Title: Some Things Are Meant To Be [Part Twelve]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7.7k

Notes: I know it's been a while, I apologise. But my life has just changed and I seem to barely be at home, let alone on a computer, but I promise I'll keep my updates going as long as physically possible.

/

Puck just stands there, eyes wide and mouth open.

Santana mirrors his stance. She doesn't know what to do.

"Follow her," is the only thing she hears him say, despite his mouth still moving. She reacts immediately, throwing the rag down and leaping over the bar with one arm supporting her body weight, not even bothering to walk through the little side gate.

She just needs to get to her.

She just needs to explain.

/

By the time she reaches her, Brittany's already managed to get two streets away. Her hand's covering her mouth and there are tears streaming from her eyes. It breaks Santana's heart almost completely, and with every step she gets closer to her, she hates herself that little bit more because Brittany shouldn't have found out like that. She shouldn't have had to overhear it.

Fuck.

She should've told her.

"Britt," Santana pants, her hand grabbing at Brittany's arm to try to stop her.

But the blonde just rips it away, not even bothering to turn around and continues walking briskly, to where, Santana doesn't even know. But she doesn't even care. She just wants her to stop. She just wants her to listen.

"Britt, plea—"

Her voice cracks, but Brittany doesn't even give her a chance to finish her sentence as she halts in her space and whips around, her eyes narrowed and anger blaring through the blue. It makes Santana flinch, makes her head jerk back because she's never seen her like this. She's never seen her so angry, so damn hurt and Brittany's taller than her, but she's never really noticed until this moment because she's never felt smaller with the blonde towering over her, eyes hard, dark and streaming with tears.

"No," Brittany spits, her voice filled with venom. Santana swallows thickly. "You knew Jason slept with someone and you didn't tell me," she throws her arm out to emphasize her point. "You didn't tell me."

Santana shakes her head, eyes squinting. "I was going—"

"So why didn't you?" The blonde slices between her sentence and steps forward, glaring down. "What? You thought you could hide it, I'd sleep with you and then when you told me it'd be okay because I'd done exactly the same as he had?" She hisses. Santana winces. "You thought it'd be okay because I'd break up with him and you and I would live happily ever after? I'd forget about him because I'm so madly in love with you despite you lying to me?"

She almost laughs the words out and Santana hears the crack.

The words shoot to her heart and she stumbles back a bit, clutching at her chest and trying not to think about how the pain is slicing straight through her and clawing down her throat. She chokes a little, the tears now stinging at her eyelids, heat prickling at her face. She can't believe Brittany just said that. She can't believe Brittany would think she would do something like that.

"Why are you making me the bad guy here, Britt?" Santana retorts back, just as much anger in her voice as Brittany has in hers. "Your fiancée slept with someone else. Your fiancée cheated on you."

"And I cheated on him!" Brittany exclaims, throwing her hands in the air and dropping them to clutch at her hair. She squeezes her eyes and bows her head, the flood gates still wide open, tears flowing freely, yet she still manages to pick herself up and look Santana straight in the eye through blood-shot ones. "But the thing is mine wasn't with some random skank who takes her clothes off for money," she shakes her head and Santana's mouth drops open when she steps forward, nothing but pain, betrayal and anger flashing across her face. "Mine was with my best friend, and that makes me," she points to herself and chokes out the following words. "A thousand times worse."

It's the middle of the day, standing in the middle of New York City and there are people just walking by like this isn't happening. It's all very surreal, including Brittany's words and Santana just stares, the tears trailing down her cheeks but her face expressionless. Her heart's thumping loudly against her ribcage, the pain still hot and sharp in her chest and now she can feel the guilt creeping into her veins, tugging at her stomach, making her feel nauseous.

"I've gotta go," Brittany breathes out quickly, already turning around and walking away and Santana can feel everything build up inside her and shit, she gets angry.

The anger boils up and the blood shoots straight to her head and she just can't stop it. She just can't stop it because whenever she's hurt, whether it's emotionally or physically, she just loses it. It's always been one of her weaknesses, one of the worst things about her and the words just come pouring out, unstoppable and unwanted.

"What, you're gonna go back to him?" She yells and ten feet down the street, Brittany pauses and twists slightly. "He cheats on you and you go running back like a lost fucking puppy?" She laughs bitterly to herself and kicks the ground, hands coming up to grab at fistfuls of her hair. "God, Brittany, you're fucking pathetic."

The blonde glances back over her shoulder, but doesn't meet brown. "I need to think," she says, just loud enough for Santana to hear it as a whisper. "I don't know how I feel about this," she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Santana stands still, fists clenched by her side, waiting. "About you. About Jason."

Crack. Strike two.

But no, fuck this. Santana isn't having any of it. She can't believe after all they've been through, after all they've felt for each other and all the ups and down they've had together, this is the one thing that's going to fuck them up. Like shit, after making love last night—because that's what it was there's no denial—Brittany finds out about her fiancée cheating and suddenly nothing else matters.

"No, you don't need to fucking think," she says lowly, moving toward Brittany until she's right in front of her, staring into her eyes. "You know how you feel and you're ignoring it. You love me, Brittany," she gulps and her voice turns into a whisper. "I know you do."

Brittany just cries a little more, her head moving side to side like it's going to help deny it. "I can't love you, Santana," she breaks out, her entire body squeezing together as the guard goes up around herself and her heart. "I have a fiancée."

It's something that Santana's never seen before. It's something she's not privy to because she's never been an outsider when it comes to Brittany. She's never had to look at her and not know what's going inside her mind because they've always had that connection. They've always been that close and yet right now, she feels as if Brittany's a castle, hidden behind thick stone walls and a massive moat and Santana can't do anything but stand outside helpless and stare at it.

"And you both slept with other people, Britt," she points out in the calmest way possible. "I don't really think a ring means much right now."

Brittany sparks immediately, the fiery anger flaring up once more behind her eyes and she snaps her vision to Santana. "You don't have a clue about Jason and I's relationship, so don't you dare say that."

Unwillingly, a burst of disbelief and laughter comes from Santana's mouth and she takes a step back, shaking her head from side to side. For the millionth time in what feels like the shortest amount of time, she can't believe she's hearing this. She can't believe that Brittany is actually saying that she doesn't know a thing about something she's involved in, and has been since the beginning.

It makes her snap back. It makes her blood boil again and head pound because she's never had reason to fault Brittany before, but she can see something now that she's never seen. She can see the fear and the scared little girl hiding inside and God, she loves this girl more than she's loved anything before, but right now she really fucking hates her.

"Are you kidding me? Are you seriously fucking kidding me, Brittany?"

The blonde doesn't say anything, just holds her ground strong and Santana pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to let the anger get the better of her as she tries to get her point across. This situation is already fucked up and she knows this argument isn't going to make it any better but she just can't hold it in. It's brimming, bubbling to the surface and it's just spilling out.

"Don't you fucking dare say that I don't know about your relationship because I have been there throughout the whole. Fucking. Thing." She emphasizes each pause with a thrust of her first, her eyes burning and narrowed. Her chest just feels like it's on fire, and head feels like it could explode with frustration. "I've been the third wheel for years and years," she spits, taking a step toward Brittany with every word until she's almost nose to nose. "Fuck, Brittany—you dragged me into this whole fucking thing at that stupid fucking ice rink!"

Brittany flinches, her eyes blinking and shoulders squaring as if Santana just threw something at her. She supposes she's never said this before, only thought about it before she slept, and whenever she saw Brittany with Jason, which was almost every day. So she guesses it's fair for the blonde to flinch; what's coming out now is years and years of pain, anger and hurt, all mixed together. What's coming out is things she'd never thought she'd say to Brittany. Never thought she could say to her.

She guesses she's been wrong about a few things today, and this is just another.

"I've had to sit by the sidelines," she pauses and steps back, knowing if she were to stay close she may just break down and cry, beg Brittany for her forgiveness despite not doing anything wrong. Yet she still holds blue eyes strong, knowing it's the only way she can really convey everything she's feeling without faltering. "I've had to stand there, be your shoulder to cry on, listen to you and him argue and not say anything. I've had to wait in the fucking wings for you to pick me," she chokes it out, trying not to let her throat close up. "I've had to wait for you to love me." She continues and lifts her head, taking a few long seconds to inhale deeply.

She didn't know saying this out loud could hurt so much.

"I've had to smile when all I wanted to do was cry," she lowers her eyes back to blue ones. "And I've had to watch the show go on with you and him, back and forth, through thick and thin, when all its done is fucking kill me," she punches her chest so hard it could bruise. "Every. Single. Damn. Day." She shakes her head and takes an unsteady breath, fist falling to her side but chest still heaving. "I've had to bite my tongue when he's treated you like shit, and pick you up again by holding you in my arms at night, regardless of how it was breaking my heart." She gulps breathlessly, blood still boiling beneath her skin. "And I did all that despite knowing you'd never be mine and would rather be with him because I wanted the best for you, and you said that was him."

The space between them suddenly seems much greater, so she tries to steady herself, tries to make herself feel like the world isn't completely falling apart around her by getting just a little closer. But never too close. If she lets her get too close, she'll never let her go and she can't hold on to something that isn't hers anymore.

"So don't fucking tell me I don't know about your relationship," she continues, her voice in a whisper now, broken and exhausted. "Because I've been there through it, by your side, always."

Silence settles in, only background noise hovering around them and Santana feels her body lean back, the aggression simmer until her shoulders relax just a little, and she knows this conversation has come to an end by the way Brittany wipes her tears and twists her head, eyes flashing to the other side of the street, but she can't let it. She doesn't want it to end because there's no resolution. There's no promises like there was this morning, and she doesn't even know why Brittany came to her work which is going to claw at the back of her mind like a rash.

But she can't even get any words out. She doesn't have any time because Brittany's already sucking in her lips, lifting her shoulders and backing away slowly, a guilt stricken expression pasted on her face. Because it may have been harsh, it may have been slightly unnecessary, but it was all completely true. The only reason it hadn't ever come out before was because Santana knew Brittany would be happier not knowing, was happier being oblivious to it even though they both knew deep down all of that was true. But she had to find out at some point, and apparently this was the time.

Still though, after too many nights of thinking about how this would come to light, Santana can't believe that this is how it's going to end.

After too many nights of playing this out countless ways, she never thought it would end with Brittany wiping her tears, shaking her head and whispering, "I've gotta go," before just walking away.

And she'd never thought it would end with her not chasing after her, instead watching her leave and feeling her entire world fall apart.

/

Santana spends the following night in their apartment, lying on the couch, staring at the door, wishing Brittany would walk through it.

Her phone sits silently on the coffee table, and she doesn't know how she feels.

It's like everything has begun crumbling. It's like the moon stopped shining, and the stars fell from the sky. It's like the water dried up and the world just went black.

It's like a piece of her is missing, and there's nothing she can do about it.

/

Maybe she should've told her.

Maybe she shouldn't have let last night happened, and instead sat her down and talked about Jason.

She was her best friend. She would've listened. She might have changed her mind alone.

But it wasn't Santana's fault. She doesn't really know why she's the bad guy. It seems like it's always that way.

All she did was let do what Brittany wanted to (and she wanted to, too) and it wasn't exactly hard for her to forget about Jason when Brittany was all around her, filling up every sense.

The point still stands that Jason cheated on Brittany too. That was nothing to do with her yet Brittany's probably fucking run back there and ditched Santana. Like, how the fuck is that fair?

She didn't mean to hurt her.

So right now, all she can think and feel about is anger and heartbreak.

All the aggression and hurt she felt earlier comes rushing back to her and she sits up, glances around the apartment until her eyes come to rest on a bottle of whiskey poking out from the side of the toaster. It's not a good decision. She'll get drunk, she'll be alone in an apartment that smells like Brittany and all she'll want to do is hear her voice and see her face. It's not a good idea, and later she might realize that.

But right now, it's the only thing she's got.

/

Her phone goes off at least thirty times.

She doesn't know who it is. She can't bring herself to look because there's alcohol in her system, there's liquid courage burning through her veins, she's craving for a cigarette she doesn't want to buy because she'll consume the whole damn pack, and if she even sees her name, she'll head down to the market for some smokes, down the rest of this bottle of whiskey and wander the city until she finds the only person she really wants to see.

So she ignores it.

She throws it into her side table drawer in her bedroom and stumbles back to the sofa where she stays drinking for the rest of the night.

/

She doesn't know how much later it is, but at some point the whole world stops falling apart and instead starts spinning.

Her mouth is dry, her vision is blurred, her head is light and the empty bottle is kicking around beneath her feet, a new one now in hand. She's twirling around slowly in the middle of the apartment to whatever is playing on the radio and she has no concept of time, of what's going on in her head and frankly, it's exactly what she wanted.

There's no thoughts of blonde hair or blue eyes or crushed hearts or broken promises.

There's no thoughts of anything but the low hum buzzing around inside her head and it's strangely peaceful.

And it only takes another bottle or two before the room is no longer spinning and blackness is taking over, the leftover alcohol seeping into the cream carpet.

/

Santana's body shoots upwards, startled out of sleep by loud bangs she recognizes after a few long moments as someone knocking on her front door. She blinks away the shooting pain in her head, swinging her legs over the side of the couch to kick at a bottle she thinks was full of whiskey, but can't seem to remember as her memory is a little hazy now.

God, she drank a lot.

It's dark still, so she clambers to her feet with caution and staggers over to the door, not even caring who's on the other side of the door because the mood she's in, it could be Satan himself and he'd run away with his tail between his legs. Plus, no-one apart from someone who has endured the pain of her tongue lashing and survived would even think about knocking on her door at this time in the morning so fuck it, she might as well see who it is.

The door swings open to reveal a large hooded figure, and she's about to go all Karate Kid on whoever it is before he turns around to reveal an overgrown Mohawk and a look that says, "You're a dumbass."

Which, ironically, is also the greeting she receives.

"What do you want, Puckerman?" She sighs, leaning her head against the door frame. She doesn't have the time or energy for his shit.

He barges past her, breezing straight into her house to the fridge where he grabs a cold beer. The cap drops to the floor and he heads back to the sofa, dodging whatever's on the floor, and sits down, kicks up his feet. Way to make himself comfortable.

"I ran into a rather distraught blonde today," he starts, eying the bottles on the floor. His brows crease and his eyes flash to Santana who is still standing by the door. "But by the looks of those empty whiskey bottles, there's no need to give you any crap about how much of an idiot you are."

It flares her anger up once more, burns her chest. "Why the fuck am I the idiot here?" She screams, blood rushing to her face. Puck actually flinches, and jumps to his feet and she shakes her head, growling beneath her breath as her fingers massage her temples. She really needs an Anvil or two. This headache is killing her. "She's the one that fucked me, then fucked off when she found out her fiancée," her words are sharp, emphasis strong. "Fucked some random chick," she throws her arms down as she wanders around angrily, eyes searching for some type of pain relief. "And where the fuck are my pills!?"

Puck rolls his eyes, gets up from the sofa and heads toward the cabinet over the sink. A pack of ibuprofen comes flying at the side of her head barely a second later and she doesn't even care enough to do anything but pop a few and wish the headache away before she flops down on the sofa beside him when he gets back.

"Just stop being an asshole, Santana," he groans, like he's tired of it–which, really?–and a scathing remark about how she's hardly the asshole here, that that place is reserved for Brittany in this current place in time, balances on the end of her tongue, but the sound of her front door opening grabs her attention instead, her eyes sliding over to find–

Wonderful.

"And the fucking cavalry arrives," she drones, eyes rolling up and over. One day she swears they'll get stuck up there.

Meanwhile, Quinn just breezes in, looking all perfect and shit and fuck, she really can't stand the sight of her right now. Hung over, heartbroken, angry Santana is not exactly the type of Santana to be dealing with Miss Perfect. Especially when the first thing blonde does is slide into the space next to her, tilt her head and give her the look that she knows is the 'I'm going to make you do whatever I want by annoying you or pissing you off' look.

Jesus. She really doesn't have time for this shit.

"Judging by the state of this room," Quinn begins, eyes scanning over the room. Santana watches her spotting all the empty bottles, and she herself slowly glances around realizing there's far more than she originally thought. The last thing she remembers was the first bottle, but this is like a hangover she's never had before. "You've spent the two whole days you've been MIA, drinking and weeping," she says, her voice dripping with disappointment. Her eyes flicker back to brown ones. "So I think it's time you got out the house because you've got a wedding to run tomorrow and you've got to be on top form."

The news strikes her down, causing her mind to boggle, her eyes to flutter and her throat to lodge, running dry. Her eyes flicker over to the alarm clock on the shelf to find the change in date, and she tries not to let the panic show, but if the look on Quinn's face is anything to go by, she's assuming she failed.

And she really doesn't know which point catches her off guard more; the fact that Brittany's getting married tomorrow or that she was passed out for two whole days. Jesus Christ. She drank far more than she thought and now she's trying not to focus on the dull ache throbbing inside her empty chest which definitely isn't there because of the alcohol. No amount of tablets will be able to fix this pain, and she sure as hell isn't going to be going to that damn wedding.

She's not even convinced she could say Brittany's name out loud without breaking down, let alone attend her God damn wedding to the biggest douchebag alive.

"No," she resists, getting up and heading to her front door. She's not quite angry yet, but she can feel something fizzling beneath her skin, boiling at her blood and she knows these two need to get out of here. "I think you two should leave," she suggests strongly, her hand yanking at the handle, letting a fresh breeze flow into the apartment.

The first one to get up is Puck, surprisingly enough, and he approaches her cautiously, his head tilted and fuck, she hates that fucking head tilt. It's the slightly condescending and completely sympathetic one that makes her want to not only tear out her own hair, but tear out the miniscule amount of Puck's too and then shove it down his throat.

Okay, maybe a little harsh but she's pissed off. She's hung over, hurting, thirsty, but most definitely pissed off, and Puck coming up to her with that fucking head tilt isn't doing anything to quell her boiling blood.

"Lopez–"

"No," she cuts him off, eyes burning as they flash to him in a glare. Quinn stands sheepishly behind him, hazel eyes wide and panicked, and it strikes odd because the blonde never stays quiet. Like, never. "You don't get to tell me I'm an idiot, or an asshole, or call me dumb or whatever. You don't get to tell me why I should go to this fucking wedding," the venom drips off her words, the hatred for tomorrow and what it contains incredibly evident. "You don't get to stand there and give me that stupid look and try and defend Brittany–"She winces the name, "–When she's the one in the wrong here," she points harshly at the ground, her whole body quaking and frustration building.

God, she doesn't know whether she wants to cry or punch something.

"But most of all, you don't get to judge me, and make me feel like shit when all I want to do is run away and never come back because the mere thought of Br–" The name catches in her throat. Saying it twice in the space of a minute is just too much, so she swallows, blinks back the sudden heat at her eyes and clenches her jaw as she glances up at her two friends once more, knowing she just needs to be alone. "The mere thought of her in that white dress, making a commitment to a man she doesn't love for the rest of her life, when it should be me she's making it to, makes me want to die."

Santana's words come to an end and nothing but the sound of her heavy breathing and breaking heart echo around the room. Quinn and Puck stand before her, their eyes staring full of sympathy and hurt, and she hates that, she really does, but the anger she feels for that look is nothing in comparison to the lump in her throat. Still, she feels like she needs to prove a point. She still needs to somehow show them despite their opinions, or whatever they think she should do to make things better, that sometimes things aren't meant to be, and that maybe her and Brittany are one of those things.

"And you two can't tell me any different because you two got your happy ending," she continues, frustration coating her tone. "You two found the love of your lives in each other and you're together and that's great," her voice goes a little high, and she's not dumb. They can tell she's jealous of what they have. "But you have absolutely no say in my love life because you passed with flying colors in yours and I hit rock bottom in mine."

Quinn steps forward, head tilted and eyes narrowed. "We're just trying to help, S."

"Well, you're not!" Santana spits, her hands thrusting forward. Both her friends blink rapidly, stand straight and shocked. "You're just another reminder of what I don't have, so please, stop rubbing it in my face and just fucking leave."

That's not the case. Quinn and Puck aren't showing off what they have at all. They're just standing here trying to make her feel better and hell, they don't have to be doing this with their day. They could be out together, not giving a shit about anyone but themselves, but they're here instead, caring for their pathetic friend who frankly is doing nothing but being a complete asshole to them.

Jesus. She's such a bitch.

"Santana," Puck almost whispers her name, and she looks up to find his brows creased, eyes narrowed and lips in an 'o' shape–like he wasn't expecting her to be such a douchebag. To be honest, she wasn't expecting to be one either. "We aren't–"

She cuts him off with dead eyes. "You're not what? Rubbing your perfect little lives in my face?" She laughs purposefully, eyes sliding to Quinn. "It's a shame you two gave up Beth otherwise you could've done the whole job properly," she spits, regretting her words the second they come out. It was the only thing she could think of that would get them out of here.

Quinn doesn't let a heartbeat pass before she's breezing past Santana, a cold, hard, expression donning her face and her hazel eyes dead as they meet dark brown ones on the way out. Her shoulder meets Santana's hard, but she just lets it happen and watches one of her best friends disappear down the hallway and into the stairwell without another word, knowing she's going to have to do some serious apologizing for that at some point in the future.

Although that's not exactly on the forefront of her mind.

Brown eyes flicker back, meeting Puck's and Santana feels the guilt pour through her, yet she just shrugs. She knows she's being unnecessarily rude. She knows it's pointless for her to do this because she's only going to have to make up for it at a later date, and she knows it's only going to push the only two people who still give a shit about her away.

But she's not in the state of mind to think about the crap it's causing.

She's not in the state of mind to be dealing with anyone but herself.

(Even if she needs someone right now.)

So she just holds the door open wider, aiming it toward Puck. "I think it's time for you to go, too," she requests quietly. As if he didn't already get the holding-door-open hint. "I want to be alone."

Puck doesn't hesitate before strolling up to her, shoulders squared and deep, dark eyes staring down at her. "I'm leaving because I know you didn't mean what you just said and I know you're already regretting it," he gulps. It hurt him, she can tell. Their adopted child situation was always a sore spot. Always something that was never brought up, but she couldn't help it. It just came out. "And I don't really want to punch you because I love you, you're my best friend." His hand settles on her shoulder, a little too hard. She tries to shrug it off but he grips on, his eyes burning.

"But right now, I can't even stand to fucking look at you," his voice drops into a growl. "So I'm going before you say anything else to completely push me and Quinn away, because we're the only fucking thing you've got left at the moment. We're the only ones dumb enough to hang around you, so you need to fix the fuck up and stop hurting people and pushing them away because they won't always come back." He shakes his head, straightens up and pulls at the sweater beneath his jacket. "Just like Brittany."

Her eyebrows shoot up, shock setting in because she wasn't quite expecting him to punch her in that area. She wasn't expecting him to put the blame on her because she knows she hasn't been an angel, but she's not the bad person here. Brittany has fucked off back to her cheating fiancée when Santana is right here. Under her nose.

"So I'll talk to you tomorrow when you're not hung over, hurt and pissed off," he continues, stepping out the door and flipping the lapels of his leather jacket up around his neck. At the door to the stairwell, he pauses to look back, eyes narrowed. "And Santana?" She glances up, jaw clenched. "The only reason Brittany will be standing there in that white dress, making a commitment to a man she doesn't love for the rest of her life," he repeats her earlier words. "Is if you didn't do anything to stop it."

He moves into the stairwell and out of sight without another breath, leaving Santana to stare at the empty corridor.

/

Once she's showered and dressed, she wanders into the living room and stares at the five or six empty liquor bottles spread out across the living room and images of her alcoholic father flash into her mind.

That's enough alcohol to kill a person, she should know that, and fear creeps into her veins because she never thought an emotional conflict like Brittany could affect her in this way. She didn't know she could so easily follow in the footsteps of a man who left her down day after day when she was a kid before walking out on her, all because of Brittany, and hell, if Brittany only knew about this she would–

No. It's not time to think about Brittany. She needs to try to forget about her.

(An impossible wish.)

/

It's a distraction, it's not fun, but it's the best thing she can do to keep her mind at bay. The need to find Brittany, to talk this thing out, burns through her, hot like fire, and so far sitting, watching TV isn't helping. So she decides to clean up the trash that is the apartment.

She's halfway through clearing up when her cell rings, and she damn near trips over trying to reach it, instead flopping on the sofa, panting heavily as she picks up. "Hello?"

"Santana? It's Shelby Corcoran."

Her heart? Yeah, that stops beating.

"Shelby," she breathes, sweeping loose locks behind her ear. Fuck. She'd forgotten about… Well, everything that wasn't Brittany.

"It's just a quick call to make sure all is well for tomorrow's proceedings."

The reminder is a shock, bolting through her like lightning and she sits up, eyes wide and back straight as a pole. Her future. Her career. This entire thing, Brittany and Jason, and the wedding… It was a means to starting her life, a means to a bright future and yet somehow it's done the opposite. It's destroyed her life before it's even begun.

Another crack in her heart.

She looks down at the floor, begging herself to hold back the tears because she's got to be strong here. She's got to show Shelby that everything she told her wasn't right. She's got to pretend like Shelby wasn't correct when she told Santana that mixing personal and professional never works, because it'll only come to a told you so moment, which she just can't handle right now.

But how can she tell her that? How can she tell Shelby she actually can't do this, without destroying her life?

The answer: She can't.

So she just says it. There's no point in delaying the inevitable because at some point in this conversation she's going to have to tell Shelby the truth. She'll have to tell her she can't be strong. She'll have to tell her she can't supervise this wedding and complete something that would send her career flying. She'll have to tell her she was right, and that she shouldn't have got involved in this in the first place.

She'll have to tell her she's failed before she's even taken the test.

"Uh, no," she gets out, her throat thick and eyes watery. Fuck. She can't believe she's doing this. "I… I can't."

"Sorry?" Shelby says, her voice hard. Great. That's going to make it easier. "What's going on?"

Santana brushes the back of her hand over face, rubbing the heel of her hand against the corner of her eye. Her heart is beating so fast she's scared it's going to burst through her chest. "I won't be there tomorrow," she replies. "But I can't let Bri–Her down," she chokes, scalding herself for the show of weakness. She needs to get her shit together. "I was meant to call–"

"You want someone to take over the wedding you've offered to plan yourself?"

Shelby's voice is grating, and Santana swallows at the sound. She tilts her head back, looks to the ceiling, knowing what she is about to say will ruin her career, her life. God, she fucking hates herself. "Yes," she confirms, a bitter taste on her tongue. If only she could rewrite this chapter. If only she could rewrite her and Brittany. If only she could rewrite her entire damn life, she wouldn't have to say this. "I can't do it, so I'll need someone to take it over for me."

There's a long, eerie silence down the line where Santana can only hear the rapid thump of her broken heart. She starts shaking.

"You're aware this won't count as a completion, you won't be hired here after your degree is finished and it'll take an impact on future references we may provide should you possibly get an interview at other companies?"

She knows what that means. She knows Shelby is telling her that this is pretty much going to fuck everything up for her career-wise and the profession she's been studying for, dreaming of, for years and years, since she saw that damn television show, is just going to go straight out the window with not much hope of recovery.

She knows it. Yet she can't do anything about it.

The thought of actually watching Brittany getting married will just kill her.

Hell, the thought of knowing Brittany is getting married is tearing her to pieces, making her stomach twist and a lump grow in her throat, and it's not even happening now.

So to be there… To listen to lies that are supposed to be vows… When she knows that Brittany loves her… She just can't. She won't do that to herself.

With much regret, and an eternity of sadness, she bobs her head to herself slowly and says, "I am aware," like it's not about to ruin her life.

Shelby acknowledges it down the phone, but still hovers to question her answer. "Is this your final decision?"

"Yes," she fires back immediately. If she thinks it over, she'll have doubts and change her mind and this is the best thing for her. If she goes to that wedding, she'll either get horribly drunk and cause a scene, or she won't be able to get through it and completely humiliate herself when she screams, unable to take it anymore and runs out the damn church or throws herself out a stained window.

Plus she won't punish herself like that. Why would she purposely want to hurt herself just for a job? Sure, she's lost enough today so not going to the wedding will make her completely lose Brittany, but she's pretty sure she's already passed that point and honestly? Enough is enough. She's done with playing games and feeling her heart break over and over when Brittany doesn't seem to be that bothered about their situation. She can't keep being Brittany's lap dog if all Brittany's going to do it shoo her away.

It's just like a blunt pencil: pointless.

"I'm sure," she continues strongly, holding her head high because everything else is at the lowest possible point.

Shelby just accepts her decision and murmurs an acceptance down the line.

Santana hangs up, sinks back to the couch and stares blankly at the wall, wishing things had been different.

(If only.)

/

Santana sits there for hours, her mind going into overdrive.

Her eyes watch the clock on the shelf tick by, hour by hour, until the time comes.

Right now, the church is being set up and Brittany's probably in the back room, looking at herself in the mirror, in her dress, preparing to make a commitment to a man she doesn't really love, and Santana can do fuck all about it. Or more importantly, feels to God damn sorry for herself that she won't get up and do anything, because really? What is it going to do? She's already been shot down. Brittany's already made her choice, and Santana doesn't even know if she wants to interrupt the wedding.

Because she isn't an option. She isn't something to be chosen.

She's an answer. The answer.

There's no possibility with her. There's no maybe it'll happen, maybe it won't. She won't be waiting in the wings for someone who may or may not want her anymore because she's had enough.

And just because it's Brittany, doesn't mean her mind's going to change.

She just can't take it anymore.

/

When her cell phone rings, she glances down at it and half-expects it to be Puck, asking where she is and why she isn't going to the damn wedding despite their conversation yesterday.

So when it comes up with an unknown number, she frowns and tilts her head to the side. First of all, it's strange as she never gets wrong number calls due to no-one but her friends and family having her number and the chances of guessing it randomly are slim. Secondly, it's less than an hour until the actual ceremony and no-one she knows would be ringing her as either they know she's not going to pick up or they're actually at the damn wedding.

And finally, she knows of no reason anyone would be ringing her right now. She isn't talking to anyone she knows.

Not Quinn. Not Puck. Not Brittany. Not even her family.

So she lets it ring, and ring, and ring, until whoever it is gives up and leaves her alone.

Just the way she wants to be.

Just the way she should be.

/

It only takes ten more minutes before staring at that damn clock becomes too much.

Her hands rub over her face, heels of them digging into her eyes and she tilts her head back against the sofa, groaning loudly. She can't believe this is real. She can't believe she's sitting here, waiting for the most important thing in her life to make the worst mistake of her life, and Santana's sat there doing fuck all about it.

It just all seems too surreal.

For months she's thought about this day. For months she's wondered how it would affect her; but she never thought it would be a day that changed everything in her life. She thought that yeah, maybe it would create distance between her and Brittany, but they'd still stay together as best friends. They'd still be in each other's lives and would still talk and see each other every couple of days. But she never thought it would come to this: sitting alone, in her apartment, ignoring the cracking in her heart and the blur in her mind, wondering where it all went wrong.

Fuck.

She can't just stay in here. She'll go mad.

She has to get out, if only until the wedding is over and she can figure out what she's going to do with the rest of her life now, and how she's going to live it without her normality being there.

So she gets up.

She gets up and grabs her coat, ties the belt around her waist and flicks the lapels up around her neck because there's a chill in the air and getting the flu would just be the cherry on top of the fucking cake right about now. Her phone stays on the sofa, and she glances back at it quickly, debating whether to take it. The pull in her stomach makes the decision for her though, and she pockets her keys before sliding out the door.

Just in time to miss her cell ring one more time.

This time, with a known number.

/

DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAAA

If you've read my other stories, you know I love a good cliffhanger. So hope you've enjoyed this update and feel free to review if you deem it worthy :) Thank you!