Title: Some Things Are Meant To Be [Part Thirteen: Part Two]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3.7k
Notes: This is part two because I was too impatient to wait to write the whole thing… So this is the other half of the previous one… Obviously. So it's short, is basically what I'm trying to get at. This may actually be the last chapter.
/
"What do you want?"
Her visitor looks up at her, the corner of their lip lifting. "To know what you're about to do."
Santana sighs, drops her head and shrugs. "I'm trying to get my life together, Puckerman." Her eyes flick up through her lashes. "I'm trying to move the fuck on."
Her so called 'friend' clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "When did you get so damn pathetic, Lopez?"
It sparks anger within her, but not enough to make her snap. She just doesn't have the energy. There's been enough emotion passing through her body in these past weeks to last her a lifetime. She's not sure she could even snap if she put as much effort in as physically possible. She just can't be bothered anymore.
"First of all, you let the wedding happen without doing anything, and then you come back here, all mopey and shit and look like you're about to top yourself?" He continues, disappointment etched in his furrowed brows. "You're just being weak."
She's thought about Puck today. She's thought about what he's said and how he's supposed to be her friend, but hasn't even an inch of sympathy nor has he tried to help her. All he's done is treat her like shit, been manipulated into thinking she's the bad person and honestly, he's been quite possible the worst friend known to man. It's like she's a piece of shit on the bottom of her shoe, but he's not trying to get her off, just step on her over and over and over again. Almost like he enjoys it.
How the fuck is that fair?
"I thought you loved her?" He questions, and she almost laughs at him for the doubt in his tone. "I thought you wanted to be with her?"
Santana takes another sip of her water and throws her legs over the back of the sofa, taking a perch on the edge. "I did, Puck. I did want to be with her," she tells him honestly, ignoring the way her mouth rejects the past tense. "But it's like she's been using me for an ego boost. It's like she's only chosen me to lean on, to make herself feel better and honestly, I'm done with it," she shrugs. She's not even that angry. She's so over reacting to this situation that she just sits there blankly. "I'm done with feeling like crap and being treated like crap by the people I thought loved me."
Puck tilts his head. "You two slept together," he points out, completely ignoring her little dig at him.
"And apparently that meant fuck all," she finally says out loud, hating the way it punches her in the heart. "Even Jason slept with someone else and somehow the wedding still happened." She bites her lip. "That speaks louder volumes than any words ever could."
"Their marriage is a fake then," he spits, and for the first time, she notices the anger in his eyes. She can see the slight curl of his lip and wonders how the fuck he can be giving her this much shit and not giving Brittany any. If anything, he should be crashing their fucking wedding night and tearing her head off. "It's a crock of shit and she was just scared, Santana. She was terrified of loving you; she still is!"
She can't help the splutter of laughter that her mouth produces. "You don't know shit, Puckerman," she hisses. "You can't talk about things you don't know about."
He stands up from the chair, comes over to her and stares down with his dark eyes. "No, I don't know shit, but doesn't that say more?" He asks, his question rhetorical. "Doesn't that say more than someone who knows the whole thing?"
Santana squints, clenching her jaw. "No."
"I know that you and Brittany are meant to be together, and I don't even know the full extent of your story," he offers, his voice softer. "I know that you two are fucking soul mates and I haven't been with you two every step of the way," he shrugs. "I don't even fucking believe in soul mates, Lopez. I think it's a pile of shit, yet here I am, hoping and wishing that you two would just open your God damn eyes and realize despite all the shit, you're meant to be."
It doesn't mean anything. Puck won't change her mind. Even if her heart aches just as much as it did with the reminder as it did when she knew Brittany was walking damn that fucking aisle.
Fuck. How can this hurt so damn much?
Grunting, she stands abruptly from the sofa and pushes Puck out the way, causing him to stumble back. She marches over to the other side of the room, fist punching the wall and body ignoring the shot of pain that surges through her. Shit. She forgot about her hand. That's just another cherry to add on top of this wonderful cake that is her life.
She shakes her head at herself and hangs it down, leaning against the wall because she doesn't know what she's going to do. "I pretty much gave her an ultimatum and she chose him," she whispers softly, trying desperately not into being complete cliché and letting a lone tear slide down her cheek. "That's it," she turns her head, meets his eye. "That's all I needed to know."
"And who gave you the smart idea to give a girl–who doesn't know what the hell she wants–an ultimatum?" He points out, stepping toward her. "You just gave her the big red button and she pushed it," his hands fall from his body, out in front of him, palms up. "She panicked and pushed it."
His shoulders shake and Santana closes her eyes, unable to stand this conversation. Hoping maybe it's just a dream and she'll wake up tomorrow, empty whiskey bottles scattered around her and a hangover the size of China pressing on her brain, but Brittany won't be married, she never discovered how much of a dick Puck was, and everything will be okay again.
Everything will be… bearable.
"But she should've known, Puck," she spits out, her voice rising and hardening. Her eyes flash to him in a glare. "She should've known not to press it and to choose me." A sob threatens to wrack through her body, but she swallows thickly, wishing away the lump in her throat. "I never did anything to her. I," she pokes her own chest. "Didn't deserve this."
It's true.
She didn't deserve this.
She didn't deserve to get her heartbroken.
She didn't deserve to be second choice.
She didn't deserve to suffer nor did she deserve to get all this crap from the one person she thought would have her back, second to Brittany.
Yet somehow Puck's still standing here, arguing a point he doesn't really have a leg to stand on with, and she knows he's probably thinking he's doing it for all the good reasons, but really, she just wants to get on with her life and pack a bag and leave. After all, that's what she was planning to do. Just pack up a small amount of shit, get all her credit cards and fuck off to Timbuktu… Or wherever the first flight will take her.
"So you didn't try and bang that hot waitress chick to piss Brittany off and make her jealous?"
It stunts her. She wasn't expecting that. "How did you–"
"Exactly what I thought," Puck clenches his jaw, steps forward. "And according to Quinn, she told Britt about your little diner date with that chick after Britt's and she got pissed off," he licks his lips, pauses for what Santana can only imagine is dramatic effect. "She left Quinn's, scared as hell but knowing what she wanted and went back to the apartment to yell it out with you but apparently she didn't…" His eyes scan over her suggestively, but not in a lecherous manner, and his eyebrow lifts. "For whatever reason, she just jumped into bed with you instead because apparently she couldn't hold back anymore." He places both his hands on her shoulders and twists her slowly until they're facing each other, his neck bent down to talk to her solidly. "So your stupid plan worked. It did make her jealous and it did make her realize how she feels."
Up until now, Santana's remained relatively calm.
She hasn't lashed out. She hasn't punch anything repeatedly – just once, which is actually an achievement. She hasn't read out the entire dictionary of swear words three or four times. She hasn't even told Puck to fuck off, which, she definitely should've done by now.
So really, it shouldn't come as a surprise that she snaps. It shouldn't come as a surprise to either of them that after being placid for so long, she suddenly breaks and shoves Puck away as hard as she can, causing him to trip over the rug and land ass first on the floor. It shouldn't come as a surprise that her face turns a bright red and blood pressure soars so high it feels like her heart is about to burst from her chest. And it sure as hell shouldn't come as a surprise that she grabs the closest thing to her that's breakable, and throws it against the far wall with as much power as she can possibly summon.
Yet still, when the clear cut silence sets in and rings around the room, both of them stand and stare in shock for a good few minutes.
Santana's the first to speak, breathless and serious. She really wishes Puck would stop saying this shit to her like he has a fucking clue what's going on inside her fucking head. "That's not an excuse. What she did was wrong," she enforces. Her eyes are narrowed as she glares at him. "And I'm not going to fight for her anymore because I have no reason to."
"So what? That's it?" Puck says, coming up to her.
She just shrugs. "Give me one good reason why I should then?"
The challenge is set, and her friend doesn't even hesitate before tilting his head to the side, an incredulous look on his face like he can't believe she doesn't know why. "Because you love her," he comments, like it's the easiest thing in the world.
A sharp breath escapes her, but her body remains still. She knows that may be the truth, but that means nothing now. It never did.
"Because you wouldn't have held on for so damn long if you two didn't think you'd end up together," he continues slowly, advancing forward. It just makes her stare harder. "And I don't care if she's been an asshole, or if you've been a bitch again." The protest hangs on her end of her tongue but he lifts his eyebrow, knowing what's coming. It shuts her up. "You've got to understand from her point of view how hard it's been for her."
It's almost laughable that after everything, Puck's still trying to sympathize with Brittany. Puck's still trying to defend her. Like they've been best friends for years and he has reason to defend her. And considering her said he doesn't know half the shit they've been through, Santana really can't comprehend as to why he's even still talking. Or especially why he's trying to get Santana to see it from Brittany's point of view.
Yet she listens.
"She met you," he begins. "She wanted you, but she was with someone else, in a committed relationship." Santana swallows. "She couldn't leave him… Even back then, and especially now. She couldn't leave him because she'd made a promise to him and she isn't one to take back promises," his voice is soft but clear. "And she's not innocent, Lopez, but neither are you." He moves until he's directly in front of her, staring down with dark eyes. "Except she's too much of a God damn pussy to do anything about it because she thinks she's lost you. She thinks that's the end of it and so she's settling with–"
"If she didn't want to be with him, she wouldn't be," Santana cuts straight in. "If she loved me, regardless, she wouldn't have married him."
Puck's mouth drops open, possibly to object but a mirthless chuckle escapes her lips.
"And that's the end of that," she lifts her shoulder and smiles sadly, backing away to the front door. There's no point in trying anymore. There's no point in discussing this further because she just wants it gone. She wants to hit fast forward and shoot ahead to a time where she's okay and she can breathe properly, without feeling like the whole world is falling apart.
That's just wishful thinking, though. Silly Santana.
"So can you just leave," she says, as she opens the door. She doesn't ask. She tells him.
After all, it's not like she's going to be sticking around here long enough to endure the wrath of Quinn getting-shitty-with-you-even-though-it's-not-my-business Fabray. The only thing this conversation between her and Puckerman has done is convince her even more so than before that she needs to get the hell out of here and start fresh. Which is probably the complete opposite of what her friend came here to do, but once again, he's fucked it up. His nickname in high school wasn't Fuckerman for nothing.
Puck pinches the bridge of his nose, cocks his body out and rests his hand on his hip. He stands there for a few seconds, and Santana only glances around the room picking out which parts she'll take with her to her new life and what she'll leave behind, and it's only when Puck marches up to her and grabs her by the shoulders does she look back to him.
She just feels so spaced out. She feels like she isn't even here.
Maybe because mentally, she isn't, and physically, she's not supposed to be.
"If you honestly believe you and Brittany aren't mean to be, then I'll go away and never mention it again." He holds her strong, steady. Santana just looks away from him, swallowing against a thickened throat and knowing his words mean nothing. "I will leave you here, moping, crying, knowing that you've made the biggest mistake of your life today, and that will be it."
He lets go, a little rougher than necessary and there's irritation in his eyes. There's aggravation and annoyance in his expression and stance and she knows it's because she's just standing here, blank and numb and coming across like she doesn't give a shit, even though it's actually the complete opposite.
It's because she gives more of a shit that she's acting so blasé about the whole thing. It's because she care more than she ever thought she could that she's acting so cool, because she doesn't know how to react. Her body physically doesn't know what to do with this much pain, this much ache, and this much hurt and so it's going numb because otherwise it would go into overdrive.
Santana will never admit that though. The cold-hearted bitch image that she spent so long creating throughout her teenage years is something she's not willing to let go, and to be honest, it's her natural instinct to shoot straight back to that. She did it when her dad left, she did it when her abuela died, and she'll continuing doing it until her body won't let her anymore.
Which is why she has the strength to hold the door open wider and reply, "I don't believe Brittany and I are meant to be, and so you can go."
"You're unbelievable." Puck shakes his head, clicks his tongue. "And you're lying."
Holding on to the empty expression, Santana nods. "It's been over for long than I've been willing to accept, Puckerman," she retorts and folds her arms over her chest. "Now you need to leave. I got some things to sort out."
The tone of her voice must be enough to let him know she's serious because Puck studies her, eyes narrowed, before he's looking away, the disappointment evident in his expression and he's leaving the apartment. He comes close to her, pauses to stare down at her like he wants to say something more but he doesn't. Santana doesn't even try to press him, knowing it doesn't really matter anymore.
Not with her plans.
So she just watches Puck close the door behind him, and leave without another word.
/
If she really asks herself, this was a long time coming.
It's something that really, she should've done before, but she didn't have the courage to do.
Maybe it was because she could imagine the look on Brittany's face, the pleading in her blue eyes that would've made her stay. Maybe it would've been the thought that she wouldn't see Brittany every day, or been able to call Puck after a bad day and ask him to come down to the bar for a couple of beers that would've made her stay. Maybe it would've been the thought that when Quinn gets pregnant, she wouldn't have been able to make some cruel but loving comment about how big she's getting and how fat she'll look in just a few months, that would've made her stay.
It could've been any of them, but as she stands here, beside her bed, suitcase open and eyes scanning over her room in attempt to pick out what she is going to keep, she thinks of none. She battles away the images of blonde hair, Mohawks, sadness and anger away from her mind. She skips out on thinking what life will be like when she's not here, and how other people in her life may suffer. She avoids the possibility that what waits for her in the unknown may just be too much to handle.
And all Santana thinks about, is herself.
She thinks about a new start, finally smiling, and no heartache. She thinks about a fresh smelling apartment, a new wardrobe and a new job. She thinks about what it'll feel like to leave everything behind and honestly, she alright feels the weight off her shoulders. She can already taste what it'll be like to not have any pressure weighing and God, does that taste good.
Sighing, she begins packing again.
Freedom is approaching.
/
The packing doesn't take much longer.
Within an hour, Santana's piled everything she wants and needs into a few suitcases, making sure not to take anything that could possibly spark a memory, and moves it to the front door. She's got nothing in comparison to the amount of stuff in this apartment, but she knows as she turns back, there's nothing she can take that won't remind her of Brittany. The majority of crap in this apartment does, and so it's being left behind.
Just like the memories.
Her coat and purse are the last things she collects, and she drops her keys on the side table near the door, knowing if she takes them there's a risk she can come back. If those things go with her, there's the possibility that she could fly back here, let herself in the apartment and bury her nose into a sofa that still smells like her, which won't get her anywhere.
If she's doing this, she needs to do it properly.
The steps she takes match the breaths her lungs make, unsteady and rapid, and she damn near trips when she picks up her suitcases. The tears begin to flow the second she turns around, and glances at the apartment because all these feelings begin weighing down on her chest. Cracks echo in her ears, all the blood in her body rushes around her body and her mind begins to throb, vision blurring because this is really it.
Santana's really leaving.
Everything is going to be in the past, buried under the rug, like it should be.
Tearing her mind away from the scene, from the sofa where she and Brittany cuddled on many nights, from the kitchen where they'd throw cookie dough at each other in the early hours of the morning when they couldn't sleep, and from the once framed picture of them now in pieces on the floor, thrown by Santana in a fit of rage, she grabs the door handle and steps out, pulling it shut, once and for all, getting into the taxi waiting for her outside the lobby.
And that's it.
The taxi pulls away, and she tilts her head back against the seat, imagining her new life.
/
Knock knock.
/
THE END
…
Just kidding :)
Feel free to review if you deem it worthy, or if you hate me even more now. Thank you for reading!
