The heavy bass from the nearby speaker was giving Santana a headache. The drink in her hand probably didn't help matters much either. She paused briefly when she finished swallowing, contemplating the now empty bottle in her hand. She let out a brief snort of derision as her eyes drifted to survey the rest of the room. What had been previously the living room of Rick 'the Stick' was now party central – a churning mass of bodies and flashing faces. From her perch on the sofa pushed up against a nearby wall Santana had a direct view to this snapshot of teenage delinquency. And it certainly wasn't pretty.
Beside her an unknown couple were making out furiously, the girl grinding heavily on her male counterpart's lap. Santana rolled her eyes at the teenage cliché, getting up from the couch, carefully dodging a flailing arm as the girl let out a moan.
She knew it was a bad idea to come. But she'd promised Brittany that they'd go months ago, long before Wheels was even in the picture. Back when they were still best friends, when Friday nights meant soft kisses, sexting and warm cuddles. Now Santana's bed was cold, her lips bruised from the hard, forceful kisses given by Puck and her phone's inbox empty.
She'd at least hoped that Britt's would remember, show up and say hi, anything really. Anything to at least let Santana know that she missed the Latina, missed Santana as much as Santana missed her. Obviously though, that wasn't the case. The Latina bit down the hurt and decided to get herself another drink. The only way to get over the ditzy blonde was to get under someone else and the only way that Santana was going to be able to do so without vomiting was to get absolutely shit-faced first.
With a mental plan in place, Santana put on her best bitch face, ignoring the random jock that seemed to almost fall in front of her and slur his way through a sexual proposition. She disregarded his poor attempt at a come on, side-stepping his eager hands as she pushed her was through the crowd of people milling in the entryway between the living room and kitchen. It was only once she got a clear look in the kitchen that she stopped.
Seemingly unaware, the couple making out directly in front of the fridge were on the receiving end of many incredulous stares. This may have been due to the vigorous rocking of the boys wheelchair or partial undressed state of the girl's clothing. Either way the image sent a stab-like pain straight to the fiery Latina's heart. She stumbled forward as the random jock from before – Jack? Jim? – came up behind her, grabbing her at her waist. She was caught between glancing at the couple in front of her and random jock's face as he slurred partway through a pick-up line, leaning heavily on her before catching sight of Brittany and Artie. He let out a slurred yell, causing Santana to shirk away.
Blue eyes opened as the yell broke the couple out of their embrace, the sparkling orbs locking onto Santana's. Brittany had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, eyes swirling with guilt before they seemed to harden, then moving down to focus on the boy beneath her. Brittany's lips moved, saying something as Artie drunkenly laughed, his hand casually resting on the dancer's left breast. Santana whirled away, moving swiftly out of random jock's arms and into of the doorway. There was a desperate sense of urgency behind her movements, a burning desire to flee the curious looks of her peers. It was only once she stumbled out the front door that she realised she was panting, her heart racing as she struggled to catch her breath.
"Santana?" A low voice called from behind her. The Cheerleader bit out a growl, her right hand coming up to rub at her temple, the pounding in her head now in sync with the panicked hammering of her pulse.
"What Fabgay?" she bit out harshly, her voice slightly out of breath. Quinn's eyebrow arched as she surveyed the Latina's current state, choosing to ignore the ire in her voice.
"Are you ok?" the question was low, hazel eyes softened and focussed on the raven-haired girl as she looked away, avoiding the Head Cheerleader's gaze.
"Fine." Santana sighed in reply, before shaking her head as if to clear it, taking a deep breath and looking up at the blonde. "I've just had enough of this fucking lame excuse for a party." She shrugged, "I see enough of these losers at school, I'm gonna bail." The blonde bit her lip, surveying her 'best friend'. Santana bit the inside of her cheek, praying the blonde would let it go. After a brief moment the other girl seemed satisfied with whatever she saw in the Latina's gaze as she nodded once, eyes hardening once more.
"Whatever," the Head Cheerleader said dismissively, "I'm going to enjoy tonight as much as I can. So you'll have to find your own ride home." Santana rolled her eyes," sure bitch," her nose scrunching in annoyance, "I'm a big girl, I can walk just fine." Quinn seemed to pause at her words, eye's flashing briefly with real emotion as her mouth opened to retort –
"Baby?" the low timbre of Sam's voice called out from the doorway. The Quarterback stood in the doorway, holding two cups full of what was probably cheap beer. The Latina saw her out and took it, turning away from the blonde before she could pretend that she actually gave a damn about her supposed 'best friend'.
"San-," "See ya Q!" Santana yelled, not bothering to turn back to look at the blonde as she walked swiftly away. It was only once she turned the corner that her pace broke into a run, the previous feeling of panic erupting within her once more. What the fuck was wrong with her? She was beginning to think that her life was falling apart. Tonight, on top of unpredictable mood swings, random urges to burst into tears – which led to her hiding in bathrooms, empty classrooms, and the girls changing room - her mind flashed to her last visit to the small locker room on the second floor and the small diva whom had been in it.
"Or we could talk?" Rachel blurted out in a flurry. "Or maybe you could just talk. I can be a rather attentive listener you know-,"
The Latina's pace quickened, her movement smoother as she set out a destination in her mind. After what seemed like a few minutes she came to a halt in front of the house she had been running to. She took a moment to catch her breath, resting her hands on her knees as she panted. Her casual jeans and tee ensemble really wasn't meant for night time jogging and was hot and restrictive. Regardless she was here now. She collected herself, drew herself up to her full height and rang the doorbell.
She grimaced at the open-mouthed look of shock and confusion she received when the door was pulled open, choosing to ignore the occupant's spluttered greeting –"That offer of talking?-" she stated, cutting across the garbled "Hi Sa-wha-," "-Or me talking and you listening? Is that still up for grabs?"