Flight
"Really? Why Santana?" Noah looks skeptical when he asks me. He leans across the lunch table, his voice lowered.
I shrug. It's not like we get a manual on the why, what, when, where, who, just these vague flashes and the innate knowledge that they are important individuals. My every instinct relies on the sure knowledge that Santana is going to do something important. I just don't know what. "I just know she's important. You'll know when you see them. This feeling, this pull, this thing." I wave my hand vaguely in front of my chest, a pathetic attempt to convey what I mean.
"How did you know it was her?" Noah hasn't received his purpose yet, even though he knows it's a message. He said that he always has this feeling that the right words are on the tip of the tongue and he knows that in one moment, his words will matter. There's no other purpose, he knows for a fact. So the best he can do is interrogate me at every chance to figure it out.
I think back, trying to pin down the steps it took to getting here. "My flashes used to be really vague. I could barely tell anything, except that she was in a skanky red cheerleader uniform."
Noah smirked at me.
"What," I ask, irritated by the look in his eyes.
He laughs as he points to me, "You're in a skanky uniform now!"
I roll my eyes. "Not by choice, keep in mind. You get to wear jeans and a jacket; I have to wear this uniform. It covers almost nothing! And it's all tight."
He clutches his stomach until his laughter simmers down, "Whew, okay," he continues, the ghost of his laughter lingering on his face as a wide grin. "What are you going to do? You can't tell her, hey, I'm here to save your life. I don't know when or why so I'm just going to stalk you."
"I'm not stalking," I protested. "I'm merely… protective of my cause."
"You're lucky your cause is hot," he glances over to where Santana is laughing with Brittany at their lunch table. She looks happy, I realize. I can't tell if it's the angel blood in my veins or my own will but… I want to make her laugh like that. She always glares at me like I'm about to stab her with a pen or something, which goes entirely against my nature. Not that I can say that.
I smack Noah and exclaim, "Stop objectifying her!"
"Possessive much?" He winks at me. "Don't worry," he reassures me. "She's all yours. I know she's not my purpose anyway." He ponders over my dilemma. "I'd tell you to get in her pants but I don't know if you can follow the Puckerman in bed."
I groan. He's slept with her, which is just so wrong to me. "I'm going to ignore that. I just need to figure out how to save her, regardless of what she's meant to do," I say frustrated, mindlessly moving around the slop on my lunch tray. I can't believe they even call this mess a lunch.
Noah must take notice of my frustration because he clears his throat and gives it some serious thought, becoming silent for a moment, which is an upgrade to his snarky attitude. "Why don't you ask Brittany to hang out?"
I give him a confused look. "I'm supposed to be with Santana, not Brittany, that's why."
"No, I mean," he looks over his shoulder pointedly. The blonde and Santana's heads are close together, like they're sharing a secret. The way she's half-smiling with that familiar glare in her eyes, well, it makes me want to be a part of it. No wonder they're the it girls of school; they make you want to be them, with them, or on top of them, if not all of the above. He continues, "They're never apart and most likely, Santana won't let you hang out with Brittany alone so she'll have to come with you two and hang out with you, too."
"It's not just that, Noah," I say. He grunts; he hates it when I call him Noah. It undermines his reputation, he tells me. I ignore his not-so-subtle dislike. "I don't know why she hates me."
"She just doesn't know how to act around you," he replies simply, putting his chin on his folded forearms. "She's just kind of defensive, like all the time."
"Well, that doesn't help me. How am I supposed to help someone like that? I'm her guardian, but she won't let me, you know, guard or whatever." Frustration laces my voice.
The bell rings before he can give me an answer. He gets up, takes my tray away for me with a hand, his other hand tossing his letterman jacket hanging over his shoulder. When he walks back, I can see the horde of girls turning their heads at the Lima bad-ass. He saunters with a smirk, soaking up all the attention like a sponge. I roll my eyes at him.
Noah looks back at me, considering the predicament, and shrugs, "I know you'll figure it out." He winks and heads out the cafeteria doors.
Somehow, I doubt that.
"How are you doing that?"
I turn to find Santana glaring at me, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. Um…"Do what?"
"Splits, jumps, somersaults," she inquires, less bitchy than before but that's not to say it was a friendly tone. "You jump like you can fly."
Erm, 'cause I can, kiddo. "I don't know," I shrug. It's in my nature. You know, supernatural and stuff. I want to tell her. That would make it so much easier but I'm pretty sure that would qualify me as every category of freak in high school. "I think it's just a lot of running made me feel lighter. And when I feel lighter, I feel like I can do more things, like I have no limits, you know?"
She looks at me like she understands but doesn't want to admit it. Just as she's about to answer, Brittany bounces over and jumps on Santana's back, riding her like her personal pony. Santana laughs good-naturedly, scrunching her nose in a playful way. Brittany looks at me from Santana's back, giggling and laughing as she asks, "Hey, Quinnie, Santana and I were going to hang out later. Do you want to hang out today?"
This is perfect! Almost exactly what Noah suggested but Santana practically hisses at the notion.
"Um," I hesitate. I want to but clearly, Santana doesn't want me there. WHY ARE YOU BEING SO DIFFICULT?! JUST LET ME SAVE YOU! Okay, mentally screaming at your purpose is probably not angelic or even sane but I feel like it's justified. So there. I ignore her displeasure at the suggestion, "Sure, I'd love to. You guys want to come over?"
Brittany scrunches her nose, "Your parents won't mind?"
Oh yeah, parents. "Yeah, it'll be fine. They're…" I rack my brains. Divine intervention, please. "Out of town. A lot. For business and stuff." I wave my hand vaguely, like that explains anything.
Brittany nodded, "Okay. Wait for us! I'm going to go change!" She bounces from on top of Santana, making the brunette groan under her. "To the locker room!" She declares as she points to the direction. Santana walks as fast as she can, completely whipped in the hands of her best friend. I'm sure if anyone else did this, she'd rip their throats out.
I chuckle. It's nice to see someone put Santana down every once in awhile.
"Wow, you live here alone?" Brittany's eyes are wide as she takes in the house.
"Yeah, my parents kind of…live out of town and stuff." Okay, Fabray, you got this. You're not lying…technically. "So I live here alone."
I pull into the driveway, Santana quietly observing from my passenger seat while Brittany leans forward from the backseat, taking in the size of my house. I must have gotten used to living here alone because I don't feel so surprised by the size of the house but I recognize the surprise on Brittany's face. A high schooler living alone in a house way too big for even a family of ten.
I'm not going to say it's not lonely. Because it is. I wish that I had someone to come home to or with. At night, I wish my lights weren't the only one on in the house. I sleep in different rooms every night, trying to get a feel for my own space. It just hasn't really felt like home yet and you can tell. The minute I walk it, I'm greeted by the cold and emptiness of an unoccupied house.
No one has been in this house but me, I realize as I watch Santana and Brittany step into the house. These are the first two people to have come for me. Except the delivery guy.
Santana spins around to face me, "Isn't it kind of… lonely?" She sounds curious, not at all unfriendly.
"I guess so," I reply as I lead the way to the kitchen to grab some drinks and snacks. "It's always been like this so it's not too unusual." I'm not lying, at least. Judy used to disappear a lot for her own purpose reasons. Even when she was there with me, she was in a trance, a world away in her own mind. I learned to live quietly and alone.
Brittany frowns at me, "No one should be alone. You should get a Lord Tubbington!"
"Huh?"
Santana almost smiles, almost. "It's her cat. Britt, she can't have a cat. She has a bird."
What bird? "No, I don't," I sound bewildered.
"You have feather tufts all over the couch, though," Santana explains, waving in the direction of the living. There are definitely white feathers from sleeping on the couch with my wings out. Judy told me to rarely take out my wings but really, that's like keeping someone in a straightjacket.
"Oh… It's just the duck feathers from the pillows." Okay, someone needs to award me because I'm somehow weaseling my way out of all these pokes and prods in my life like it's second-nature. Which it's not. Lying makes me uncomfortable and I feel like my wings are darker with each lie, pointing me out like, hey, this is a bad angel! "Anyway, you guys wanna watch a movie? We can go to the movie room." Wow, what to sound like a brat with a movie room of all things. I point in the direction of the room, trying to forget the rich-girl words I just said.
Brittany bounces over in the direction that I point to without even answering. When she reaches the room, I hear her exclaim, "Holy moly, Quinn, who even needs this many movies?" And then a quiet crash of what I'm sure are DVDs falling off shelves.
Santana laughs more openly than I've ever heard as she and I follow the girl. I never quite noticed how musical the sound of her laughter was, clear and sweet like bells.
"I need to go," Brittany whines unhappily, burying her face into the sofa.. "My mom said she's coming."
"Are you sure, Brittany? You chose this movie," I ask with a smile. There's no doubt that I'm warming up to Brittany, whose innocent nature is alluring the way that you can't help but walk over to a puppy and hug it.
"Yeah," she sighs as her phone buzzes in her hand. "She's here. Can I just borrow it later?"
"Mmhmm, I'll walk you downstairs."
Brittany turns to Santana, "Do you want a ride?"
"I think I want to stay and finish the movie," she looks at me. "If that's okay."
I nod, "I'll be right back." I follow Brittany down the stairs and down the front steps, where her mom was peering curiously out the window of her car. Probably making conclusions about me by the appearance of my house.
Brittany leans in for a hug. When she pulls back, she looks at me earnestly. In a tone more serious than anything else about her, she says, "You know, Santana isn't mean or anything, not really at least. Sometimes, she gets scared about people, I think, and it's how she deals with it." She smiles sadly, holding onto my arms like she's trying to tell me something honestly. "But she likes you, Quinn, or she wouldn't have come to hang out otherwise." So she doesn't hate me, that's a relief.
She spins on her heel, her blonde hair making a blonde blur as she sped down to the car, calling out behind her, "I'll see you guys tomorrow!"
I wave as I watch her get into the waiting car and drive away.
I swing by the kitchen, to grab some ice cream for us. It's easier for me to cope with tension when I have food in my mouth. And something ironic about ice cream: it's an ice breaker. When I get back up the stairs, Santana is waiting quietly, like she's weighing her thoughts. Her thoughts must be heavy because she doesn't seem to hear my steps.
"Hey," I say, seeing my words jolt her. I hold out the pint of ice cream and two spoons. "I'm kind of a Häagen-Dazs coffee-ice-cream girl. You want?"
Santana purses her lips, probably counting the number of calories she can consume before Coach Sylvester sends her to social hell. She seems to dismiss it since she's reaching for the spoon in my hand with a small smile.
"God, I can't even remember the last time I had ice cream," her voice sounds raspier than five minutes ago, a sound that's alluring in a completely different way from Brittany's. The kind of alluring that makes me want to have her whisper secrets in my ear, quietly and huskily. "This is my favorite kind, too." She looks up and smiles at me, no hint of malice in her eyes. Okay, who the hell are you 'cause you're not Santana. In the minutes it took to say bye to Brittany, clearly, someone had kidnapped Santana and replaced her with a nicer clone. Her spoon stays in her mouth as she offers a half-smile, which I'm sure is the best she can do.
"I know what you mean," I smile back, digging my spoon in for another spoonful of ice cream.
Our fingertips touch as I wrap my hand around the pint for a better grip.
I'm not sure of what I was expecting, really, when I touched her for the first time. When our fingertips overlapped, I thought maybe we'd burst into flames or butterflies would flutter out of space and fireworks would just start popping or something.
But nothing happened.
And yet, everything happened. I felt every feeling coursing through her mind, the eyes through which she saw the world, the bitterness of being painfully alone, how done she was with high school, her exhaustion, her abrasiveness that laid a thin shell over her heart, everything. It all washes over and through me, strong as the current of river. In that infinite instant, I ache for her and with her.
She looks as shocked as I feel and yanks her hand away. Um...I clear my throat and try to pretend it didn't happen, though, which is really the only way to go about something like that. Her feelings sat heavy in my heart.
"But, uh, I guess I can do what I want now since I'm almost always alone," I say my thoughts aloud. Besides Noah, the only consistent relationship I've had is with my phone for long-distance calls and the delivery guy, who comes so faithfully when I call for take-out. Good old delivery dude, I should probably learn his name considering this is probably the most stable and longest relationship I've had.
"It can get lonely, even if you have people, you know," she tells me quietly, looking at the surface of the ice cream. "There's a lot of ways to feel alone. If people don't know something about you. If someone can't understand you. If you're the only one. So you do all these things that aren't really you at all, so that you don't feel so alone."
I feel like she's talking from experience if she understands how I feel so well. "That's why we have to go find places and people who make us feel at home."
She laughs humorlessly, "So that's why you came to Lima, Ohio, huh?"
Yes, sort of. If only you knew... I smile, "Something like that."
I don't know how long we talk but it's dark out by the time and we didn't even turn on the movie again. Instead, we talk with the movie still blinking its pause button.
I look at my watch and it says… really late and my stomach is starting to protest about not eating anything but ice cream since lunch, which I also managed to skip. "So, is anyone going to call you to nag about the hour?"
She glances down at her phone and shrugs. So I'm going to take that as a no.
Do you belong to someone? I want to ask her.
"So do you want some dinner or something?" I get up from the sofa with the now-empty carton of ice cream. "I mean, I can kind of cook but that Thai place makes amazing tom-ka and pad-see-ew. And mango with sticky rice. It's not vegan but it's pretty damn amazing."
She quirks an eyebrow as she asks, "Vegan?"
"It's a habit when you live by a ton of vegan yogis who go to the fruit juice bar for lunch," I helplessly explain, forgetting I'm in Lima.
"I take it that you were one of these, too?"
"Ahem," I can feel the blush heating up my cheeks. "Anyway, is that a yes to dinner?"
Santana smirks but nods with a friendly glint in her eyes.
"Hey, angel," Noah leans in close to whisper, like he's using a secret pet name. Angel, he calls me. Thankfully, no one is a believer in such things so I don't have to worry but still, I punch him anyway. He blows air into my ear in a way that he knows annoys me and laughs when I glare at him.
The lunch hour is short but painfully long enough for him to torture me thoroughly.
"What do you want, Noah?" It's been a week since I've been here. I've put on the skanky uniform, joined the Cheerios, and have had the bad-ass jock come pester me almost every lunch hour and yet, I still sit alone at the lunch table. It's annoyingly lonely here, considering that I know almost no one and I can always hear laughter like a whole group of friends exist only on the other side of the glass wall I can't seem to break. Noah bugs me but at least, he's here. Sometimes, if I can't have love and friendship, I'd settle for company, even from Noah Puckerman.
"Okay, so," he looks down like he's nervous, using one hand to rub his Mohawk buzz. "I have a favor to ask you."
"I'm not sleeping with you."
He rolls his eyes, "Please, you'd be lucky to have me as a cuddle buddy. No, I wanted ask you, ahem," he clears his throat and lowers his voice so that the din of the cafeteria covers it. He leans in even closer, his breath tickling my ear, "Can you teach me how to fly?"
"Huh?" With Noah's breath in my ear, I glance around and see Santana, narrowing her eyes at me. Or us. I'm not sure anymore.
Noah shrugs as he pulls away, "I'm not kidding but I must have slept through that, um," a pair of girls walk by, within hearing distance, "That particular class 'cause I still can't do it."
"Why is it so important all of the sudden?" I quirk an eyebrow.
He shrugs, not really answering a question. "I feel like it is, like... I just feel it, you know?"
I can still feel Santana's glare on us, the steady gaze. I look up and stare back, thinking about Noah's request. It's not like I have a busy schedule and I'm not really getting anywhere with Santana anymore. When she left after dinner that night, insisting on running home because she only lived about a mile from my house and "ate way too many carbs" as she said, that Santana disappeared and the angry, ferocious Santana came back with a vengeance. On top of that, she seemed to methodically avoid me…
And still, I feel a pull towards her. She's looking back at me and I smile at her. For a second, I see a flash of fear, concern, something indistinguishable in her eyes. Every fiber in my body screams to go protect her, like it's written in my DNA, figuratively speaking.
But it's also probably literally written in my DNA, too.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," I reply, staring back at Santana, our gaze unbroken by the hordes of moving student bodies between us. I completely understand acting upon feelings; I mean, look at me chasing after Santana even when she's blatantly glaring at me. "But I don't know anywhere around here discreet enough to do that."
Noah smiles knowingly, "I do."
"Feed me, I'm starving. I haven't eaten since lunch," Noah begs. "Like, there's a McDonalds," he points out the window. "Or look, a Jack in the Box, hey hey, a Carl's Jr." He presses against my window, like a desperate puppy. His breath leaves foggy circles on my window.
"Stop it, you're going to leave smear marks on my baby," I hit him with my free hand, keeping my other hand on the wheel. "Wipe it off!"
He pouts as he messily wipes his sweater sleeve on my window. He leans back and crosses his arms like a child, "Fine."
I roll my eyes, "Just tell me where we're going." I lean forward to peer out the window as we drive away from Lima, the town fading away behind us and wildlife emerging before us. A thick forest of trees slowly appear over the horizon as we drove, a medley of greens obscuring my vision.
"Just keep driving straight, we're going to head out to this clearing here that I used to come to," Noah explains, now more focused on learning how to fly. "My handler used to bring me here before he bounced. He wasn't very attentive," he concludes bitterly, leaving a tense silence in the car. I want to ask...but given the expression on his face, I know not to.
I clear my throat and listened to a singer on the radio croon about unrequited love.
There's a feeling inside I want you to know, that you are the one and I can't let you go, the voice on the radio sings.
"Take a left here," Noah speaks up suddenly as we approach a small side road, worn under tires, the only mark of a human presence. "And... okay, we can park here."
The music stops abruptly as I turn off my engine and step out of the car, the untouched soil under my feet feels soft and fresh. The scent of crushed pines rush at us, a clean mix of fresh nature and clean air. I close my eyes, hearing the quiet sounds of natural life around us, the birds, the rustles of the leaves and branches, the trickling of water moving somewhere, the quiet whistling of winds. "I love it," I let out in a breathe.
Noah grins, "I know you would. We're not meant for a city life only, you know." He shrugs his backpack on and runs off in a direction into the forest.
"Wow, okay, a little warning please," I call as I run after him, quickly catching up beside him. He takes an easy stride, one that I quickly match until we're running side by side, the crisp air rushing into my lungs as I draw in deep breaths.
Noah turns to me and smiles, more sweetly than I've ever seen him. Uh oh... It's never good news when a friend smiles at you like that, unless you want them to and-
"Okay," he interrupts my thoughts, slowing down. "It's just under this way," he says as he jumps lightly over a large tree root. We must have run miles, the inhuman blood in our veins fueling our speed and energies. Not being entirely human has its perks; no wonder, I always aced track and PE.
He lifts a branch, revealing a small tunnel of green where light is bright and streaming just on the other side. When I step through, I hear a gasp escape my own lips. "Wow..."
It's beautiful in an untouched kind of way, a secret garden for those who have tasted flight. There's at least an acre of clear field in front of us, the edges carefully guarded by forestry and trees; no one would see us. I've only been to places like this when we went camping, obscurely far locations. I didn't know I live so close to it now.
Noah rush forward, sprinting in the open field.
I laugh loudly at the sight of this boy, flitting around like a ballerina.
He grins at the sound of my laughter, "Okay, now show me!"
"Demanding," I retort as I summon my wings, stretching them out in a way that felt liberating and free. I tasted flight when I was young and walked with my gaze upward, forever wanting to be there instead of this ground. My wings unfold, a soft shade of white with a tint of grey. I reach out and feeling the soft feathers under my fingers.
"What is that?" Noah asks, pointing to my wings.
"What is what?" I ask but when I turn, I feel his hand on my wings and then a sudden, sharp pain that makes my eyes tear. "What the heck was that for?!" I whip around, a flurry of my blonde hair around me as I turn to to smack him.
He held up a slightly pink feather, "This is from your wings." It was perfectly pastel pink, like cotton candy.
"Um," I don't know what to say. "I don't... know..."
Noah tosses the feather aside, my concern along with it, as he summons his own wings. Noah's wings appear in a flash, fluttering tufts of feathers everywhere, "Whoo!" He whoops as he stretches out his wings, too.
I swear they're darker, I notice. It's a light charcoal grey, definitely a few shades darker than the last time I've seen them. My eyebrows knit together, trying to remember what they looked like time.
He turns to me, "Okay, so now what?"
I step out of my thoughts and back into the moment. "Your wings are like your arms, your legs," I begin to explain. "They need to be stretched and have strong muscles. You can't just expect to fly."
Judy took us on trips as often as she could to make us practice flying, with weights, without weights, different aerial tactics, all sorts of weather conditions. Even then, it wasn't as much as an angel needs. No bird belongs in a cage and sometimes, living in a city was like living in a cage: no place to fly. After awhile, you almost forget how to.
But flying for us is like riding a bicycle. You never quite forget how.
I close my eyes and try to think about the last time I laughed, feeling a sort of happiness and contentment. It was with Santana, laughing over dinner about something completely ridiculous. But I remember her smile, her pink full lips curved just so slightly that it was an impossibly devious smile, inviting in all sorts of ways. Her eyes squinted when she laughed, the wrinkle on her nose. The small details brought a smile onto my own face, making all sorts of bubbly feelings inside.
When I open my eyes, I'm a good twenty feet off the ground, above Noah. The sunlight is warm on my back, my wings making the shadow of a bird onto the ground. I laugh, gleefully, feeling free for the first time in a long time. This sky, it's where we belong.
I see Noah, his wings trying to make the same motions as mine, rapid up-down motions. He lifts a few inches before crashing down, his frustration clear on his face. I slow my wings, letting myself gently touch the ground beside.
"You know how sometimes, when you're sad, it feels heavy," I ask as I face him. "Like depression is really a heavy feeling." He nods. "Well, happiness, contentment, joy, they're the opposite. Think of good thoughts as your helium, bad thoughts as heavy weights. You won't always need to think of happy things once you practice more," I recite the words Judy once said to me. "You'll learn to fly without having to force your thoughts but this is how you start."
He looks at my face with a certain expression I can't read. Noah's eyebrows furrow as he grasps for a happy strand of thought. His heavy concentration makes me wonder what he's thinking about. When he closes his eyes, his wings start to bat, a small gust of wind circling around us. I smile as I watch him lift a good few feet off the ground. And then I laugh loudly and openly when he opens his eyes and a look of surprise crosses his face, making him lose his concentration and crash into the ground.
"That was good," I smirk, watching him get up and brush off his dirty jeans. "Do it again."
I'm sore all over by the time I get to school the next day, it just hurts everywhere. But Noah and I grin at each other knowingly, as we pass each other in the hallway, both of us aching to be in the sky again, wings outstretched, pumping and flying until we're just as exhausted as we were yesterday. The giddiness lasts until Coach Sylvester pulls me into her office after Cheerios practice.
"You have been adequate," she glares at me over the thin frame of her glasses, glancing between me and a sheet of paper in front of her. "You run faster than all my girls by at least a minute. You jump at a record height."
What is this woman's problem? I sound fan-freakin'-tastic on paper, just saying. "I'd say that's better than 'adequate'," I snort, irritated by her derisive tone.
She glares without reserve. "Let's get straight to it then. I don't feel as visually assaulted by your freakish porcelain doll face as I do by most of the student population and their sad, sad inability to look decent and close to human." Wow, she really doesn't hold back. "And you proved yourself as a smidgen better than a dancing leprechaun so I'm offering you a permanent Cheerio position."
Considering the words that just flew out of her mouth like daggers to anyone with any kind of heart, I'm not sure if I want to be doing this. "I'll think about it," I stand and leave, completely loving the shocked look on her face that said, Who the hell denies being a Cheerio?
But do I really want this? I consider the questions and options as I head back to the locker room.
By the time I get to the locker room to grab my things and be officially done with school for the day, I completely dismiss the offer altogether. Instead, I'm excited to be done with school so I can go back out where my wings can sing until-
"Hi."
A raspy voice reaches out to me, just as I walk through the swinging doors.
You know what they say about extremely beautiful people? They say that, like (no offense) unattractive people, you get used to it and you eventually forget they look extraordinary. And in 99.99% of cases, this remains true.
Santana happens to be that 0.01% exception.
I look towards the voice and when my eyes find the source, all the air rushes into my lungs in a quiet gasp. A half-dressed Santana stands in front of me, clutching her towel close to her chest. The steam of her hot shower gathering in small droplets in the hollows of her collarbones. Her hair, dark as ink when wet, curls around her shoulders, dripping with water. I can see the steam rise from her skin.
And no trace of malice in her eyes. Instead, they're wide and almost inviting, except for the particular set of circumstances we're in.
Santana in nothing but a lacy set of bra and underwear, the red of the lace standing out against her caramel skin.
My palms feel sweaty, I'm pretty sure I have a fever. My stomach feels like it hit the floor. The air stings my eyes as I feel them widen with surprise.
Real smooth, Fabray. I clear my throat. "Hey, S."
She smiles at what I call her and nods, tilting her head a little as she mused over it. "I like it." Her lips purse slightly but just enough to make me want to know what her lips taste like.
I'm not sure how I reach her, taking steps slowly enough for neither of us to notice. We move like magnets, like it's our nature to be closer. I don't even notice it until I'm within an arms distance.
From a few inches from me, she repeats the nickname after me, "S." I can hear her draw out the hiss of her name but I'm lost in the gaze of her eyes, dark as her hair, black twilight somewhere in there. And without meaning to, I reach out and my finger grazes her bottom lip ever so lightly.
I didn't mean to, I didn't even know.
But I'm leaning forward, close enough to feel her breath wash over me, the scent of her shampoo lingering in the steamy air.
Her eyes dart as they search my face, although I'm not sure what she's looking for. Maybe she finds it, maybe she doesn't.
Somehow, the distance between us is closing slowly, my hand traces her lips, the curve of her jaw, and lands under chin, tilting it up slightly, pulling it closer.
Her eyes dance around under her closed eyelids, thin as grape skins. Expectation, hers and my own, wash over me and I'm not sure how it really happened. But when I feel her lips land on my own, when I taste Santana's lips, all I can think is, They write songs about girls like you.
Happy 2013, all! You guys left such lovely reviews that I was starting to feel really guilty about not updating in so long. Hahaha So I finished what I had for you as fast as I could. Thanks so much for reading it and really, for all your kind words and thoughts.
I'll probably start alternating my updates between my stories but we'll see.
Happy reading, all! Leave some love & reviews.
C.