A/N: Didn't expect to churn out another chapter so quickly but here it is! Anyway I want to say thanks to those who liked the first chapter, it means a great deal to me. Also, please review because I'm not too sure how I'm gonna develop this story and I can't wait to hear what you guys think.
Chapter 2: Rock the boat and we'll fly again
You test again. You do so for another three times because you know it's too early to tell. You've googled and researched and they tell you that results improve when you're at least three months in. You can't wait that long, it's been less than 8 weeks and you're already going out of your mind. So far it's been the same results, the same flood of relief washing over you and then, paranoia sneaking under your skin time and time again. The words false positive rings in your ears and your panic runs in overdrive again. Better to be safe than sorry. Oh the irony.
You hear an exasperated huff from the kitchen and you don't need to turn your head to know it's Santana, rolling her eyes at your paranoia. She doesn't mean it though; you've grown to learn. You remember how she nearly unhinged the bathroom door after your first test, not before hearing Kurt shoving the emergency key into the lock to save what's left of your apartment.
"Berry, if I don't hear the water running and you've locked yourself in here for more than an hour you'd better have a good reason before I kick your sorry-"
She stops mid-rant and looks at you on the floor, peering up and feeling the most lost you've ever felt. You've never had many interactions with Santana before, it's all a rush, the close proximity and extended moments you end up sharing together in your apartment. She wordlessly swoops down and sits next to you, not before glancing at the offending apparatus in your hand dangling limply. For a moment you wonder if she feels a sense of deja vu, when Quinn told her for the first time. Leaning back against the cool bathtub, she wraps an arm around you as you let loose, clutching the base of her blouse and sobbing into her shoulder as she whispers into your hair.
A bowl is shoved under your nose, pulling you out of your thoughts as you stare blankly up at her.
"Eat. Before crazy July whoops whatever's left of your ass and you faint today." Looking into the bowl, you see cereal swimming in soy milk and you can't help but feel a rush of gratitude towards the Latina. Unknowingly, you've fallen into a routine for the past week, her silently picking the pieces up for you, pushing and prodding you, making sure you're still alive while Kurt makes sure you attend classes. You're ashamed of your actions but you're still too muddled to deal with anything right now. She didn't come all the way to New York to be your maid but you're grateful she's here to try to knock some sense into you. High School Rachel would think you mad for thinking that the ex cheerio would bother with you, much less be one of the few people making sure you're still functioning. Then again, high school Rachel probably wouldn't be in the position that you're in right now.
She waits until you take your first bite and grunts, turning back to the cupboards to prepare what you hope is her own breakfast and not your lunch. You're not a child, you want to say, but the way you've been floating lifelessly around house says something else.
Santana comes back to the table with an energy bar, sitting across you as you duck your head into the bowl. You're not particularly hungry, nor have you been for the past few days, but you don't want to cause her anymore worry. If not for anything, you've probably been the worst hostess to her.
"I'm going out of town today, just gonna see for myself what's beyond the city. I probably won't be back til late so don't come hitting me with a pan when you hear me at night." You nod silently while spooning another mouthful. You can see she's glaring mutedly at you. For a hot-blooded cheerleader, she's put up with you much longer than you've expected. Not to say you're taking it for granted or leeching off of her, you're tired of how crazy (or uncrazy) you've been acting.
"Be careful," you murmur and cast your eyes somewhere above her head.
The rest of the day progresses well, you're glad that even on auto pilot, you manage to do your work and fall in step. You tried challenging your emotions into your studies but it gets to the better of you. You don't compartmentalize your feelings well so you deal with whatever hits you first.
When you return to your apartment, it's already past ten and you can't bring yourself to eat. Putting the keys down, you sigh as you realize that the apartment's empty. You faintly remember Kurt telling you between classes that he'll stay back to help the Adam's Apple while Brody's been conveniently unavailable recently. You're pretty sure he caught wind of the news and is starting to move out of your life. He barely acknowledges your existence in class now, much less speak to you. You see his things start to disappear bit by bit from the drawer that you emptied out for him. You want to blame him, but you blame yourself and the silly open, modern concept that you threw yourself into. You're not like that, you used to be Rachel Berry, the girl who liked old fashion romantic gestures and sensible commitment, sans the almost marriage with Finn. Again, your heart plummets to your stomach as your hand finds your lower stomach, rubbing it gently as you feel nausea wash over you. It's probably more the guilt and worry that drives this, you think. You hope.
Dragging your feet to the bathroom, you wait for the familiar rattle of the pipes as you indulge in a long shower. Your mental stability may be brought to question but your body shouldn't have to suffer its consequences. Letting the hot water roll past your shoulders, you tilt your head back and inhale, willing the heat to untangle your nerves. You want to wait until the heater runs cold but the additional utility isn't worth it so you step out.
Falling onto the bed, you wrap yourself tighter with your blanket, imagining your happy place, having someone to hold you while you sleep, inhaling soft scent and feeling the warmth radiate around you. You always loved the concept of being the little spoon, so you clutch the comforter tighter and wish for sleep to come.
You drift into a fitful sleep and after a nightmare, you give up trying to get any of your much needed beauty sleep and decide to stare at your ceiling, listening to the muted traffic bustling below you on a frosty New York night. The jingle of keys catches your attention as muffled noises emit from the doorway. Chances of Kurt meeting Santana along the way are pretty slim but you don't know what to expect at this point. Glancing at your nightstand, the clock reads that it's a little past one and you frown a little deeper. New York isn't exactly safe at the dead of the night and you wish your roommates were home. You don't even want to think about Brody.
The door next to your room opens indicates that Santana's back so you pray for Kurt's safety as you hear laughter. The frown on your forehead creases a bit more and you realise that Santana's not alone. A part of you feels sad because you know that she's been trying to get over Brittany but her lady friends aren't helping much, even with the latest addition of Quinn as one of them. You send a prayer upward that Santana isn't going to be loud because the apartment walls can only silence so much.
You turn sideways and before you can use your pillow to muffle Santana's social life, you hear the pipes give a familiar jingle and then 's strange, but you don't give much thought about it and stare at the window. You strain to make out what's happening next door as low voices and whispers mingle, but everything sounds too hushed and you're too tired to investigate. Heaving another sigh, you close your eyes and conjure your happy place again.
XX
Your alarm goes off and just as you're about to snooze it and play truant today, you hear pots clanging in the kitchen.
"Oi, sleepyheads! Get your asses out here before I throw this vegan mush on your face and an omelet on your head, Berry." You sigh as you push yourself out of bed, nevertheless grateful for Santana's sudden domesticity ever since she invited herself as your roommate, not that you're complaining. You're hoping to catch Kurt to ask him to help you take notes and feign illness because you're not done with your pity party. You wonder how much sleep Santana actually got from the previous night but shrug it off.
Walking out of your doorway, you hear the adjoining knob click. Turning to greet the mystery person from last night, you turn to greet Santana's latest conquest but what greets you is totally unexpected.
Rubbing her eyes, dressed only in a tank top and boxer shorts, a blonde with severe bed hair looks to you and you feel your throat closing up.
"Hello Rachel."
It's like deja vu, but this time you're actually there to witness the aftermath. Finally figuring out whom Santana spent the night with, a wave of nausea hits you and you're not sure if it's morning sickness as you rush past Quinn into the bathroom.