The Fourth, The Fifth
Part Two
Was this hell?
Was she doomed to see images of the life she could've had if she hadn't been so fucking stupid?
It was a really fucking fitting torture, to tease her with something she could never have. Feelings she'd never get to explore. Letting her almost have something just to pull it away again, night after night, all the while making her think that she was still alive. Not even she could think of something so fucked up to do to a person, and that was probably the reasoning. She'd been such a raging bitch in life that death had to be ten times crueler. She couldn't muster the courage to laugh at the irony.
Santana tried not to sleep, but there was only so long she could hold out.
It was hard for her to look at people anymore, like they would be able to see through her bravado instantly. Like they'd realize something was horrible, horribly wrong. She didn't even want them to suspect, didn't want to show any weakness. She wanted to keep up the superiority, keep her reputation intact. Despite all her work, the members of New Directions still looked at her with concern when they thought she wouldn't see. It scared her.
She realized quickly that she had to be extra careful around Brittany and Quinn. They always managed to see right through her no matter how hard she tried. It would all be over the minute they looked her in the eye. They'd see the panic, the fear, the hopelessness and the confusion. Everything that swirled inside of her constantly would be on display, and she would be vulnerable. She didn't even know if she could trust them. God dammit, she couldn't even figure out if she was crazy or not. Was she crazy?
God, she hoped she was crazy.
She really didn't want to be dead.
It was when she could feel the woman's gaze, hot and heavy against her back, that a different type of warmth stirred inside her. Something she'd never felt before. Not like this. She would lay a gentle hand on top of her own and kiss her neck with purpose. It made her feel like she was wanted.
Needed, even.
It made her not want to wake up.
It was a sign.
It had to be a sign.
What the hell else could it be? Santana just couldn't fucking figure it out. There was no goddamn reason for her to walk away from that accident with nothing but a cut if it wasn't meant to enlighten her. She was pretty sure she'd fucking died and then came back, or she was sent to hell. Either way, she was convinced that she was meant to learn something. To atone for all the terrible things she'd done, for the people she'd lied to, used, and hurt. She had to do something.
The thought of changing scared her more than anything else. She'd always been bad, but it was what she was good at. It was one of the only things she was good at. It didn't seem right that she could just go back now, not after everything she'd done. Not when she'd worked so hard. Still, there was that part of her that wouldn't stop nagging. That wanted her to do something drastic.
Santana wasn't sure what was crazier, the fact that she was having the urge to double back on all of her hard work or the fact that she was actually going to do it.
Like always, she planned it out first, struggling to figure out how the hell she was going to do this. It took hours of floundering in her thoughts to come up with had to be one of her most simple plans ever.
Be nicer to people.
She could do that, she was pretty sure she could. As always, there was the tiny voice telling her to run away fast, to hide beneath the surface, but she refused to listen to it. She wanted to do this.
She needed to do this.
It started with Kurt.
He was getting harassed by Karofsky and Azimio, just like every other morning, except this time her usual twinge of guilt was replaced by a tidal wave of anger that she channeled into looking as scary as possible. Kurt noticed her stalking towards them first, and his look of annoyance and frustration was replaced by a mild fear that still managed to boost her ego. To think that she could inspire fear with her demeanor alone was kind of impressive, but it wasn't Kurt she was trying to intimidate.
"Hey, douchebags!" That got their attention.
"Mind your own business, Lopez." Karofsky bit, while Azimio gave her an amused look.
"We're just talking to Hummel, nothing for you to get your panties in a twist."
"Well, you're done talking to him." She stepped between Kurt and the jocks, getting close enough to Karofsky that they were nearly touching, her arms crossed tight against her chest. "And if I ever see you talk to him again, I will take your balls and feed them to my dog."
Karofsky snorted, stroking Santana's fury. She could feel it, the emergence of her old self, the unbridled temper. At least she wasn't crying and actually channeling her feelings towards something decent. She cocked her head, ever so slightly, her jaw clenched tight as Karofsky opened his mouth.
"You really expect us to be afraid of you?" His eyes traveled her up and down, almost making her sick to her stomach, before he began chuckling. "I'm not fucking stupid, I know you can't do shit."
"Are you willing to bet your manhood on it?" Santana smiled sweetly, too sweetly, leaning in towards him. "Maybe you should take a second to remember Jared." He'd called Brittany a slut, and Santana had made sure that he'd got the shit kicked out of him for it. He'd never shown his face again, much to her delight. The momentary look of horror was all it took for her to see that the jocks understood. "Now it's time for you to back the fuck up and go suck each other's dicks or whatever it is you do instead of going to class."
For once in their lives, the pair listened, turning and walking away with their tails between their legs. Santana couldn't help but smirk a little bit. Sure, she'd created a monster, but if she used what she created for good that had to be better than before, right? It had to be, because she could feel a little warmth in her chest at the triumph.
Sure, Kurt was looking at her like she'd been abducted and replaced by an alien, but whatever. It was worth it.
Next, she called off the slushies. It was even easier than dealing with Karofsky and Azimio, since all it took was an angry look, an order and a simple threat to bodily harm to get everyone to comply without question. Especially since she and Quinn had been the ones to start the slushie war in the first place.
To the Glee club, it was just like the slushies had suddenly stopped one day, for no particular reason. They waited for the big attack, the thing that their tormentors were obviously just taking the time to plan, but nothing ever came. Santana eventually got sick of them walking around with raincoats on, especially when she knew that no one was going to defy her. It was before Glee club when she finally snapped.
"Jesus Christ, will you all just stop wearing the fucking raincoats? You all look like idiots." They just gaped at her, like she was stupid for not understanding why they had been wearing them every day for the last week. "No one's going to fucking slushie you, alright?"
"They've stopped like this before, Santana, and all it leads to is a much bigger and more coordinated attack! I would know." Rachel ran her mouth, like she often did, and Santana nearly hurled an insult at her before she remembered that she was trying to be nice to people.
"I told them to stop, okay? None of them are dumb enough to try it, so you're safe."
"Why would you do that?" Kurt asked, giving her the same look he'd given her when she'd saved him from Karofsky and Azimio.
"Because it's a damn shame wasting a delicious drink. And I've always thought it was kind of pointless."
Okay, she wasn't quite ready to admit that she was trying to be nice. It just didn't seem right. Not when the last person she'd even admitted bearing that particular weakness towards was Quinn. It just didn't seem right to admit it to Glee club before she admitted it to her, and she just wasn't ready. Not yet.
As she turned on her heel and walked out of the choir room, she could hear them already beginning to whisper about her. Trying to figure out what was wrong, why she would possibly to that. Why she would be nice. She didn't blame them for thinking that she had an alternative motive, she'd always had one before, it just kind of sucked to know that they were probably talking shit.
Oh well, she kind of deserved it. It wasn't like she hadn't been a bitch to all of them at some point. One day, she'd tell them that she was just doing it to be nice.
Pick a single word that describes one of your parents and explain why you chose that word.
The little dark-haired girl read and re-read the prompt, over and over, as time seemed to drag on forever. Her laptop was open on the table in front of her, a blank word document formatted and ready to be written in. Still, the girl did nothing. She just read, and re-read, until it was almost painful to watch.
Finally, her hands moved from their place in her lap up to the keyboard, a grin slowly working its way onto her face. It was like she'd just thought of the perfect thing to write.
'Fearless.'
It was easy to write off the first dream about the little girl as a fluke. Something stupid. Another person she was supposed to know but really didn't. Maybe it had to do with her change in behavior? She really didn't know.
It was when the girl kept popping up in almost every dream that she decided it was really fucking creepy.
At least she got to see the girl's face. It would have definitely sent her over the edge if she couldn't, again. Dark hair and dark eyes with a confident smirk that reminded her so much of someone. She was ashamed that it took five whole dreams to realize that she reminded her of herself.
What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
She could barely focus on school, anymore. It all seemed so stupid and unimportant when all she could think about were her stupid fucking dreams and the idea that she might have died in the accident. It consumed her. She could barely think about anything else, and when she managed to get off the subject, it always seemed to fall back on Quinn. Her anger at Puck was a nice break from all her other problems, even if it only lasted for a little while. It wasn't exactly relaxing, but she relished in the change, letting her anger fester for longer than was probably healthy. She just couldn't make herself car, not about Puck, especially when he was treating Quinn like shit.
But those thoughts would leave her far too soon, her own questions trapping her once more. She didn't know what any of this meant, what she was supposed to do, or what the hell had even happened. It was all just a jumbled mess.
Santana was certain that there had to be answers somewhere, answers that she just couldn't seem to find.
It frustrated her to no end that she just couldn't seem to stop thinking about it, which only served to irritate her more, a deadly cycle that seemed impossible to break. It didn't help that the only explanation that even seemed plausible to her anymore was one that was definitely fifteen levels of crazy. She wasn't certain about her hypothesis, not by any means, but she found herself wanting to go to the extreme. To end the endless questions and lingering thoughts. To figure out if she was crazy or if this was somehow legitimate.
This had to be one of those bad signs her therapist had mentioned, the kind that meant she should call him immediately.
She wanted to kill herself, but it wasn't because she wanted to die. It was the opposite.
She wanted to see if she would live.
Her palms are sweaty when she walks up to Quinn, the words tumbling out in a confusing rush. She's surprised that Quinn managed to understand what she said, especially though the look of shock on her face. It wasn't like Santana ever started conversations with her, and she never, ever asked her for anything. This was kind of a big deal.
It was probably the only reason she agreed.
"Of course you can come over. I'm at Finn's now, if you didn't know." Santana nodded quickly, trying to subtly wipe her hands on her skirt.
"Yeah-yeah, I know. Umm, does 4:30 work? My parents will freak if I don't check in first, and I kind of want to change." The thick polyester of the uniform was awfully constricting, squeezing her chest and making it hard to breathe. Maybe that's why she was stumbling over her words so much? She didn't want to attribute it to the obvious, but it felt like she needed an excuse. A reason as to why she just wasn't being herself. Santana Lopez didn't get nervous.
It was hard to care, anymore, and that was almost scarier than anything else.
"Perfect. See you then." Santana stepped aside to let Quinn pass, the familiar vanilla scent of her perfume enough to trigger memories she really didn't want to think about. Right now she needed to figure out what the fuck she was going to say. It wasn't like she could just walk up to Quinn and say that she was pretty sure she died in the accident.
"Fuck, this is such a fucking bad idea…" The murmur barely passed her lips as she hurried to her car, struggling to force her keys out of her bag. She knew there were so many ways that this could go wrong, but she just needed to tell someone before she exploded. It wasn't like she could tell Brittany. The girl was a wonderful friend, but she just wouldn't understand. Quinn, as much as she hated to admit it, was the only one who would give her the time of day and that she could trust to keep her mouth shut about it. The last thing she needed was this getting out.
She just needed to talk to someone.
With shaky hands, she drove, forcing away any and all thoughts of the accident just like she always did. Her parents never wanted her to drive again, but she refused. There was no goddamn way she was going to let this get in the way of her life even more than it already had, even if it was horrifying to even sit behind the wheel. She was tough and she pushed through it, which was enough to quell some of her parents' nervousness.
It was like she was running on autopilot. Before she knew it, she was changed and parked in front of Finn's house. She just breathed, slowly, in and out, her hands white-knuckled against the steering wheel. As soon as she got out of the car, there was no turning back. The words would spill out of her as soon as she opened her mouth, and there was no taking them back. There was no playing this off as a joke. A deep exhale accompanied the sound of the driver's side door opening, her heart pounding in time with her footsteps, drowning them out.
She should've expected Quinn to open the door as soon as she knocked, like she had been waiting for her, but she still jumped. Quinn cocked her head, slightly, but didn't mention it. She smiled instead.
It was when she was following her up the stairs that she realized she still hadn't figured out what the fuck she was going to say. Her heart was racing wildly in her chest, but it was getting harder and harder to tell if it was out of nervousness or because the last time they were in a room alone they ended up making out all night. It would be a lie to say that she didn't enjoy it, and it would be an even bigger lie to say that she didn't miss Quinn. This was probably a bad idea all around, but there was no going back now.
"Santana, what's wrong?" Quinn's voice broke her from her thoughts, making her realize that she was just awkwardly standing while Quinn had already taken a seat on her bed. "You're acting really weird." Finally, she sat, leaving quite a bit of space between them. It was better to be safe than sorry.
"Is it that obvious?" God, this whole thing was so awkward. She just wanted to smack herself.
"Not really, I just know you. Brittany actually asked me if I knew what was going on with you, so I guess she noticed too."
"Does anyone else know?"
"No one really knows anything. Britt and I are the only ones worried, everyone else is just weirded out." Quinn shrugged as Santana sharply inhaled, trying to keep from freaking out. She had to tell her, she had to, she couldn't back out after she went through all this trouble. Quinn was already worried, if she freaked out and ran away again she would only worry more. She'd have to tell her eventually.
"I just wanted to be nice."
"You're not nice, ever. At least not at school. That's why it's weird, and why I know something is seriously wrong with you."
"People can change."
"I know, it's just really sudden. And you've been so quiet since the accident. It's kind of scary, actually."
"I…I've just had a lot on my mind." Santana swallowed, hard, forcing back any inclination her body had to cry. If she did she'd never get this out, and Quinn would freak out even more. She could already feel her gaze fixated on her face, looking for any sign of what was wrong, anything she could do to help. It was nearly painful.
"It wasn't your fault, you know." The hypothesis she came up with was, again, completely wrong.
"I know. That's not really what I've been thinking about." Taking a deep breath, she looked up and braved Quinn's gaze. "I just…I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about everything that happened. I relive it over and over and I just can't figure out how to stop. I don't feel guilty, I mean, I'm sorry he died but I know it wasn't really my fault. Something just feels…wrong, you know? Like I'm supposed to find something, remember something that I just can't quite grab."
"It was a bad accident, Ana…" The nickname wasn't lost on Santana, and her gaze faltered enough that she knew Quinn noticed. "I think it's normal to wonder why he died and you didn't. Miracles don't always have explanations. You just have to let it go."
"I don't think it was a miracle, Quinn, that's what I'm trying to say. I think something happened." Quinn's lips were parted, slightly, like she wanted to say something but she couldn't figure out what. "When I manage to get to sleep, I have dreams. Every single night. And they're not about the crash, or anything like that. They're not even sad. They just…they all feel so real, you know? Like it's my life. It's just not normal. I can't focus on anything and it pisses me off so much, but I just can't stop."
Slowly, Quinn reached out, taking her hand and squeezing it. Santana nearly cried again, just from the look she was giving her. After all this time, even after she'd thrown her away like garbage, even after she'd ignored her, she still cared. Cared enough to worry, even. All it did was reinforce the idea that she had been an awful person. That she was an awful person. Her eyes fell to her lap, to their hands, and all she could do was squeeze back while Quinn struggled to find something to say. It was a futile effort, and the silence was deafening as she tried to force the words from the back of her throat.
"I died, Quinn." Even though her eyes were focused downwards, she could feel Quinn's head shoot up at her whispered words. "I died in the accident, I know I did."
"Santana-"
"No, don't even try to tell me it sounds crazy. I know it does. This is all I've been thinking about for months, I know how it sounds. It's the only thing I could come up with."
"You don't have to have an answer for everything, just be thankful that you lived and leave it at that. I know it's hard, but-"
"Quinn." It was enough to make her shut her mouth, focusing intensely on her. "I remember hitting my head really hard and blacking out, and then all I can remember is some girl telling me to wake up. Explain that! I was the only person in the car, and I woke up before anyone got there."
"Maybe you were just dreaming? You said you've been having lots of dreams lately."
"They didn't start until after the accident, and I'm pretty sure the voice I heard is the same girl I've been dreaming about for a while now. It's all really fucking weird, and I don't know what to do about it."
Quinn let go of her hand, instead moving to cup her cheek with a tenderness that Santana didn't expect. It threw her off, making her thoughts stop flowing long enough to rest. She inhaled deeply.
"Whatever you think it is, just let it go. There's nothing you can do about it now, so just focus on the life you've been given and enjoy it." Santana shook her head, eyes misted with tears despite her resistance.
"I can't…I can't let it go."
Quinn looked so worried that she almost couldn't take it.
Santana just stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked hollow, broken down. Bruises and cuts marred her chest and arms, the dark bags under her eyes especially prominent. It was what happened when she had so many late nights at work.
For the first time since she was a teenager, she looked in the mirror and hated what she saw.
Santana tried to hold the metal still against her skin, but she couldn't. Her whole body was trembling with fear or with nervous excitement, she couldn't tell which. This whole idea was fucking crazy, completely fucking crazy, but she just couldn't talk herself out of it. She'd already made all the arrangements, waited until her parents were out of the house, stripped the bathroom of everything that could get stained, filled the bathtub with warm water. Christ, she'd even taken her shirt off.
It was insane, but there was no going back now.
Her right hand just wouldn't stop shaking. The razorblade was gripped tightly between her fingers, left hand rigid over the bathtub with her palm upturned. It was like she was exposing herself, making herself vulnerable, her life beating just beneath the skin. All it would take were a few swift cuts and that would be that.
A few cuts, and she'd die.
She wanted to take a deep breath, to calm her nerves, but her lungs refused to comply. Short, pained gasps were all she could manage, squeezing her eyes shut tight, finding refuge from the brightness of the bathroom.
This was so fucking crazy, but she needed answers. She needed to understand why she'd lived when he didn't. She needed to understand why she kept dreaming about the same people, over and over again. She needed to know if she was crazy, or if she really couldn't die. Death would be better than being plagued by loose ends for the rest of her life.
It was terrifying, the thought that she might not wake up. She knew it was part of the human condition, that she would die one day, it was just difficult to comprehend. She could do this and be gone forever. Would anybody even remember her in fifteen, twenty years? Would people even care? She could feel her pulse quicken, the loud droning in her ears unbearable.
She had to do this.
She had to.
All her focus was poured into getting the razorblade to her wrist without stopping herself. It was natural to be afraid of death. It meant she was human. She wasn't going to let fear stop her from doing this, from finding out the truth. Silently, she clenched her hand into a fist, pushing the blade down against her skin.
Before Santana could even register the pain, she was done. Deep cuts adorned both wrists, the water burning against the damaged flesh. She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached, only a tiny whimper managing to escape. She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, watching, thinking, pleading. Focusing on how the water turned from clear to crimson.
God, she really didn't want to die.
She was just so tired.
Slowly, she slumped down against the side of the tub, mentally apologizing to her parents for the mess just in case it didn't work out like she hoped. This was the only way to know for sure, she assured herself one last time before she drifted off.
If she had more energy, she would have been surprised at how much it was like going to sleep.
"Who is this guy?" It was the same girl, with the dark hair, the one Santana had been seeing for months.
"His name is Finn. He was a really great friend, an all around good guy. We actually dated, once, but we figured out that we just work better as friends." That voice was unmistakable. Santana's stomach felt like it did a nauseating flip as her eyes confirmed what her ears already knew.
Quinn Fabray. Even older, there was no mistaking her. She had the same intensity in her eyes that she'd had since they were kids. Santana was always envious of her ability to evoke emotion with nothing but her gaze, at least until it started to make her heartbeat quicken and her cheeks flush. Even in this, whatever it was, she felt her breath hitch. When was the last time Quinn had made her feel like this?
Every single day, but she'd never admit it.
"He was best friends with your father for a while, too, but they had a falling out. Most people did, with him." Quinn laid a gentle hand on the girl's back. She looked older, at least thirteen, older than Santana had ever seen her before. She had the same look about her that Quinn had when they were kids, the quiet intensity and subtle analyzing. Quinn was always smarter than many people gave her credit for, and Santana was sure that this little girl was no different. She had to be Quinn's little girl, right? When they were next to each other, it was almost unmistakable.
They went through every single member of Glee Club, Quinn regaling tails with a smile on her face, the girl enthralled with her words. Still, her smile couldn't hide the hint of sadness, the one she and Brittany had always been able to catch, no matter how hard Quinn tried to hide it. Santana stepped forward until she was leaning over them, staring at the glossy pages as the girl flipped through them. Finally, she stopped.
"How about this girl? She was in the club, too, right?" She'd paused on a page covered in pictures of her. It didn't take long to realize that it was a memorial. Santana could practically feel Quinn's smile fall.
"Well…" It was like Quinn was preparing herself, like the words just wouldn't come but she refused to leave her daughter's questions unanswered. Santana could sympathize. "Her name was Santana Lopez. We were best friends for a really long time, actually. It's hard to know what to say. She…there was a lot more to her than I could ever explain. She was always just Santana to me, but I think most people didn't really understand her."
"You did?"
"As well as she'd let me. She was always very private. It was a treat when she finally started letting me in." Quinn sighed, softly. For some reason, it made Santana's chest ache. "She was fiercely loyal and protective, and, in her own words, she was kind of a badass." The girl giggled slightly at the word, making Quinn smile ever so slightly. "All I can really think to say is that I loved her."
"I figured. I mean, I've seen you staring at this page more than a few times, and you always look so sad. I'm sorry that I made you talk about all this.."
Slowly, Quinn reached out and closed the yearbook as tenderly as she could. Her fingers lingered on the cover for a moment, eyes misted with the beginnings of tears, but she quickly blinked them away.
"You don't have anything to apologize for. It's been a long time, Izzy."
"I'm just sorry that it makes you sad."
"You don't have to be sorry, sweetie. I'll be alright, I always have been." Quinn smiled softly at the girl, who responded just as warmly. "I'm gonna go start dinner, alright?" Izzy just nodded as Quinn disappeared into the other room.
For a long moment, there was just silence, the girl focusing intensely on the cover of the yearbook, and all Santana could do was stare. The girl's gaze shifted upwards, connecting with Santana's, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight through her. They hadn't been able to see her before, they weren't supposed to see her in dreams like this. They most definitely weren't supposed to make such extreme eye contact with her, especially not when she was supposedly dead.
"Santana, wake up."
It was less of a suggestion than it was a command.
The first thing Santana did was inhale, so suddenly that her lungs erupted with pain that was forced away with every subsequent breath. The second thing she did was open her eyes.
The tub was stained with crimson water, a startling contrast to the pale colors of the bathroom. Her hands were still submerged, but the water had gone cold, something that grew more and more obvious with every racing beat of her heart. Slowly, she pulled her hands from the water, staring down at her wrists.
There wasn't even a scratch. No scar, nothing.
Swallowing deeply, Santana wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or if she wanted to laugh. She'd found her answer. It didn't clear up everything, but it was a start. For now, she forced the burgeoning questions to the back of her mind, hands clenched into tight fists. She just wanted to focus on what this felt like, coming back.
The adrenaline made her shake all over, exacerbated by the fact that she was freezing. The room was registering with startling clarity, painful enough to make her want to shut her eyes tight, but she refused. She just focused on every breath and every heartbeat as the adrenaline slowly worked its way out of her system.
As it did, the nausea took over, and before she knew it she was hunched over the toilet, throwing up everything she had in her stomach. At least when it was done and she was haphazardly rinsing out her mouth, she felt somewhat normal again. It was like when she'd woken up after the accident. There was the same rush of adrenaline, the same debilitating clarity. At least she hadn't thrown up, but she figured it made sense.
After all, she'd just died. It seemed like that was supposed to be kind of traumatic. That it was kind of traumatic. Taking a deep breath, she flicked the lever on the tub, making the water drain out. The porcelain beneath it was stained, but it was nothing she couldn't clean. She hurried around, gathering supplies to take care of it before anyone came home. She didn't really have the energy to make up a lie to tell her parents. As she got to work scrubbing, she couldn't help but wonder if it was fucked up that she wasn't all that freaked out. It seemed like the thing to do, to panic, to cry, to do something.
Instead, all she felt was relief.
"You can't just quit, you're my head Cheerio!" Santana had figured that she was programmed to be afraid of Sue when she was this angry. Apparently, she wasn't, and she wasn't quite sure when she stopped caring about what Coach thought of her. She figured it was probably somewhere between when she died the first time and when she died the second time, but it wasn't like she could use that as an argument.
"Well, you're going to have to deal with it, because I'm quitting. Give my spot to Brittany, you know she's the best dancer you have left." Gently, Santana laid her uniform down on Sue's desk. "Don't bother trying to change my mind, and before you think anything's wrong with me, I just have more important things to deal with right now than cheerleading. I'm sorry, but I have to do this." It was true. There was no way she could keep up with school on top of Cheerios, Glee club, and her new job. Something had to be cut, and it was a surprisingly easy decision. One had Quinn and the other didn't, though she pretended like that wasn't a major factor.
Sue didn't even try to talk as Santana turned and left her office, navigating the halls towards her locker. Trying her best to ignore the confused stares everyone was giving her, she spun the code to her locker and popped it open, pretending she couldn't hear them whispering about her.
"How come you aren't in your uniform, San? Everyone's talking about it." Brittany's voice nearly made her jump. Still, she couldn't help but smile at her words. Leave it to Brittany to tell it like it is. "I think they think you're pregnant, too…"
"I'm not. I just have a lot going on right now." Brittany just looked confused. Okay, so maybe the decision was really out of character, but it was still her choice. She was trying to be a better person, everyone should have seen this coming. "I got a job, alright? I can't do Cheerios, school and Glee on top of a job, so I had to quit one."
"And you picked Cheerios?"
"Of course I did. I'm sick of taking Coach's shit, anyway." Finally, Brittany's face broke into a grin as she gave her a monster of a hug. Like usual, Santana was partly confused, but she just went along with it.
"I'm proud of you, San! And I'm glad you're still in Glee, it's more fun than Cheerios. They're gonna think you're having a breakdown or something weird."
"They can think whatever they want, B."
She didn't mention that maybe she might be having a little bit of a breakdown. It wasn't like in the movies, where she just cried uncontrollably and had lots of meaningless sex and bought tons of nice stuff. It just felt like things were breaking. Crumbling.
Glee Club didn't really seem to notice that, no one did, but they certainly noticed that she'd quit the Cheerios. As they walked into the choir room, all conversation practically stopped, everyone's attention focused solely on her. For the first time in a long time, she felt heat begin to rise to her cheeks, but she sure as hell was not gonna blush in front of the entire club. She'd worked hard to get rid of that particular reaction. As if on instinct, her eyes caught Quinn's as she and Brittany headed for two open seats in the back. She looked like she was staring at a ghost, eyes wide in what looked like disbelief. Santana exaggerated her eye-roll enough for them all to catch.
"Before you go off and gossip about it, I quit the Cheerios, and I did that because I wanted to. I'm not pregnant, Coach Sylvester didn't kick me off, I quit, and that's all you need to know." Santana plopped herself down in the seat, ignoring the whispers as Mr. Schue began his lesson, staring at her nails to avoid focusing, per usual.
She knew that at least Brittany and Quinn would ask questions, if the rest of the club didn't. They knew her better than anyone, as much as she often hated to admit it, and they were going to realize that something was really off. She didn't need a job. Her dad was a doctor, after all. On top of that, she'd quit Cheerios. If they hadn't realized it yet, they definitely would soon. It was like she acting the complete opposite of how she normally would, and the two blondes were the only ones brave enough to call her out on it.
It was time to come up with a lie, and fast. She couldn't tell anyone the real reason she'd gotten a job. Hell, she could barely admit it to herself, and she could barely believe that she was actually going through with it. No one would believe her if she said that she was just trying to make money to give to Quinn. They hated each other.
They were supposed to hate each other, anyway.
Brittany would get it, kind of, although she'd just attribute it to her still being in love with Quinn and leave it at that. She really didn't want to be subjected to another of the girl's painfully accurate lectures, as well meaning as they were. Honestly, she was sick of being told what she felt.
She wasn't in love with Quinn.
She wasn't.
And it didn't matter that all her dreams were about her.
All she could do was keep telling herself that and hope it all turned out for the best.
"I'm afraid."
Quinn mumbled it so softly against her skin that she almost didn't hear it.
"Why?"
It was a stupid question, she knew why. She'd just graduated, and she was starting her new job next week. She'd be patrolling the streets. It wasn't like Seattle was a particularly dangerous city, but she understood. Much like her, it took a lot for Quinn to admit her weakness, so she understood. The last time she'd heard it like this, Quinn was moving back in with her mother, taking tiny little Isabelle with her.
"I don't want you to die."
"I can't."
"We don't know that for sure." It was enough to shut Santana up."I just…I can't lose you, alright?"
"I promise I'll be careful."
Santana made of a habit of never promising, but she could make an exception. Especially when Quinn was clinging to her like she was going to walk out the door one morning and never come back.
"I can't lose you." She repeated. Santana pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"You won't."