A/N 1: So I said to myself last week, "Hmm. So I've already switched pairings with in my universe, broken them up, had them cheat, had them be assholes, had them be miserable, fucked with the timeline to confuse everyone... what else can I possibly do to alienate the people who are still reading my story?" And then it hit me: heterosexual relations!
Yes, there is girl/boy sex in this chapter. It's not graphic (at least, not compared to how I usually write sex), and it wouldn't be here if it wasn't crucial to the plot. It focuses on the mental process of the character, which is important because this chapter is a turning point for her. Nonetheless, if you'd like to skip it, it's in the second section marked July 30th and I'm delineating it with horizontal lines like the one you see below these author's notes.
A/N 2: For what it's worth, this is my favorite chapter, content-wise, I've written in this entire universe.
Wednesday, July 27 / 10:48pm
When Santana's rational brain finally broke through the haze that had descended when Rachel started kissing her, it happened all at once, like she'd been struck by a bolt of lightning. Her eyes flew open, and she grabbed Rachel's hands on the small of her back, practically flinging them back at her.
Rachel staggered backwards dizzily. In the next two seconds, Santana watched as her face fell through a cascade of emotions – first stunned, then angry, then utterly horrified.
Rachel put her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God."
"Wait, Rachel, don't –" Santana started to say, but it was too late to finish her sentence with "freak out," because Rachel had exited the dance floor at a sprint, and was already pushing past the line of waiting girls to get to through the bathroom door.
"Fuck," Santana cursed under her breath, and followed Rachel through the crowd.
"You are in so much troooouuble!" the girl who had hit on her at the bar called out as Santana rushed past.
Rachel had barreled through the ladies room line like a drunken torpedo, but Santana was too sober to be quite so pushy. By the time she caught up, Rachel had cut the line and locked herself in a stall. Santana crouched down to locate Rachel's shoes, then knocked on the corresponding door.
"Rachel, come out and talk to me, okay?"
"I might throw up," Rachel's thin, disembodied voice replied miserably.
"I don't care, okay? Just open the door."
After a pause, Santana heard the lock slide out of place and the door opened a few inches.
"Hey, there's a line back here!" a girl shouted at her from a few places back in line.
"Oh, yeah? You wanna join us in here, baby? I'll make sure when she pukes it lands on your shoes," Santana shot back.
Santana opened the door a bit further and slid inside, then locked it behind her. Rachel leaned against the thin metal wall, her hands resting on her thighs just above her knees.
"Are you okay?" Santana asked, putting one hand on Rachel's back.
"No," Rachel said in a whimper. "I feel sick. And I'm the most embarrassed I've ever been in my life."
"It's. . .it's no big deal, Rachel."
"I would almost believe you if you didn't sound like you were about to throw up, too."
"Look, if I had five bucks for every person I kissed accidentally when I was drunk, I could buy a Breadstix franchise. Shit happens when there's vodka, all right?"
"It's nice that you're trying to let me off the hook," Rachel said, letting her head fall forward so that her hair dangled in front of her. "But I'm not too drunk to know that was messed up."
"Berry, let's not get your hair in the toilet, okay?" Santana said, taking her by the shoulders to stand her upright.
Rachel closed her eyes and slumped against the wall. "Mmfff, too fast," she complained, wobbling in an unsteady circle.
But now that she was upright, Rachel met Santana's eyes for the first time since fleeing the dance floor. Immediately, her face scrunched up, and the tears began.
"God, Santana, I didn't mean to," she said. "I wasn't trying to like, you know—"
"I know, Rachel," Santana said.
"I'm so used to coming to you when I feel this lonely, and rejected, and STUPID. Please tell me I didn't ruin everything, like, our friendship."
Santana took a step forward and let Rachel lean into her shoulder, placing two reassuring hands on her back. Rachel clutched at the back of Santana's shirt.
"Does it feel like you've ruined it?" Santana asked.
Rachel hugged her gratefully, burying her face in Santana's shoulder.
"Do you want me to call Brittany and apologize? I'll do it right now – I'll explain what an idiot I am."
"That's okay, Berry. I think you'd better let me explain how much of an idiot you are."
Rachel sniffled out a syllable that was half laugh and half whimper.
"Just when I thought I couldn't feel any crappier, I go and prove myself wrong."
"Everybody will understand, Rachel, including Brittany."
"I'm just so sad, you know? And it won't go away. I think it's making me crazy," Rachel said, wiping tears from the eye that was not resting against Santana. "It sucks."
"I know," Santana said, cradling the back of Rachel's head with her hand.
"Nobody ever wannfffmg-HIC-mgghhp me," Rachel said, her words muffled by Santana's shoulder and a hiccup.
"Okay, I did not catch that one at all, Sniffly McBlubberpants," Santana said. "Try again."
Rachel turned her head toward the center of Santana's chest.
"I said, nobody ever wants to keep me. Not Finn, not you, not Quinn. Everybody always wants someone else more."
Santana grimaced, and squeezed Rachel. "You know Quinn wants to keep you. You know that."
Rachel shook her head glumly.
"She has a funny way of showing it."
"Yeah, I know."
"Santana?"
"Yeah?"
"Wait, I – I probably should not ask you this now that I think about it. My mind clearly has a mouth – I mean, my mouth clearly has a mind of its own at the present time."
"Well, either way you already opened it. Now you have to go ahead."
Rachel paused for a moment, as if gathering her courage.
"Do you think that ever. . . like if there were no Brittany, and if Quinn hadn't liked me. . . do you think that ever. . . you might have wanted to keep me?"
"Berry," Santana sighed, looking up at the ceiling, "You're killing me, here."
"I'm sorry," Rachel said, shaking her head. "I'm so drunk. I knew I shouldn't have asked it."
Santana sighed.
"Sometimes, Berry," she said, "Sometimes I think we got out just in time. Right before shit between us got really fucking complicated."
Rachel nodded thoughtfully against Santana's shoulder. "Yeah."
"I really love you, you know," she said. "You probably think I'm just being drunk and I don't mean it, and, you know, maybe you're right and I wouldn't say it if I was not currently wasted, but really it is true."
Rachel punctuated her words by poking her index finger into the middle of Santana's chest. She hiccupped twice before continuing.
"It's so funny. Don't you think it's funny? I used to hate you but now I don't, because now I love you and Brittany both. Santana, did you and Quinn ever discuss how you both secretly liked me? Did you make an official pact to torment me, so no one would know?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, hobbit. I never liked you."
Rachel smiled. But it faded right away as the next round of thoughts flooded in.
"Santana, do you know who I do not love? Quinn," Rachel answered, before Santana had time to take a wild guess. "I need to tell her that. I think I should call her and tell her that, because the last she heard, it was the opposite of that."
Rachel withdrew her arms from around Santana and slid her phone out of her bra.
"Uh uh, not so fast," Santana said, taking the phone from her hand. "You know better than that, munchkin. No drunk dialing the ex-girlfriend."
"No, you're right," Rachel said, her eyes downcast. "That would be stupid." She held out her hand for Santana to place the phone back in her possession.
"I'm going to drunk TEXT." Before Santana could react, Rachel elbowed her out of the stall and locked the door behind her.
"Really?" Santana said, banging on the door with her palm. "This is the thanks I get for letting you get snot all over my shoulder?"
"This will only take a moment!" Rachel said. "And then I will become nice once more!"
Santana considered crawling under the door of the stall, but they were making enough of a spectacle as it was. She sighed, and leaned against the sink to wait. She took out her phone and sent Quinn one text message.
She's really drunk. I tried to stop her.
...
Eventually, her anger spent via text message, Rachel allowed herself to be herded back out to the booth where the rest of their group was waiting.
"Is she okay?" Sam asked, eyeing Rachel as she slumped against Santana's side.
"She's fine. We have a case of the drunk weepies going on, but we're fine, right Berry?"
Rachel nodded miserably.
"Can you guys watch her for a minute?" Santana asked the group at large. "I couldn't actually USE the restroom with her blubbering all over me."
"I got it, go ahead," Puck said, transferring Rachel to his side and sitting down with her in the booth.
You okay? he mouthed to Santana over the top of Rachel's head.
Santana shrugged, which was the most honest answer she could give him. She turned and headed for the bathroom.
More than anything, she felt exhausted. And that really sucked, because she knew the night wasn't nearly over. Washing her hands at the sink, a few shaky, silent sobs escaped her. For Rachel, for herself, for Brittany, even Quinn? She couldn't say.
She touched up her eye makeup before rejoining her friends.
"Warn us if you have to puke, you got that?" Santana urged as they loaded Rachel into the back of Blaine's car.
"I will," Rachel assured her.
"You and Brittany are so lucky," she sighed, slumping against Santana as Blaine pulled out of the club's parking lot. "You guys have to get married. Do you promise you'll get married?"
"I should probably ask Brittany first before I promise, don't you think?" Santana elbowed her gently.
"I guess that is fair," Rachel conceded. "When you get married, though, you have to let me plan your wedding. I'll plan everything for you, and you'll say you hate it, but secretly you'll like it, just like how you secretly liked me."
"Berry."
"What?"
"Did you just ask to be my maid of honor?"
"Nooo, I would never do that," Rachel said, drawing her knees up to her chest and leaning her head against Santana's shoulder with a smile. "We hate each other."
...
Brittany met them on the front porch of her house, and helped Santana get Rachel up the stairs. Together, they tucked her in for the night on what the members of the Pierce family had come to accept was "her" couch in the family room. They left her a glass of water, a couple of painkillers, and a wastebasket just in case, before tiptoeing up to Brittany's room.
It had been one of the longest car rides of Santana's life, this trip home from Toledo. She never considered for a moment not telling Brittany what had happened, though the thought of it had her heart pounding painfully in her chest. For one thing, half of the glee club had seen it happen. It wasn't like it could be kept from her anyway.
And the other, probably more important reason was, it had helped her come to few realizations.
Santana caught Brittany's hand as she was heading for the bathroom to brush her teeth.
"Wait, can I talk to you?" she asked in a small voice.
Brittany nodded, and Santana guided her to the bed where they sat facing each other, legs crossed in front of them.
Santana took Brittany's hands. "I have to tell you something that happened tonight."
"Okay," Brittany said.
"Rachel got really drunk."
"I know, Quinn told me."
"Quinn?"
"Yeah, I went to her house."
"Oh. Okay, well anyway Brittany, she. . . Rachel kissed me."
Santana held her breath. She thought she saw Brittany's shoulders stiffen, but her face was unreadable as she asked, simply, "What?"
"It happened while we were dancing," Santana explained, the tears beginning to burn the backs of her eyes and the top of her nose. "I was totally caught off guard."
Brittany's cheeks felt hot. For some reason she felt like she couldn't look at Santana's face, and the words she wanted to say got stuck in her throat.
"I'm so, so sorry, Brittany," Santana was saying. "And Rachel is, too. She feels terrible, and she's really worried that you're going to be mad at her."
"I'm not mad at her," Brittany said, because these words were easy to get right out. "She was sad and drunk."
But she still wasn't looking at Santana.
"And me?" Santana asked quietly.
"Did you kiss Rachel back?"
Santana squeezed her eyes shut and tears fell. "At first, yeah, I did," she said. "She surprised me, and it was familiar and everything. But, I stopped as soon as I realized what I was doing."
Brittany felt a little dizzy.
"I'm so, so sorry, Brittany," Santana said again. "But, listen, there are other things I wanted to tell you, too. While we were there, before anything bad happened, I met this group of guys. They were Kurt and Blaine's friends, and they go to Toledo, and they were super, super gay. Brittany, I decided I want to go there. With you. I'm not going to go to USC, I want to go with you."
"I accept your apology, Santana," Brittany said dully, finally looking Santana in the eye. "I feel upset in my stomach, but my brain believes you. You don't have to promise me you'll go to Toledo just to get me to forgive you."
"I'm not," Santana shook her head. "Because, Britt, I realized something tonight. I realized that like, there are other people in the world who maybe I could like. Or if things happened differently, ones I could even love. But I don't want to, Brittany. I don't, because I want to love you. I always have, and like – I picked you before I even knew it."
She paused, but Brittany said nothing.
"Are you hearing me, Britt?" she prompted softly.
"Are you just saying this stuff because you feel bad?"
"No. No, trust me, I feel fucking horrible, Brittany, but I feel really happy, too. I feel so grateful, you know? To have you. That's what. . . that's exactly what I'm trying to tell you."
Brittany gave Santana a begrudging smile. "Okay."
"So are we okay?"
"Yeah, Santana."
Santana returned Brittany's smile, the relief flooding her whole body, and leaned forward and hugged her.
"I'll never do anything like that again, okay? I promise."
"Yeah."
When they broke the hug, Brittany reached across to Santana's face and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She looked at Santana for a minute, thinking.
"Santana," she said. "I have to ask you for permission to get something. Quinn says it's called 'closure.'"
...
Saturday, July 30 / 1:12pm
"You seem better, Rachel," Brittany said, sipping her soda.
"Thank you, Brittany! I feel better," Rachel said, smiling cheerfully and dipping a French fry enthusiastically into a blob of ketchup.
"Well, I feel awful, if anyone cares," Santana volunteered. "I can't believe I agreed to eat at a Denny's."
"But, you ate your whole salad," Brittany pointed out.
"That doesn't mean I've retained my dignity."
Rachel continued, ignoring Santana.
"Having hit what can only be considered rock bottom the other night, I'm determined not to let this unfortunate situation with you-know-who ruin the rest of my summer. I still have my summer plans, not to mention my very first community theater role. I'm officially moving on."
Santana sighed. It was nice, for sure, to have Rachel off of the couch and out in the world, especially with no vodka involved. But this talk of moving on was depressing her. She scowled.
"Are you sure you don't want to try to bring Quinn to her senses first? Send her naked pictures or something? I mean, have you even tried that?"
"Santana," Rachel said, sitting up straight and leaning forward intently, "The definition of insanity is repeating the same thing and expecting different results. I've spent far too much of my young life pining over someone who has clearly moved on. I did that with Finn, and I refuse to repeat the mistakes of my past. No – Rachel Berry is going relationship-free. No more commitment, no more rebound sex. I'm going to try something new – I'm going to date. I'm going to date multiple people. I'm going to play the field, if you will."
Santana scowled harder.
"Are you going to date boys or girls?" Brittany asked.
"Excellent question, Brittany! And the answer is. . . I have no idea. I don't know. Maybe both. Whoever is attractive to me at the time. Maybe boys, because that's simpler. I don't know, we'll have to see. Anyway, onward ladies! I've scheduled us all an afternoon at the spa for mani-pedis. I want a refreshed look that says Rachel Berry is single and looking, but not for anything serious, because I'm just getting over a breakup that shattered my heart into a million pieces."
"She's really hyper," Brittany said to Santana as they climbed out of their booth.
"I'm going to punch Quinn in the throat," Santana replied.
...
Saturday, July 30 / 8:55pm
A few days after breaking up with Rachel Berry, Quinn finally accepted her coworker Doug's invitation to go out.
Tonight was their third date.
The first time, he took her for coffee and walked her home. For the second date, they did the classic dinner and a movie thing; he took her to Applebee's and then to the final Harry Potter movie. (Quinn had already seen it, but she didn't mind going again.) When he brought her home, they made out on the front porch until her mother opened the door and told him good night. Quinn was relieved – elated, really – to find that he made her cheeks flushed, among other physical reactions. Later that night when she resolved her tension, it was still all about Rachel. She figured that was bound to happen for a while.
Judy found him charming, with reservations, naturally suspicious of a college junior taking her 17-year-old daughter out on dates.
"I'm not sure what he wants from you, Quinnie," she said nervously as Quinn rolled her eyes and headed up the stairs.
Overall, Judy was so innocuous that Quinn almost found her naivety cute.
Nonetheless, she had lied tonight, the night of their third date. She'd said she was going out with Santana. In Judy's eyes, Quinn knew, that wasn't all that much better, but she figured there would be fewer obvious objections. The devil you know, right?
The fact was, Quinn was going to have sex tonight. She knew it, and she imagined that Doug knew it, too. Looking at it from his perspective, Quinn figured, he must know. He was older and more experienced, and she'd been letting him do whatever he wanted so far, including getting to second base in the dark room at the lab earlier this week.
He brought her to a romantic little café, which was not easy to find in Lima, Ohio. He ordered appetizers, steaks, and dessert. He flirted, reached across the table to touch her face. He smiled and said all the right things, laughed at all the perfect moments.
Quinn's assessment was that he was polished, charming, and utterly, transparently fake, like her father talking to the hot young secretaries at the office Christmas party. Quinn figured this was fine; they didn't know each other well enough yet to be comfortable. You have to have some strategy for smoothing things over, so his polish was welcome if it moved things along.
In a way, though, it actually made her miss Finn, and even Sam. Of course they had wanted to get into her pants, too, but at least they'd had the courtesy to be intimidated by her.
Yet, college boys did have their charms. Doug was impressively smart, and Quinn loved talking to him. Which made all this – the fact that she was here, and the speed of it – a little easier to justify. By the third course of their meal, though, she was tired of talking and really just wanted to get on with it.
All those hormones that were released when a woman has sex, those were bound to make her feel closer to him – it couldn't happen soon enough. Yes, she had wrestled with the fact that it was a sin, but it was a sin in service of the greater good.
His apartment was sparse, but not unattractive. She'd braced herself for empty pizza boxes and underwear all over the place, which is what she pictured a college guy's place to look like. But aside from some smelly sneakers on the living room floor, it was nearly immaculate. Quinn imagined what it would look like if Finn or Sam had to clean up after themselves. The thought made her quite sure the cleanliness meant Doug had figured that they would make it back to his place tonight.
"My roommates are gone for the night," he said with a smile that tried and failed to look uneager.
The couch he pinned her down on, where he was kissing her and unhooking her bra, was soft and comfy against her bare back. Once he had comfortably rounded second base and was making his approach to third, he invited her into his bedroom. Quinn refused. The couch was better.
He never asked her if it was okay to keep going, and it was new for Quinn to be with someone without that sense of formal apprehension once things got to a certain point. She figured if she told him to stop, he would.
It was a surreal moment, when Doug stood up to take off his boxers and Quinn found herself staring at a naked man for the very first time. Again, there was relief – she didn't feel repulsed. She liked the look of it, actually. There was a little bit of giddiness – a bit of whoa, look at that, and a fair measure of curiosity as to how different it would feel now that she was used to someone softer and smaller.
It looked kind of big, but then again, she reasoned with herself, she had given birth just over a year ago, so how bad could this be? She relaxed her muscles as he put his fingers between her legs to open her, and found that it didn't hurt too much as he pushed himself inside of her.
She had made sure he wore a condom. She may be dimly aware that she was self-destructing, but she wasn't about to go down that road again. He seemed to feel that using protection went without saying.
It wasn't bad, so far. He started slowly, and it gave her good feelings of friction. His heavy hands covered her breasts in a nice way. She could tell he liked her body a lot, the way he was looking at it as things got going, and that helped. It helped to feel admired.
As he got more enthusiastic, he propped her legs up over his shoulders, and the angle inside of her changed. Her eyes rolled back in her head as he hit a really good spot with every thrust. Maybe this was going to be better than she was expecting.
And then, all of a sudden, there was nothing. Confused, she lifted her head and looked down. He'd fallen out of her.
"Shit," he muttered, and put it back in with Quinn's legs back down around his waist. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Quinn panted, but found herself tilting her hips upward to try to get that angle back a little.
He noticed, and pulled her up to a sitting position, then leaned back so that she was sitting on top of him. Quinn liked this idea. It was always so hot when she did this with Rachel. God, you idiot, stop thinking about her.
It didn't occur to Quinn that if they did it this way, she'd have to do a lot more of the moving. That made her a little embarrassed, but she whimpered and moaned as she rocked her hips up and down on him, trying to get past it.
In a puzzled voice, he asked if she was okay.
Quinn flushed with embarrassment. Rachel loved – encouraged, even – her noises. She leaned forward and took him by the shoulders to get him back on top.
There was a long time – it felt like forever – where Quinn felt that she was about three-quarters of the way to finishing. And she had no idea how to round that last corner. Thinking of Rachel was supposed to be off-limits, and honestly, it was too horrible to contemplate in this moment.
Yet, it wasn't going to happen naturally with this sweaty stranger on top of her. It was clear, eventually, what she would have to do, especially when he put his hand between her legs and actually successfully found her clit. Shouldn't that kind of incentive be rewarded? The moan she let out as his fingers massaged her wasn't forced, not entirely.
She read his cues. When she consciously tightened around him he moaned and thrust harder. He was expecting it soon.
"Come on, Quinn," he grunted. "Come on."
Any chance she had of actually making it happen evaporated when he put that pressure on her to come. Anxiety settled into her belly. She'd never faked it before. How does one even do that? Think back, Quinn, what does Rachel's body do?
She waited what she felt to be a realistic ninety seconds after he asked for it, and then dropped her head backward. She opened her mouth and bounced her hips and tightened her stomach muscles. A few seconds later she let out an, "Ohh!"
It must have been convincing enough, because he let himself finish a minute or so later.
Afterward, he kissed her cheeks sweetly.
"Was it okay for you?" he asked.
"Yeah," she smiled. "It was good."
He offered her food and something to drink as she sat up and put her clothes back on. He even asked if she wanted to stay the night.
She politely declined, saying her mother was expecting her. She checked her watch and felt surprised to see that the whole thing had taken less than an hour.
He kissed her in the front seat of his car as he dropped her off, so that Judy wouldn't see him. He said he would call her tomorrow, and Quinn believed him.
When she got home, she called out to her mother that she was back, and went directly up to her room.
She sat on her bed in the dark for a long time, hugging a pillow to her chest. Around midnight, she took a shower. A few hours later, she took a long bath. Around 4am, she smoked half a joint. She forced herself to wait until the sun came up before she drove to Santana's.
...
Sunday, August 7 / 3:30pm
"Brittany! It doesn't help you remember the important details if you underline the entire passage."
Rachel stopped her timer and glared at Brittany, who was working on a reading comprehension section for the SAT.
"Sorry Rachel. I just hate making some of the words feel left out."
Rachel pressed her lips together, then sighed. "Okay."
She had spent enough time with Brittany this summer to get past that sort of statement much more easily than she used to.
"Can we take a break?" Brittany said, setting down her pencil without waiting for her proctor to permit it. "I want to hear about how are your dates going, Rachel."
Rachel knew she should have scolded Brittany for going off-topic. It was August, and neither of her pupils had yet successfully finished a section of the SAT in one sitting. The truth was, though, that Rachel wasn't all that into tutoring today, either.
"Fine, I guess," she answered. "I went to the movies with Thomas two days ago."
"Thomas Durand? But I thought you weren't supposed to date other volunteers at Bible school."
"I've already gotten used to hiding my relationships. It's not really a stretch."
"So how did it go?"
"I don't think it's going to work out," Rachel said, wrinkling her nose. "I think it's cute when boys are shy, but I'm not sure I have the patience for someone who breaks out into hives when I come within a one-foot radius."
"You come within one-half of his diameter?" Brittany asked, her brow furrowed.
"I mean when I get within a foot from him, but good memory of math terminology. Your sessions with Quinn must be really helping."
"I totally love math now," Brittany said, enthused. "I mean, math with actual numbers. I still don't like math with letters and shapes, I think it's unnatural."
Rachel smiled. "It's a start."
"So, have you gone out with any girls?"
"No. To be honest, Brittany, I'm not sure I want to."
"Why not?"
"I was doing just fine sticking to boys up until a few months ago. Being with a girl makes everything more complicated, and to be perfectly blunt, I find it confusing."
"Confusing how?"
"I don't know, having too many options. Having to decide what I am. Maybe I want to chalk this all up to a youthful bi-curious phase and put it behind me."
Brittany picked up her pencil again and doodled swirls on her test booklet. "If that's what makes you happy, Rachel."
Rachel smiled. That was all Brittany ever wanted, really.
"I'm sorry I was so depressing to be around for a while, there," she said. "I know it was rough on you."
"It's okay," Brittany said. "I guess it was good for me to hang out with you and see that you started to feel better."
"So how are things with you and Santana? I've been so engrossed in my personal drama and my rehearsal schedule lately that I haven't been a very good friend."
Brittany shrugged. "Mostly good. We fight sometimes, though. Santana is really stressed out."
"About what?"
"She needs to come out to her mom. She really cares so much what her mom thinks, so I think it's really hard for her to worry about it. And she keeps getting in trouble by her parents because they don't know where she is at night. They're fighting all the time."
"How do you think she'll take it? Her mom, I mean?"
"Santana is convinced she's going to be disappointed and upset, but I think she's wrong."
"What's her mom like? I never met her officially."
Brittany smiled. "She's so awesome! She's hot, and smart, and scary. It's totally what Santana is going to be like when she grows up. I can't wait."
Rachel smiled back. "I'm sure she'll work up the courage, Brittany. If you guys are really going to college together, she'll have to, right?"
"Well, that's another thing, though," Brittany said, her smile collapsing.
"What?"
"I don't know, I guess. . . I guess I'm scared Santana only said she wanted to go to Toledo because she felt guilty about when you guys kissed."
Rachel winced. "I'm sorry, once again, about that."
"It's okay, Rachel. It's just, Santana still talks about how amazing the squad was in California. I don't want her to go with me just to make me happy, or because she's afraid one of us will cheat if we're in different places."
"Yeah, of course. She has to go where she's going to be happiest when you consider everything. So have you talked to her about this stuff?"
"A little. But I hate starting it when it could turn into a fight."
"Yeah," Rachel said, thinking. "Look, Brittany, I know better than anyone what it's like to love someone who has her share of inner turmoil. And I'm no expert on how to handle it, clearly. But if you want my advice, don't gloss it over or wait until a small problem turns into a big one. Take it from me, it could get too big for you to even understand, so don't be afraid to bring it up."
"But sometimes when I try to give her advice she just tells me to back off, and tells me I don't understand anyway."
Rachel smiled wryly. "I've heard that one myself. But sometimes she's probably right, you know – like, a problem that seems small and easily solvable to you might be huge and scary to her. She has to deal with it the way it works for her."
Rachel paused, and stared pensively at the wall behind Brittany.
"Santana and Quinn aren't that different, you know. I guess Santana understands that better than anyone; it's why she dragged Quinn out of the closet in the first place, to have an ally who understood."
And that's when a terrible realization formed in Rachel's head.
"Oh my God, Brittany. I was such a horrible girlfriend."
"No way, Rachel. Why would you say that?"
"Because I didn't do any of this stuff I just told you to do. All I did was try to get Quinn to do things my way, from that stupid plan at the beginning of summer to forcing her to fight when she wasn't ready to open up. And I only did that after I'd already ignored things for so long I didn't understand them at all. And then, when she couldn't take it anymore and broke up with me, my first reaction was to isolate her from her friends."
"Didn't she kind of isolate herself, Rachel? She stopped coming to all of our stuff and wouldn't text us back and stuff."
"No, she. . . you don't understand. It was my fault that she did that."
"It was?"
"Brittany, listen. My advice on Santana? Make sure she knows how important she is to you. Santana has to feel like the best, okay? You have to always reassure her that she is, especially to you."
"Where are you going, Rachel?"
"I have to write a letter," Rachel said, heading for the door of the study. "You should keep going on that passage, okay? I'll be back."
Rachel rushed out of the study and up the stairs to her room. She sat down at her computer and logged in to Facebook.
...
Dear Quinn,
I wanted to tell you that I ripped up the contract that we signed. It was wrong and selfish of me to try to isolate you from your friends that way, and I'm sorry.
I also wanted to tell you that I don't blame you, not entirely, for the demise of our relationship. I've realized I made a lot of mistakes. I want you to know that if I could do the summer over again, I would. I know that's a meaningless thing to say now that we've both moved on, but nonetheless, I wanted to say it.
The truth is Quinn, I think you need a little help to get through the problems that you're having. I think you need more than I or your friends can give you, but not isolating yourself is a start. And whether it's from your church or therapy or a new love, Quinn, I hope you find the help you need.
Sincerely,
Rachel
...
Sunday, July 31 / 6:30am
As Quinn hoisted herself from the tree in the Lopezes' back yard to the roof outside Santana's window, she had to wonder exactly how crazy Santana would think she'd gone when she showed up in her room at 6:30am.
As she gently lifted the perpetually unlocked bedroom window, she observed gratefully that Santana was alone, and at least partially clothed.
Distant memories reminded Quinn that Santana didn't enjoy being awakened before she was ready. Thus, the more gently this was done, the less likely it was to result in bodily injury. Quinn sat softly on the unoccupied side of Santana's bed – Brittany's side, she presumed. Santana was asleep on her belly, her head turned away from Quinn.
She shook Santana's shoulder. Santana stirred, and rolled onto her left side, facing Quinn. She furrowed her brow with closed eyes and flung her arm over Quinn's lap. "Nooo, not now," she whined. "Go back to sleep."
"Santana," Quinn whispered sharply, not wanting this particular case of mistaken identity to go any further. "It's Quinn."
Santana took her arm away and her eyes flew open. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
It was a fair question. Quinn had no idea how to answer it.
"I feel like a slut and you're the first person I thought to come to" seemed excessively bitchy for the circumstances.
"I'm freaking out, and you're my only friend" was a bit raw.
"Can you just wake up, please?" Quinn answered.
Santana sensed Quinn's urgency through her grogginess. She forced herself to sit up, covering her eyes with her hand against the soft blue light from the windows. She blindly fumbled for her phone on the nightstand next to her and checked the time.
"Bitch, it is early," she rasped, finally fully opening one eye so that she could glare more effectively.
"I know, I'm sorry," Quinn whispered. "I've been up all night."
A few days ago Quinn might not have permitted herself to come here. There were some barriers that she didn't normally cross with Santana – certainly not ones that required her to show when she was actually vulnerable. But sitting here, her head about to boil over with the mess running through it, all Quinn could think of was the way Brittany had looked at her the other night when they talked about Artie.
There was something in Santana, whether anyone else knew it or not, that responded to – that even sought out, perhaps – that kind of sincerity. Maybe if Quinn dropped the shield, dropped the pretense that she didn't desperately need a friend right now, maybe there could be some kind of tenderness in Santana for her, too. Fuck, what did she have to lose?
She leaned over and put her head on Santana's shoulder.
When she felt Santana's skinny, strong arms hesitantly encircling her, the sobs came fast and easy.
Santana was only 80% sure this wasn't a dream. But if it wasn't, she had a few ideas about what might be going on here. A blowup fight with Rachel, maybe. . . leftover tensions boiling over, or an attempt at reconciliation gone wrong? Maybe Quinn's mother or, god forbid, her father finding out about Rachel?
Whatever it was, this was serious distress. Santana had consoled Quinn, with varying degrees of supportiveness, through disappointments and breakups lots of times over the years. Her inclination was always to take Quinn Fabray down a peg or two. Because let's face it, usually this girl needed to get over herself.
But now, with Quinn shaking with sobs against her, none of that applied. As the crying went on, Santana eventually came to realize that this couldn't be just about Rachel. Something had rattled Quinn to the bone.
Santana did not let go of Quinn as she quietly asked, "Quinn? Can you tell me what happened?"
The care that Santana had taken with that question, down to her tone of voice, was not lost on Quinn.
She sat up, and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from her jacket pocket. As Quinn tried to compose herself, Santana hugged the blanket to her chest, awake enough now to be self-conscious about her nightgown and messy hair.
Okay, not about you, Santana, she reminded herself.
Quinn straightened her spine, looking Santana in the eye and blinking a fresh set of tears down her cheeks. To Santana, it looked as though she were holding her breath.
"I slept with Doug," she finally exhaled.
"Oh, Q," Santana sighed. What a fucking recipe for disaster. "When, last night?"
"I needed to know," Quinn continued, nodding. "And now I feel. . . I feel so stupid."
"No, you're. . . you're not stupid, Quinn," Santana said, reaching for her hand. "You're confused."
Quinn gripped Santana's hand.
"I always thought this thing with Rachel would be over once I met the right guy," she said, crying again. "I thought I would get it out of my system. Everything about Doug is right, you know? He's smart, and he's cute, and he treats me so well. But I don't feel happy, I feel gross, and cheap."
She shook her head and blew her nose.
"How did you do it, Santana?" she asked. "How did you sleep with guys you didn't even like without it bothering you?"
"Who says it never bothered me?" Santana said, not thinking about it long enough to censor it.
Quinn looked up at her in surprise.
"I couldn't do it now, Q," she added. "Not anymore."
Quinn understood that she meant, not since loving Brittany. "I felt like I had to," Quinn said, feeling even more like a failure now.
"So, like. . . did you find out what you needed to know?" Santana asked.
"I don't know." Quinn said defeatedly.
"But I mean . . . did you like it?"
Quinn sniffled and shrugged. "I'm not in love with him. Of course it wasn't going to be any good, I don't know why I thought it would be."
"Look, Quinn, I know this doesn't mesh with your fantastical 'true love waits' thing, but you don't have to be in love to like having sex with someone."
Quinn's shoulders caved in toward her chest and she began to pitch forward. Santana took her back into her arms.
"It was boring," Quinn choked out into Santana's shoulder. She felt Santana nodding.
"I faked it," she added.
"Maybe he just sucked at it," Santana offered. "Maybe it was him, and another guy would –"
"He didn't suck at it," Quinn cut her off. "I think he was actually pretty good. I just didn't. . . care."
Santana held her in silence. There wasn't much that needed to be said after that.
"I have to get rid of him."
"Well, good luck with that now that he knows you put out."
Quinn chuckled in spite of everything, and in that moment she knew for sure that coming here hadn't been a horrible mistake. She sat up, and Santana offered her a small smile.
"I'm sorry for waking you up and . . . all of it."
"You've apologized to me twice in the last half hour, Q. Quit freaking me out."
"I'll go now, and get out of your hair."
"You can't drive like this, Quinn. You're too upset."
Quinn blinked more tear tracks down her cheeks, wanting desperately to not go back to her lonely little bedroom.
"Just lie down." Santana fluffed one of her pillows and set it on the far corner of the mattress.
Quinn obeyed, collapsing eagerly into a ball. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I should go but I . . . I haven't slept since yesterday."
Santana spread her comforter over Quinn, and leaned back against the headboard, clutching her pillow to her chest. Quinn's sniffling ceased almost immediately, and her breathing grew shallow.
Jesus Christ Lopez, you had to be so fucking smart, didn't you? Let's just shove Quinn out of the closet and into Rachel's arms. Like oh, ha ha, won't it be easier if we're all in the same boat together?
Fucking brilliant, she thought to herself, wiping the tears from her eyes.