Chapter Seventeen
"What about this, San?"
Santana grunted into her pillow, ignoring her sister's question.
It had been an awful past couple of days, she hadn't left her bed for the majority of them. When she'd finally made it back home, she couldn't even begin to explain to her mom and sister what had happened despite their concerned looks and questions.
Leaving everything in the car, she opted to go straight upstairs and to her room. To the comfort of her bed, where sleep was a welcome escape from reality.
She felt the bed dip and something heavy hit her head over the covers.
"Luc, don't," she groaned, pulling the duvet tighter around herself.
Another thud.
"What the fuck? Stop it," Santana said as she flipped her duvet back to glare at Lucia.
"No. I'm sick of this, San. Your room stinks and so do you. Get up so you can go shower and we can get some fresh air." Santana stared blankly at her sister who reached out to pull her up, "Please. I hate seeing you like this."
"Fine. Just give me twenty."
"I'll be counting."
...
Lucia waited on the top step as her sister took her sweet time getting ready, she'd excuse the lethargy just this once because her sister was going through some things, but her patience was really taking a beating.
Some things. Lucia scoffed. Quinn things.
If Lucia ever saw Quinn again she'd well and truly beat her ass, former cheer captain or not.
Santana hadn't explicitly said it was because of Quinn that she was now a hermit, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out. Quinn's things still being in the car, but no Quinn to speak of also said a lot.
The jingle of keys drew her attention to her sister coming up behind her, "Ready?"
"You won't need those. Where we're going our feet are our friends."
"Are you trying to say I'm getting fat?"
"Yes. That is exactly what I'm saying," Lucia said with a roll of her eyes. "All this indoor air has obviously reduced your brain function."
"Is this your way of making me feel better?" Santana asked as she followed Lucia down the stairs and out the door.
"Is it working?"
"A little."
"Then, yes." Lucia hooked her arm around her sister's and led them to a trail in a familiar wooded area that they used to play hide-and-seek in.
Lucia hated that summer wasn't an all-year-round season, she'd miss the sun, warmth, the little chirps of the birds and the sounds of life that summer seemed to embody when September rolled back around.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lucia watched as Santana closed her eyes and tilted her head back, soaking up the sun as the corners of her mouth upturned.
Rather than interrupting the moment, Lucia returned her attention to the path in front of her, content to walk silently with her sister. Her sister who she'd always looked up to, no matter how completely frustrating she could be. But she gave and good as she got, she thought with a small smile of her own.
...
She didn't know how much time had passed, nor did she really care as Lucia led her deeper into the blissful quietness of the trees.
So many thoughts bounced around her mind, most, if not all, to do with Quinn. She still hadn't processed what had happened. Had they broken up? Were they done?
It sure felt like it.
No matter Quinn's attempt to wax poetic about finding each other again. It didn't take away from the fact Santana was well and truly blindsided with no opportunity to support Quinn or talk it through.
How was she supposed to talk sense into Quinn? At the side of the road no less.
Releasing a heavy sigh, Santana glanced to Lucia.
"Quinn's staying in LA." Lucia glanced back, listening, waiting. "We were on the way back when she, she-" Santana swallowed and tipped her head back to stave off tears. She'd cried more than enough for a lifetime. "She said she didn't want to come home. Not even New York. She didn't want to. So she stayed," she finished with a bitter, wet laugh.
"That's," Lucia shook her head, "that's really tough, San. I'm sorry she did this to you."
Looking into Lucia's eyes to see them glassy and brimmed with tears made her own fall over. So much for crying too much.
"It sucks so bad. It's like she stuck her hand into my chest and just ripped my heart out."
Lucia's chin wobbled, but she tried a smile nonetheless, "Real Indiana-Jones-villain-like, huh?"
"Yeah, like that."
"Have you spoken since?"
Santana shook her head, "Not yet. I thought she might've called, but she hasn't."
She didn't want to resent Quinn, but it was hard not to. The resentment only festered as the days went by, her outing with Lucia having pushed her into actually leaving her room more often and seeing friends. The questions from Rachel and Brittany only made it worse. She didn't have answers for herself, never mind for them.
What was it about her that made it so easy for people to leave her?
Her dad, her abuela, Brittany, Quinn.
Of course, there were bigger things at play every time, but it didn't lessen the pain caused by losing people like that. She didn't begrudge her dad nor Brittany for the way she felt, it was part and parcel of loving somebody. And now she had her dad back, reconnecting with him had opened her world up to so many things. Her abuela disowning her had made her closer with her mom, that was all the good that came from that. And Brittany was one of her best friends, without her relationship with Brittany, it may have taken longer for her to get to the point she was now with her sexuality. With where she was with Quinn. Quinn who she didn't know where she stood with anymore.
Sat on the edge of her bed, she rolled her phone over in her hands, contemplating if she should just bite the bullet and call or if she should be stubborn. Why did it have to be her reaching out?
Deciding on a middle-ground, she called her dad. Maybe Quinn had gone back and spoken with him, maybe she was there now, maybe she wanted to come back but was scared to call, embarrassed even.
On the second ring, it connected.
"Hello?"
"Santana? How are you, my sweet?"
"I'm good," she lied. "Weird question, but have you heard from Quinn?"
"Quinn? Why would I have heard from Quinn? Has something happened?"
If Quinn hadn't gone back to her dad, where had she gone? The mix of hope, anger and sadness balled into worry. What if something had happened? She didn't have a car. She didn't have anything.
Fuck. Oh fuck.
Santana's chest began to tighten, a sweat breaking out across her forehead.
Breathe.
"Santana? Are you still there?"
"Yeah," she struggled through a breath, "I'll call you back. Okay?"
"Okay, sweetheart. As long as you're sure?" He sounded concerned.
Why was everyone so concerned about her when Quinn could be missing? Had Judy heard? Did she care?
"Yeah, I've got to- I've got to go." She said with a press of her thumb to end the call.
Quickly going through her contacts, she landed on Quinn's name and only with a slight bit of hesitation did she press call.
When it went through to voicemail Santana's heart well and truly dropped into the pit of her stomach.
Beep.
"Quinn, call me back. Please. I'm worried about you. Shit, I've been worried. Don't make me come and get your ass."
She was surprised she hadn't worn a hole in the carpet with the amount of pacing she did. Hours came and went, the longer Quinn didn't call, the more she worried.
Just about as she was going to run around to Judy's did her phone rang.
'Q' followed by heart emojis popped onto her screen.
"You asshole," she started. "What took you so long?"
"What?" Quinn's voice is groggy, confused even.
"Did you just wake up?"
There's a rustling on the other end of the phone and a slam of a door, "No. I mean, yeah. Kind of."
"I can't believe you made me call first. That's not fair, Quinn."
"I'm sorry, I just have been trying to figure things out. Jane set me up with a place, but I had to leave and," the sound of sirens cut her off. "It doesn't matter. I should have called to make sure you'd gotten home safely. To speak to you."
She sounded tired. Santana hated that she felt bad. Quinn had done this to herself, to them.
"Well, we're talking now."
"Yeah. We are."
A beat.
"What are you going to do, Quinn?"
"Get a job, find somewhere to stay, I don't know."
"Have you spoken to your mom?"
Quinn's laughter didn't help Santana's worry.
"Judy? I did. She's very proud of me. All grown up now. She's always wanted to convert my bedroom you know, so now she can. She can't believe her luck, I'm sure."
"Quinn," Santana began, nail worrying at the seam of her bedding.
"No, no. It's fine. I expected as much."
"You don't have to stay there. You know you can still come to New York, right?"
"Yeah, I know," the words made Santana's heart flutter in her chest. "But I'm going to try it out here. I don't exactly know why, but I think I'm meant to be here. I might even try for a late admission to a college here or try my hand at being a starving artist," she could hear the smile in her voice.
"Where does that leave us? Because it sounded pretty done when you said we'd find each other again," Santana's throat began to tighten, her heart had already been broken, but the answer could be the final nail in the coffin.
"I know what I said," resignation, "but we could try long-distance. It'd be hard, but we could try."
"You don't sound convinced," she couldn't help the sharp edge of her words. Santana knew long-distance wasn't ideal, but Quinn could at least pretend she wanted it.
"Because I know how this will pan out, San."
"Stop acting like you know everything, Quinn. You don't."
"What do you suggest then?" She could tell Quinn was rising to her jab.
"How about talking to me before you fucking leave me at some fucking gas station, Quinn? How about that?"
"It wasn't my intent-"
"It wasn't your intention? Well, fuck. I suppose it's all okay then."
"I didn't say that," Quinn's voice wavered.
Another beat.
"This is so fucked," Santana said as she flopped onto her back, her body landing with a slight bounce. "I don't know if we can be friends after this," Santana said, closing her eyes as she heard Quinn's broken gasp.
"Okay, I understand. I'm so sorry, San. I'm so, so sorry," the sound of Quinn blowing out a breath followed her words down the phone.
"I can try, we can talk. But I can't promise anything." Not anymore. "I just don't think I could ever go back to seeing you that way. Not when," Santana bit her lip to centre herself. "When we had what we had."
She still loved Quinn, in a very romantic sense. It wasn't like their love had fizzled out and they'd mutually agreed to carry on being friends.
"I know," the words were quiet, defeated.
Santana's eyes stung, her throat itched no matter how many times she swallowed. This situation was so frustrating to her. She couldn't understand why Quinn would decide to do this, no matter how many reasons she gave.
Was it so unimaginable to her because she loved Quinn more than Quinn loved her? The thought made her physically ill.
As though reading her thoughts, Quinn's soft voice came through the phone, "I love you."
The same three words willed themselves to fall from her lips, but she couldn't. She was too upset. "You better call me."
"I will."
"I don't want to be hearing about you through Mercedes when she moves. If I do I'll be royally pissed off, okay?"
"Okay. And, San?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
Santana's brow furrowed, "For what?"
"When you invited me with you to LA to share such an important moment in your life, I couldn't have known how important it would have been for me too. I have never felt more myself than this past summer I spent with you and your family. Not to sound melodramatic, but you saved me."
"Oh." Stunned is how she would describe the feeling.
"I've struggled, am still struggling with myself, but for the first time in forever, I feel okay. Awful about us, but okay about being here. Away from everything."
The selfish part of herself began to regret inviting Quinn altogether if that was the reason for her not coming to New York. But the other half, the half that wanted the best for those closest to her, felt the lump in her throat loosen. Santana would have preferred Quinn to have been with her, but if happiness meant LA, then she could try to accept that. Not any time soon. But with time.
It still didn't change the way it all fell apart. Learning to forgive Quinn would be a part of that acceptance.
Their call had ended with tentative goodbyes and Santana had remained, lain on her bed, for what could have been ten minutes to an hour. Absorbing Quinn's words, what they meant, how they sounded.
And then the scouring through memories began, the things she'd missed, didn't pick up on or even ignored. But she wasn't a mind reader, she couldn't have known everything. She might know Quinn better than anybody else, but that didn't mean she always knew what she was thinking or feeling.
God, she wished Quinn had opened up to her and told her what was going on when she had a chance to help her.
With the knowledge Quinn was not in fact kidnapped, Santana's life went on. Her big move to New York was upon her, life was about to get extremely busy. She didn't have the luxury to think about Quinn all hours of the day.
And that's how three months passed.
Santana settled into the fast-paced lifestyle that New York City seemed to thrive upon, and despite not living on campus in her first year, had found herself some new friends already. Ones that weren't all singing and dancing like her roommates, Rachel and Kurt, who, in all fairness, were not so bad to live with after they'd found a morning routine of who used the bathroom when and in what order.
Since their call, Quinn had kept her word. She'd called twice after the first. But it was difficult to get through the conversation, knowing that Quinn's life didn't involve her. Not really.
Santana began to realise that maybe she needed space.
So after the second, the calls dropped off, texts took their place but they never went further than you okays and yeah, I'm goods. Their last text being about what they had for lunch. And that was a month ago.
If she thought too hard about the state of their relationship she was guaranteed to fall into a puddle of tears, so she threw herself into college work, partying and forgetting Quinn. If only for a little bit. It never quite worked the way she wanted it to.
"Guys," Rachel's voice echoed through the loft. "Guys?"
"Yeah?" Santana croaked from her spot splayed out on the couch, magazine covering her face, having fallen asleep reading it.
"We're going out tonight," Rachel's voice vibrated with excitement.
"What has you all excited?" Kurt asked as he exited the bathroom, comb hanging loosely in his hand.
"Some of the people in my dance class invited me and I have to go, but I don't want to go alone."
"Have to go?" Santana's interest was piqued, sitting up she watched Rachel's face closely. "Why?"
Rachel's smile could have taken the bulb's job, "A boy I like is going."
With a groan, Santana fell back into her prone position. "Not a boy."
"Yes," Rachel snapped, "a boy. Is that a problem?"
"Listen, whatever you do behind closed doors is none of my business. Just don't shove your lifestyle down my throat."
Kurt snorted a laugh as he made his way around the kitchen.
"Don't encourage her, Kurt."
"Yeah, Kurt. Don't encourage me."
"What's your problem lately?" Rachel crossed her arms as she stood behind the arm of the couch so she could stare directly down into Santana's face.
"Nothing."
Rachel quirked a brow, "Oh, really?"
Santana didn't want to get into this. It was a reoccurring theme. Any bit of attitude and Rachel assumed something was up. Well, she was fine! Just peachy.
"If you leave me alone I'll come."
Rachel narrowed her eyes, "Fine."
A few drink deep, Santana felt herself loosen up. She threw her ass back into Kurt who held her hips and laughed.
Things were a little blurry, but fuck. She was fucking shit up. She was that bitch.
Fuck Quinn.
Fuck Quinn for leaving her.
She didn't need her.
She didn't.
Turning in Kurt's grip she put her hands over his shoulders and fell into the rhythm. Her unfocused gaze passed over his face, returning his smile and planting a peck to his cheek before pulling back and falling into the crowd of bodies.
She found herself at the bar, flashing her fake ID to get herself another double.
Quinn who?
Paying with one hand, she used the other to tip the glass back, finishing half of it like it was water.
A hand landing on her forearm pulled her attention to Rachel, who'd appeared from nowhere.
"San, take it easy!"
"I'm here aren't I? Leave me alone. I'm fine," she said as she leaned in so Rachel could hear her.
The pitying look she got in return made her roll her eyes. Sliding past her, she joined the heap of moving bodies on the dance floor once more. She danced and she danced. She danced until her skin glistened with a slight sheen of sweat.
She didn't even know what song was playing. She just wanted to move.
A pair of arms snaking their way around her waist brought an end to that. Her back went rigid and her hands pushed down on them to break away.
She couldn't do that. It didn't feel right. It wasn't right.
Cool air hit her as she broke through the club's exit, tears wetting her cheeks and stuttered breaths filling the silence of the empty street, only the dull thud of the bass inside could be heard.
Leaning against the brick wall beside her, she slowly lowered herself to the ground, face in her hands as she let loss consume her. Because that's what it was. She'd not only lost her girlfriend. She'd lost her best friend.
But this is what she wanted wasn't it? If they couldn't be together, they couldn't be friends. Why'd she tell Quinn that? She didn't mean it. Not if it meant this.
She missed Quinn so much. The ache in her chest grew with the more tears that fell.
"Are you okay?" One of the bouncers by the door asked.
"Hay fever," she babbled, taking the tissue he offered her to blow her nose.
It took a few minutes but she eventually settled enough to not burst into tears at the mere thought of blonde hair and hazel eyes.
Pulling her phone out of her bra she pulled up her contacts. Should she?
Yes.
Pressing call, she held the phone to her ear, wrist limp against her face, and waited.
And waited.
"The number you are trying to call is currently unavailable-"
Santana's hand dropped to the pavement, smacking it hard enough to bruise. But she didn't care.
Had Quinn changed her number? Why hadn't she told her? Did she not care about her anymore?
The torrent of questions was enough to have her sobbing once more, Rachel found her not ten minutes later, worried she'd gone missing and pulled her into a hug.
"Oh, San." She murmured into her hair. "Let's go home."
Her call not connecting that night hardened something in Santana. In her mind, it was a sign to move on. If that meant pushing down all of the feelings she still had deep down inside her, then so be it. She couldn't keep living like this.
One stiff wind and she was in tears, it was pathetic.
So move on she did.
She buried herself in more work, more partying, more everything that wasn't Quinn.
Time flew by and by the end of her second semester, she started to believe that maybe she had gotten over it.
She had tried to date again, a girl on her course had caught her eye and she was sick of feeling guilty for no reason. So she asked her out after weeks of shy glances and smiles. It didn't last long, but it was refreshing to know she could still date. She hadn't somehow magically forgotten how.
It was like riding a bike, she mused as she made her way to her next hook-up. Dating she didn't mind, but hooking-up? Now that was a college pastime she could get behind. They were perfect for Santana. No real commitment, emotional or otherwise. Fun and stress-relieving, which was a necessity as her course progressed and only got harder as deadlines approached.
Her phone buzzing pulled her attention from manoeuvring her way through the people walking down the sidewalk.
"Hello?"
"Hey, will you be back for six?" Rachel asked.
"Is half six okay?"
"Yeah, that's fine. I'll let them know."
Rachel had organised a Glee group call. It wasn't something Santana was particularly looking forward to. It was only a few of the old group, but she couldn't even begin to imagine what Rachel had cooked up for them to do, talking alone just was not good enough.
And she was right, as always.
Rachel had whipped up cards with questions and games, like a regular game show host.
Sat squished together to get in shot of the webcam, Kurt, Santana and Rachel were met with the grainy faces of Mercedes, Sam, Tina, Brittany and Artie.
"Hi, guys." Rachel began and received a few his and hellos from the others. "How are you all?"
"Stressed," Tina laughed and they all shared similar sentiments.
"What about you, 'Cedes?" Kurt asked, making Santana's stomach flip with something that she thought she'd long since repressed.
"Oh man, LA is kicking my ass! But it's so much fun. The vibe out here is so laidback, and the weather. Lima could never."
Knowing that she was one half of the elephant in the room, Santana excused herself to use the bathroom.
"Be right back," she said as convincingly as she could, locking the door behind her to sit on the edge of the tub.
Five minutes she'd give them. Five minutes to get it out of their system. Talk about Quinn, what she's up to, her fabulous life in sunny LA. Any longer and they might think she'd gone to take a dump.
The look on Kurt and Rachel's faces as she reappeared made her palms go clammy. What was that look for?
"And she's not in LA?" Rachel edged as Santana sat back down.
"No, I don't think so. The last I heard she was heading to Miami with some guy named Tom? Something like that. I haven't been able to get through to her since."
"Me neither," Santana felt compelled to say.
So it wasn't just her. Quinn had cut off everybody. For what? Was she okay?
"Do you think she's okay?" Rachel asked what she was too afraid to.
"She seemed okay the last time I saw her. I know Tom and her were close, I think he was her roommate. They were joint at the hip every time I saw them. I don't know what's up with her phone though."
"I thought she'd changed her number," Santana admitted.
"I don't know. I can't ask her when she's coming back either, so I know as much as you at this point," Mercedes shrugged.
"Hm," she nodded mindlessly.
"I'm sure it's nothing serious, I've had to change my number a bunch of times for all kinds of reasons," Brittany chimed in and then began to share some of her more ridiculous ones before Rachel interrupted to get her show on the road.
Never had she been more thankful for an interruption from Rachel.
