Fifty Words for Forgiveness
*0*0*
Acceptance
*0*0*
Despite trying hard to ignore the one part of Friday night that made it less than perfect, you just couldn't do it. It was eating away you, constantly niggling your every thought, and you were consumed by it. The whole weekend had been spent thinking about it, and still you couldn't suss the situation out.
You had overanalysed everything Brittany had said, and everything you knew since then, and still came up blank as to why Rachel had bought her a Christmas gift. Why the hell had Rachel bought her a Christmas gift?
It didn't make sense, and it just wasn't sitting right with you. They weren't friends. Yes, Rachel was giving, but out of the whole Glee club, she only bought Brittany a gift. There had to be more to the situation than had been let on, and you needed to find out what it was.
You couldn't go another day not knowing why Rachel had bought Brittany a gift, and not just any gift, a gift she would adore. It was the perfect gift for her, aside from an actual duck, but of course Rachel wouldn't buy her one of them. She wouldn't buy her a gift because they weren't friends. So why had she?
Your mind kept going round in circles, and you knew lunch that Monday was going to be different. You had come prepared, and were waiting on the stage for Rachel's arrival. Beside your lunch, sitting on the end of the piano, was your notepad and number cards. There was no point tucking into your food because you were pretty sure if this conversation went downhill you'd bring it all back up again.
A part of you couldn't fathom what your brain was thinking, but another part of you was piecing together all the little bits and pieces you'd learnt about Rachel over the course of your friendship, and it definitely seemed plausible.
If her and Brittney had…if they had…fuck! If they'd been something, been together, whatever the fuck they'd been, you would never forgive Rachel. Yes, it happened before the two of you were friends, but you would think she'd have told you already. Surely she couldn't have sat there listening to you confess your feelings about Quinn and regrets about Brittany and not have said anything. They couldn't have. They just couldn't have.
However, it was the only reason you could think of. Why else would Rachel go to all that effort? She had to have liked Brittany, and foolishly, you realised you hadn't asked Brittany if she had given Rachel a gift in return. You should have done that, because if they were exchanging gifts, then there most definitely was something more going on between the two of them.
Groaning, you slumped into the piano stool and waited for the girl with all the answers. It didn't take her long, and several moments later, the doors to the auditorium were opening and she was waltzing in.
"Hey, Santana," Rachel greeted, making her way up onto the stage next to you. She was completely oblivious to your fragile and volatile mood, unfortunately. "You wouldn't believe the grade Mr. Schue gave me on my Spanish report. I know the man doesn't like me but-" You cut her off by sliding your note to her, unable to wait any longer. You watched as she took it in hand and sat on the piano stool next to you.
You bought Brittany a Christmas gift.
Giving credit where credit's due, Rachel didn't bat an eye at your words. She read your note and nodded.
"That's a very astute observation, Santana. Yes, I did," she remarked, pulling her lunch out her bag. It was almost like she was mocking you, but you couldn't be sure. It had you on edge, however, and you could practically feel your defences flying into action.
Why?
Sighing, Rachel read your new note and shrugged. "It was Christmas. That's what one does at Christmas." Now she was really pissing you off. You wanted answers, and you honestly hadn't thought it would be this hard to get them from her. Why was she being so fucking difficult? What was she hiding?
You're Jewish! – you scribbled angrily, slamming your pen down onto the piano top. Finally getting a reaction from her, Rachel shot you a dirty look for what she would call 'attacking the piano', and then glanced briefly at the notepad.
"But Brittany isn't," she supplied, tucking into her food. Pft, of course you fucking knew Brittany wasn't Jewish. Who the hell did she think she was talking to?
Come on, tell me! Why did you buy Brittany a gift for Christmas?
"Santana, really, why does it matter? It was just a friendly gesture," she snapped, clenching her jaw afterwards. You could see she was desperate to change topic, but you weren't going to let that happen. You needed to know. You couldn't, you just couldn't live with not knowing.
"Because you're not friends with Brittany," you barked, giving up on the notepad.
Six.
"Well maybe I was trying to be friends with her. Maybe I wanted to get to know Brittany better." Rachel took a bite of her sandwich and avoided looking at you. It was frustrating as hell, and you wanted to shake the damn girl. She didn't want to talk about Brittany with you, but she wanted to get to know Brittany better. Fucking hell.
"Is she your crush?!" you cried, rising from piano stool. You didn't want to have to acknowledge that possibility, but she was leaving you no choice.
Ten.
You would not be able to cope if Rachel had a crush on Brittany. Just no. Absolutely not. Not possible. No way. She couldn't. That would be breaking the number one rule of friendship or something. You do not crush on, pursue, fuck, whatever, your best friend's ex.
"What? Good gosh, no! She is not…she is not my crush," Rachel denied, her voice shrinking off at the end. She had seemed almost shocked by the suggestion, and it looked genuine enough for you to push that thought to the side, for now. She still had to explain, though.
Then why the gift?
You wrote the note and passed her the pad gently, hoping she would see you weren't trying to be a dick about this situation. It was just the thought of Brittany and her together, and no. No. You couldn't. You couldn't think it. It was too much. It was just…no. No.
Sighing, Rachel ran a hand through her hair and sagged against the piano. You took your seat again, sitting down next to her and waited. As much as you didn't want to think it, until Rachel explained, you were sticking to the notion Rachel did in fact like Brittany. She needed to explain, because that thought was festering and becoming volatile, like your mood.
You could not be held responsible for your actions if it was true.
"Why the gift?" you whispered, fear laced within each word. Rachel's eyes shot to you and she clenched them shut, shaking her head. She took another deep breath before sitting up straighter, clasping her hands in her lap.
Thirteen.
"People ignore me," she began, confusing you completely. How did this have anything to do with Brittany? "People ignore me and act like I'm not there. This makes them bring their guard down, allowing me to see a side of them they don't normally show people. Brittany, she let her guard down, and I was there."
"Rachel…what are you…? Did you and Britt…?" That thought could not be finished, it was agonising to even entertain.
Twenty one.
"No! No! Santana, no! I would never do that…no. What I meant was, she was hurting, and you guys used to celebrate Christmas in your own little bubble. It was Santana and Brittany, always, and then, you two split up, and yes, she had Artie, but it was Christmas, and she missed her best friend. She was so sad, and so hurt, that I wanted to cheer her up."
It was your turn to sag back in relief. She hadn't…they hadn't. Thank fucking Christ. You could barely handle the notion of Brittany and Artie. Brittany and Rachel, that would kill you.
"I know she likes ducks, and I know she's good with animals," Rachel went on to say. "Having met Lord Tubbington myself, I know she has to be a saint to live with him. He's deplorable, do you know he tried to-" You raised your eyebrows and waited for her to remember who she was talking to. She chuckled humourlessly and nodded.
"Right, you do know, you've had the pleasure of meeting Lord Tubbington yourself. Anyway, she was so sad, and normally, you would cheer her up and make her smile, but you were hurting, too. It just seemed like the right thing to do, because no one should be sad at Christmas, and she loved it. It took her mind off everything, off you and Artie, and just let her enjoy herself. That's what Christmas is about, and even if I am Jewish, I still like to spread that Christmas spirit. And yes, I knew you were hurting, too, but you would have rejected any gift I gave you, and at that time, I'm sorry to say, I thought you were a lost cause. Brittany wasn't though, and I was just trying to help."
She had been trying to help, and she had succeeded. The way Brittany lit up at the mere mention of her gift from Rachel, you knew she must have adored going there. Rachel had observed the mess that was Brittany and you, and then took action, despite everything that either of you had done to her.
Anxiously, Rachel licked her lips and swallowed, still waiting for your reaction. You didn't know how to react. You didn't know what to do, what to say, how to feel. She'd gone and done it again. She'd surprised the hell out of you. None of you deserved this. None of you deserved to have her befriend you. None of you were worth it.
You had sat there and doubted her friendship to you, doubted her loyalty, and she hadn't done anything fucking wrong. In fact, she'd cleaned up your fucking mess. She'd gone in after you fucked up and made things right again. Girl truly was a saint, and everyone else was fucking scum. You, especially.
"You- you-" You tried to finish your sentence, but you kept gasping for breath. "W-we hated you! Why- how-" A full blown panic attack was settling in, and you had to get away. You had to flee.
Twenty eight.
Rising from the piano stool, you stormed the stage, pacing back and forth. You wanted to leave, you wanted to run as far away from Rachel as possible, because you didn't deserve to breathe the same fucking air as she did, but you couldn't. She was your best friend and you couldn't run from her. She'd take it the wrong way. She'd think she did something wrong, because that's what you had instilled in her. You had made her think she was worthless, constantly wrong, and hideous. You, you and your vengeful friends who had been so obsessed with making everyone else as miserable as yourselves.
"Fuck- we-" Taking a shuddering breath, you felt hot tears streak down your cheeks, and furiously you tried to wipe them away. You were not allowed to cry. You had done this. You had tortured her. She was allowed to cry, not you. Never you.
Thirty.
Feeling lightheaded, you swayed on your feet and struggled for your next breath. Rachel was immediately off the stool, gripping your waist as she gently pulled you to the floor. It was probably the safest place for you, because you were going to end up there one-way or another.
"Stop. Stop," she whispered, cradling your face in her hands and wiping the tears from your cheeks. "Don't get worked up over this. It's all in the past. I've moved on from it. You should, too. Now please, breathe for me."
"But we treated you like shit and here you are, buying us gifts and putting our lives back together and-!" you argued, shaking your head, trying to push her away.
Fifty.
"Santana, please, stop," she begged. "I forgive all of you, so it's time you do, too. I know you can't understand my reasoning, so just don't try to. Please, please accept the fact that I do not hold any grudge against you. All I've ever wanted is to be your friend. Okay?"
Taking calming breaths with her, you nodded and pointed towards the piano. She frowned but got up and fetched your things for you, unsure what you wanted exactly. She had no idea you'd used all your words freaking the fuck out and dragging her back through your insecurities.
First, you slid the number fifty card towards her, and then you grabbed a pen to write her a reply. She accepted the card with a nod, understanding completely and waited patiently for you to finish writing before trying to read it.
I'm sorry for freaking out on you. You keep surprising me, and I'm not reacting to it very well. It's not an excuse, I promise. You just…you confuse me. I don't understand how you can forgive us so easily after years of torturing you. We were fucking awful, and we don't deserve your kindness. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.
"You need to stop saying that," Rachel replied, taking your hand in hers as she read. "And I have forgiven you all because I know deep down there are parts of each of you that are kind and caring and compassionate. The old Santana wasn't, but the new Santana, the girl I've spent every lunch with for the last two months has been all of those things and more. You're a good person who has done some bad things. Those actions don't define you, though. It's what you do to rectify those actions that do, and let me tell you, Santana, you're a good person. You apologised, and you opened yourself up in order to be friends with me. You also stopped caring about your reputation, and you embrace my crazy side. In these last few months, you've made me feel more comfortable with myself than ever before, because you looked past everything that was 'wrong' with me and decided to be my friend anyway. So yes, you're a good person, and I forgive you. Please, now, forgive yourself, for me."
Dropping your head onto her shoulder, you nodded gently and wrapped your arms round her waist. She was supporting you, letting you lean on her, and given the mental exhaustion you were facing, you were thankful for it. You didn't want to move, you just wanted to sit there with her. She didn't seem to mind, and slowly rubbed your back soothingly as you tried to pull yourself back together.
Behind closed lids, you could see every slushy, every fall of her face as you spat venomous words her way, every flinch when you body checked her into lockers, and every tear that fell before she could make it safely away from you.
You didn't deserve this girl in your life, you didn't. How she could forgive you for any of that, never mind all of it, was completely unfathomable. But she wanted you to forgive yourself. How could you? How was that even possible?
Rachel's hand dropped from your back and found your own, holding it in hers. You watched as she played with your fingers before squeezing gently to get your attention. Her eyes were pinned on you as you waited, your head sore from the tears and your heart heavy with the pain of your past sins.
"You gave me your fifty words," she whispered. Frowning, you waited for her to continue, and she didn't miss a beat before doing so. "That day, when you came to apologise to me, I was terrified it was some joke. I accepted your apology and suggested friendship because it seemed like the best thing to do. Perhaps if we were friends, I could convince you to come back to Glee Club and help us win Nationals. Anyway, it was purely for selfish reasons," she admitted, shrugging her shoulder.
This time, it was your turn to squeeze her hand, urging her to continue, so you could see where this was going. She had to be leading you somewhere, and despite not knowing where, you trusted her to get you through this conversation safe and sound.
"I honestly never expected to be friends with you, but then you were standing in the auditorium, looking scared and alone, with your lunch in hand, and I just knew. You were as miserable as I was. Whether you had always felt that way, I don't know, but at that moment, you looked defeated. That was one emotion I have never associated with you, because Santana Lopez is never defeated, even in the face of adversity and prejudice. You're strong and brave, but that day, you looked vulnerable and weak. When you inadvertently asked me to stay with you, I saw a side to you, unguarded and defenceless, that made me reassess our 'friendship'. And let me tell you, best thing I've ever done."
"For years, you have told me how much you hated me and didn't care about my wellbeing, but in this very room you saved me from having to fend for myself in the hallways, and the guilt which knocked you for six today, shows me that you care. You care about how your words and actions hurt me, and you care about making sure you don't do it again."
Rolling her eyes at herself, Rachel licked her lips and shrugged. "I was making a point, before I derailed there, and that was that you gave me your fifty words. When you finally told me that you could only speak fifty words a day, I analysed all the conversations between us that I could remember, and you gave me your words. Those words, which are so precious to you now, were given to me. That's why I can sit here and forgive you. That's why I can hold your hand and not fear you cutting it off. That's why I can call you my friend and not expect there to be a serious backlash. You give me your words."
As far as you could see, she deserved those words for all she had done for you, and yet because you went on a rant you couldn't let her know that. With her hand still in yours, you shuffled closer and rested your head on her shoulder, giving her a small smile for her words. It wasn't enough, but she understood, and with that, you allowed your eyes to close once more and to let everything wash over you.
Mentally exhausted and physically drained, the two of you sat there until being shooed out just after lunch ended. Wordlessly, you headed out to the parking lot with Rachel in tow. She still had her books for next class, but you definitely weren't attending yours. That just wasn't going to happen.
Reaching your car, you threw your things in the back and opened the driver's side door to get in. Rachel stepped in between the door and the car, effectively stopping you from leaving, and grabbed your attention. She was watching you with warm, open eyes, licking her lips before opening her mouth to speak.
"Don't do anything silly, okay? I can't imagine that you would, but you look so defeated right now, and I'm a little scared. So please, promise me that tomorrow you'll be at my locker. We won't talk about this, or will can, if you want to. Whatever. Just, meet me there?"
Trying as hard as possible to convey your sincerity, you nodded and hoped she knew you weren't going to do anything reckless. That was not in your game plan. Giving Rachel another hug, you nodded one more and she stepped back with a smile on her lips. It wasn't the happiest smile you'd seen on her face, but rather one of worry.
Only when you were back at home, curled up in your bed, did you pull out your phone and send a text to her. She was most likely still worrying, and you hated being the cause of her concerns. Hopefully, you could ease her worries, and let her know where you stood with her. Each step in your friendship had been fraught with self-doubt and mistrust, but things had finally changed.
I promise, I'll be at your locker tomorrow morning. And again, thank you. You keep saving my ass, one freak out at a time. One day, I'll hopefully return the favour. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'm here for you, always. See you in the morning. x
*0*0*
Just like you told Rachel you would, you arrived early and headed straight to her locker. You didn't want to worry her any more than you already had. Knowing her, she most likely wouldn't have been completely appeased by your text until she saw you.
Thankfully, she was there when you walked up. She was pouting at the open folder she had in her arms, glancing quickly between it and the contents of her locker. Once you were close enough, though, you gained her full attention, and her bright smile was proof of that.
"Morning, Santana," Rachel chimed, closing her folder and sliding it into her bag.
"Morning," you replied, your voice soft, almost shy.
Twelve.
You were sort of hoping she wouldn't mention what happened yesterday, as you wanted to forget your breakdown as much as possible. It had been good for the two of you, sure, but that didn't mean you wanted to relive the tears and the vulnerability of it all. Hopefully, Rachel knew you well enough to leave that topic alone for now.
"How many words have you used today?" Rachel asked, her smile somewhat softer. It was as if she knew you didn't want to acknowledge the events that took place in the auditorium, as if she knew moving onward from it was the best option.
Reaching into your bag, you fumbled around for your cards. Pulling them out, you hunted around for the correct ones before holding up the number one card and the number two card. She glanced round her locker door to look, and then did a double take, smiling bemusedly at you.
"Why are you holding the one and the two? Why aren't you just using the twelve card?" she pondered.
"Brittany stole all the duck cards," you grumbled, shaking your head.
Eighteen.
That had been a great discovery when you were checking your bag yesterday. At first, you thought you'd lost them, but then it became clear the only animal you were missing was the duck, and Brittany had been playing with them on Friday night. Of course, she would help herself to them. No doubt, in her mind, she thought she was liberating them or something as equally important given she thieved them from you.
Rachel chuckled and nodded, understanding instantly, and reached into her locker. She pulled out another pack, still wrapped in the cellophane and opened them up. After rooting through them and pulling out all the duck cards, she handed them to you, and tucked the rest away.
"My psychic abilities told me I needed to buy two copies, just in case. Once again, I am forever indebted to my gift," she said, speaking to you but really speaking to herself. "This time, please keep Brittany away from the duck cards, or any others she may wish to acquire. Think you can do that?" You nodded and fought a smile at Rachel's reprimanding tone. "Now come on, I'll walk you to your locker so you can fetch your books and we can go to class."
Smiling, you linked arms with her and headed on your way.
*0*0*
At lunch time, Rachel met you by your classroom door. It was unusual of her to do so, but given where the two of you were headed, it was nice of her to consider your reluctance to actually head back into the auditorium.
It's not as if yesterday was a huge deal, really, but she knew you were uncomfortable with the thought of going back in there. How she knew, you had no idea, because you hadn't exactly let on that going there wasn't ideal.
The auditorium had been a safe haven for the two of you, but yesterday you had let past insecurities, jealously, and possessiveness resurface and blow up in your face. You had doubted Rachel's friendship, one that was shaped and forged from the very room you were following her to, and it just didn't seem right to go back like nothing had happened.
Alas, you knew she would drag you in there kicking and screaming if she had to, so you relented and followed. Once inside, you couldn't help but look at the stage, looking much like it did yesterday, and wince at how quickly your lunch hour had turned into a mess of tears and tantrums.
Ignoring your hesitance, Rachel grabbed your hand and dragged the two of you up the middle of your old row, smack bang centre of the room. It was like old times, back when you first ventured in there. Without missing a beat, Rachel started unpacking her lunch, and you followed suit.
"I know you probably don't want to keep eating in here because of your actions yesterday, but I think you're misinterpreting how important this room is to our friendship. Without us both eating lunch in here, we never would have become friends, and we never would have forgiven each other and moved on from our troubled past. Look upon yesterday as something good, not bad, because if we hadn't cleared the air like that, it most likely would have destroyed our friendship later. That's all I'm going to say. So tomorrow, I won't drag you in here practically against your will. Instead, I'll be sitting in this chair waiting for you and I hope that you'll join me."
Rachel finished her speech by giving you a quick glance, smiling at you like all was right in the world. You couldn't even fight the genuine smile you shot back at her, accepting her words and her reasoning. It was as if that was what was needed to close that chapter and move onto a new one. Your mind was happy to lay that particular issue to rest, and in doing so, you felt a weight being lifted off your shoulders, like the guilt finally falling away.
Feeling slightly better, you tucked into your lunch and enjoyed the silence. It wasn't long, however, before you realised Rachel was still a little angsty in her chair. At first, it just appeared as if she were uncomfortable, but then she started giving you curious looks and you knew something was up.
She opened her mouth to say something, and then paused, just when you thought the words would come tumbling out. She was taking her time, no doubt piecing the words together carefully, wondering how to ease you into whatever she was going to say. That was her normal way of asking or telling you things, anyway.
Briefly, you wondered if she was going to amend her previous statement and bring up yesterday again, and that thought had you freezing in your chair. You were done with it, you were feeling better, for god sake don't let her bring that back up again.
"Just say it," you prompted, the tension having been built to unbearable levels. If she was bringing it up again, then you needed to get that shit over and done with sooner rather than later. You wouldn't be able to finish your lunch if she intended to leave you wondering like that for the rest of the lunch period.
Twenty one.
"Quinn came to me yesterday, at the end of the day," Rachel declared, looking round the auditorium, anywhere but at you. That was not what you were expecting. Okay, so she wasn't bringing up yesterday. Good. But what the hell was she talking about?
You waited, curious but anxious. Your back was ramrod straight, your hands tense, and you pursed your lips, unsure what the next move was going to be. The way Rachel was acting made you think it was bad news, but any news was good news when it came to Quinn.
"She asked me if you were feeling better." That had you frowning. When were you ill? You'd ditched school, but how did she know that? She wasn't in any of your Monday afternoon classes. Unaware of your thoughts, Rachel ploughed on. "But she wasn't really asking me that. I think she was actually asking if you could speak." Sinking back in your chair, you felt goose-bumps break out across your skin.
Quinn was asking about Fifty Words. She was inquiring about your speech. She wanted to know if you could speak. She wanted to know if you had been lying to her. Holy crap, she was actually considering the notion that Fifty Words was real!
"What did you say?" you asked, reaching out and grabbing Rachel's arm for support. Despite sitting, it still felt like your whole body was going to turn to jelly and have you sliding right out your seat and onto the floor.
Twenty five.
Rachel looked at you startled, but only for a second, before she licked her lips and shook her head. "I told her you weren't feeling better, and that this bug seemed difficult to clear. Who knows when she'll get her voice back," she imitated, as if talking to Quinn herself. Catching your eye again, she gave you a soft smile and waited, knowing there was a million questions you wanted to ask.
"And then what?"
Twenty eight.
"And then she nodded at me, like you are now, and left." Rachel worried her lip between her teeth and frowned. "I know you told her, but I thought if I was to actually address the situation, I might scare her off. That's why I continued on the lines of communication she'd given me, going along with the lie we told Glee club-"
"No. You did good. Don't worry." You gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before letting go, and sighing.
Thirty four.
What the hell were you to do with that information? Were you to approach her? Were you to leave her alone, and let her approach you? Had she bought what Rachel had said? Was she really interested in Fifty Words, or had she honestly thought you were sick? Sick in the head, maybe. Christ, what the fuck was your next move meant to be?
"Don't' do anything rash," Rachel said, as if reading your mind. She had a pensive look on her face, her eyes looking off at the stage, slightly glossy in appearance. "Seriously, Santana, don't do anything rash. She'll come to you." Blinking, she turned back to you and nodded to reaffirm her words.
"Psychic abilities talking?" you wondered, having never seen that side of her before.
Thirty seven.
"Most definitely," she replied a little sheepishly.
"Awesome." And it was.
Thirty eight.
Rachel smiled bashfully and shook her head. She suddenly was shy about her gift, which you found crazy given how strange your situation was, but didn't argue. Maybe she just wasn't used to someone witnessing her psychic abilities in action like that. Hell, every time you got cut off for using too many words, you became embarrassed, too. Made sense.
The two of you finished off your lunches, with Rachel filling in the silence about her Spanish homework and how she'll need your help sometime soon because Mr. Schuester was threatening to fail her. Of course he was. Without so much as a second thought, you gave her your Spanish notes to revise for the upcoming test and waved off her thanks. Like you'd said in your text the previous night, whatever she needed, whenever she needed it.
Anticipating the sound of the bell near the end of the lunch hour, the two of you packed up your things and headed for the door. Back in the hallway, you waved your goodbye and went back to your locker. You had a few minutes before the next class, and took the time to just people watch. No one was shooting you anxious looks like they used to, and no one was even remotely interested by your unimposing stance. It was such a change from what things were before Fifty Words. Though, definitely a better change.
Fifty Words was teaching you not to take things for granted, but you also realised you were a lot happier than what you used to be. You had been miserable, mostly due to your own behaviour, and partly due to that damn blonde you'd fallen so stupidly in love with. Now, though, you had friends, genuine friends who you weren't sleeping with, and yes, you were still in love with aforementioned blonde, but it wasn't as doomed as what it was before. At least, you hoped it wasn't.
Without meaning to, your eyes sought out Quinn's locker, and you were pleasantly surprised to see the girl herself. There she was, leaning against her locker next to hers and looking round the hallway, oblivious to you. Five steps and you would be standing next to her. Five steps and you could touch her. Five steps and you could kiss her. Christ, you missed those lips. You missed them, her, so fucking much.
Rachel's warning rung through your head abruptly, pulling you back to reality. Don't do anything rash, she'd warned; seriously, Santana, don't do anything rash. How could you ignore her? She had told you that for a reason, and this was it, for sure.
You wanted to, you desperately wanted to take those goddamn five steps and close the distance between Quinn and yourself, but you couldn't. You weren't meant to. Rachel's tone had been strict and wary, as if the consequences of your rash action would not be pretty.
It had taken you months just to get a smile out of Quinn, so were you really going to risk all your hard work for a poor attempt at conversation or a kiss she didn't want?
No. No, you weren't. You had a plan, Rachel's plan, and you were sticking to it.
Turning back to your own locker, you started looking out your books for your afternoon classes, and then froze. Someone had leant on the locker next to yours, behind the locker door and hidden from view. It easily could have been Rachel, but Rachel didn't make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end like that. Rachel didn't make your heart flutter so.
Closing the door softly, you chanced a look and there she was, right fucking there. It felt like an apparition, that she was going to disappear at any moment. Maybe you really were dreaming, though. Fifty Words made you crazy, so apparitions weren't far off, right?
Glancing back to Quinn's locker, you noticed that no, she wasn't still standing there, and yes, this was actually Quinn Fabray leaning on the locker next to yours, staring intently at you. Licking your lips, you finally made eye contact, and melted straight into the goddamn hazels. They were like a welcoming hug from a loved one after a long absence. You missed them, her, and you were sure that they, she, missed you.
"How many?" she whispered, leaning closer to you.
You didn't have a fucking clue what she was asking you, and you frowned. You felt helpless, needing her to explain, to add more to that question. She could have been asking about anything, and hell, this really wasn't helping convince you that she really wasn't an apparition.
"How many words do you have left today?" she repeated.
You froze, taking a shaky breath as you did so and licked your lips again, swallowing quickly. Fumbling for your cards, you dropped a few on the floor, which Quinn quickly bent down to pick up. She chuckled and shot you a quizzical look, holding them up for you to see.
"Cute cards," she remarked, handing them back to you as you searched for her answer.
"Rachel," you murmured, hunting for the correct number.
Thirty nine.
"Of course." Some of the warmth disappeared, and she looked away from you, down to the floor instead. Something was off with her tone, but you couldn't place it, so continued to look for the right card.
Finally finding it, you held up the number thirty nine for her to see. Quinn's lips quirked as she read it, then nodded in understanding.
"You're using them; your words" she observed. "And you apologised to the Glee Club." Mulling over her own words, Quinn chewed her bottom lip between her teeth and leant a little closer; too close. "Yet you never came back to talk to me." Sadness, that was the other emotion lurking deep within her hazel eyes.
"I wanted to give you time."
Forty five.
"It's been months," she choked out, her eyes tearing away from yours to scan the hallway. "I thought you'd given up."
"Isn't that what you wanted?" you whispered back. You needed to know what she was thinking. Did she want you to stop? Did she want you to fix the big fucking mess you'd made? You needed a clue, some kind of indication, anything.
Fifty.
"Yes," she muttered, shaking her head. "Yes, that's exactly what I wanted you to do." You watched as she covered those gorgeous hazel eyes with her mask, and they became cold and withdrawn. They honed in on yours, and you knew the next words were going to sting. "When you've decided I've had enough time to work my shit out and actually deserve an apology, why don't you come and find me, unless you're too busy with Rachel that is."
She stormed away, narrowly missing Rachel who had just turned into the hallway. You watched as shel bounced back out the way, but not escaping without a vicious glare being sent her way. Quinn rounded the corner out of sight, while Rachel's eyes sought you out. Why Rachel had received such a reaction from the blonde, you didn't know.
Frowning, you were confused as fuck. You thought you were doing the right thing by giving Quinn time. You thought that's what she needed. You didn't think she was going to get pissed at you for not immediately returning to her. She had been furious with you, had pushed you away, shot down your attempts to catch her eye or even be alone together. So how, after all that, could she be angry at you for listening to her? You hadn't given up, you just needed to know if she believed you about fifty words. That was all. That was why you delayed.
Whining, you fell back against your locker and fought any further depressing noises from escaping. Immediately, Rachel was in front of you, holding your hand, her eyes searching yours widely.
"What happened? Are you okay?" Her tone was anxious, worried and frayed. You grabbed your cards and help up the fifty card, showing her you had none left. Unfazed by your lack of words, she pulled a notepad and a pen from her back and handed them to you.
She hates me. This hasn't worked. She's angry I didn't go talk to her after apologising to everyone. She thinks I don't want to apologise to her for all the shit I put her through.
Rachel's was frowning in sadness, and shook her head before leaning closer, so the rest of the hallway wouldn't hear.
"I promise you, this is a good thing. She's scared of what's going on, of how she feels about you, and she's lashing out. She cares, Santana. She wouldn't have approached you if she didn't. Don't take her words to heart. She's hurting. Give it time." She gave you her best smile, and you returned it as best as you could. Hopefully, it didn't look like a grimace. "Come on, let's go see a movie and after I'll treat you to BreadstiX or something. Let's just get out of here."
You frowned at pointed at your American History textbook, indicating your next class, and Rachel rolled her eyes.
"I tell you I want to ditch for the first time ever and you want to attend class. What is wrong with the world?" she muttered, shaking her head again. "Please, ditch with me, I really don't feel like going to Spanish this afternoon."
Grinning, you nodded and shoved your books back in your locker. You hadn't properly ditched school in ages. Months, in fact. Yesterday really didn't count, because you had managed to score a doctor's note from your father saying you were sick. But today, you wouldn't get away with that excuse again. Previously, you had been playing it safe, because you didn't have the words to lie or threaten your way out of any trouble you landed in. With Rachel, though, she could talk enough for the both of you. Plus, this was her first time ditching school, and she wanted to ditch with you. How could you turn her down?
Holding out your arm for her to link it with hers, Rachel did just that and beamed. Together, the two of you walked out towards the car park, and quickly jumped in your car. Words or no words, you were going to make Rachel's first ditching experience a memorable one.
Quinn would need to wait. Whatever her problem was, it most likely wasn't going anywhere. She was angry at you, but she had warmed up to the idea of Fifty words being true. Therefore, it wasn't a total loss. Technically, things were still moving forward. You needed a little bit longer. You needed time to see if she could hold out, believe you fully, and wait for your apology. You did owe her one, and you intended to apologise for how you treated her, but first, you needed her to accept you.
The girl sitting in your passenger seat accepted you fully, flaws and all, so why couldn't Quinn? She claimed to love you, or she had said several months ago, but was it really love if she wasn't willing to accept Fifty words and all its hang ups? Yes, it was crazy, but you were a little crazy, and Quinn was fucking psycho at times. Surely, with time, the situation would improve. She'd come around, you'd apologise, and then all would be right again. Surely, that was possible.
Sighing, you shook the thoughts clear from your head and focused back on the road in front of you. You'd fix the situation with Quinn later. For now, Rachel and you had plans.
*0*0*