Part 9: [Walk On Water or Drown]

At the end of the first month you get a short call from Brittany. She tells you that she's fine that her roommate is cool and that she loves you. You tell her that you're happy that she's fine and that you're proud of her and of the fact that she's working to get better. You don't tell her that you love her.

You're not allowed to see her; a discovery that you make two months into the six month rehab period. In fact you're not really supposed to see her when she gets out either. You're supposed to keep your distance, supposed to let her re-adjust to a clean life on the outside.

So you start writing her letters. You don't send them. You just leave them in a box that you're planning on giving to her at some point.

You know that you're supposed to pretty much cut off all ties with her to give her a chance for a fresh start. As much as it pains you, by the end of the third month you've stopped answering and she's stopped calling.

You go out to bars and get hit on by women and men, but afterwards you feel dirty so you stop doing going out. You basically shut yourself inside your room, looking over old pictures, happy pictures, reliving the good parts of high school and crying over the bad.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Dear Brittany,

Now that you're getting better and you're on track again, they told me that you couldn't have any distractions.

So I'm writing you these letters because I need to talk to you but I can't.

I'm not allowed to.

Did you know that after you come out of rehab you're not supposed try living on your own first? Then you take care of a plant, then a pet, then you can start having a relationship with another human after all that.

That's a long time not to be able to love you.

But just so you know, no matter how long I have to wait, I'll do it. You waited for me for the first twenty years of us without complaint. I'll wait another twenty years and more if it means I get you forever after that.

Love,

Santana

-/-/-/-/-/-

Dear Brittany,

Remember the first time we met?

We were six and I was lying in the grass with no friends at the park. Then you came over to me and introduced yourself to me.

You taught be how to wish on a star that day. Remember how I was such a brat that I told you that there weren't any stars in the sky so how could I wish on a star.

Then you told me that the biggest star of them all was the sun, and that wishing on all the other ones meant nothing because the sun was always the first star you would see.

Did I ever tell you what I wished for that day?

I wished for someone to come and take my loneliness away. I wished for you.

And I got you.

Please please please get better because you saved me from a life of loneliness.

Scratch that.

You're still saving me from a life of loneliness.

Star light, star bright the first star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.

Santana.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Dear Britt,

Do you remember when Mulan?

Of course you remember Mulan.

I mean do you remember what you said to me after the first time we watched it? We were eight. And it was summer time, school had just gotten out.

And afterwards you turned to me and you asked me if a princess could ever marry another princess.

I told you that no, they couldn't.

You told me that you'd dress up as a boy like Mulan did if it meant that you could marry me.

I think that if I didn't love you before then, I definitely loved you since then.

I felt so happy that I could marry you and not some gross boy.

That should have been the first sign that I loved girls. Or rather that I was loved a girl.

I still love you, probably more than I did then.

When we get married though, I don't think you should dress up like a guy like Mulan did. I'm sure you'd totally rock a suit and all but you're too graceful and too beautiful to cover up with that much clothing.

I want to see you in white walking down the aisle towards me.

I'd be like Mulan and dress up like a guy every day of my life if it meant that you could be my wife every day.

All my love,

Santana.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Britt,

I've always tried my best to be unafraid of everything. That's the way abuela raised me and that's what living with a rotation of nannies did to me I guess.

You could always read me better than that though. You knew when I was afraid, but you also knew better than to actually tell me that you knew I was afraid.

Bugs have always been so creepy to me. You used to catch them I remember, but not me. I could play tag and dodge ball and kick ball and butt's up. I could climb the flag pole and do flips off the monkey bars but I could never never play with those damned bugs.

Moths were (still are) the absolute worst though. They're like furry and they fly. It's the worst possible combo. I don't know how you can stand to touch them much less kill them for me.

That was the only thing I didn't like about the summer when we were twelve. I'm pretty sure your tree house had a moth infestation even though you still refuse to believe me.

It was that summer that I started to notice little things. Like the fact that your chest wasn't so flat anymore and that you had girl hips instead of boy hips now. That year was the first year I really noticed you. That was the year my denial began.

I remember that there would be times that I would fantasize about your lips and how they must feel.

Can you believe that I thought it was completely normal to fantasize about kissing and touching my best friend's lips just to see how soft they were? I thought I was just curious. Turns out I was more bi-curious than anything.

Anyway, we were lying in your tree house that Fourth of July and I was getting fidgety because I was waiting for the fireworks to start and there were moths everywhere.

Your gripped my hand in yours (now that your hands were finally, finally bigger than mine) and tugged me close to you. I could feel my stomach churning as soon your side was completely up against mine.

Then you turned your head to look at me and ask me if I was okay.

Of course I was okay. But then when I turned my head, our noses were brushing. I could see all the different flecks of blue in your eyes. And your lips were the closest they had ever been to my face.

Then you whispered, "They're just moths."

I'm pretty sure you leaned in first. I was never the braver one out of the two of us.

When I finally got to feel your lips, it felt so light and weird and I know I freaked out.

I left before the fireworks even started and didn't see you for another week.

No other kiss has or will ever feel as awesomely scary as that one.

I know I ran away afterwards but I loved everything about that kiss, I love everything about the fact that you were my first kiss.

I hope you're my last kiss.

Love always,

Santana

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Dear Brittany S. Pierce,

That night at cheer camp was the best and most sacred thing I've ever shared with you.

I don't even know how to put it into words.

"Alien invasion" aren't the words I would have used but…

You were so gentle and the look in your eyes and the feeling of your fingers everywhere on my body all at once.

And the feeling of your lips on my cheeks, my forehead, my lips…my breasts, my stomach…right there.

The way I could feel you and you could feel me like no one else ever had.

That was the most special night of my life.

I couldn't have chosen a better first. I can't even describe how loved felt. For the first time in my life I felt loved. And it wasn't by my parents or my grandmother making me feel secure. It wasn't a trusted adult or mentor telling how awesome I was. It was you, my best friend, showing me exactly how much you loved me.

It was always you.

Love,

Santana

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Brittany,

I'm sorry about high school.

I'm sorry that I was such a little arrogant, scared bitch. I'm sorry I kept us in the closet and kept you feeling less than loved. I'm sorry I couldn't take you to senior prom.

I'm probably the most sorry that I couldn't take you to senior prom. You know what I did instead? I played video games for so long that if you were there you would have yelled at me.

Sometimes I wish that I could take all that back, that I could just redo highschool.

But if by changing the past I would change the future I would never change anything that happened in the past (just apologize profusely for all the stupid things I did in the past).

I love you. And even though we're not perfect right now or physically together right now, we're perfect together.

God. That was so cheesy. I would cross it out but I'm sure you're loving every word.

We are perfect together now and until the end of time. I've finally matured, you've turned into someone who is so grown up I barely recognize you sometimes. I can accept who I am, what I am and love myself for every bit of that. I don't have to push you away anymore because I'm not scared of that anymore.

Love.

I'll say it out loud, shout it to the world, type it as my status.

Brittany S. Pierce, I love you more than anything. I've loved you longer than I've ever loved or done anything. I think you deserve an award or something for being in a relationship with me because I know that I'm not an easy person to love.

I'm yours. Proudly so.

The unicorn to your bicorn,

Santana

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Brittany's supposed to get out of rehab tomorrow and the rehab people will be dropping her of at a new apartment that's near her sponsor according to what the receptionist lady told you. You check on the apartment and drop off the box filled with letters and mementos next to her mail box.

It's another three months before you see each other again.

You see her working alone at a coffee shop and stare at her until she feels you looking. You smile at her from across the room and she smiles back. You part with a short wave and a nod, your coffee in hand. It feels as unsatisfying as drinking a Pepsi when you really want a Coke. But you're trying desperately to keep your distance.

For both your sakes.

Or at least that's what you're trying to tell yourself.

Then Friday night you're sitting at your apartment alone nursing a Coke and watching a marathon of old Disney movies on T.V. when your doorbell unexpectedly rings.

She's standing there, her face no longer gaunt, her eyes no longer sunken, her clothes no longer reeking of cheap hard liquor and puke. She's standing there with a dozen roses and a smile that could melt anyone's façade. She's here.

She came to you.

You'll never understand, not in ten years, not in twenty years, how or why she's always the first one to put her foot forward.

"I'm yours too." She whispers as though telling you a secret, "Proudly so."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

A/N: Oh snap.

Also I'd like to point out that I got majorly inspired and wrote this just right now. Like in the past two hours?

Yeah.

Hope you guys liked it and continue to like it.

Press the button and I'll be your mutton.

(So, there are probably better and much less suggestive rhymes that that one…I should really think it through better.)

Oh yeah, and my ego and I thank you for all your alerts, reviews, etc. I love you all (especially the anonymous reviewers!). But seriously. Thank you.