep, imprinting on her memory and that's a scent that she'll never be able to forget.
Because it's Brittany's sweatshirt, or Brittany's dads – the one she wears when she misses him anyway – and it's just sitting in her palms, staring up at her like a big fuck you from the universe.
Half of her wants to put it on, go upstairs and cry herself to sleep as she begins to process everything that's happened and how she's going to deal with going to school tomorrow, but the other half of her is just angry. She's pissed off that the angel is apparently no longer hovering over her because of course she'd find an item of the girls clothing when she feels like this. Of course, she'd get another reminder of Brittany, and feel the joint pain of her shoulder and heart ten-fold inside of her, and she doesn't want to feel like this anymore. It's already gotten tiring.
The sweatshirt hits the kitchen counter, almost sliding off the counter but Santana pays no mind as she flicks off the kitchen light and heads back upstairs to her bedroom.
She needs to speak to Quinn.
/
Quinn picks up on the fourth ring.
Santana doesn't really have anything specific to say in mind, but so much has happened it's just going to spill out anyway, in one way or the other. "Quinn?"
"Santana?" Her friend replies, her voice thick and croaky like she was asleep. "What time is it?"
"Not even nine, grandma," she shoots back, but her voice is weak, and it seems Quinn senses it.
"What's wrong?"
The years of friendship between them has created a silent knowledge of unspoken feelings. It's one of the reasons they sank back into their friendship so quick when she returned from Indiana. Rachel and Quinn were always as they had been, and they incorporated Santana like she'd never left in the first place. So, for the blonde to be picking up on the tone of Santana's voice, it's comforting but also makes Santana want to hang up because she's not ready to talk about everything yet. She just didn't want to be alone, with her thoughts, and she didn't want to cry herself to sleep in Brittany's jumper in a cliché heartbroken kind of way.
"I just needed to talk to someone," she sighs, because she can't quite talk about yet. Maybe tomorrow. Even if it was the initial intention here. "I've had a rough day."
"Tell me about it," Quinn replies like she agrees, not lingering on the obvious sidestep of topic. "Puck ripped a stitch out, so we've been in ER most of the day and it's exhausting."
Santana chuckles lightly, but it doesn't lift her spirits. Just a minor distraction, which she supposes isn't that bad. "Is he alright?"
"Yeah, he just thought he could grab a box of cereal from the tallest cupboard – like the stubborn ass he is – when he couldn't."
She wonders if that's a lie and they were getting down and dirty, but the usual remark doesn't leave her lips. She doesn't have the energy. "That sucks, Q."
"No sarcastic comment?" Quinn retorts. "What's gotten into you?"
All she wants to do is spill out the truth and tell her friend everything. The events of tonight have taken a serious hit and will be a night to remember in Santana's history. This morning she woke up, went to school, dodged Brittany and was sitting down to finish off the minimal schoolwork she has, yet somehow it ended up in her breaking up with Dani, making a fool of herself in front of Rick Pierce, and being rejected by Brittany. Again.
It's enough to take the energy out of her, forever, and fatigue begins scratching at her eyelids as her mind rushes through the memories of today.
So, she settles on replying with the only thing she can think of. Maybe if she gets sleep, she can recuperate and talk to Quinn in person. She could do with some best friend Fabray time. "What are you doing tomorrow? After school?"
"Jake's throwing a party," comes down the line and Santana can't help but exhale loudly. Not another damn party. "Rachel said he wants to chill everyone out a bit after… Everything."
Even considering going to a house full of McKinley students makes Santana want to throw up. News travels so fast there that she wouldn't be surprised if people were already hitting up Twitter with rumours of her and Dani's break up, even if it literally happened an hour ago. Last year, when one of the Cheerios got knocked up, the pregnancy test she peed on had barely changed colour before everyone heard about it and the Cheerios coach was kicking her off the team.
And with the combination of alcohol, and these vicious rumours that usually have some truth to them, regardless of how absurd they seem, that doesn't exactly scream inviting.
"I think you should come, Santana," Quinn continues, taking the silence as a no. She should do. It's going to be hard to convince Santana otherwise. "It might relieve some of the tension at school, you know? Puck wants us to go but said he won't go without you because he needs to share the heroism and limelight or some bull crap."
The fact it's Puck would make it ten times easier for Santana to decline, but she feels like weird pull like if she didn't go – now she knows Puck feels so strongly about her being there, even if it's for the sake of taking attention off him – she'd feel guilty about it. Quinn alone was going to be tough to say no to anyway because having a night with alcohol and to forget about all this shit with one of her closest friends seems like the perfect remedy to cure her current mood, but there's always cons.
This specific night will have the cons of knowing that half the school year will be there, including her now ex-girlfriend, and probably Brittany.
"I don't think Brittany's going to be there, either," the blonde on the phone adds and it breaks Santana from her thoughts, something cold dropping in her stomach. Wait, why isn't she going? "She's… babysitting."
At least it wasn't that fucking word busy. But it is a sharp reminder that it's Friday night tomorrow, and there's a small note registered in the back of her mind that Brittany's babysitting Sam's siblings, with him, and really, that thought alone rockets the answer from her mouth. She'll deal with Dani, and the backlash of tonight's events, and she knows it probably won't end the night well, but she'll deal with that when she comes to it.
Or maybe she can get absolutely trashed before hand and wake up the next day with zero memories, and perhaps her drunken alter-ego can figure some way of avoiding the shit. That one seems more likely.
"Fine," Santana confirms, throwing herself down on to her bed after ridding her clothes. She struggles with the phone, dropping it momentarily but scoops it back up and presses it to her ear to hear Quinn murmuring what did you say? "I'll be there–God–okay, Fabray. Could do with a chilled evening."
Chilled is the last thing Santana is expecting, but if she can convince herself that until she gets there, and perhaps believe it until she's ten strong drinks down, it'll be okay.
(It won't.)
/
School goes off without a hitch, surprisingly.
Santana turns up in the morning with Quinn and Puck, deciding that sticking with them is the only way she's going to get out of this day unscathed, but much to her surprise, no-one seems to be staring at her as she walks down the hall. There doesn't seem to be any whispers, or strange looks thrown her way and it's making her all scratchy and uncomfortable. The least she was expecting was a couple of facial slushees from some of the Cheerios, but either the entire world has gone crazy, or Dani didn't tell anyone.
Santana didn't either, not even to Quinn, but it's far stranger that Dani didn't because she's just like that. Everything about Cheerios is just known. Gossip central.
"Why are you being so weird?" Quinn interrupts, hazel eyes boring into brown with a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised.
Santana adjusts the strap of her backpack, clearing her throat. She should've told her friend about the breakup last night when they were on the phone, because now there's going to be the whole why didn't you tell me through sharp hisses, and she has no idea how to respond to that. She really needs to say something soon because Puck's now joined in, matching his girl's expression and the back of Santana's neck's getting hot and sweaty in a panicky way.
"I'm not," she splutters out and rolls her eyes. "God, just leave me alone," she adds and it's irrational but she's panicking, and she comes to a stop, knowing her class is down the other hall and theirs isn't. Quinn's mouth pops open, probably to snap back but it's not the time, so she gets in there first. "Are you picking me up tonight?"
Puck shifts, sensing tension between Santana and Quinn but takes the lead to reply as the blonde snaps her mouth shut and stares quizzically. "We'll pick you up at 9."
Quinn's eyes burn into Santana's temple as she drops her gaze to scan at the few students around, but she just nods in response and spins away, ready for the day.
/
She's staring at herself in the mirror, wearing black jeans, a matching jacket and long, black boots that come up just short of her thigh, and she knows she looks hot on the outside, but that's totally making up for the heaviness she feels inside. Usually, she's mildly excited to go to these parties – maybe the last couple have ended poorly – but bar that like, ten percent of the entire night, they've been good fun.
Although she does know that everything was different back then, and tonight's not going to go even half as smoothly. Dani will probably be there, Rachel and Jake will (as it's his house) and as it's a chill out party to make up for all the crap that's happened recently, so drama really isn't necessary.
But if Rick Pierce is fucking right, there will be, and Santana can't help but feel dread for the next few hours, mostly because she doesn't want to prove him right.
Going tonight was a really bad idea. She probably should've settled for Quinn and Puck being disappointed in her and chose to stay home.
There's a couple of knocks on her bedroom door, and she spins around to find her dad peering around the corner of the door as he opens it. His dark brown eyes twinkle when they meet hers, and she offers him a small smile because yeah, he's looking at her like a proud father and that she's daddy's little girl, but she feels far from that. Nothing about her feels cute, or good, and honestly, she just feels like a bad person after everything recently.
"You look beautiful, mija," he comments, hand resting on the doorknob and hip cocked out. "Where's the party tonight?"
Santana pinches the sides of her lips up, silently thanking him. "Jake's house, Rachel's new boyfriend."
His eyes narrow, noting her lack of enthusiasm. "You sure you want to go?"
It's a question she's been repeating inside her head for the last half hour, but she knows she's made a promise to Quinn, and maybe the impossible will happen, and the night will go on drama free. Unlikely, but it's still a possibility, especially as Brittany and Sam won't be there because they'll be playing house or whatever and so if anything, Santana will have to deal with Dani and that's a subject she can't handle under the eyes of certain people.
Certain blonde-haired people that she's desperately trying not to think about.
"I told Quinn and Puck I would," Santana returns to the mirror and plumps up her lips, pushing her fingers through her hair to tie it up into a high pony. "They're coming to pick me up in like, five minutes."
Diego makes a noise of disapproval, but she's an adult now and he knows her well enough that she's going regardless. She may be a lot of things, but she tries to avoid being a disappointment as she knows that feeling all too well. That's pretty much the only thing still making her go.
"Are you sure it's a good idea?" He tries to back up his question, but Santana just rolls her eyes. It's coming from a good place, but it's still irritating. Like she doesn't know tonight's probably going to end badly.
"I'm going, pops," she enforces, tightening her pony and twirling around to find her phone lighting up from on her bed.
She grabs it and reads that Quinn's around the corner in a brief text and thanks the heavens for the quick escape. If she stayed here and spoke to her dad, he'd probably explain the (very logical) reasons why she shouldn't be going to a party less than two weeks after being shot. That alone is a good enough reason, but having been especially quiet about Brittany and Dani, and after he found her boxing up a few of her ex-girlfriends' belongings, he must have pieced two and two together and didn't pry for any more information, so he can probably tell she needs this party.
"Santana?" Diego calls, just as she's whirling out the door, but the voice stops her, and she catches herself on the frame. His face is etched with concern, and he's not doing a very good job in concealing it by pinching his face up to the side much like she did earlier. "Will you just… Take it easy?"
"That's the plan," she quips, trying to lighten the conversation but his eyebrow just raises at her.
"You know what I mean," her dad pushes on, and his voice is so serious that she knows she really needs to take it carefully. After all the shit that's happened, and with the knowledge that stress makes the body heal slower, she just needs to chill the fuck out. If this party doesn't do it, she might just get on a plane and fly to Alaska or some shit, lock herself away in a cabin and have an emotional detox.
But first, she's going to start with alcohol. That seems to be the way most teenagers deal with their crap nowadays so it's worth a shot.
"I will," Santana replies, taking in a deep breath.
She goes to leave but hesitates again, lingering on the concerned stare burning holes into the back of her skull and skips back into her bedroom to kiss her dad on the cheek in a reassuring manner before she feels her phone buzzing in her pocket. Quinn's impatient at the best of times, so it'll no doubt be her yelling at her to get her ass out the house as it's been at least two minutes since her warning of arrival text, and she pays no mind to the concerned expression that remains on her dad's face as she disappears downstairs and out to Quinn's car.
/
Jake's house isn't exactly what Santana was expecting.
Considering his reputation, and status as quarterback, she thought he'd have a mansion like the Pierce residence, but it's a pretty normal three bed house with a medium sized garden and thoughts of how cramped it's going to be does pop into Santana's mind, but she lets it go quickly. All that matters is that there's alcohol in there, loud music to dull the thoughts bouncing around in her brain and if there's a thousand people in there, maybe there's less of a chance of her running into Dani. Or Kitty.
(She knows she's going to get kickback from that bitch. It's been too calm so far.)
Quinn eyes her suspiciously as she stares up at Jake's house, but she doesn't give her the attention she knows the blonde is looking for. Instead, she waves her hand and ushers Puck and Quinn in with her, ignoring the few rolls of toilet paper strewn from the upper balcony, dangling over the stoop. She pushes it aside, already listening to the heavy bass from the music coming and excitement pulses through her when she sees what she expected – more than a hundred students packed into Jake's modest sized house.
Sweaty, hormonal teenagers are everywhere, and she can barely even register the faces of her fellow students because she's making a beeline to the kitchen where the kegs are. Sure, it's not like she's going to be doing a handstand and chugging it down, cheered on by the jocks – which she suspects is in the running as her hero status is still very much word around the hall – but she's going to be a few drinks deep within the hour.
She didn't come here to celebrate. She came here to forget.
"Want one?" Santana asks, grabbing the pile of red solo cups on the side and lining up three.
There's a bottle of vodka in her hand and a few juices in front of her, and she doesn't even listen to her friends' answers as she makes them a very unbalanced drink. If the liquor doesn't burn her inside, it isn't strong enough, and she keeps repeating that inside her mind as Puck and Quinn gather around her and go all wide-eyed when they see the amount of alcohol versus juice.
"Whoa, whoa, Lopez," Puck chimes in, holding his good hand out as if to say stop. "If I fall over 'cos I'm drunk, Quinn's gonna have your ass. Already popped one stitch this week."
Santana chuckles, but she knows the threat isn't empty. "Whatever, Puckerman."
"I will," Quinn interjects and grabs the bottle of vodka off her friend, leaning her hip against the table and folding her free arm over her chest as she studies her. "Why are you in such desperate need to drink, anyway?"
Panic and annoyance set in again. "No particular reason," Santana tries to shrug it off, but then she hears a cheer in the corner and her eyes are drawn to a bunch of people doing body shots – one who she recognises as her now ex-girlfriend, Dani, and the drink she's pouring goes on halt.
Because Dani's lying down on the table, bare torso revealed to all the drooling jocks surrounding her, Kitty pouring tequila down her abs and Santana gets annoyed. Sure, she broke up with her and it was the right thing to do, but does she really need to rub it in her face like this? It's not like she's actually bothered. It's not like she wants to be the one sucking a lime wedge from between Dani's teeth and running her tongue up her skin – she's done it many, many times – but more so because it's just disrespectful considering this side of twenty-four hours ago, they were in a relationship.
Not that she's the poster girl for innocence or respect.
"And why is Kitty and Dani doing body shots in front of jocks?" Quinn blurts out, voice incredulous. Her eyes stay trained on the Cheerios in the corner, and Santana ducks her head to try and hide her panicked expression but the blonde seems to catch it before she can hide it. "Santana," she hisses. "What's going on?"
It's not the way she thought she'd tell Quinn about the break-up, but she supposes she doesn't know how else it would've gone. So, instead of lying or beating around the bush and trying to talk her way out of it, she continues pouring the drinks in front of her and forces as much nonchalance as she can summon. If the truth is going to come out, she might as well try and deliver it as matter-of-factly as possible.
"We broke up."
Santana practically hears her friends' mouths drop open, a deafening thump pounding against her eardrums – or that could be the giant speakers with the bass cranked up – but she chooses to remain silent. There's no way she's going to get out of this without a thousand questions firing her way, but like she said before, she isn't here to celebrate and she sure as hell isn't here to talk about the hurricane inside her mind.
"Santana," Puck mutters, and it's soft and it confuses her. Does he feel… bad for her?
"How could you not tell me?" Quinn half-screeches, hand snapping out to stop the movement Santana's making as she finishes off the last drink. Hazel eyes bore into her skull, burning a hole until she's forced to drag her sight towards her friend, who's fucking glaring at her. On top of everything she's dealing with, she doesn't need to add pissed off best friend to the list.
"It literally happened last night," she defends, picking up her drink and taking a long swig. The alcohol burns her throat, as expected, and she winces against the heat that spreads throughout her stomach. It's the first of many drinks, so she might as well go hard or go home.
Quinn scoffs, loudly. "And you didn't think to tell either of us, prior to turning up to a fucking party with her? Because nothing ever happens at parties," she drones sarcastically.
It's an understandable point. Not only is this entirely awkward for Santana but being associated with her means that Quinn will also be receiving the backlash of any shit thrown her way, purely because she's not the type of best friend to ditch when she's needed. So, she probably could've explained it a little earlier, prepared Quinn for vicious words and if necessary, King Kong slaps, and now she's thinking about it, Puck was trying to stay out the limelight and heal both mentally and physically for a while.
Something that she's now ruined, because sure, no-one's whispering about her yet, but Quinn's got a point; if anything is going to happen, it'll happen here. It'll happen tonight.
The lack of attention has been incredibly relieving, but it's short lived, and things that are too good to be true – like this one – usually are. There's always a fucking catch. It's the laws of science; every action has a reaction and that's why Santana's a firm believer in karma and all that crap and she's going to come back as a dung beetle in her next life for everything that's happened recently.
(Bar the shooting.)
(That's probably her only redeeming action in the long string of shitty decisions that led to this moment.)
"I just didn't wanna deal with it, okay?" She shoots back, but as expected – as if to shit on the words that just left her mouth – karma is real, and it lays a hand smack down in front of her when she hears a cheer echo through the party. Quinn freezes too, eyes furrowing together, and they both slide their vision to the crowd of people to find a couple of jocks shotgunning beer cans, waving them about in celebration and cheering as a few people stream into the party.
And well, fuck.
Now Santana's got to apologise to Quinn because shit is about to go down, and there's no way in hell she's facing that alone.
/
Dum dum daaaaa.