Mea Culpa : Alis volat propriis
"She flies with her own wings"
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.
A/N: Quick recommendation, "Dance On Our Graves" by pleasant-hell is an uh-mazing ff. Seriously, every time I receive a story alert that a new chapter has been posted up I do a happy dance. By the way, thank you Lanter for reviewing again you make my day! So you get a super smiley - :D
Santana stared up at the lecturer in front of her. She had zoned out so completely that she wasn't sure exactly what was going on. But everyone had turned to stare at her.
Melissa nudged her and pointed to her notepad.
Dr. F's place in modern society.
Santana didn't even know the answer to that, she just shrugged and muttered inaudibly. Mr Langford raised his eyebrow sighed, and turned and pointed to a brunette in the third row. As she began to wax lyrical about the play Santana couldn't help but think how much this girl was like Rachel Berry. She was one of those annoying – wave my hand in the air, look at me look at me – kind of people and it irritated her no end.
She looked to her right to see Melissa scribbling away, writing down practically every word that was being said. She sighed and continued to stare into nothing, allowing her mind to wander and think about how Brittany and Puck were both here.
She wondered who else would be popping up next, Quinn? Kurt maybe? Her mother? She snorted at that last one causing Melissa to send a curious look in her direction.
It was funny; every moment that she knew they were here she could feel herself regressing into the old Santana. Feisty, angry and wasn't afraid to share her exact thoughts with whoever. In one year she felt she had grown, she had calmed down, if she felt herself getting angry she would just walk away. But now, she was tired of walking away, of denying what was still within her. The ember wasn't as bright as it used to be, but she could still feel it glowing there, right in the pit of her stomach.
She wasn't going to avoid them anymore she resolved. Well, she wasn't going to avoid Puck – she would collide with him head on.
The lecture wasn't over, but Santana gathered her things shoved them into her bag and walked swiftly out of the room, she could feel everyone's eyes on her but she didn't care. She needed to sort this out once and for all.
What she hadn't factored in was that in Melissa's car the journey took 15 minutes. On foot it took triple that time. The snow still sat heavily on the ground, except now it was beginning to turn to ice. A couple of times her feet slipped, but she never actually fell over.
By the time she made it to her apartment she was shivering from the cold. She looked through her cupboards for cocoa, or just anything hot that she could have, but unless she was willing to mix splenda with a cup of hot water she had nothing. She walked back into the street and down to the mini-mart, trying to figure out how she would actually get in contact with Puck.
She picked up bread, milk and all the other basics for survival. She couldn't actually remember the last time she ate a real meal. She walked up to the counter and hesitated.
"And a pack of Marlboro as well please." If there was ever a time to pick her habit back up this was it.
He packed her things into a bag and just as she went to leave she saw a flash of blonde hair down one of the aisles. She felt sick, but couldn't fight the urge to look properly. As she turned again, relief flooded her albeit briefly.
It wasn't Brittany, that's for sure. Unfortunately, it was another blonde that she didn't want to particularly see. Sara turned in time to look at Santana, their eyes locked and she couldn't turn away. They may still work together at the bar, but it didn't make moments like these any less awkward.
Santana wanted to say something, but she was beaten to it when Sara strode up to her.
"Hi." She said, almost bashfully. She turned her brown eyes to the floor, not really knowing where to turn beneath the scrutiny of Santana's gaze.
"Hello Sara, I haven't seen you at work lately?" It sounded so scripted and trite that Santana almost cringed at her own words.
"Well, you know this and that. They haven't really needed me in there." She answered simply shrugging her shoulders but still refusing to look up.
This conversation was a struggle, and was far too much effort for Santana right at the moment.
"Oh, well ok then. I er, I'm just – I've got to go." She gestured with a thumb over her shoulder towards the door. Sara finally looked up.
"See you around." She tacked on the end and darted out before Sara even had the chance to speak.
When Santana had first arrived here she spent many a night either crying or drunk. She got her job at the bar, because she was literally in there every night. Sara had been her favourite shoulder to cry on.
Her sympathy for Santana had shone through every look, every lingering touch and emphatic nods. It was one night, just shortly after she had started working there that those touches became more suggestive, those looks were heated and she knew that Sara wanted her.
They had been closing up when Sara made her move. Santana had been wiping down the bar when she felt Sara's lips at her ear.
"Need a hand?" It seemed innocent, but the way it rolled off of her tongue Santana knew what was about to happen. She didn't know if she wanted to stop it. Before she could think she felt her hair being brushed away from her neck and soft lips pressing down.
Sara's hands trailed down her arms, disengaging the cloth from Santana's hand. Santana could've stopped it at any point, but she didn't. Right then and there she knew she wanted to be touched.
Sara's hands stroked down her sides then, feeling her every curve and continued placing light kisses along Santana's throat. Her fingers trailed up beneath her shirt and over her stomach, continuing higher and higher until she reached her breasts.
Santana daren't make a sound; she closed her eyes and succumbed to the sensation.
"Shall I carry on?" Sara's voice lilted - she was toying with her.
Santana nodded and continued to feel the achingly tender touch of Sara's fingertips caress the tops of her breasts, before circling around pushing beneath the bra and stroking her.
But suddenly this felt wrong. Santana couldn't control her heartbeat that rose up out of fear instead of pleasure, her eyes flew open and she spun around. Sara stared back at her curiously.
"What's wrong Santana?" The heat had left her voice that had been burning no more than two seconds ago.
"I can't, I'm sorry but I can't." She fled, feeling as if she had cheated somehow. Santana and Brittany weren't together anymore, but even so, she felt like she had betrayed Brittany even though she was so far away.
Looking back Santana had realised that it had been too soon, even a year on it still felt too soon for anyone else in her life.
Even so, she sought regular comfort in Sara. It was more often physically than emotionally. Every time after though, Santana wouldn't stay the night, she would flee back to the safety of her apartment and cry in to her pillow. But that had stopped roughly a month ago when she announced that she had a new boyfriend, which then stopped Santana's guilt. Now whenever they saw each other it was awkward just like then.
Santana pushed the door open throwing her keys and the groceries onto the counter top. She began unpacking methodically until something caught her eye.
The balled up piece of paper from the other day lay on the floor. The same piece of paper that had Brittany's number on it.
She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to call. She stared at the paper feeling conflicted. She balled it back up and threw it onto the coffee table. She opened up the window and retrieved her cigarettes. Lighting up she stared out onto the street below.
She exhaled the smoke into the air outside, when her gaze fell upon a guy walking up the street. A guy with a very distinct mohawk.
"Puck" she shouted. She could see him looking all around.
"Up here" he looked up at her, and she gestured for him to come up. She walked briskly to her front door and stood waiting. Eventually she saw him appearing from the stairs.
He almost smiled, but quickly shut down when he saw Santana's face. He hesitated by her door until she gestured for him to come in.
He took in her apartment, there was nothing in it. No pictures, no photos, no colour or life to this room. It was a blank canvas, peeling at the edges. It was so far removed from how her room looked back in Lima, where walls wore adorned with photos of Brittany and Santana, a Cheerios uniform slung in a corner and everything had been sleek and black.
That room looked lived in; this room looked like a shell. It was also extremely cold. He finally noticed the cigarette in her hand.
"Since when?" He tilted his head in the direction of her hand.
"Puck, you know I've been smoking since forever." The room fell silent then, and she almost wished she hadn't invited him up.
"So where are you staying?" Santana questioned, on purpose leaving Brittany out of the equation. It didn't go unnoticed by Puck.
"Well Brittany and I are renting a place literally two roads down from here." It was Santana's turn to tilt her head now.
"Why are you renting? I thought this was a fly by visit." Puck seemed unsettled, as he shifted uncomfortably.
"Brittany insisted on staying here until you spoke to her and I wanted to get out of Lima for awhile." He paused a moment taking in his surroundings. "Even if it is to a place like this."
Santana felt embarrassed by her apartment, the only other person who had seen inside these four walls had been Sara, and she didn't much care what she thought of it because she only arrived there for one reason.
"Well Brittany's going to have a long fucking wait then. You should buy the place." Santana recognised the venom in her voice and wished she could bite it back.
"Why won't you talk to her San? What did she do?"
"She knows what she did. If she thinks she can just turn up out of the blue and make everything ok again then she's fucking deluded." She puffed on her cigarette as Puck sat down in the chair. He was settling in, so this was definitely going to be a long conversation.
"So she didn't leave with you to come here. Big deal. Why didn't you just stay in Lima?"
Santana felt herself shaking. She didn't like the easiness in his voice, as if it was a simple choice to leave.
"You don't know any part of it. It was people like you who drove me from Lima, so don't come here and preach to me about leaving. It was people like you who didn't make it a choice for me to leave but a necessity."
At that Puck hung his head; he stroked his hand over his mohawk as if struggling to know what to say next.
"I'm sorry San." That's all the words he could muster.
"Sorry doesn't cover it. Sorry doesn't take back everything that you and everyone else had done." He flinched at the words. But he spoke again.
"You've grown up in a year, so why do you think that I haven't." Santana wasn't expecting that. She threw her cigarette out of the window and turned to face him, her face was expressionless as she said the next words.
"You may have grown up Noah, but it doesn't take away from the fact that you did all of those things. Starting with the rumours about me having sex with you and ending in you outing me to the whole school. " He hung his head lower, no longer making eye contact with her.
"Do you know what that did to me? The shit I put up with, having guys saying they will fuck the lesbian right out of me? Did you know that?"
He looked up and saw that she was still emotionless. Her teeth were gritted and her stance aggressive, but her face gave nothing away.
"Here's an easier question, why is it you defended Kurt every chance you got, but with me you watched on, laughed and high fived sometimes at what the guys said?"
"I – I don't know." For once in his life he wasn't making a joke, he was being honest and vulnerable.
"You must know. Why was I so different from Kurt?" Her voice was slow and low. It was the calm before the storm.
He paused for a moment, and then decided to tell the truth. The complete truth.
"Because I thought I loved you. "
Santana froze.
"I still do." His voice was small and timid.
The next sound in the apartment was the loud crack of Santana's hand whipping across his face. Well, he hadn't been expecting that.