A/N: Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Should I continue this?
IV
"Brittany's on the downstairs phone."
The girl at the desk addressed me without even looking up, and I admit, for a moment, I was somewhat bemused. I had barely managed an "excuse me" before she butted in—not knowing who I was, or whether I was even looking for someone. I quickly concluded that this was an ego booster—either she had read about me in Collife; the sad little magazine that the nerd of college life had come up with, or, more importantly, Brittany had told her about me, and she knew that we were dating. I hoped it was the latter.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll just wait here then."
She nodded, and continued to flick through her magazine. I glanced at the cover, and gave a small shudder of disdain. Cosmo.
A few minutes past, and I grew impatient. Checking the time on my phone for the third time in the past minute, I drummed my fingers on the desk and spoke.
"She off the phone yet?"
The girl glanced up briefly, before checking her switchboard. "Nope."
I huffed.
Who the hell was she talking to, that was more important than her date? Hell, I knew that she was friendly and whatever, but this was really the limit. I knew it couldn't be that Chang guy, or whatever his name was—I mean, he was obviously attractive and his abs made even my lady parts tingle a little, but the guy had a girlfriend. And Sam, with his disturbingly large lips, her ex boyfriend, had no game whatsoever. Despite all that, I was still seriously worried.
"Where's the phone booth?"
She pointed round the corner, to the left, and I set off immediately, heels tapping against the polished floor of the corridor. From afar, I could see Brittany on the phone—her fingers twirling and twirling the cord as she chattered. I gave an involuntary smile, and moved towards her, hoping she would spot me and slam the phone down, before jumping into my arms. No such luck.
As I approached, I could hear fragments of her conversation. The words made my blood boil.
"Yeah, absolutely. Aw, I miss you too…of course! Okay. I love you too…bye honey."
I stopped walking. Who was she talking to? Clearly, I was being shot down by Brittany Susan Pierce, for someone she was currently (ew) blowing kisses to down the phone.
I'd only been away from her for 48 hours, and in the mean time some smarmy git had crawled his way into her bed (it had to be that!).
As she was hanging up, she saw me, and without so much as blushing, she smiled and waved me a kiss. How could she be so two faced?
As I turned to go, she caught me by the sleeve and kissed me lightly on my unhurt cheek. I blushed despite myself.
"Hey—you look awful, San."
I glared.
"I'm injured, Brittany."
If the use of her full name, and my cold tone had confused her, she didn't show it.
"Does the other girl look worse?"
I rolled my eyes.
"Yeah. They always look worse."
I said that in an as intimidating manner as I could, trying to give off the impression that I was badass as hell, and would beat the crap out of anyone who tried to get between us. She chuckled lightly, and tugged on my sleeve affectionately, seemingly oblivious.
When we were outside, and had made our way down the street, about to step into my apartment, I took in a deep breath, and asked the question as casually as I could.
"Hey, Brittany…?"
"Yeah?"
I swallowed, afraid to hear the answer.
"Who were you on the phone to?"
She answered matter-of-factly as she walked through the door.
"My mom."
I wasn't about to believe a story like that.
"You call your mom honey?!"
She gave an amused snort.
"Yes. Why, what's wrong with that?"
Brittany had once told me that she'd been raised by her parents, a couple of hippies, in California. When I'd asked her what they did for a living, she'd merely pulled a confused face, and mumbled something about plants. I hadn't asked again.
She repeated herself. "What's wrong with that?"
I'd been so out of it, I hadn't heard her question.
"Well…uh…" I was stumped.
She giggled. "What do you call your…Abuela?"
I grimaced.
"Vieja bruja fea. Ugly old witch."
"To her face?" she asked.
"I never see her face."
"She wears a mask?"
I nodded.
"You could say so. In a way."
She shook her head. "Come on—she must be proud as hell of you."
I looked at her in disbelief. Guess she didn't know the extent of my loathing for my Abuela.
"No," I answered simply.
Her face fell, and she looked at me with an expression that made me want to die on the spot—pity. She opened her mouth, and then closed it, at a loss for what to say. I hated it.
"Don't," I snapped.
She sighed quietly. "Don't what, Santana?" There was an edge to her voice.
Don't look at me like that. Don't insult me with your pity.
I bit my tongue.
"Nothing."
Swiftly, she stepped forwards and kissed me on my forehead, pulling me into an embrace. I let her.
"Listen, San, she loves you," she whispered against my forehead. I gave a shuddered sigh.
"She has a weird way of showing it."
Brittany's forehead creased, and there was silence for a few moments.
"This is ridiculous, San." Her voice cracked, and I hated myself for it.
"Hey," I cooed. "There's nothing you can do about it."
She nodded, and pressed her face firmly into my hair.
I pulled her closer.
"Can we just forget about it?"
She lifted her head, and for a moment I saw a sparkle in her eyes.
"Thank God you're all hung up over your Abuela. It means you're not perfect." Her smile was back.
"Hey, I'm not—" I gave up. "Oh, you mean you are?"
"Hell no preppie. If I was, would I be going out with you?"
Touché.