Fifty Words for Forgiveness
*0*0*
All Was Right In The World
*0*0*
Monday.
The big day.
You sat in your car and watched the students slowly make their way into McKinley, and sighed. Friday had been such a good day, what with Quinn smiling at you, that you thought Monday would be a breeze. However, the endorphins from those hazel eyes looking at you and the tweak of her lips had worn off, and you were left facing the reality of the situation.
You had to tell Rachel Berry that you could only say fifty words per day.
Given that Rachel was a little crazy herself, you weren't worried about her reaction, but more how to tell her. You didn't exactly have the luxury of waffling on until she understood. You had to be direct, to the point, and hope she wouldn't interrupt.
There really was no way for you to tell her without writing most of it down. That felt a bit like a cop out, though. You had never said the actual words, and you needed to. You had come to terms that this was something you had to endure until it disappeared, but having never verbally told anyone, it still felt a little surreal. How you had managed to pull that off until now was beyond you, but you had, and that bubble was going to finally burst.
On one hand, though, you were thankful that it was Rachel you were telling and not Quinn. Given how Quinn took your note, she probably would have beaten you to death had you said that to her face. No, Rachel was a much safer person to tell. She, at least, wouldn't kill you. Most likely, she'd think it was a prank. She definitely she wouldn't hit you.
All weekend you had gone over the various methods of telling her. Do you use all fifty words to explain? Do you write her a note much like Quinn's? Do you just blurt it out? Do you gently lead her into it? How could you even do that? Would you have enough words? Would you even be able to answer the questions she had? And if she took it badly, could you argue your case? Could you convince her it wasn't a prank? Could this ruin your friendship? Would you let it?
The only thing you accomplished with these questions was giving yourself one killer headache.
Due to the fact that your options were so limited, you decided you were going to lay out some ground rules first, then tell Rachel, and just deal with her questions as best you could. It was the only solution you could think of, and given how little time you had left to think of it, you really couldn't afford to be picky.
Mentally checking over the plan one last time, you nodded before getting out your car. You headed towards school and quickly worked your way through the hallways, towards your destination. You needed to prepare things for lunchtime, as that seemed like the best time to tell Rachel, so you had until classes began to get things ready.
Rachel would be expecting you in the auditorium at lunch, like usual, but given how your nerves already had you feeling queasy, food wasn't going to be an option for you. Hell, you could hardly force down breakfast that morning, your stomach awash with nerves when you woke up.
Practically speaking, after school was the best time to tell her, but she had Glee this afternoon, and you really couldn't wait until after that to spill the beans. First class hadn't even begun and you were already chewing on your lip anxiously, wiping the sweat of your palms on your skirt, and fidgeting away with yourself. You just wouldn't make it until after Glee club.
Therefore, lunch was the best time, and if all went wrong, you could easily avoid her for the rest of the afternoon. If her questions became too demanding, or the situation became too stressful, for both of you, classes meant you had no option but to end things when the bell rang. It gave you limitations that you so desperately needed for a situation like this, and you were, for once, thankful there would be afternoon classes.
Finishing up in the empty classroom you'd commandeered, you threw your rubbish in the bin and looked over everything you'd need for later. They were blunt, exactly what you needed, and you hoped Rachel would actually sit through everything. Hiding the fronts of each card, you went to your locker and shoved them inside before anyone could see.
You were ready. You had everything you needed to tell her. Now you just had to wait until lunch.
Christ, time couldn't move slower if it tried.
*0*0*
Your morning classes dragged on, and with each passing minute, you could feel the nerves building in your stomach. It made sense you were so worried, but that didn't mean you had to endure it. Of course, you wanted Rachel to believe you but it shouldn't be this worrying. You needed someone to believe you, yes, especially after Quinn. She still wasn't convinced, and she was meant to be in love with you, so what were the chances of Rachel trusting you on this?
You hadn't attempted to tell anyone else because during that first week of fifty words everyone thought you were losing your mind. You could hardly be blamed for giving off that impression, as you're still pretty sure you have lost your mind, but it was clear no one could really be trusted.
It took a lot for you to tell Quinn, and it was taking a lot more for you to tell Rachel. If you weren't one hundred percent sure you could trust her, you wouldn't dare fill her in on your sudden silence these last few months.
That spoke volumes in itself, and you couldn't help but wonder when your most trusted friend became Rachel Berry. Had you told your old self that, she would have laughed in your face and then gone all Lima Heights Adjacent on you, and rightfully so. You were still confused as to how the two of you became friends.
Walking into the auditorium, cards under your right arm, you sighed and headed up to turn the stage lights on. This was why you became friends with her, this right here. The auditorium. It was her safe haven, and she was willing to give it up to you for nothing in return. Girl was secretly a saint, you were sure of it.
You placed your cards on top of the piano, which was sitting centre stage, and dumped your bag by the stool. Flicking on the lights, you watched the place light up, and then dragged a chair from the wings right into the middle. It would take little convincing to get Rachel to sit there. She always wanted to be on stage, even if she wasn't performing.
With everything ready, you took a seat and waited for the girl of the hour to finally arrive. You had managed to get out of class early, so it was a given that she would arrive after you, but with each passing second, you were convinced she wouldn't show. It was stupid, and foolish, to think such things, but your brain wasn't thinking properly. You were too amped up on the possibilities of rejection.
As if the gods were listening to you plight, you heard the sound of the auditorium door opening and silently sent one final plea for it to be Rachel before turning to look.
"Hey!" It was Rachel, thankfully, and she was trotting down the aisle towards you, a bright smile adorning her lips, and her eyes alive with excitement.
"Hi," you replied, giving her a genuine smile.
One.
She was already making you feel at ease, and she hadn't done anything yet. She definitely had some special superpower or voodoo magic, you noted, watching her come up onto the stage with you.
"What's going on?" she asked, her smile falling slightly, as she looked for your lunch, which was absent from your hands. It was shoved in your bag, probably crushed to death from the weight of your books, but it wasn't like you were going to be eating it anyway. Not unless you wanted to vomit all over the place. Stupid fucking nerves.
Giving Rachel a soft smile, one you hoped would ease her worries, you approached her with a piece of paper in your hand. You were prepared. You had planned for this. Everything was going to be okay.
Sit, please.
"Oh. Thanks, I guess." Rachel took a seat in the chair and glanced around the stage. "This is very odd. What's going on?"
You hated that she asked that question, because you didn't have a card for that. Groaning, you grabbed your bag and pulled out a notepad and a pen. You quickly scribbled her your reply and shoved it into her hands, going back to stand by the piano.
Trust her to already be throwing a spanner in the works.
"You asked me why I don't talk much anymore. This is me explaining," Rachel said, reading your note aloud. "Oh, I had forgotten about that." From the look on her face, she had actually forgotten and that just peeved you. You had spent your weekend freaking out, and she hadn't even remembered.
Whatever, you had her interest now, so you had to get on with it.
Grabbing the white pieces of A3 card you had stolen from the art department that morning, you held them in front of you and read over everything quickly. It all looked correct, and with Rachel's curious eyes watching you, you knew you couldn't stall anymore.
Plucking up the courage you needed to get through this, you turned the first card round for her to read.
First things first: DO NOT INTERRUPT ME WHEN I'M TALKING!
"Geez, San, there's no need to yell," Rachel said, frowning at you after she read it over. You quickly shot her a pointed glare and she nodded, waving her hand to hurry you up. Flipping the next card, you waited for her reaction.
Second thing: I will beat you Lima Heights Adjacent style if you tell a soul about any of this!
"Seriously, Santana? I thought you knew you could trust me. I won't tell anyone. Though, I will say, I'm highly intrigued by all the dramatics. It adds such flare!" You couldn't stop yourself from growling at her and she squeaked and waved her hand in submission. "Okay, okay, you're being serious. I'm sorry. Continue, please." Damn right, you were being serious.
You watched her settle back in her chair as she waited for you, and your hands froze on the cards. You really were going to do this. You really were about to tell someone, someone other than Quinn. Good lord, how the hell did you get yourself into this mess?
Third, and last, thing: I need you to believe me. I need someone to believe. So please, please don't dismiss this as a prank. It's not. I promise you.
Rachel opened her mouth to speak but froze, and glanced up to look at you. As if she could see the desperation in your eyes, she closed her mouth and nodded, giving you the go ahead. Dropping your cards onto the piano, you took a seat at the bench and fidgeted with your hands in your lap.
This really was it.
Taking a deep breath, you tried to ignore the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears and just focus on the words you needed to say. They were so simply. It was only twenty letters, rearranged, divided, and stuck together again. It wasn't that hard. You could do it.
"I can only say fifty words per day. After fifty, I can't speak at all." You swallowed loudly, and ploughed onwards, knowing you were almost done. "I don't talk because I don't want to waste them."
Twenty six.
You tried not to rush your words, and were relieved when it didn't come out as some gobbledegook Rachel wouldn't have been able to understand. Instead, she seemed to have grasped what you said fully and had opened her mouth to reply. You watched her glance from you to the cards on the piano, and you just knew she was thinking about the third card.
"Fifty words?" she questioned, her voice unwavering.
You nodded in reply and waited for her next question. You knew there would be one.
"That…that actually makes a lot of sense," she said, frowning at her lap. "You stopped cursing at people. You stopped insulting anyone. You let people get away with insulting you. You didn't waste them. Who did you use them on?"
"Quinn," you said, as if that was enough, and it was. Rachel's posture stooped as she slouched on the chair and she nodded at you in understanding.
Twenty seven.
"That's really sweet." You couldn't help but frown at that. Sweet. Sweet was not what you were going for. "Does she know?"
Nodding, you went back to fidgeting with your hands. Talking about Quinn was not what you had planned on doing. Though, you shouldn't have been surprised with Rachel's curiosity. She knew you were head over heels in love with Quinn, so of course she'd want to know if the blonde knew about your fifty word problem.
"She didn't take it well." It wasn't a question. You nodded anyway, to reaffirm her point and shrugged. Playing it off wasn't possible, but you could try. "Oh, San, I'm sorry," Rachel said, advancing on you. She completely ignored your affronted look and hugged you regardless. "Is this why the two of you are fighting?"
"Partly."
Twenty eight.
"I can help," she suddenly declared, pulling out her megawatt smile as she did so. "I can help you with Quinn. Together we can work out some way to patch things up between you. Now, I know you haven't told me everything that has happened, but I do think I know enough. She no doubt believes this whole situation to be a joke, which makes matters worse, but in time, I actually think we could get her to come around."
You didn't get a chance to reply before Rachel squealed with excitement and started pacing the stage. She had immediately jumped into planning mode, and was monologuing like this was part of a play.
"Something that day told me I needed to forgive you and offer you friendship. I have always been a little psychic, so when you came in and apologised I just knew that I couldn't ignore my senses. I had to forgive you, and this is the reason why!"
Her excitement wasn't rubbing off on you, and as you watched her dance about under the bright lights, you briefly wondered if you should tell her to stop. However, maybe her help wouldn't be all that bad. She was always good at planning, and you didn't have any ideas on what to do next.
Quinn's smile gave you hope, but you weren't going to hold your breath. You needed a plan of action, and if Rachel had one, then hell, you'd be crazy to turn that down. Tuning back in, you watch as Rachel frowned and shook her head.
"Fifty words, my, that's not a lot." She pouted at the thought and dropped her hands onto her hips. "Gosh, if I could only say fifty words a day I'd probably die. I am of the belief that my long-winded and verbose speech actually improves my lungs' capabilities to breathe. Therefore, if I was to suddenly stop, I would die from lack of oxygen. I'm sure of it."
"You're freaking crazy," you blurted out, wondering where the fuck this side of her had been hiding for the last few months.
Thirty one.
"Me? You're the one who can only say fifty words per day!" she cried, pointing at you. "And don't waste them like that. You'll need them. And in answer to your next question, why, because you need to come to Glee this afternoon and ask Mr. Schue to re-join."
"But I can't sing," you pointed out, thinking that was self-explanatory by now.
Thirty five.
"Yes, Santana, I'm very much aware of that. Just tell him that you've had a really bad virus and singing is too much for you right now, but you plan on singing once your voice is back to one hundred percent."
You opened your mouth to speak but Rachel shushed you abruptly. She pointed at the pad of paper and pen in your lap and waved her hand for you to write it down. If she wasn't taking this so well, you would totally bitch her out, verbally, for such a move, but you were interested to see where she was going with this.
And what do we do if I don't get my words back?
Rachel pursed her lips and shrugged. "I really hope that won't be the case. They have to come back eventually. I mean, this is a lesson, Santana. You're being taught a lesson. Once you work out what the lesson is, and rectify whatever mess you created in the first place, then things should go back to normal. That's how these things always work."
In the movies! - You scribbled, frowning at her.
She chuckled and rolled her eyes at you, which just irked you even more. How could she be so blasé about this? This was serious business. You were practically mute.
"Yes, it does always turn out well in the movies, but that's because life has a funny way of working like that, too. Now don't roll your eyes at me, Santana, I'm right. Sometimes, for whatever reason, things turn out all right in the end. This will be one of these moments, just you wait and see. As soon as you've learnt whatever it is you're meant to, your words will come flooding back and we won't be able to shut you up again. Just give it time, and start thinking about what it is that you need to learn."
You shook your head and started doodling on the note pad. Start thinking about what you need to learn, what does she think this was, a lifetime movie special? You had no idea what you needed to learn, you had already learnt everything. You knew not to waste your words, you knew not to take folk for granted anymore, and you knew that you had to tell those around you how much they meant to you before it was too late. What else was there to learn?
"So this is what I'm thinking," Rachel began, spinning round to you. "This afternoon, we go to Glee early, I tell Mr. Schue that you want to return, explain the details and say you're a little nervous about returning given your quick exit. I'll tell him that you can't sing just yet, but that you should be involved in Glee so we can learn the dances, and that you're having private singing lessons with me on the weekends to strengthen your voice. That way, it shows you're dedicated, willing to participate, and eager to return."
But I'm not doing any of that! Holding up the notepad for Rachel to read, you watched as she rolled her eyes this time and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Well, I'm aware of that, Santana, but he isn't. Surely you could lie to the man, it's not like you haven't before. Anyway, I'm sure with my persuasion he will understand and accept you back with open arms." Turning back to you, she was smiling brightly, and you fought a smile yourself. She was trying to help, and it was kind of her, but you knew it would almost be torture sitting in that room with them.
You quit Glee so abruptly because it was hard to sit back, watch them all sing and dance, so carefree and relaxed, while you couldn't utter a word. Things with Quinn had imploded on themselves, Brittany was giving you a wide berth, the rest of them were staying out your way, and you were completely alone. You couldn't even sing your damn feelings out. So really, there was no point of you being there. You didn't contribute so it only seemed fitting that you left.
No one even bothered that you did so; not even Quinn, and you were screwing her back then.
"Don't frown like that, Santana, I'm trying to help you," Rachel said, coming to take a seat next to you.
Sorry. I do appreciate it. Just thinking about how the others will take it. Don't think many will welcome me back.
You hated having to write your worries out like that, but it was the only way. You needed your words for later, so that would have to do. Seeing them like that, though, completely out there for anyone to read made your hands clench and your brow furrow further.
"Okay, yes. I do not expect them to take you back with open arms, but they'll put up with you. Worst comes to worst, they might kick you out. However, I don't see that being a problem as we technically need your voice and dance skills come nationals this year. If we get to nationals that is, but still, a positive outlook never hurt anyone. I mean, I've always had a positive outlook on things, and look where that has got me! I'm Captain of the Glee club, I'm on the- What? What does that say?"
STOP talking!
"Honestly, there really is no reason to yell. I am sitting right here," she huffed.
Wanting to make sure she was still on your side, as it were, you tore out that page and started writing on a new one. You were pretty sure she was going to give you a lecture about the wasting of finite resources and how a tree had to be cut down for you to doodle aimlessly, but your next question managed to put her mind back on track.
How will Glee help me with Quinn?
Rachel read you question over for a few moments before leaning against the piano, playing with the hem of her jumper. "Do you ever find yourself just looking at her?"
That question took you by surprise, and you didn't know where she was going with this, but you nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed for having to admit doing so.
"Well, my guess is that she does the exact same thing. In fact, I know she does. I've seen her glancing at you behind her locker, sneaking peeks when you pass her in the hallway, and-"
"Don't," you whispered, shaking your head. Grabbing the notepad, you wrote down why and passed it to her.
Thirty six.
Don't get my hopes up, please.
"Right, of course. My apologies. As I was saying, when my crush is in the room, I find myself unable to stop looking at them. It just happens, without my volition. Then, on the rare occasion, I get this urge to talk to them. We need her to feel that. We need her to want to talk to you. Just give it time. She'll see you, the Santana I know, and she'll be unable to stop herself from coming over. Trust me on this."
Your crush?
You couldn't help smirk as Rachel blushed and shook her head wildly. "Oh no. No, that is not the topic at hand. Maybe another day."
I won't forget.
"Brilliant," Rachel deadpanned, rolling her eyes at you again.
She leant her body into yours, dropping her head onto your shoulder, and you briefly wondered if you had hurt her feelings. Giving her a one armed hug, she smiled at you and then bounced back, lifting her head and asking you if she could ask you more about your lack of words.
Go for it.
"How do you know when you've used fifty words? I mean, you must have realised after several days that you couldn't talk much. But how did you know it was only fifty? Did you count them?" You could hear the curiosity and the awe dripping off her words. Given how well she took the last part, telling her you hear voices as well really shouldn't be that hard.
I have this creepy voice over that counts upwards after I'm done speaking.
"What does the voice sound like? It is male, female, ambiguous? Do they have an accent?"
I tell you I'm hearing voices and you want to know if they have an accent. Seriously.
"What? I think that's important to know. Last time I heard voices, it was me, but a much older version of me, calling out like her life depended on it. She kept saying 'Say no, Rachel! Don't abandon your dreams, Rachel!' and I have no idea why. I can only assume that she mistakenly passed her message along in the wrong alternate universe, which makes me worried about what my other me is out there doing."
There was so much in that last sentence that needed to be commented on, you didn't know where to begin. Alternate universes? Passing on messages? Other Rachel Berrys out there? No, there was too much to address. You couldn't. You just couldn't.
Shaking your head, you tuned back in to Rachel's ramblings about Glee club that afternoon. She was catching you up on what you had missed in your absence. You tried to stay focused, and actually listen to the words coming out her mouth, but you were distracted, and she could see it, too.
"What's that face for? What's worrying you?" You hated how attune she was to your facial expressions, but only because she could see through your mask. You didn't need one more person being able to do that. Then you'd never be able to hide.
Sighing, you scribbled your reply and waited for her response.
What if this doesn't work?
"Then we'll try something else." Licking your lips, you nodded, and began thinking five steps ahead in case Quinn wasn't bothered by your presence in Glee club. You needed to have at least one back up plan, and then maybe the knots in your neck would ease out.
"Come on," Rachel began, "stop worrying. I've got your back for this. While that may not mean a lot, given that I am at the bottom of the social totem pole, I do like to think that I can be of great support-" You interrupted her by shoving the notepad into her lap.
Stop it. Your support means a lot to me, honestly.
Rachel smiled at you and tore out the page you'd just written on. You frowned in confusion, especially at her wasting paper like that, when she folded it up and put it in her pocket.
"I'm keeping this," she declared, proudly. "Those words, although written down, mean more to me than you'll probably ever know."
You dropped your head bashfully and shook it, unsure what to do in reply to that. It was sweet of her, and you wondered how you could ever have been so cruel as to torture her every day. How could you have been such a fucking asshole?
My turn for a question, you wrote, taking the pad back from her. How come you're not freaking out about this?
"Oh. My great aunt Aggie, the gifted psychic in the family, always used to tell me that sometimes strange things happen, and you're not to question them, just accept the situation at hand and let it run its course." Rachel was alive with excitement as she spoke, using her hands to help describe everything.
"While she was eccentric at best, she had some amazing stories to tell. I never doubted a word she said, as I am partial to the physic gift myself, therefore took her words as gospel. You should see the two of us at poker, we wipe the floor with people. Hence why Noah never invites me to play strip poker with him. He always ends up naked, and as I'm sure you know, there's nothing too impressive there. Boys and their toys, though." Rachel rolled her eyes and turned to you, completely oblivious to your discomfort at the mention of Puck's appendages. "So, shall I meet you at your locker before Glee?"
You nodded, still trying to wipe that mental image from your brain, and made a reminder to never play Rachel at cards. Happy with your reply, she smiled back and gave you another hug, bulldozing through all the boundaries you had built up in regards to physical contact.
You had been sloppy with Brittany, simple touches turning into more, before more was sex, and you were in love. Then, you were reckless with Quinn, knowing that each lingering touch could lead to you getting your fingers burnt, and it did. You certainly didn't need to add Rachel to your 'Fucked and Fell in Love With' list. No, you weren't going to make that mistake a third time.
Returning the hug briefly, you cleared your throat and then went to grab your lunch. Rachel followed suit and sat back in her chair, lunch on her lap. You were relieved to note that the nerves from earlier had completely vanished. Good news for you, because you were starving.
The remainder of your lunch was spent in silence, and you weren't surprised. That was probably the most either of you had spoken, or in your case written, to each other since this arrangement began. You were all out of conversation. Thankfully, it was a comfortable silence, giving you both time to think through everything that had just been said.
When the bell finally rang, Rachel walked you back to your locker and gave your arm a quick squeeze, lingering a moment before smiling brightly and walking away. You knew she had been waiting for you to change your mind about Glee, and then would have been the right time to tell her, but you just couldn't.
You wanted Quinn to notice you. You wanted to see her more. You wanted to be able to spend time with her, even if thirteen other people had to be in the room as you did so. You just wanted her acceptance, and this seemed like your best shot of getting it. If the Glee club would let you join again, that is.
God, since when did your fate lie in their hands? How was that even fair?
Maybe they'd remember that you apologised and everything would be okay. Or maybe not.
*0*0*
Like you agreed, you met Rachel at your locker before Glee and followed her there. She was the first one in the choir room, like usual. Past experience told you that Mr. Schue would be the last to arrive, which meant everyone would see, and no doubt hear, the conversation that would follow. You bit back the grumbling words ready to spill out and decided it best to try and steer clear of everyone until Mr. Schue arrived. Unfortunately for you, Rachel wasn't having any of that.
"Come on, get in here. Please do not tell me you're scared of the Glee club," Rachel called, waving you into the room. You were standing in the doorway, still unsure, when she got up and physically dragged you inside. "Seriously, Santana, you'd think I was throwing you to the wolves."
Wasn't she, though? After all, the Glee club and you weren't on the greatest of terms. None of them seemed to buy your apologies, or they just didn't care, and none of them seemed even remotely bothered by your sudden lack of speech. Perhaps you were being unfair, however. Maybe they had issues of their own to worry about, or maybe they thought you were turning over a new leaf. Whatever the reason, none of them had bothered to speak to you in the last few months, and you suspected they were done with you completely.
So, in your mind, you were just about to be thrown to the wolves. You were literally sitting in the lion's den, waiting for their return, and you knew it wouldn't be pretty.
The more you sat there and thought about it, the more you started to freak out. Your breathing had picked up, your palms were sweaty, and you could almost feel the room spinning. Good lord, you were going to have a panic attack. The Glee club, Glee club, had reduced you to someone who had panic attacks. Hell no.
"Water," you croaked, rising to your feet and practically sprinting from the room.
Thirty seven.
You had left your things there, which you hoped Rachel would notice, as you did intend to go back. First, though, you needed a drink to clear your drying throat, and maybe a bit of air to clear your head.
You had a right to be nervous, but really, you were Santana Lopez, how awful could it be?
Not wanting to give that too much thought, you nursed the water bottle you'd stolen from the Cheerios' lounge, and nipped out the gymnasium door for a breather. The clock on the wall told you that Rachel would now have company, but there was still time for you to gather your wits about you.
It was just what you needed.
Eventually, you made your way back, knowing that everyone would be there by now. You counted each step, the nerves creeping back up your spine and encompassing you in fear. You took a deep breath, shook out those disgusting thoughts, and held your head up high.
God dammit, if you were going to be terrified on the inside you had to at least look fearless on the outside.
Turning back to the choir room, you hung in the door, and caught sight of Rachel's gaze. She beamed proudly at you, and raised her hand high in the air, interrupting Mr. Schue completely. The hand was just a formality, she clearly wasn't waiting to be called upon.
"Mr. Schue, if I could have a moment of your time, please," she announced, unfazed by the sag in his shoulders when she spoke.
"I'd really like to get started. Can we talk after? We have a lot to get through if we want to make it-"
"Let me just interrupt you right there, sir. What I have to say will help ease the strain the Glee club is currently facing, and I do believe it could help our chances of making all the way to Nationals this year greatly. Therefore, I insist that we talk now."
"Just do it, Mr. Schue. You know she won't shut up if you don't," Mercedes piped up, crossing her arms over her chest as she shot Rachel an annoyed look.
"Why, thank you, Mercedes, for your support." You bit back the chuckle as Rachel answered dryly, visibly fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
"Fine," Mr. Schue conceded, waving his arm at Rachel. "What is it?"
"In the hallway, perhaps?" Her eyes shot to you and you nodded, signalling you were ready before moving slightly further round the doorframe, almost out of sight.
You watched Mr. Schue roll his eyes behind Rachel's back as they headed towards you, and your dislike of him grew with each step. Maybe you'd slash his tires later, teach him a lesson. Rachel was only trying to help, and it did benefit him, so really, the jackass should at least give her a chance.
Turning into the hallway, Mr. Schue finally spotted you and his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. You had to fight back the grimace threatening to break free.
"Santana, it's great to see you! Are you coming back to Glee?" Mr. Schue spoke as if you weren't in his Spanish class every week, and the desperation rolling off him in waves was really testing your mask. One quick glance in the choir room, though, where hazel eyes were watching curiously, had that grimace beaten down and a sickly sweet smile plastered back in place.
"Yeah, please. If I'm welcome,"
Forty two.
"Of course you're welcome! Don't be silly. Come right on in!"
"If I may, Mr. Schue, I feel it best you know that Santana isn't quite up to singing as of yet," Rachel interjected, halting his movements towards the door.
"Oh?" He looked at you curiously and you were gearing yourself up to reply when Rachel jumped in for you.
"Yes. Unbeknown to most of us, she caught a horrific viral infection several months back, and ever since then it has affected her voice severely. The doctor told her she may never talk again if she's not careful. Due to that, she has kept almost a vow of silence, rarely speaking, and definitely not singing. This was why she quit Glee so abruptly. She couldn't tell us why because of her voice, and she quit because she couldn't sing. Thankfully, time heals all wounds, and her voice has started to improve, but it is not quite up to one hundred percent. For this reason, she won't be singing, and most likely won't be talking, but whatever gusto she lacks in here she will make up for in my bedroom." You shot Rachel an incredulous look as Mr. Schue's eyebrows rose up at that statement. Rachel, God bless her, was oblivious.
"Every week we have signing lessons, or rather, we try. So, while Santana may not be able to fully participate, I only think it's fair to let her come back to Glee and learn all the dances for the competitions. If she can only sing at nationals, then so be it, but she should be with us every step of the way!"
Mr Schue didn't quite know what to make of everything Rachel had just said, from the looks of things, and you found yourself waiting with bated breath for him to give his verdict. If you had him on side, it would be easier walking into the choir room, knowing there was support behind you.
"Right…I had no idea you were so unwell, Santana. I hope your voice returns, soon. And, welcome back to Glee club, I guess." Waving at the doorway, he ushered the two of you in.
"Laid it on thick," you muttered, following behind Rachel towards the empty seats you were both occupying earlier.
Forty six.
"Oh shush, it worked, didn't it?" It did, so really, you shouldn't have been complaining. But honestly, that was some lie you now had to uphold. Girl could have given you a heads up, at least. Would a forewarning really have hurt?
The two of you quickly sat down, and you tried hard to ignore the many confused faces looking at you. It was only a matter of time. Any minute now, they'd voice their opinions and you'd be walking back out the choir room door with your dignity in shreds.
"Alright guys, good news! Santana is joining us again!" Mr. Schue's warm welcome was met by silence, effectively killing his happy smile, and dropping a lead weight in your stomach. Maybe you shouldn't have eaten lunch. "Come on, this is good, show some joy!"
"How come she gets to just walk right back in?" Tina asked timidly, shooting you nervous looks. Well, she was still scared of you. That counted for something, you guessed.
"This doesn't feel like good news," Mercedes barked, shaking her head vehemently. "New Directions has been free of taunts and venom, but with her arrival, that'll all change."
"Speak for yourself, Mercedes. I still have to endure your venomous attitude every week," Rachel pointed out, turning to the girl in question.
"Oh please, that's nothing compared to Satan over there." You sunk back in your seat at that. Satan was one name you didn't want to go by anymore.
"Santana happens to be my friend, and I won't have you talk about her like that."
"Friend? Please, Rachel, stop kidding yourself. She's using you. She needs you for something, or this is all just one big prank."
"I do not have to justify my friendship to you, so kindly keep out of it. And you can keep your poisonous words to yourself." Leaning over, Rachel muttered to you under her breath as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "If anyone deserves to lose their words, it's her."
Pretty sure she would say the same about you, you noted, writing it as a text message in your phone and showing her the screen. Rachel glanced over, read it quickly and scowled at you. However, there was a slight twitch of her lips as she fought back a smile.
"So much for our friendship." You chuckled and tuned back in to Mr. Schue, who was now defending his decision to let you come back. He kept saying how he couldn't see a problem as you were sick and would be unlikely to argue with them. That threw them for a loop, but he recited Rachel's spiel almost verbatim and you were actually a little impressed he'd listened to all that. She seemed to be, too, if her expression was anything to go by.
"So wait, she's not even going to be singing? Then why the hell is she here?"
"To learn the choreography," Mr. Schue replied, sounding tired of this already.
"Why aren't you singing?" Finn piped up, leaning round Rachel to ask.
"San can't sing," Brittany declared, looking at everyone as if that was obvious, and you were thankful for her interruption. You really didn't want Finnocence breathing in your direction, let alone talking to you.
"Yeah she can, Brittany. She sang with us at the beginning of the year. She sings really well," Tina replied, smiling softly at the blonde.
"No, she can't sing anymore."
"That's correct," Rachel interjected, smiling brightly to the room. "Santana has had a very bad throat infection that has made it almost impossible for her to sing at the moment. However, her and I are having one on one sessions to get her voice back to perfection, and I predict her singing on the stage with us at nationals."
"-Regionals," Mr. Schue corrected, waving his finger at Rachel as he did so.
"Nationals," she repeated, completely unfazed by his interruption. "So given that Santana and I are working together, there should definitely be some improvement with her technique. If it goes as plan, I assume all of you will be lining up to have me teach you. I am a great teacher, after all. Isn't that right?" she turned to you and winked subtly, causing you to smile charmingly at everyone else.
"Absolutely."
Forty seven.
The room seemed to grimace with your response, minus Brittany, and you knew Rachel was playing it up to get them to stop. The more she made herself out to be 'crazy-Rachel-Berry' the more likely they were to stop asking questions. It really was ingenious, and you wondered if Rachel had been using this trick all along.
"My condolences," Mercedes said, looking straight at you as she crossed her arms over her chest and sunk back into her chair.
You took that to mean the conversation was over, and that you could stay. Mr. Schue seemed to think so, too, as he immediately began today's lesson. Good to see some things never changed. Writing his word on the board, you listened as everyone threw out their suggestions and comments, and sunk back in your chair with a content smile in place.
It felt good to be back, even surrounded by those fools, arguing over whom was the biggest diva and therefore more deserving of a solo at regionals coming up. Yeah, it definitely felt good to be back. So much so, the saying 'time flies when you're having fun' applied, because before you knew it, Glee was over. Then again, you had spent the first half of it arguing your place there.
You hadn't contributed much at all, only nodding or shaking your head when it felt appropriate, but it was something. At least they had let you stay. Rachel seemed to think so, too, as she sung 'I told you so' under her breath, as if reading your mind while everyone made to leave. That had you taking a step away from her, shooting her a hesitant look. If she really was psychic, or worse, a mind reader, then the two of you really needed to come to some arrangement about whose thoughts she could and couldn't listen to.
Having stepped back from her, you bumped into Puckerman as he was grabbing his bag off the floor. He glanced over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows in question, and you blurted out your apologies, which only made him frown deeper at you.
Forty eight.
"What's up with you, Lopez? You won't stop saying sorry. It's freaking me out. Where's that badass gone?" You weren't sure how to answer that, so shrugged and tried to make it seem like nothing. Whether Puck believed you, you don't know, but he nodded in return and thankfully moved on. "Well, whatever. It's good to have you back, even if you can't sing for shit." He lightly punched your shoulder, and smirked at you as he waltzed away. You didn't even get a chance to hit him in return, scowling at his retreating back.
Well, at least all seemed right in the world there.
That couldn't necessarily be said for the next person that was approaching you. The bubbly blonde bounced down towards you and stopped just in time. As always, she was invading your personal space, but after so many years of her doing so, you really couldn't be mad at Brittany for that.
"It's great to have you back, San," she sang, smiling happily at you. "And don't worry, your secret is safe with me."
"Secret?" You had far too many secrets, many which Brittany was aware of, so she could have been talking about any of them.
Forty nine.
"You, Quinn, your inability to confess your feelings, the train wreck that was," she said, shrugging like it was nothing. "It's nice that Rachel's helping you, though." Plastering a smile on your face, you nodded and tried hard to keep your frown at bay. Hearing Brittany refer to what you and Quinn had as a train wreck stung.
However, it was actually like a train wreck, which you hated to admit. Everything had been running smoothly for the two of you, and then she slipped up, and you freaked, then you lost your words. From that point on, you were an unstoppable train just waiting to derail or crash. As it happened, you crashed, hard, because you couldn't tell her what she needed to hear.
Brittany gave you a little wave and left, flouncing out the choir room. Rachel was quick to come over and check on you, asking if everything was okay. You didn't quite know how to answer that. Technically, yes, but the sting hadn't worn off yet.
You didn't expect Brittany to support what you had with Quinn, but the way she dismissed it like it was nothing didn't feel right. Then again, Quinn probably had told her there was nothing between the two of you anymore, so you really couldn't be too mad at her for speaking the truth.
Pouting a little, you nodded in return to Rachel's question and glanced over to the last remaining blonde in the room. She was oblivious to your gaze as she spoke animatedly to Artie and Tina, laughing at something they'd said. Before you knew what you were doing, you'd taken a step towards her, only to be pulled back by a sharp tug on your forearm.
"Whoa, the plan is to let her come to you. Not the other way around," Rachel whispered, glancing round to see if anyone else was listening. "I promise you, it'll work, but only if you let it. Give her time." You nodded in understanding, but longed to go over and talk to Quinn still.
She was so close. You could smell freaking fresh air and sunshine. It had you almost inching towards her again, your fingers desperate to reach out and make contact. It would just be one touch. One touch, skin against skin. You hadn't touched her, innocently and intimately, in months. Having her this close was torturous, especially since you could close the distance. If only she wanted you to.
Swallowing nervously, you sent Rachel a thankful smile for her support and began gathering your things together. The sheet music Mr. Schue had left was on the piano, and you grabbed some for Rachel and yourself before handing it over to her. She grinned and thanked you, as you put yours in your bag and slung it over your shoulder, ready to go.
Turning back around, you noted Quinn was no longer by Artie and Tina, but in the doorway, facing everyone. She was biting her lip, a nervous habit you had seen her do hundreds of times, and then she stopped upon seeing you staring at her.
"Bye," she called, and it could have been directed to anyone of them, but she was looking straight at you as she spoke, and that had your heart doing summersaults in your chest.
"Bye," you murmured, almost scared if you spoke too loud she'd startle like a wild animal.
Fifty
Those hazel eyes, those goddamn hazel eyes lit up with your reply, and you watched her fight a smile. She nodded a few times, acknowledging the other member's goodbyes, but her eyes didn't leave yours. You grinned outright, happy to finally have attention, and she blushed in return, smiling openly. Trying to hide behind her hair, she gave one last goodbye as she made her exit, looking back over her shoulder at you as she did so.
God, she was beautiful.
She looked alive, those eyes warm and happy, her smile bright and cheery, and it was all directed at you. Fucking hell, today was glorious. Best Monday ever.
"She said bye!" Rachel squealed next to you, tackling you in a hug. You laughed right along with her, her excitement infectious and nodded, fighting back the overwhelming happiness threatening to bring you to tears.
Christ, she hadn't said more than one word to you and you felt like crying. What the hell were you going to be like if she ever touched you again?
Probably die. It would be the most amazing death, though.
Friday- she smiled.
Monday- she said goodbye, blushed, and smiled.
What the hell was in store for Tuesday and why couldn't it come any faster?
Again, best Monday ever, and that thought had you skipping to your car with a crazy grin on your face. No one could destroy your happiness. No one. Wasn't even worth trying. You were invincible. She made you fucking invincible.
God, you adored her.