Miara848 – Happy Birthday for last week! I'm glad your birthday fell on such a happy chapter and I hope you got lots of cake. :)
KKSG – Now I don't know what to say! Thank you for seeing the best of "Brittany", I'm so glad to have reached out to you from my part of the world. :)
I've noticed that quite a few people with 'unicorn' in their usernames have been alerting lately, which is really awesome.
I've run out of time again to respond to any more, but I reached my goal in reviews this week so thank you all very much, fellow unicorns! At this point in time I have approximately 5 for every chapter and I feel all successful. :)
Now if only the elusive user Lord_Tubbington (I know you're out there somewhere) would follow me so I could truthfully say 'My cat is reading my diary.' Then, my life would be complete.
Also, I feel like this chapter should come with a warning. I wish it were as happy as the last one.
Chapter 12 – We Are Our Own Worst Enemies
Brittany S. Pierce, Present
Tornadoes are nature's most destructive force.
I probably deserved the F I got for that essay, because I went on to say that anything that powerful, has just as much potential to be both constructive and destructive at the same time.
Sort of like how each action has an equal or opposite reaction, but not quite.
I wrote about how a tornado ruined Dorothy's farm in Kansas, but it also sent her to a magical place called Oz where I'm sure there are many, many unicorns.
The worst thing, and best thing happened, all from one tornado.
Okay, so maybe I was wrong about tornadoes, but that kiss Santana and I shared was a force of its own.
The best thing and the worst thing happened, all from one kiss.
For me that night was all about hope. I thought that night was like a giant band-aid, a fix for everything that was wrong in our lives.
I guess with all that hope I was naturally bound to find the opposite; disappointment.
As for Santana, she dropped her defenses enough to finally feel joy. When she was with me, she felt like she was supposed to feel, loved and happy.
What followed?
Depression.
It's an ugly word isn't it?
Being depressed is not just about feeling sad all the time. Sometimes, feeling sad is okay, and it's normal to be sad when bad things happen to you, like if you lose a friend, lose your job or if you move schools.
There's another level of it that not everyone understands, and it takes on many forms.
For most people, there's something that protects them from sinking so far into their minds that they can't get out; you have to care. You have to care about yourself enough to fight your own landslides and get back on up the mountain.
Santana didn't care about herself, so she had nothing protecting her, no buffer to keep herself from sinking. She's been to dark places in her mind that I can't even begin to understand. I called it 'just how Santana is' at the time, but Miss Pillsbury eventually called it 'clinical depression.'
You couldn't say Santana was depressed now, but right under my nose it was starting, like the first few spots on your body before a rash spreads.
I think I knew something was wrong. After the fireworks it would have been okay for Santana to feel sad, because after all, we had so many people in our lives we had to fight just to be together. It would have been normal to have felt a bit overwhelmed and defeated.
But what she felt went beyond that. Feeling happy to her was the scariest thing in the whole world. It was like she looked through a window and saw what her life could be like, but then looked back at her reflection and felt like there was nothing she could ever do to keep it.
Her own self loathing must have been unbearable for her.
Sometimes I felt like I understood that. There has been so many times where I just wanted to be normal and fit in with other people.
But, just when I thought I understood exactly what she was going through, she'd say something, and I'd realize how much deeper her misery over being 'different' to what everyone else wanted ran than mine.
She saw herself as 'broken,' in a way I never did.
And she was, but not for the reasons she thought. Her inability to react positively to happiness, the first inclination of it sending her spiraling back down, was the only thing inside her that was broken.
People laugh and joke about depression. They say they're 'so depressed' over their favorite celebrity couple breaking up, or over breaking a good pair of heels. The same people likely wouldn't help a friend who is truly struggling and would just say 'its nothing' and to 'get over it'.
I needed help too dealing with my own disorder, but Santana's problems were no easier, or less serious than mine.
People with depression can be unkind, they lash out and push people away. So the world leaves them alone, which only makes things worse.
I swore to myself that I would never be one of those people.
But at least I always came back.
Somebody, had to keep coming back.
Brittany S. Pierce, age 16
Brittany spent the weekend floating on a cloud. That expression had never made sense to her before because people are very heavy, so putting them on clouds would be extremely dangerous.
But, it made sense now. Brittany felt like she hadn't touched the ground since she'd finally detached herself from Santana and walked home from the festival. It was even better than a cloud, it was like she was floating around Oz in Glinda's bubble.
She was so excited she could barely walk in a straight line. 'Brittany' and 'Santana' were now going to be names people associated with all the other people in the world who were lucky enough to be in love, just like Eric and Ariel, Brad and Angelina, Simba and Nala, those two girls Justin and Selena and Yogi and Boo-Boo.
She figured that studying everything Santana had ever taught her was important because obviously you had to know that stuff to be the best girlfriend ever. Forget that essay on tornadoes, she had more important work to do.
Dear Santana. Brittany began, opening a new page in her diary. She never wrote 'Dear Diary,' why would she write to someone she didn't know? She preferred to write to Santana instead.
I have some more words for my new and improved dictionary, she wrote.
The regular one just wasn't specific enough about stuff that was fast becoming a part of her life.
On the pages before, Brittany had written letters to Santana containing other definitions she'd come to understand through the years, such as:
Mating - when people roll around together, mostly without clothing. Another term for 'sex.'
Cats – those who have mated or plan to mate because they care for others and like to share experiences. Notable examples: Lord Tubbington, Brittany S. Pierce.
Raccoons – those who mate for what looks like no reason because they don't really like each other, they just like hurting or using each other. May specifically want to make people feel sad, cheap, and used. Notable examples: Raccoon nest at Dalton dance, Tomas, Ben.
Now, realizing how much she'd learned since then, she added:
Alien probe. – the strange sensation when somebody first shows you your body can enjoy sexual contact.
Gay - a state of being executed especially well by unicorns, who follow their heart to happiness in spite of intolerance by others. Must be between two members of the same sex.
Vaginas - the correct answer to everything. Could also be the meaning of life. Further research required.
Penis – goes by many other names including 'dick' and 'prick'. Can therefore assume this would be a sharp instrument, potentially also used to do injury: see 'prick your finger on a spindle' from Sleeping Beauty. May also be similar to unicorn horn, though not actually worn on one's forehead like a horn in spite of many references to a species called 'dickhead'.
Unicorn - a state of being, characterized by independence, confidence, and total acceptance of your own individuality. Can be either male or female.
Brittany paused. When you reach unicorn you're always smart, funny and beautiful because all of the best parts of you shine through, she thought. Getting there and being out-of-progress, now that was the hard part. All unicorns at least know how to tie their shoes, she thought, looking down at her permanently untied laces. Brittany wasn't giving up, she was going to become unicorn for Santana. She'd be Santana's unicorn.
She smiled, giddily at the thought.
Brittany thought back to when she'd first met Santana in her dad's waiting room. Back then, Santana was always shining, her horn more brilliant than anyone else's.
Maybe Santana forgot who she was now and then, but Brittany still looked at her and could see that amazing little girl who had made her want to live in the real world. And, when she remembered, when the real Santana poked through the cracks, in those few seconds she still shone brighter than anyone Brittany had ever known.
She scribbled down another definition:
Love - what I feel when I'm with Santana.
She paused again. That definition wasn't very specific at all. She would have to work on it. Maybe she could ask Santana more about it at school tomorrow. She might even get an answer this time.
Brittany hoped she'd even get to do that thing with her mouth again. Kissing was even better than eating Sour Patch Kids or gummy bears. She imagined that her mouth was getting lonely and sad ever since it had found out it could kiss. She popped another gummy bear in her mouth to help it cope with its withdrawal, that would have to do for now. She shut her diary and curled up in her bed against her stuffed animals, closing her eyes.
Hours later, she still couldn't sleep, it still felt like wave after wave of electricity was going through her. She couldn't remember a time when she'd ever been so happy to be alive. She was so caught up in her own bliss that she didn't notice that she didn't get her usual text from Santana saying goodnight.
Brittany ran all the way to school and skipped down the halls, humming Firework to herself. She wasn't sure because months were confusing, but it had to be Spring. She felt like all the animals in Bambi. What did the wise owl call it? Twitterpated! She thought, remembering her favorite scene in the movie.
She mentally added that one to her dictionary.
Twitterpated – to be overcome by love for Santana in the Springtime.
When Santana showed up, maybe they could frolic and hold hands and watch something give birth.
Or, we could at least watch Bambi together, she thought.
Her heart leapt when she saw her, but then stilled in her chest.
She edged closer clumsily, her feet getting caught on each other. One of her long toe socks with hearts on them was beginning to unravel in places. She cast her eyes down to Santana's feet, she wasn't wearing any socks at all, even though Brittany had picked out matching heart ankle socks for her to wear today while she'd been over at her house last Friday, setting them beside her school bag so she wouldn't forget.
Santana was leaning up against her locker, her finger trailing up and down Puck's chest seductively.
Brittany frowned, the spring in her step finally abating. Maybe she was picking the lint off his clothes? What was he even doing here?
When Santana pulled him close by the collar of his shirt and kissed him, there was no more confusion, not even for Brittany. She was just one of the many staring at the couple with wide eyes, though Brittany's were the only ones clouded with pain.
This wasn't how it happened in the movie. Bambi was the only deer for Faline, he wasn't upstaged by a shark.
A shark! That was it, she realized. Puck had a fin on top of his head and he was super mean to not only unicorns, but to all the little fish.
Brittany strode up to them. "You're a shark," she stated directing a scowl in Pucks' direction.
He puffed his chest out. "What of it?" he asked.
Santana placed a hand on her arm. "Not now Brittany," she said warningly, an edge of desperation creeping into her voice. Her eyes darted everywhere before finally resting on Brittany's face.
Brittany turned away from Puck and stepped closer to Santana. "But San…?"
She had never seen Santana look so small and confused. She reminded Brittany of that time they got lost in Target together when they were seven, except back then, Santana had been putting on a show of bravado for Brittany's benefit. She also hadn't looked like a deer in headlights, trapped, and wanting to get away from Brittany as soon as possible.
"Brittany, I'm busy. Please. I'm busy." Santana mumbled giving her arm a little push.
Off balance, Brittany fell back a few steps. She looked at her arm and then back at Santana, hurt showing all over her face.
Santana was shaking her head at her, almost blindly, her moments more a reflex than communication.
"I love you baby, you're so hot," Puck said trying to redirect Santana's attention. When she didn't look up, he chanced another glance down her top, and then not to miss an opportunity, he then checked out Brittany, his eyes coming to rest on her thigh peeking through the folds of her short skirt.
Santana's face remained impassive, but Brittany seemed on the edge of a precipice hearing those words, waiting desperately for Santana to tell him not to say that, like she'd told her. Don't tell me you love me.
Santana said nothing.
Brittany crumbled, her hands beginning to twist in front of her.
"I'll talk to you later, okay Britt?" Santana said trying to smile, but finding her jaw slack.
Brittany took another step backwards.
For a moment, Santana's eyes widened as if she couldn't believe she was really going to go, and her eyes glittered with an unspoken plea that Brittany never saw. She had turned away and was already halfway to the library.
Why weren't things different? Brittany felt like she'd given everything she had to Santana under the fireworks, by loving her enough to fight through the noise, the break in her routine and her fear of touch enough for them to be close enough to find each other. And, it hadn't changed anything. Brittany didn't understand why, so she focused on the one thing she knew she might have the potential to understand. She pushed open the library's revolving door.
"Sharks," she whispered, trying not to cry. "Sharks, under S," she said pulling a few books off the shelves. "That's my favorite letter," she said aloud, a tear finally falling down, and landing on one now open book, bursting with full color photos of Hammerheads and Great Whites.
"Little is known about shark mating behavior at this time."
Brittany whined in frustration. Casting the books aside she moved over to the computers, starting up the World Wide Web. Within seconds, found herself on a website called 'Urban Dictionary'. It seemed like a lot of people had created their own definitions too. In this confusing world, it must necessary for everyone she thought. That guy who wrote the real dictionary should never have got published.
She looked at the page when it finally loaded.
Shark - a person, usually male, who is preoccupied with getting laid at whatever party he's at.
She clicked a link.
Laid – to have sex.
She backtracked and scrolled down. To 'shark' was also used as a verb.
Shark - to knowingly hook up with a girl who rightfully should be hooking up with somebody else.
Santana is mine, Brittany thought to herself firmly. I had her first and everyone keeps taking her from me. She felt angry, like she might hit someone. The sensation felt wrong on her, like a dress five sizes too big. She never had liked using violence to solve problems.
All the raccoons were thieves too, but Puck was different. He was no ordinary thief, because this time it was personal. If he was going to say 'I love you' to Santana, then he at least better mean it, Brittany thought narrowing her eyes. He better not be lying.
She marched outside, seeing Puck by the dumpster. He had Kurt by the legs, ready to toss him in. She could hear the fashionable boy complaining about not wanting to mess up his perfectly coifed hair. She agreed wholeheartedly, why should his lustrous mane have to mix with old banana peels and Jolly Rancher wrappers.
"Put him down!" she bellowed as loud as she could.
Surprisingly, and with a curious look on his face, he complied, and Kurt dashed off, whispering a quiet thanks as he passed her.
She got as close to Puck as she dared. "Do you really love her?" she asked.
"Woah. Settle down," Puck answered, "I'll walk you to physical education, I was on my way there anyway to perve on our girl."
"Do... you... love... her," Brittany said again, enunciating each syllable clearly as they walked, a safe distance apart. Brittany didn't want to lose any of her fingers.
His brow crinkled. "Santana?" he asked.
Brittany nodded.
"Well," he said, "we have fun together." They had reached the field. Brittany could see Coach Tanaka in the distance.
"Are you going to marry her?"
Puck spluttered. "Why would you say that?" he asked. His eyes searched for the nearest fence he could jump to get off school property. It wasn't far away. He had some time.
"Because you have to look after her. If she's going to pick you to be her favorite over everyone, then you've got to take care of her properly," Brittany pleaded. "Do you know how she likes her coffee? You have to learn. You have to learn absolutely everything about her, because if she's going to choose you, then everything is up to you."
Coach Tanaka came into her view. "All right," he boomed, "ten laps, everyone, lets see how well you kids run. I'm coaching the track team in my spare time and I want some new recruits."
Puck looked away from Brittany, his eyes sizing up the coach, who had so far paid no interest to him. Not wanting to push his luck, he then took off at top speed, making his way across the field.
"WAIT!" Brittany shouted, "you didn't answer me!" Sharks obviously don't care for rules, she thought.
She broke into a run, chasing after him, shouting his name. He had a head start, and he was obviously used to running. He'd probably got his practice running away from the convenience stores he'd just robbed, if the rumors were true.
"Stop thief!" Brittany yelled, but that seemed to trigger something in him, propelling him along faster. This is not fun like my race with Santana, Brittany thought, beginning to puff, feeling a stitch emerging at her side.
Finally she tackled him to the ground, but as she did, she felt something in herself tear. She cried out in pain. She'd been so focused on catching Puck she'd completely forgotten about gravity and about watching her landing. She'd been about as graceful as Lord Tubbington, who had to be the only cat in the whole world who didn't fall on his four feet and always hit the ground on his rump, making a noise like an earthquake. Brittany wished she'd had the sense to warm up before sprinting so hard like Puck had. She grabbed at him. Shark or not, he wasn't getting away from her. Waving her hands out in front of her wildly, she found she was only grasping at air.
She lay sprawled on the ground, unwilling to move, the pain in her leg relentlessly throbbing.
Puck was already on his feet. He lifted her gently in his arms.
"You're a strange one," he said to her, "but somehow you're still hot. I'm going to take you to the nurse's office before I get out of here. Besides, if I didn't, she'd cut me off for a week."
He didn't bother to say who he meant, even someone overhearing would know that they were talking about Santana. It was always about her.
Brittany's eyes watered. "It hurts," she said her focus shifting in and out.
He said nothing.
"You never answered my question," she said looking directly upwards which unfortunately gave her a great view of his nostril hairs.
"Oh. Well. I don't know what to tell you. She's fun. I'm free."
He shrugged.
"I'm Brittany," she said softly. It wasn't to tell him that Brittany was her name, she knew perfectly well that they weren't introducing themselves right now, and that his name wasn't 'Free.' She said it to tell him who she was. She obviously was neither fun, nor free like them.
"I know that. I tell you what, the three of us might make a good threesome." He waggled his eyebrows at her.
"We can call ourselves Cute, Young and Innocent. I'll be Cute, because obviously she finds me super cute. She can be Young, because that's all she has a claim to anymore," he said, laughing. It wasn't an unkind laugh, it was more conspiratorial like he was part of something she wasn't.
"And you…," he looked her up and down, "I don't care what they all say. You're Innocent."
"I'm Brittany," she repeated. Brittany was neither free nor fun, and clearly from a world apart from theirs. She didn't want to be in any kind of threesome that involved Puck.
Puck gave up and set her on the farthest cot away from the nurses station. The nurse herself was nowhere in sight. Puck had heard that they'd just hired Mr Schuester's wife, Terri, who was unreliable at best which explained her absence. Puck bullied the only other kid in the room to get out of the adjacent cot and to go and get Santana. He staggered away, desperate to obey. He didn't want to become another dumpster-kid.
Minutes later, Santana came rushing in, skidding to a stop. The kid wasn't with her, he had probably passed out on his way back. Santana and Puck exchanged a look.
"I can take it from here," Santana said.
Brittany watched him leave, mohawk and all, as he rounded the corner and left for their next class.
He could be sort of nice when he wanted to be, after all he had carried her in and stayed with her until Santana had come, but that just made her irrationally angry. If he wasn't all bad, then who was the bad guy?
Santana was unusually quiet as she retrieved some ice and held it to Brittany's leg, occasionally massaging the area. It seemed an intimate gesture, Brittany noted as she watched Santana's hands apply pressure to her injured hamstring.
"I don't think this is too bad, Britts, maybe it's just a little strained," she said, "you can flex your knee right?"
Brittany nodded, showing her she could, making a face from the pain. It hurt, but it was bearable and was pretty sure that now the shock had worn off that she could walk. She tried to smile at her bravely. She didn't want Santana to worry at all.
"Do I get a lollipop, Nurse Santana?" Brittany asked playfully.
"That's Nurse Snix to you," Santana said, dropping her eyes down. Part of her wanted Brittany to fight her and to just kiss her again, but the rest of her didn't want to deal with this, she wanted to be away from Brittany so she didn't have to see her look of disappointment when she realized what a black hole Santana really was, most of the time. Brittany didn't deserve that.
Brittany studied Santana's profile. She thought about kissing her and wished she could ask Santana why she felt like that and what it meant when you wanted to kiss somebody. Was that the love part? If it was, what about all the times Brittany hadn't thought about wanting to kiss Santana. She'd always felt like it didn't matter what they were doing, she was happy anyway, just so long as they were together. It was two opposite extremes, did they add up to the same thing?
And, Brittany didn't even have three logical reasons for wanting to kiss Santana. Three was the magical number for logic. She only knew that she'd liked it a lot last time. The rest felt unexplainable and that made Brittany feel uncomfortable. She liked reasons and logic behind everything, otherwise life was so confusing.
Brittany wondered why Santana kept choosing Puck over her. What did he have that she didn't? She found herself growing angry with Santana. It was the second time today, which officially made it the second time in the history of ever that Brittany had ever felt like this.
"You're a misogynist," Brittany growled at her, childishly. Did Santana choose him just because he's a boy?
Santana was startled. She was firstly surprised by the obvious anger in her friends' tone, and secondly by the fact that she'd obviously been reading the dictionary.
"I hate women?" she asked, her forehead puckering.
"Yes." Brittany said, her anger falling away into a miserable pout. It wasn't making things any better. She traced the contours of Santana's face in her mind going over them several times. It helped calm her down.
Santana rolled her eyes, "Brittany, I'm a woman."
Brittany was well aware of that, but it didn't help Santana's case. She didn't seem to like herself very much otherwise why was she always so determined to make herself unhappy? And, she was making Brittany unhappy too.
Santana turned to face her, meeting Brittany's gaze.
"Is there any reason you're staring at me like that Britt? Have I got something on my face? An invisible mole that only you can see maybe?" she asked sarcastically.
Brittany shook her head.
"If you've got something to say, just say it," Santana said crossing her arms over her chest defensively.
Brittany's eyes fell to Santana's books splayed out carelessly beside them. "Why does your Spanish book say 'I love Puck' and 'Mrs Puckerman' all over it with cute little hearts?" Brittany asked, blurting out the one thing she was trying not to say. She never could control what she said.
Santana was taken back and responded defensively, "Why do you want to know? It's just a stupid doodle. Quinn has stuff written all over her books too, go and ask her."
"No," Brittany said trying to keep her breathing controlled, "I'm asking you. What's going on with you lately?"
Santana sighed and rolled her eyes the same way she did daily at Mr Schue, "I'm sleeping with him, okay Brittany? I don't need to ask your permission about everything I do, do I?"
"No. And you mean you're just having sleepovers in his bed, right?" she asked hopefully.
Santana just stared at her until Brittany got the message.
"Oh…," Brittany whispered.
Santana narrowed her eyes at her, challenging her.
"You can ask me questions about it if you want, I've already had to answer tons for other people," she said expecting Brittany to ask her how good he was and stuff like that.
"Are you guys dating?" Brittany asked, dreading the answer.
"Sex is NOT dating, okay? Sex doesn't mean we're going to get married and have kids or some shit, we're just fucking and enjoying it," she said, beginning to fiddle with the already chipped paint on her nails.
"But your Spanish book says you love him," Brittany said near tears now.
"Oh that?" Santana waved her hand dismissively, "I've got stuff like that written in the girls bathrooms too. It's just like marking out your territory when people can see it just so everyone knows he's taken. Just because we're not dating that doesn't mean I'm going to let him have sex with anybody else. I want all the other girls to know I'm the top dog."
"But…," Brittany's voice had dropped to a tone so low that Santana barely heard it, "Why doesn't your book say you love me? Don't you remember last Friday… when you had your hands over my ears and…"
Brittany honestly began to contemplate that Santana might have forgotten that night. Why else was she acting like this?
Santana held up a hand to stop her and Brittany stopped. She just couldn't hear Brittany relay the whole experience to her like she knew she would. Brittany had a tendency of answering "What did you do yesterday?" with a minute by minute description of every move she made, and this would be no exception.
"Yeah, I remember Brittany. And what? Did you think that meant that we were gonna start writing stupid little love letters to each other, making stupid promises to each other that we can never keep, and coordinate our outfits? After I left you, I went straight to Puck's house."
"We already match," Brittany said confused, looking at their matching yin yang symbol charm bracelets. If Santana had worn the socks she'd picked out like she usually did, then they'd match even more. And we already write letters to each other and make each other promises, she thought.
Santana ripped her bracelet off, and set it beside her in annoyance.
"That's not the point. The point is, it didn't mean anything. It didn't mean a thing to me and it certainly didn't mean anything to you."
"Santana… of course it meant something to me… it meant everything."
"No. Brittany," Santana's face was darkening now, "no, it didn't. Because nothing ever means anything to you. I tell you something, and five seconds later you've forgotten it. Not what I said, but the meaning of it. Facts and figures you keep forever, but the point of it, the understanding of what happened is what never stands in that brain of yours for very long. Don't you know how many times I had to reassure you we were actually friends when we were kids? You could never get it, because you could never understand that everything we did together added up to friends. Even when it's obvious, it's still not clear cut enough for you. Relationships are not a case to solve with evidence. Most of the time, a friend just is, with hardly a logical explanation at all, and that makes no sense to you. Your mind is a mess of facts and figures with no ties. You want me to write 'I love Brittany' all over my fucking book?"
Santana's voice rose to a higher pitch.
"Friends are so uncomplicated compared to love, how the fuck do you think you're ever going to understand love? Why would we even try to go there? I bet you don't have your stupid three reasons for why you love me, do you?"
Brittany didn't, and she knew Santana knew she didn't.
Santana just nodded her head, swallowing hard.
"I thought as much. If you don't understand something, then it can't mean much, can it? It can't really be a part of your life. So why would you drag this shit up?"
Santana began pacing around the room, gathering her books up blindly, dropping things everywhere as she went.
"San, you're crying," Brittany said in a soft, concerned little voice.
Santana exploded. This was the last straw. "And god, see? This is why I like being with Puck. We never talk about stuff like this. It's just so easy with him. It's uncomplicated, and we're both exactly on the same page. We just get in there, do our thing and get gone and there's nothing but approval from everyone. We're two girls, we're not supposed to be anything but friends. People can't know we kissed and if you tell anyone I swear to god i'll… I'll…"
"Santana!" Brittany cried out, tearfully, knowing was was coming, she was going to leave.
"Don't," Santana warned her and then got up and left, leaving Brittany sobbing on the cot, still clutching the ice to her leg.
How did everyone else know when they're in love with someone? Brittany wondered as she hiccupped into her hand, tears seeping in between her fingers. She hated that Santana was mad at her and she cried over her a lot. Was that love? She hated that Santana chose Puck over her. Was that love too? Did all those things add up to love? Was that enough?
She'd never meant to hurt Santana, but she had done it somehow and made her upset. She didn't understand why Santana was yelling at her, so she must be really stupid. I bet Puck would know what she meant, the voice in Brittany's head said in a low whisper.
Brittany reached in the darkest place of her mind, the place where she knew she was different, even though she had refused to talk about it since Elementary school. It was the place where she feared she would never fit in and would never belong with anyone.
It was the place where she felt like she might never be good enough for Santana.
Maybe Santana should be with Puck. He's no better than me if I can't love her properly, she thought. Maybe Santana wanted his love and not hers because Brittany wasn't good enough. She couldn't be mad at Santana for choosing him if he was who she really wanted. She already said that he 'gets her' and at least he's a boy. For some reason, that must be important.
And, he is definitely more fun than me, she thought. She was sure of that now. Maybe he kisses better than me too. Maybe she didn't like it as much as I thought she did.
Brittany sobbed at the thought of Puck getting to tell Santana all the time that he loved her. Maybe only people who understood the words properly were allowed to use them. Maybe because he understood them, he felt something that Brittany didn't. Brittany found herself questioning herself and everything she thought she knew, turning the possibilities over in her mind.
In that moment, Brittany truly wondered if she was ever meant to be with another person, maybe because she existed almost in a world apart from others, she didn't deserve to be a part of anything. Maybe, she was just supposed to stop bothering everyone, and she had to leave Santana alone.
Brittany S. Pierce, Present.
You probably all want to be mad at her for saying the things she did and for hurting me like that.
I've come back here to have the last word and to stand in front of her as protectively as Lord Tubbington stands in front of who he loves best, our refrigerator.
I don't love her because she's perfect, I love her as an imperfect human being.
She had a valid point and good reason to be upset with me.
When there's a part of your brain that doesn't work right and you find it difficult to interpret and understand emotions, it does change things and it definitely affects a potential partner.
It's sort of like; if you've got the flu, but to you it's just a mess of symptoms, because nobody's ever told you what it's called, and somethings blocking you from figuring it out for yourself.
Obviously that's going to affect how you communicate what's happening to you with others.
Substitute 'flu' for 'love' with all the 'symptoms' of being in love, without the link to interpretation, and it at least takes away your confidence when you're with someone. It affects your deliberate telling and showing of the person that you love them, though it does not affect those indirect things that you can't help doing. Things like how I cared for her enough to give her my prized Cinderella band-aid on the very day we met and then everything beyond. Those things can mean so much.
But sometimes, it's not enough. Sometimes, more means proper acknowledgement of the relationship.
Neither of us could give each other that on that day. I was too confused, and she was too defensive. She was nowhere near ready to admit to what had happened between us, and something I learned much too late was that it never helped to push her into anything until she was ready. She was too fragile.
It wasn't right, but she drew out my confusion, making me question everything I thought I knew about love.
She did this only because she couldn't bear for this whole thing to be her fault. She had to put it on my shoulders, because she couldn't stand to hate herself any more than she already did. She was in too much pain already, she had to make it my fault, so it didn't have to be hers.
Focusing on how confused I was about what love meant, also made it seem to her like our happiness under the fireworks was only a fantasy to us both, and not what really happened.
That hurt her, but she bought into it especially hard because it allowed her to sink further into her denial. She preferred to deny that there were any good things out there for her and seeing 'us' as only fantasy, not a reality hers or otherwise, confirmed that.
These are the places you go, even in the early onset of depression. It's so hard for the rest of us to understand why those suffering from it push all the good things in their life away.
If I had been smarter, maybe I might have been able to understand that on her, "Leave me alone!" actually meant "Please don't leave me."
But, I hardly understand what people mean as it is, let alone when they actually mean something else. I just ended up thinking I was worst girlfriend ever, and that affected our story.
Sometimes, even now I think about how I wish I could have listened harder and realized quicker that it was the loudest cry for help yet, but just like her, I'm not perfect either.
3 Things:
1. My sister would say 'this was where the shit hit the fan.' Everything that had been building kind of exploded on us. There was nothing pleasant about writing this particular chapter and it's probably not much fun to read. But it's realistic. It's what happened, and I have to tell the truth. I shall take this moment to remind everyone again that there will be a happy ending because that was a lot of pain to read through, well, at least I think so. I'm glad it's over with.
I really hate this chapter because I feel like I got everyone's hopes up in the last one.
Years ago now at the time, I had my hopes up too. I hate to make people feel disappointed like felt, but in a way it's cool to think some people out there are reliving the same emotions with me.
Still, I hope everyone's not too mad about it.
2. The extra Brittany S. Pierce, Present at the end was just so everyone could see "Santana's" point of view better. Don't think badly of her, it's very hard to treat others well when you're in despair and you have so little regard for yourself.
3. The shark definitions actually did come right out of Urban Dictionary. Also, my diaries really were full of the craziest definitions for my guide to life that are pretty funny to read now, and unfortunately her workbooks really were full of hearts with "Pucks'" name in them.