Maybe the World Was Ending
1am-2am
Her eyes trained on the girl leading her down a back alley. At the break of the fifth or sixth or tenth song, the girl had pulled at her hand and tugged her toward the back alley. This time, Quinn was nowhere to be found.
She'd been to this place and she'd dragged someone out here before. It had never felt as exciting as this. Tonight, the streetlights glimmered anew, radiating against the girl's blonde hair. The moon shone brighter. The girl's skin was aglow.
Had Quinn slipped her something? Could she have dissolved ecstasy into one of those drinks?
She tripped over a cobblestone as her mind traced back to her interaction with Quinn earlier. No, she was sober. She'd meant to stay sober tonight anyway. At least partially sober.
Suddenly, her back was against a brick wall and the girl's hand had pushed the back of her wrist roughly into the concrete.
"Kiss me." It was hot against her ear. A trickle of foreign sweat moistened her cheek. Her hands froze at her sides. Her eyes scattered between the girl's lips and blown pupils. Shocked by her surroundings, she froze. Shocked by the press of a body at once familiar and completely foreign against her body.
"Aren't you going to kiss me?" The girl had pulled back. Santana wanted to capture the smile, record it, and take it back to her carrel in the library to pore over it.
It disappeared in an instant, replaced by a worried turn at the corners of girl's mouth. "Sorry. I just…the way you were looking at me… I thought this was what you wanted."
"No," Santana's voice was thick and unfamiliar. She swallowed. "No, I want to."
The smile returned and Santana froze again. The girl's face moved closer to her own.
"Can I kiss you?" Santana's mind flicked back. Did a memory exist to go with this moment? A lit candle casting shadows against the darkness of her bedroom and a boy's scratchy stubble rubbed against her face. No. Her hair draped over Santana's naked chest, tickling her into seriousness. Almost. No. She didn't want that memory to crowd her mind in this moment. Only happy memories. She pulled back a little, searching for an image. Blue eyes caught in the moonlight, wrapped in her.
She leaned forward, breath mingling with Santana's. Long fingers cupped Santana's cheek, thumb stroking her jawline. Her eyes closed, but her mind opened - blue eyes darkened by the moonlight. The Earth stopped moving. Time stood still. Another second, minute, hour added to the countdown. As if under duress, her mind closed and her body pitched forward. Santana's lips tested against thinner, pinker, more hopeful lips.
At first it was almost nothing, compared to what it would come to be. It tasted faintly of sticky sweet lip-gloss, the kind that Santana made fun of Quinn for wearing in her high school cheerleading days, then started not-so-secretly wearing just weeks later. Against her lips, it felt like the kind of quick press her mother had given her before she'd tucked herself back into the passenger seat of the family van and driven back to Lima in August of her 18th year. But then, the girl's lips parted and Santana felt disgusting for having thought of Quinn and her mother. She pulled back and gasped. Her lungs filled with relief. Just before the girl could ask if she was okay, Santana's mouth crashed against hers. Her lips parted again and this time it was everything. It was salvation.
The joints in her fingers ached as they crept to the sliver of skin she'd admired from the balcony. The closer her fingers got, the weaker her kiss became, until it was just her lips hovering against the girl's, her tongue tracing a lazy, now familiar pattern in her mouth. She bit, hard when she felt skin against the pads of her fingertips. She pressed her fingers tightly against the girl's hip, imprinting herself.
The girl pulled back and winced in pain. "I didn't take you for a biter." Santana saw that smile creep back onto her face.
"Sorry." Her fingers continued to knead into the girl's flesh. She rested her head against the girl's shoulder and felt her own warm breath rebound against her cheeks. The world couldn't be ending.
Her lips crashed against the girl's once again. Searching. Hungry. Open. Long, dexterous fingers cupper her cheek and soothed her. Her heartbeat slowed a fraction and her lips softened a beat.
She pulled back and looked up into moonlit eyes. "I'm a Realist." Her brow furrowed on instinct. Santana wasn't sure why she'd said it. She didn't even know this girl's name. It poured out of her as if by providence.
"And I'm a Believer." A smile danced across the girl's face.
Santana's eyes closed. Believer stereotypes flooded her thoughts. "If you're a Believer, then what are you doing here?"
The smile closed in on her, until all she could see was a halo of blonde hair and cherubic, pink lips.
Santana almost believed, too.