A/N: Chapter two! :D Dani time! :D
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Santana was about fifteen minutes late, but whatever frustration that had caused me completely disappeared when I saw her run into our spot in the woods, her hair down and falling over her shoulders. She was wearing my necklace still, and I couldn't help it as a smile stretched over my face.
I had lunch all prepared in a little picnic basket that was sitting next to me, on the large blanket that I'd already spread out. This blanket, along with quite a few others, we kept in our little hut. We'd built the thing when we were just kids, but we'd done a surprisingly good job, considering it was d still up and sturdy. That was during the time that Santana and I were obsessed with using hammers and nails. Our fathers had been a little suspicious about where their tools had been disappearing to, but still no one had found our hiding place. Even now, when it'd been nearly eight years since we found it ourselves.
"What's all this?" Santana asked, but she had a grin on her face already.
"Lunch," I informed her, opening the picnic basket. I made us both grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. Nothing entirely special, but I knew that Santana would appreciate it nonetheless.
Santana quickly snatched a sandwich from the basket, as if fearing that I would charge her a kiss for it again. Of course, no one would've caught her complaining had that been the case.
"Good?" I asked her, seeking her approval.
"Of course it's good," Santana answered, giving me an unbelieving look. I couldn't help but blush. Santana was always making me blush.
"How was your birthday breakfast?" I asked, to make conversation.
"Boring. Well, actually it was fine, but it was boring compared to being with you," Santana stated dryly, and I couldn't help the small smile that appeared on my face. I loved that Santana loved spending time with me as much as I did with her. A couple of years earlier, I'd spent hours fearing that I was being too clingy of a friend and that Santana didn't like me like I liked her. Now, though, we'd been dating for about a year, and life couldn't be better.
Well, except for the fact that we lived in the one place that I really didn't want to live. Actually, I had repeatedly fought with myself over whether or not I should run away. I didn't like my family, I didn't like my home. The only things I liked were my guitar, me and Santana's spot, and Santana. Sixteen years of living in a place, and you'd think you'd like more things.
"How was your morning?" Santana wondered, filing in the silence I'd created by not saying anything back to the Latina.
"Well, not as good as my afternoon is going to be," I said, meeting Santana's eyes and wiggling my eyebrows. She got my meaning immediately. No one would be looking for either of us until Santana's party later. So until then, we had all the time in the world to fool around.
And luckily, our little handmade hut was big enough for such things. It was about six feet tall, and the room itself was about the size of a king size bed. It was built off of three trees, so it hadn't ever fallen down in its last six years of existing.
And before Santana had arrived in our spot, I had taken the liberty of laying out all of our blankets and pillows in a comfortable way on the wooden floor of the hut.
I was sure that one day Santana and I would be able to actually have sex in a real bed, but it seemed like that day was far away. Santana's parents never wanted to leave her home alone over night, and there were always people around at parties. My house was even worse than Santana's, because my mother was unemployed and was always home bitching about something.
Until we could make love in a comfy bed, though, our little hut would have to do.
After lunch, we disappeared into our hut for a few hours, and anyone who was listening around would probably be very confused at the sounds they were hearing. But no one ever came around those parts, which is why Santana and I had claimed it as our spot. The one place that only we knew, and no one would ever find us at.
I woke up with a heavy feeling in my chest. I knew very well what day it was. Santana's birthday. I took a deep breath and then let it out as a depressed sounding sigh. My depression only ever seemed to appear around this time of year, because besides Independence Day, Santana's birthday was the only interesting thing that had ever happened in July. And for the last eleven years, no celebrating. Just me feeling depressed.
I knew the depression would dissolve as August came, and I would be just as peppy as normal. For now though, I had to put on a fake smile and pretend that my heart wasn't weighing down on me.
"Dani!" came an excited male voice from outside my apartment, paired with an extremely annoying knocking.
"Go to hell Davis!" I yelled playfully. He knew that I hated noise in the mornings.
He took that as an invitation to come inside, and then he busted into my bedroom like nobody's business. I was sort of half naked, but it wasn't like he was going to stare. He was gay, and I was gay. Nothing was ever awkward between us.
"What're you so excited about?" I asked, anticipation coming through clearly.
"Neal called me back!" Davis announced, grinning from ear to ear. A similar splitting grin appeared on my face as well.
"Well judging from your smile, I guess he had good things to say," I assumed.
"He said, and I quote, 'The fact that a single person wrote and edited the song to perfection made it already a glittering work of art'," Davis quoted. "Followed by an assurance that we will be hearing your lovely voice on the radio any day now. After that, I did a little pushing, and he admitted that he thinks that the great Danielle Taylor would definitely not be a one hit wonder. Not to mention, he suggested that I set up a meeting between the two of you, to work out a contract for an album."
My jaw dropped. "Oh my gosh! Davis, you have truly outdone yourself!"
"I told you this Webster guy was worth giving a call!" Davis said proudly, smiling happily at me. "Anyway, we've still got a couple of days before your being swarmed on the streets. What do you say? Should we go party and lose ourselves for a few days?"
"I just woke up, Davis, maybe we should wait a little while before jumping into wasted land," I pointed out, rolling my eyes playfully at my best friend. "Plus, I don't really think I want to do anything today. Not in the mood."
"Oh right, it's what… July 15th? That suspicious day of every year where all you want to do is cry in your bed. Why is that again?" Davis tried. For the past five years that we'd known each other, he'd definitely picked up on my strange demeanor every July, and pinpointed the day where it was the worst. Today. July fifteenth.
"It's personal, Davis, and I don't just cry all day," I stated, my voice stern now. I didn't want to talk about Santana, not even to Davis. She wasn't something I liked to share with people. Sure, Davis knew that I was gay, and he knew pretty much what had happened in my life eleven years ago. But he didn't know about the girl that I was in love with all those years ago. The girl that I still couldn't stop thinking about for at least a month out of every year.
"Alright, alright, sorry. Maybe, though, getting out and getting a little drunk will make you feel better," Davis suggested.
"I think that would do exactly the opposite," I argued, climbing off of my bed and grabbing my robe. It was time for coffee.
"Come on Dani! Loosen up a bit!" Davis exclaimed.
"Maybe tomorrow, Davis, I have something I need to do today," I stated simply, walking past him and into the kitchen.
"What?" Davis pushed.
"Personal stuff," I answered, trying not to snap at him.
"Come on Dani, can't you let me just a little deeper into your mysterious past?" Davis pleaded. "We're best friends, aren't we? We've known each other for five years!"
I let out a sigh. Talking about her wasn't going to help anything, but Davis was right. We were best friends, and he deserved to know about the only girl that I'd ever really, truly loved, despite what had transpired since then. "Fine, but I'm only going to tell you a tiny piece, so that you at least know why I'm upset on this day every year."
"Ooh, good enough for me!" Davis exclaimed, sitting at one of my bar stools and grinning from ear to ear again. I let out a chuckle and rolled my eyes as I got my coffee machine to start making my much needed coffee.
"Okay well… you know what happened eleven years ago. But before any of that, there was this girl. She and I had known each other since we were eight—we met at school. We became really close, best friends. When I turned thirteen, I started to have doubts about my sexuality. I confided in her, and it turned out that she'd been having the same doubts about herself for practically a year. And well… we never told anyone except each other. And when we were fifteen, we got together," I stated.
"And what, this day eleven years ago was the day you left her before you… you know?" Davis asked.
I shook my head. "No, nothing like that. I never really left her, anyway. I mean, we never really broke up beforehand. No, July 15th is her birthday," I explained, shrugging. "It's just the one time I really ever think about her a lot. July is the one month where I think back and wish I'd done it all differently. The one month that I think I might still be in love with her, even after eleven years."
"Love's a weird thing," Davis decided. "Who knows, you might still be in love with her at age seventeen. But it's been eleven years after all. She's turning twenty-eight today. You have no idea what she's like now."
"I know," I said softly. "That's why sometimes I wish that I could go back and change all of my decisions."
"And where would you be?" Davis asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at me. I sighed, nodding. He was right, of course. I might have never ended up here. After all, Santana had always been the one with a real talent, at least in my opinion. "Any idea where she would be now, though? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to talk to her again."
I shook my head. "I mean, we always wanted to go to New York together I guess. But who knows if she went there?"
"Look her up on Facebook," Davis suggested.
"No way," I said, shaking my head. "I can't do that. I just… I can't."
"Fine. Tell me what her name is, and I'll look her up on Facebook," Davis decided.
"No! We… we can't. She probably hates me anyway, after what I did," I muttered, shaking my head. "Please Davis, it's hard enough just thinking about her. I don't want to see her pictures and her life and think about what would be different on her Facebook page if I was still there."
Davis sighed. "Fine, Dani. But you know, if you never try to contact her, you'll never find her."
I looked at my nearly finished coffee. "I know, Davis. I've known that for eleven years. But I'm sure she's built herself a life, and I never wanted to butt back into it. I imagine that would be worse than what already happened."
"Whatever you say Dani. I'm going to go out to the gay bar tonight. Hope I'll see you there. Try not to cry too much, alright?" Davis said softly.
"Bye," is all I said in return, and he left the apartment. Sighing, I poured myself a mug of coffee. It was going to be a long day.
What is this you know they keep talking about?!
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