God, she felt so pathetic. Santana had spent her entire weekend in bed watching sappy movies and pigging out on ridiculous amounts of popcorn, maybe even crying into her pillows a little, though she'd deny the hell out of it if her Abuela asked her about it again. It was true that her grandmother, Elma, was the one person she felt safe telling essentially everything to. Everything including this. She didn't doubt for a second that her parents would abandon her if they ever knew she was gay, but Alma Lopez was different. She was Santana's greatest supporter. Her only supporter.
Anyway, to be honest she was a little afraid of seeing either Rachel or the three complete assholes that had made the star cry just three days ago. She wasn't entirely sure she would be able to keep Snixx on her already short leash around those three pendejos. And Santana had no idea how she would deal with seeing Rachel in the three classes they shared together today. Maybe avoiding her would be the best bet.
The last thing she wanted was for her hobbit to see that recently ever present sadness in her eyes and draw conclusions she wasn't ready for anyone to reach.
Anyway, like Abuela always told her she could focus on school. Maybe Santana could even switch her free period for a sculpture class at the Lima community college. With her grades she was sure Ms. Pillsbury would be cool letting her do it. It had been months since she'd shown anyone anything she was making in her abuelo's glass studio.
Yea, she could do that. In fact maybe she could completely disregard everything her Parents demanded of her and focus on her art as a career. It was worth thinking about later, when she wasn't in the process of an important ap calc exam. Thankfully this was one of the two classes today that she didn't share with Rachel Berry.
In ten minutes class would be over though, and she'd be sitting down for two hours of ap anatomy with Rachel in the seat next to her. She didn't even want to think about the fact that she knew there'd be a sub, and therefore a stupid video for them to watch. So she'd spend two hours doing nothing but wishing she hadn't been so stupid and hasty in deciding to take the vacant seat next to Rachel two weeks ago.
Now, despite the fact that she still wanted to be as close to the star as possible, she didn't want to look up and have Rachel just dismiss her again. God, that had felt like every missed birthday and uninterested hum her parents had ever given her.
And as much as she knew she deserved this kind of treatment from a long list of people (with Rachel at the top), Santana could not help but realize how much it hurt because it was Rachel. She felt so...dispensable. Like she was just this peripheral person existing on the barren outskirts of people's lives.
And sometimes she wondered...would anyone even notice if she disappeared tomorrow? And if they did, would they care? Would they celebrate? Thanking god that she finally got rid of herself the way they had always wanted to?
It wasn't like she thought about killing herself or something. Well, you know, not often. Just when her parents or even Brittany made her feel like it would be so much better if she weren't around.
Don't get her wrong, Brittany would never tell her she wished she weren't around. Not intentionally. It was just something she said a week or so after Santana had told her that she loved her.
()
"Britt please, just break up with Artie, I love you. I wanna be with you. I don't even care about hiding anymore. If you want us to tell everyone in the whole fucking town that I love you with all my heart I will. Just...be with me, baby, please." The blonde just bit down on her lip and frowned, fidgeting on her feet. It did nothing to ease the worry that Santana couldn't get a hold on.
"I just don't know, San. I got with him to make you jealous but I love him too, I told you that. And he feels the same way. And...and he gets insecure about the way I feel about him because of our history and the way you tricked me into cheating on him with you. I wish this had never gotten so complicated. I wish I didn't have to choose."
"The problem, B, is that by not choosing at all you are choosing him. Fine. I just...I really hope he makes you happy, B. I really want that for you."
"He does." At that, Santana walked away, a few random kids looking surprised at the tears that were clearly visible falling down her cheeks. Britt wished it wasn't so complicated? Then she would remove herself from the equation. Her father had always said she was too complicated, too much to deal with. A handful. And her favorite, not worth the trouble. So she could get why Britt didn't want her around anymore. No one did.
()
The only person now who didn't make her feel that way was her abuela. Her abuela, who had found her that night with a crimson stained pocket knife in one limp hand and blood leaking from the long vertical cut she'd made into the skin of the opposite wrist. Thankfully, it wasn't very deep, but when she'd awoken, the old Puerto Rican woman had looked at her like she'd tried to steal her prized possession.
For months afterward she would walk past her Abuela's room at night and hear her praying to Jesus to please save her Santanita. She had stopped hearing it, but she didn't think her grandmother had stopped doing it. After all, she hadn't stopped praying for herself.
The ringing of a bell brought her out of her head and Santana looked up to find the whole class fleeing through the door, leaving her behind to stand, gather her stuff, and then walk up to her teacher Mrs. Yates. The kind woman took her test and set it on top of her grading pile, giving the Latina a worried look.
"Are you okay Santana? I know you, so I know it didn't affect your test, but you were completely in your own mind for half of the class." The brunette just shrugged, she wasn't positive telling her teacher what had her in such a melancholy mood wouldn't lead to horrible things.
"I'm just...not having the best day. But thank you for asking. You're the only teacher that ever does. I appreciate that you even care at all. I dont want to be late for my anatomy class, it's on the other side of the school, so I'll see you Wednesday Mrs. Yates. Bye." Santana left before anything else could be said, slipping through the hallways quick and unnoticed. She made it almost all the way to her classroom before the trouble found her in the form of one Quinn Fabray shoulder checking her hard as she turned a corner.
"The fuck is wrong with you, Bitch. Shit that hurt. Don't touch me again." The blonde's eyes were staring right into hers and that possessive fire was back behind them, but Santana paid it no mind, trying to walk past the psycho blonde and into her class.
"No, you don't touch her. She's mine." Santana scoffed, pushing the bigger girl out of her personal space.
"Funny you say that, because last time I checked it's illegal to own people in this country. Not to mention I'm pretty sure you ruined any chance of her wanting to be yours anymore after what you said yesterday. I mean, what is wrong with you? You and I both know she thinks that about herself, how could you reinforce that fear for her? Some kind of girlfriend you were. Now move. I have class asshole.
Quinn looked almost sad and remorseful for a second before she turned and walked away, but Santana believed it must have been a trick of the light. She walked into class and sat down at her seat which happened to be the only one available.
Rachel was busy pulling out her notes and the homework, so the Latina did the same, putting everything on her half of the desk and scooting her chair as far away as possible without ending up in the aisle. The sound made the shorter girl look up, head tilted in her confusion.
"Did you just move away from me?" Santana just nodded, tapping the eraser end of a pencil against her jean covered thigh.
"I don't understand? Why would you do that? I know I said I wanted space Friday, but I diidn't mean for you to change how things already were."
"You didn't ask for space, you rejected me. Just...really politely. Rachel Berry rejection. You're the master of letting someone down easy." Rachel frowned, her brows furrowing above those gorgeous eyes of hers.
"I think I'd remember If I'd rejected you...or rather your petition for a possible friendship."
"Yea, well that's what people mean when they say maybe later." She said, deep frown on her lips.
"It's not what I mean, Santana. I really did mean later. As in this weekend or the next."
"Oh..."
"Yes, oh. And they call me the dramatic one." She smiled softly at Santana, poking her shoulder childishly and pulling her chair closer with her in it.
"You are the dramatic one. It's cute." She admitted, sighing out her giddiness. Rachel didn't hate her. She hadn't rejected her. That felt...it felt good. They were going to have pizza together.