Fifty Words for Forgiveness
*0*0*
Losses, Lies & Regrets
*0*0*
Coach Sylvester accepted your freshly dry-cleaned uniform with a glare and ushered you out of her office as fast as possible. She was eyeing you up like you were the devil incarnate, which you thought was oddly fitting. You felt like Satan, so it shouldn't be a surprise if you were starting to look like one too.
Turning back into the hallway, you stuck close to the wall and glanced round at the rest of the students. No one was really looking at you, a nice change from when you first entered the building. This was the first day you were going without your red, black and white armour. When you had stepped through those doors earlier, you caught everyone's attention.
It was an odd sight for them to behold, you were sure. It had been an odd sight for you to behold back home when you were looking at yourself in your mirror. It felt wrong, scary and a small part of you wondered if you could fake being sick for the week. You couldn't; your father would worry and send you to a specialist to get checked out. It wasn't worth the effort.
So instead, you swallowed your fear and got yourself to school. You knew it wouldn't be easy, and the lead weight in your stomach was proof of that every time someone glanced your way too long. It was as if they couldn't work out who you were, and then when it clicked, they would scowl, smile or smirk. The last one was the most alarming, the one you feared the most.
Those were the people who you had torn down, humiliated, and embarrassed. Those were the ones who loved your 'fall from grace', as it were. Those were the ones you were going to have to fight tooth and nail against. They could go to hell if they thought you were going to sit back and take their shit. Cheerio or not, you were still Santana Lopez.
Unfortunately, you really didn't feel like Santana Lopez when skulking round the corridors, trying to avoid as many people as possible. You knew it was going to take time to get used to, you just hadn't thought your Cheerio uniform offered you that much protection. If you had the ability to scream and shout your Spanish curses at them like there was no tomorrow, then it wouldn't have been a problem. But you couldn't. You had to limit your words.
You couldn't waste them. You needed each and every one of them. As of yet, you still didn't know how many words you were going to have before they cut out on you. It was unnerving, like a guillotine waiting to fall at any second. You knew you had some words, but how much was some?
The only way to work that out was to count them, which was exactly what you intended to do. However, that required you flying under the radar and not getting into arguments with your peers, the ones holding slushy cups and eyeing you mischievously.
You just knew, by the end of the day, you were going to be covered in at least one flavour of the ice cold corn syrup mixture. Karma, right?
Swallowing the lump in the throat that thought brought up, given just how many slushy attacks you'd ordered, laughed at, participated in, you continued your ducking and diving journey to your first class. If you could just avoid as many students as possible, that would be great.
There was also the matter of keeping away from Quinn.
You were embarrassed, the heat rising in your cheeks every time you thought of those foolish words you had uttered the previous night. You didn't want to leave your feelings at the door anymore. What a fucking pansy you were. What a stupid fucking thing to say. You were a moron, an idiot, a complete and utter imbecile for even daring to say such words.
What did you expect to happen? Did you honestly think she would roll over, confess her undying love for you and the two of you would ride off into the sunset together? Really, what did you think was going to happen?
She was never going to feel the same way. She was never going to see you as more than a fuck buddy. No matter how much you liked, cared, loved her, she was never going to return the feelings. And hell, even if she did, she would never act on them. She was Quinn Fabray, Quinn Fabray, the perfect little Christian girl who was expected to marry a good Christian man and have gorgeous Christian babies.
She was not meant to be rolling about in the sheets with you four times a week, crying out your name instead of the Lord's. Nor was she meant to fall to her knees and pray to you, rather than the Father Almighty.
She was sinning with you in the dark of night, behind closed doors, and away from the reproachful eye of her God and Church. The Angel had truly fallen, but she wanted the best of both worlds. She wanted to keep up her perfect image, her faith, her morality, then lie in Satan's arms and forget about the consequences.
You couldn't take on that responsibility. You loved her, you adored her, but you were her secret, her embarrassment, her sin. You could love her until your dying breath, but she would only love you in solitude and secrecy.
Maybe it was good she didn't return your feelings then. Maybe you had just dodged a bullet. Maybe she was meant to be forever out of your reach. Maybe your fallen angel was never truly going to join you in the pits of hell. Maybe you were a lost cause.
Sighing, you returned to the then and there, rather than the swirling thoughts clogging up your head, and ducked into your first class of the day. All you had to do was keep your head down, pay attention when you used your words, and hopefully stay under the radar for as much of the day as possible.
Easy.
*0*0*
Apparently, you misunderstood what the word easy meant. Easy usually means not difficult, not requiring much effort, work or thought. You, on the hand, clearly took easy to mean damn near fucking impossible.
Your words: they slipped and fell from your lips before you could stop them. Your presence: felt round the whole school once word had spread you were back among the herd. Your patience: wearing thin from each stare, glare and cocky smirk.
And fuck, it was only lunch.
Heading back to your locker, you began changing your books, hiding your eyes from those staring, and bit back the overwhelming urge to let your emotions escape. They were wearing you down, their looks, their taunts, their hands clasping full slushy cups.
You refused to break; you refused to show them that you were irked by their united show of defiance against you. Where you once were at the top of the ladder, you were now firmly at the bottom, and they were making sure you knew that.
Swallowing, you tucked your hair behind your ear and took a deep breath. There felt like a crowd gathering behind you, which only meant one thing, and the last thing you wanted to do was turn to face them. You were not a coward, though. Well, you weren't a coward to them. Quinn, she was completely different. You were most definitely a coward when it came to her.
Speak of the devil and the devil doth appear.
Eyes forward, gazing at your lynch mob, you were met with warm hazel ones staring back at you, and a wall of red, black and white armour separating you from them.
"Coming to lunch, S?" Quinn asked, a small smile playing on her lips.
The Cheerios had their backs to you, protecting you, and none of them seemed fazed by the looming number of slushy cups before them. How Quinn had managed to coerce them into doing this, you didn't know, but you were eternally thankful.
"Definitely," you replied, shooting her a grateful look.
Twenty seven.
Quinn beamed at you and started to move, the Cheerios falling in line with her. She paused and waited for you to stand next to her, ensuring your safety, and then the two of you led the way to the cafeteria.
"Uniform or not, you're still a Cheerio, and the school needs to remember that." Her words gave you the courage to straighten your spine, walk with your head a little bit higher, and ignore the lead weight in your stomach for good.
After procuring lunch for the both of you, Quinn led you to a table away from the rest of the Cheerios, and indicated for you to take a seat. It looked like it was only going to be the two of you. Given her past behaviour, you were a little surprised, but decided against saying anything. Her eyes were still warm and welcoming, and you were not going to do anything to bring down her mask.
Tucking into your lunch, you waited for her to speak. You needed some kind of indication as to where you stood with her after last night. She had brushed your words off, pulled you into her touch, fallen asleep with your head in the crook of her neck, and blindly sought you out when you snuck away several hours later. No words were exchanged as you found your clothes, and you were certain she hadn't even woken.
So sitting there, eating lunch like everything was fine, was messing with you. You were off the team, so she really shouldn't have sat with you, given Coach Sylvester telling you to stay away from her precious Cheerios. As head Cheerio, Quinn should abide by those rules, but yet, there she was, looking at you curiously as she wiped a napkin over her lips, captivating your gaze.
"Are we still on for tonight?" Quinn asked, her tone trying ever so hard to be nonchalant but failing. Perhaps she had woken when you had snuck out, dragging your limp and bruised heart behind you as you went.
"Why wouldn't we be?" you questioned, looking everywhere but at her. Her question had you shifting in your seat, approaching unfamiliar ground.
Thirty one.
You may have given up on her but that didn't mean you couldn't still sleep with her, did it? You were the only one losing out on this arrangement. You were the only one suffering. Quinn wasn't bothered in the least, by the looks of things. She was quite happy to warm your bed with no emotional attachment, so why give that up?
The warmth in your chest could be ignored. The burn from her fingertips could be fixed. The euphoria from her hazel eyes could be shut out. All of it, every single emotion she evoked in you aside from lust could be pushed down and locked out. You could do that. You had been doing that. You were good at that.
You were a fucking liar.
But you couldn't give her up. If she wanted you to kiss her lips, nuzzle her neck, pin her hands to the bed and worship every inch of her body, you would. You would do it as long as she wanted you. Her heart may be unattainable to you, but her body was not. It was willing and pliant under your touch, why would you give that up?
She was going to burn you, burn you so bad you wouldn't be able to recover, but you had to get used to the fire. The burning inferno called hell, your home, was where you would forever reside. She was going to be up above the clouds when this ended, back in God's favour, and you would be watching from the pits of hell, pining for the angel to fall from grace once more.
You knew you were going to be hurt by her, but the pain she inflicted was nothing compared to the pain you would feel from her absence. You needed to seize every moment together as if it would be your last, because any day now, Quinn may just decide that she has rebelled enough, sinned too much, and repent.
"I just thought, after last night, you might not wish to," Quinn replied, licking at her lips. The fact that she had even acknowledged your words from last night spoke volumes, and you couldn't help but feel like the fly caught in her spider's web.
"I was wrong," you lied. "Things would never work out the way I would like, so why even entertain the thought?"
Fifty.
The words tasted like gravel in your mouth, and you swallowed quickly to keep more words at bay. It became harder to do so as Quinn sunk back in her seat, eyeing you carefully, the warmth and light in her eyes flickering away with each passing second.
"Is that how you really feel? That if we were ever to explore the meaning behind those words, it wouldn't be worth it?" Her voice was cold, calculating, and her walls were back up.
You dropped your shoulders and nodded, unable to say the words. You didn't dare open your mouth in case the truth slipped out. She wasn't really asking if exploring your feelings for her would be worth it, she was asking if she was worth it. Was she worth the trouble of sorting out the mess both of you had created?
Yes, yes she was. She was worth all the trouble and more. You would take the venom and homophobic hatred if you could just walk down the hall with her hand in yours. You would take the body checks and 'accidental' knocks to your person if she was there to kiss your bruises better. You would take the wrath of God himself if it meant she'd love and be with you.
"I guess it's good that you changed your mind then," Quinn added, straightening her posture.
You went to agree but found that you couldn't actually agree with her. Not because of some underlying feeling to disagree, but because your mouth and vocal chords wouldn't make the sound needed. You frowned and tried to ask Quinn to repeat what she had said, just to test a theory, and nothing came out.
Fifty.
Fifty was your limit.
Fifty words, seriously? That was fucking bullshit. Fifty words was nothing. Fifty words wasn't anything! What the fuck were you meant to do with only fifty words?
"So tonight, let's say six o'clock, yours?" Falling back into the conversation, you nodded, knowing there was no point of even attempting to give a verbal response.
Quinn nodded in return and went back to her lunch, giving you time to contemplate your new discovery. Honestly, you were pissed. You were pissed at her for accepting your bullshit lies, you were pissed at yourself for lying in the first place, and you were pissed at whatever higher power had stolen your words, because fifty, fifty fucking words was nothing!
Silently stewing in your own anger, you forced down as much of your lunch as possible and fought back every instinct telling you to cry. You were so angry the tears wanted to escape, your body trying to force some kind of emotion from you just to release it from your body.
Clearing her thought after finishing her lunch, Quinn caught your eye and cocked her eyebrow, hands firmly on her tray. She smirked and stood up, standing next to the table as her eyes bore into yours.
"I see it's going to be one of those nights, then," she remarked, licking her lips slowly, her hazel eyes lighting up at the sight of your dark and dissolute stare on her. "Just don't mark my neck, Coach will kill me if she catches sight of another hickey. Anyway, I'll see you later." With that, the blonde turned and walked away, with an extra sway in her hips. She knew you'd be watching, that you were sure of. But how could you not? She looked fantastic in that damn Cheerio's skirt.
Sinking back in your chair, your lunch abandoned, you sighed and shook your head. It was going to be one of those nights, except you weren't going to have any words to growl and husk in her ear as she falls undone beneath your touch. Instead, you were wordless, and were going to have to make the best with what you could. Quinn still expected to be fucked senseless, which you would do, but you just wouldn't be vocal about it.
Maybe if you played your cards right, you could pretend you were angry at her for ignoring your blatant feelings for her. Maybe you wouldn't even need to pretend.
*0*0*
Wednesday's show of support from the Cheerios took the target off your back, and miraculously, you had survived the week without a single slushy attack. You knew Quinn had everything to do with it, and a huge part of you wanted to thank her, but you weren't going to. She'd want an explanation, and you didn't want to explain how much her protection meant to you.
You were still resigned to your fate with her, and Wednesday night's activities had cemented the fact that while you were willing to still fall into bed with her, you were hurt. As much as you tried to hide it, your pain had seeped through.
Apparently, a rough fuck to release some of that anger wasn't what you needed.
She had come to yours, looking as gorgeous as always, as willing and eager as your first night together, and without further ado, you had her against your bedroom door. Despite her warnings, you marked her neck, painting a picture of possession across her porcelain skin. It was all you could do, leaving a trace of yourself on her so she couldn't forget about you after the fact.
It worked, too. Some of the hickeys were too dark to completely cover, and she looked like she'd been attacked all week long. Her playful glare was enough to have your smug ass smirking at the mere sight of her. With or without your words, you still were able to lay claim to her, and you wanted to pat yourself on the back for doing just that.
The hickeys weren't enough to satisfy your thirst for her on Wednesday night, however. You wanted to break her, ruin her for anyone else. You wanted to consume her completely, leaving no trace of her for others. At least, that's what you thought you wanted.
The roughness and demands you were making on her body eventually subsided, and before you knew it, you had tears running down your cheeks as you kissed every inch of her. She was your angel, and you were abusing your right to touch her body. You loved her, and you needed to show her just how much.
So you did, you tried to express every ounce of emotion you held for her, but at the end of the night, she still walked away. Quinn had to know you were in pain, she had to know you had lied to her about your feelings, but she was avoiding that topic like a demon would avoid holy water.
You had given up on her ever loving you back, but your heart still did everything in its power to make her happy, even if it meant sacrificing itself. You had put yourself out there for her, hoping she'd return the sentiment, but given how that had blown up in your face, you knew it was better to be the one worshiping her up close than watching her from afar.
She had a hold on you that you just couldn't break, and one you didn't want to. It hurt to know she only wanted you for your body, but you were resigned to it. You had to be, you couldn't lose her. Maybe if you kept trying, kept loving her, she would love you in return. Maybe if you kept kissing those lips with the tenderness of soul mates, she would take the wrath of her God, her church, her family, and be with you.
That unspoken rule still stood, however, and as long as it did, you didn't stand a chance. Despite spewing forth your inclination for something more, emotions, feelings, longing and love, all had to be kept out of the equation. It was sex. It was rough, teasing, quick, and cold. It was a means to an end. You had tried to take things to the next level with her, admitting there even was something other than sex and friendship between the two of you, and given her response, it was pointless doing so.
Accepting that, swallowing that bitter pill, meant giving her what she wanted from the relationship, and you'd giver her everything she wanted. You were hers to do with what she pleased. You were a pathetic mess, all for a girl who didn't care about you other than what you could do with your tongue and nimble fingers. Still, she would lead, and you would follow. That's just how it was.
So a week after she stood up for you in the hallway, bringing you back up the social ladder, you were still falling into bed with her.
That Monday night was filled with soft and careful caresses, light and tender kisses, and a warm and hopeful gaze. Wednesday was a quickie in the backseat of your car that was met with so much vigour on her part, you almost came without her hands anywhere near you. Then to finish off the school week, Friday night was a rough, wild, and wanton fuck, void of any feeling whatsoever.
You had learnt by that Friday to lose yourself in the body beneath you, regardless of whose it was. You were growing, learning, controlling your emotions better than before, or at least when it came to Quinn.
As for your words, that was a whole other problem.
It turned out that managing your words was much harder than you thought it would be. They would just slip out, and then you were down ten for the rest of the day. It was ridiculous. Half the time, you didn't even mean to say anything, or didn't think you had said anything, and then that damn ominous voice rang out and reminded you of your fuck up.
The only good thing about it was that it counted up to fifty and not down to zero. That would have been horrific, constantly putting you on edge. At least by counting upwards, there was always that hope that one day, one day, you might get to hear fifty one. While you doubted it would ever happen, you prayed and hoped, because for now, it was driving you insane that you got so few.
Already on your way to school that Monday, you had lost seventeen words. Seventeen! You didn't even know how. You said hi to your parents, at the same time, as you left the house, then you arrived at school, and somewhere in between that you lost sixteen words.
Singing was out, you learnt that the hard way yesterday when you lost thirty rapping to some shit on the radio, but maybe you had sung without realising. You have done that before, but now it was more noticeable. And maybe you yelled at that car that cut you off, or maybe it was the Spanish you failed to bite back when you got out your car to see Berry's face getting eaten by a T-Rex.
Regardless, you had thirty three left, and you wanted to make them count. That meant talking to Quinn. Everyone else could go to hell. You needed to talk to her. Texting and writing shit on each other's Facebook pages made up for the lack of words, but you wanted to hear her voice. You needed to hear her voice, and have her laugh at something you said, and just be.
You were getting better in the bedroom at hiding your emotions, but at school, you were a complete sap, pining after the girl at every opportunity. It made sense, given at school you both had to remain clothed and there would be no quickies in the choir room. Here, you had the chance to woo her whilst staying dressed, and that was not something you were going to pass up.
First on the agenda, however, was to make your exit from Glee club. The last few meetings had been tense as you struggled to mime the words along with the songs, hoping no one noticed. It hadn't been working, and the others were growing tired with your lack of commitment to the club. You had no option. With fifty words dictating your life, you had to quit. It was the only way you would be able to keep your secret.
First Cheerios, now Glee Club. Fifty words really liked to fuck up your life, that was for sure.
With thirty three words, you sought out Mr. Schue in his office, and knocked on the door three times. He called for you to enter, and offered you a seat, clearly surprised at your being there. Normally, you didn't step foot in his office unless he had ordered you to come there. Being there of your own free will was something he obviously wasn't expecting, if the shock on his face was anything to go by.
"Santana, what can I help you with? Take a seat, take a seat," he called, grinning at you after the shock had worn off.
"I'm quitting Glee," you stated, hoping to conserve as many words as possible.
Twenty.
Immediately, the man looked concerned, and no wonder; with your departure, the Club wouldn't have enough members to compete. Too bad that wasn't your problem anymore.
"May I ask why? Is Coach Sylvester making you pick? Is that why you were kicked off the Cheerios?" His concern was only mildly nauseating, and you shook your head in reply.
"Glee's just not my thing anymore," you explained, beginning to get up. Really, you shouldn't have sat down in the first place. It obviously made him think you were going to have a heart to heart about your problems. Well, that wasn't happening. You seriously doubted Mr. Schue would be able to help with your fifty word debacle.
Twenty six.
"But you love Glee, Santana. You're one of our best singers, and everyone will miss you. We're a family, and if you're going through a rough patch at the moment, that's okay. We can help you. Why don't you come to Glee this afternoon and we can talk this over with the group. I'm sure they'd love to convince you themselves that you should stay and stick this out with us."
His eyes were begging you to reconsider, but that wasn't happening. You wanted to, fuck you wanted to stay, to sing to your heart's content, but most songs were longer than fifty words, and you couldn't lose that many in one sitting. They were too precious.
"No. I'm done." Not waiting for his response, you quickly made your exit and shut the door behind you. All you had to do was tell him, so he didn't bitch you out for not turning up. Job done.
Twenty nine.
Really, you should have felt like a weight had been lifted, but instead, you felt crushed by the realisation that you were done with Glee until further notice. Sadly, there was nothing you could do, and accepting another loss, you went back to your locker to grab your things for your afternoon classes.
You still had twenty one words left, and as a certain blonde was leaning against your locker, the sadness of losing Glee was replaced with hope for the girl waiting on you. She always could make everything better, and she did.
*0*0*
As much as you'd like to pretend things were going smoothly between Quinn and yourself, you knew things were unravelling fast. It was only going to be a matter of time before it all fell apart. Each and every kiss of hers hurt you more than the last, and every time she left your bed, she broke your heart one more time. It was shattered and useless, and it was becoming too much. So yes, you knew things were going to self-combust, you just hadn't realised it would have been so soon.
*0*0*
Another Friday night, another round of kisses and caresses on Quinn's submissive skin. Once again, she was tangled up in your sheets, your eyes watching her arch into your touch, whimpering for more. You were offering her everything, and she still begged for more, your name falling from her lips like gospel.
If you shut out the voice of reason in your brain, you could almost convince yourself that she was calling your name in love, crying out in raptures for you to love her. It was becoming harder to shift the dream back to reality as you kissed her skin, working your way up her neck as your hand worked her over. She was beneath you, meeting your passion completely, your love for her being matched by her love for you, even if it was all in your head.
You had to stop.
Mixing up those two, thinking she actually loved you was dangerous. She was just using you for sex, enjoying your skilful ministrations, but you were confusing her vocal appreciation as something more. You couldn't afford to do that. You needed to stop. You needed to regroup before you confessed it all.
The words were sitting on the tip of your tongue, just waiting to fall out. You were ready to confess, to admit your love for her, to bow down and offer her your heart so openly, but you couldn't. She'd reject you, and then there would be no going back.
Once you said those words, that would be it. No more sex. No more kisses. No more hazel eyes looking into your soul. No more Quinn. She'd walk away and you would be left heartbroken and alone. You couldn't. You needed to pull yourself together.
The only way to do that was to stop.
"Quinn, I can't," you whimpered, shaking your head into the crook of her neck. If you didn't look at her, maybe you could control yourself.
Forty six.
"You can," she husked, pull your lips back to hers and kissing you harder, burning into your skin. Always burning, always setting you alight and watching you burn. It was too much. You couldn't keep doing this. You were breaking apart.
"Quinn, please-" you begged, your voice breaking as you realised your mistake. This was only going to end badly.
Forty nine.
One word.
Slinking back, you tried to put distance between the two of you, and reached for your clothes. That was enough to have her sitting up, watching you with cold eyes as she pulled the sheet to cover herself. For that, you were thankful, because your lust was trying to kick-start your brain into going back to her, kissing her and loving her for the release you so desperately needed.
Your heart was holding out, though.
"Please, what?" Quinn asked, glaring as she threw on her shirt, bra still discarded on the floor. "What do you want from me? I've tried to make this work, I've followed your rules, I've kept you in line, but you have to stop toying with me like this. I can't do it!" she argued, shaking her head at you.
You watched her climb from the bed and slide on her underwear. She was looking for her skirt and shoes, attempting to find them in the heap of clothes on the floor, all the while still venting at you.
"I can't keep doing this, Santana. You want just sex, then you want more, then you want only sex again, emotionless and cold sex, except it's not. You kiss me like I mean the world to you, but then you crawl out my bed or you roll onto your side and shut me out. I can't keep this up," she admitted, her face crumbling under the weight of her confession.
Frozen, you waited for her to say more. She didn't. She ran her hand through her hair and waited for you to speak. When it was clear you weren't going to, she let out a humourless laugh and grabbed the last of the things. Walking towards the door, she stopped with her hand on the handle and turned back to you.
"What are you scared of?" she whispered, pleading you with her eyes to say something, anything. "I told you I loved you and you shut me out. I made the first move, and since then I've been following your rules. Half the time I don't even know what you want. So make your damn mind up, please."
The door shut behind her with a soft click, and you heard her making her way down the stairs, the front door closing moments later.
You couldn't move. You couldn't think. Her words, they didn't make sense. They were wrong. She had confessed to loving you in a state of euphoria. It wasn't genuine. It couldn't have been. She didn't mean it. She couldn't have. But her words, her words just then made it sound like she had. She had meant it. She had loved you, past tense because fuck, you kept shutting her out. She was as confused as you were.
She had wanted you, and you told her to keep her feelings at the door. From then on, you had been dictating without even realising it, and with that comprehension, you slammed your fist into the mattress next to you and whined out a sob. She had been yours, and you had thrown her heart away so carelessly.
There was only one way forward, one way to fix this. You had to tell her. You had to try. You had fix this. You couldn't lose her. She had loved you once, maybe still loved you, so it was time to buck the fuck up and tell her. You needed to, because if you didn't, you really were going to lose her for good.
Rolling over, face buried into the pillow, and let all the pent up anger and sadness out in your tears, soaking the fabric beneath you. It wasn't too late, but you had fucked things up. If only you'd taken her seriously, things would have been very different, and you longed to go back and fix it.
You longed to hear her utter those three words to you once more, but now it seemed as if she'd never say them.
You couldn't blame her, you weren't thrilled with your actions either.
*0*0*
The following Monday, you looked for Quinn at every chance you had. She was a ghost, however, and nowhere to be seen. You couldn't find her, no matter how hard you looked. You even resorted to asking others if they'd seen her; they hadn't. You went the whole day without a sighting, so it was no surprise that she didn't come round that night. If she had, you weren't quite sure what you would have done.
Over the weekend, you had made the decision to come clean, to tell her how much she meant to you. You wanted to be with her, if she'd be with you. While you were convinced you could tell her as much, you knew when those hazel eyes were pinned on yours that it wouldn't be so easy.
So with a slight moment of relief, you noted that Quinn was absent on Tuesday as well. You wanted to tell her, you really did, it was just going to take a lot out of you, and with things already being so difficult, you weren't sure how much energy you had left to give.
The heartache was getting to you, the anger and frustration of having lost your opportunity before was messing with your head, and the constant presence of fifty words and your voiceover were driving you round the bend.
With Quinn out the picture, you had no one to talk to, and those two days were lonely. That isolation continued on the Wednesday when you spotted Quinn in the hallway before first period, her eyes landing on yours, and the shake of her head telling you she wasn't ready to talk.
You kept your distance, not wanting to impose, and you let your words rot away. They were not as important to you if you couldn't spend them on the girl that mattered most to you.
Thursday continued in a similar fashion, alone, away from prying eyes, and spent quietly brooding in the corner of empty classrooms. Of course, with the distance growing between Quinn and yourself, so did the security detail. The Cheerios knew something was up between you and their leader, and in turn, chose the side that kept them on the squad. It was inevitable.
All week you had been dodging students holding slushy cups, and praying that you'd make it another day without the cruel baptism of ice.
Quinn had the power to protect you, but she'd stopped. She kept sending you away, keeping her distance and hiding from your curious gaze, which only meant one thing. She'd given up on you ever talking about the mess that had been created between the two of you.
She had said that she couldn't keep doing this, screwing you and possibly loving you, so it made sense for her to stay away. What frustrated you most, however, was that she had pushed you to try and now wasn't even around to see you do so.
You were ready. You were willing. You needed to be with her. You wanted a shot, one chance. So on that Friday, a week since you'd last spoken to her, you approached her locker with newfound determination and waited for her to acknowledge you. Once you had her attention, you explained exactly what you wanted.
"We need to talk, I'm ready to talk. Tonight, please, let's fix this…us."
Fourteen.
Her eyes flickered to yours and she took a moment to think it over. You were standing a mere foot away from her and every cell in your body was crying out for you to take her face in yours and kiss that frown from her brow. You wanted to hold her, to have her hold you and forget about the packed corridor surrounding you both. You wanted her, and she needed to know that.
You were ready, you needed to tell her.
"Okay," she replied, nodding softly. "Come to mine after eight, my mom will be out. We'll talk then."
"Thank you, you won't regret this," you whispered, taking a step back before you took one forward and crushed her body to yours.
Twenty.
Quinn closed her locker and gave you one last look before heading off to class. You followed suit, and from then on it was a waiting game. You should have been used to it as you had been waiting to talk to her all week, so what was a few more hours? It was torture, however.
She kept glancing at you throughout the day, almost as if she was trying to work out what you were going to say. You couldn't understand how it was not obvious. You had been trying to make it clear for months now on how you felt about her. Surely, she wouldn't think you were going to back out now, because you weren't, you were all in.
All you had to do was wait for tonight to tell her, and tell her in thirty words or less.
*0*0*
It wasn't going to be easy, you knew that the second she opened the door. While last Friday she may have been hurt, this Friday she looked pissed off. She'd had all week to stew over your pathetic attempts at committing to her, at vocalising your feelings, and at hiding behind the lust. Of course she was angry, you would have been too if the roles were reversed, but with that look in her eyes, you just didn't know how things were going to turn out.
Your words might not be enough, you realised, following her up the stairs to her room.
Quinn took a seat on the bed, watching you as you went to lean against her desk. You needed to keep the distance between the two of you, because kissing her would be a mistake. The two of you needed to talk, you needed to clear the air. Kissing her wouldn't solve anything.
"You wanted to talk, so talk," Quinn began, waving her hand for you to start.
Right, you had to get the ball rolling. Christ, you wished you'd rehearsed what you were going to say, you wished she wasn't looking at you with cold, dead eyes, and you wished you had more words.
"There was an error in my judgement," you began, frowning at your hands in your lap. An error, indeed. You had seriously miscalculated her feelings towards you, and now you were paying the price.
Twenty seven.
Like a dormant volcano erupting after years, Quinn exploded in anger at hearing your words, burning you into ashes with her deadly glare.
"An error in your judgement, are you fucking kidding me, Santana? There wasn't an error in judgement! You didn't want me, and then when you did, you lied about it. I asked and you lied to me! You cared about me, you wanted more; I could see it in your eyes. Only I was too foolish to do anything about it. I was scared you'd reject me, that you'd throw me away like trash, the same way you discarded your feelings for me. An error in judgement," she scoffed, shaking her head.
"Don't you know what you mean to me? I've been trying to make it clear since that night. I didn't mean for those words to slip out so carelessly, but I meant them all the same. I love you. I do, and I hate that I do because you're so closed off, but when I look at you, I know you feel the same way." She was on a roll, letting everything out while you stood unmoving, taking it all in.
She loved you. Fucking hell, she loved you. It was music to your ears, trumpets and horns playing at the gates of heaven.
"I want us to give this a go, see where it takes us," she confessed, dropping her eyes to the bedspread beneath her. You were elated at the very thought.
"God, Quinn, you have no idea…" you whispered, scared to break the spell taking over the room but desperate to tell her how much you wanted that, too. "I've been so cruel to you." Like she'd already told you, you'd toyed with her emotions without even realising. As much as you were suffering, so was she.
Thirty nine.
"I love you, and I want to be with you. I want this to be more than sex, and I know you do, too," Quinn added, crawling to the end of the bed. "I can't be out and open about it but I want you. I want us. It's not perfect, but it's all I can give. I need to know if you're in or not, because I can't do this with you anymore, San. I can't pretend your kisses mean nothing and that I don't get butterflies every time you approach me. I can't do it. So I need to know. I need to know how you feel about me."
You thought it was obvious, you thought you had made it clear how much you loved her. That had you frowning. How did she not know that you were hopelessly in love with her?
"Please, say something, say it. Please, Santana," Quinn begged, taking a step towards you. Your silence had freaked her and you shook your head to control your racing heart. Your brain was still replaying her words, and you licked your lips to ask something she had mentioned. Maybe you'd heard her wrong.
"You'd want us to be a secret?"
Forty six.
For some reason, that thought felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you.
"I can't come out, I can't," Quinn repeated, her eyes begging you to listen to her reasoning. "Do you know what would happen to me if I did? I'd be crucified, Santana. You can't ask that of me. I won't do it. I want to be with you, but that doesn't mean we need to share it with everyone. Why can't it just be us? You've not had a problem keeping our weekly activities a secret, why does that have to change? I can't let people know."
You shouldn't have been surprised, but the whine from the back of your throat said otherwise. Of course she wasn't going to come out, you knew this. You knew the fallen angel would pick her religion, her devotion to God, over her love for you. Yes, she wasn't picking one over the other, but you'd lived in that damn closet for years feeling shameful and dirty for loving who you loved, and you didn't want to go back in it.
"Quinn," you whimpered, shaking your head back and forth. She was asking so much of you. Why? Why wasn't your love enough? Why wasn't she willing to face the adversity with her hand in yours? Did she not know you'd be with her every step of the way?
Forty seven.
"Santana, please, don't ask me to do that. Don't, because I won't. I can't come out," she stressed, her eyes becoming wild and her hair ruffling with each sweep of her hand through it. "I love you, why isn't that enough?" she whispered, stepping closer to you. "I forgive you for being scared. I know you didn't want to be rejected, but I'm not going to do that. I love you."
Love didn't feel like enough, though.
"Do you love me?" she asked, and God, you could feel your heart breaking at the sight of her. This was it. She needed her answers; she needed to know where you stood.
You were going to lose her. You knew it, you could feel it, and the longer it took you to reply, the more she could feel it, too.
You loved her, you adored her, but she was asking you to hide who you were, who she was to you, and you couldn't do that. Brittany had begged you to come out and be proud, and you were, you were finally proud and accepted yourself. Why was Quinn asking you to destroy that?
"Answer me, S, please," she was begging you again, with her words and her eyes this time. She needed you to put her out of her misery, to define this. "I need you to say it. I know you feel it, but if you can't say it then I can't do this. Three little words, San, that's all I want. Just three words."
You fucking asshole, you told her she wouldn't regret talking to you tonight, and from the look in her eyes, she regretted ever falling into bed with you. You had messed up. You had ignored her need to be seen as perfect until it was too late, and now she was pleading you to love her, but you couldn't tell her.
How could you tell her you loved her and then pretend she was nothing more than a friend on Monday? That wasn't love, that was cruelty. You finally understood how Brittany had been feeling, and it broke your heart further to know this was the pain you kept putting her through. Of course you'd get a taste of your own medicine, the world was just that fucking cruel.
Still, Quinn waited, more tears cascading down her cheeks with each tick of the clock. You were practically torturing the girl, cowardly holding off from saying anything until you knew what to say.
You may have been a coward, but you weren't the only one in the room. Quinn was an even bigger coward for knowing you felt something for her and ignoring it because it didn't fit into her perfect Christian lifestyle. She was a coward for hiding in the closet, pretending to be the perfect little angel while sullying it up with Satan.
Could you hide away? Could you be her dirty little secret?
No.
"I can't," you sobbed, shaking your head.
Forty nine.
You wanted to, you wished you could. You wanted to tell her you loved her a million times over and then say it a million more. You needed her to hear those three little words. You hated yourself, so fucking much, because it was too late. You'd gone and lost her, and the tears streaming down your cheeks said it all.
"Oh God…" she cried, fighting back more tears from falling. "Why? Why?!" She was looking at you with such desperation, it broke the dam and had you sobbing into your hands uncontrollably. You were destroying the girl you loved, the one you swore never to hurt, the one you promised not to break.
This was why you weren't going to get involved with her. You were only going to hurt her. She was the fucking fallen angel. How could you, Satan, even think you stood a chance with her? So fucking dumb. And now you'd hurt her, you fucking twat.
"Sorry," you whispered, leaning in as quickly as possible and kissing her lips softly. You pulled back before she had a chance to push you away, and you left. You were out the door and heading down the stairs when you heard her break out into bone chilling sobs.
Fifty.
You'd lost her. There was nothing more to it. You couldn't hide who you were, and she couldn't accept who she was.
It was doomed from the beginning.
*0*0*
You spent the weekend at the bottom of a bottle, hidden under your covers, tears leaking out every time you inhaled the lingering scent of Quinn left on the sheet. Your poor understanding of hell on earth had changed, and now you were an expert on what that meant. You were living it.
She had been there, right before you, telling you she loved you, and you had rejected her. Whatever ill fate was headed your way, you deserved it. Only after you had left, after you had tried to drink your weight in shots, did you realise you had tried to force her out the closet.
Quinn, Quinn Fabray, loved you and needed you to support her. She had admitted to loving you, a huge step in the right direction, and she probably needed time. Your coming out wasn't smooth, thanks to Hudson, but hers would no doubt be much worse.
The pregnancy didn't reflect good on her persons, but her church bought the peer pressure and misguidance of a Jewish boy corrupting their perfect angel. She was accepted back in their fold like nothing had happened. Coming out as gay, being in love with a girl, however, would get her thrown out for good.
The people who she'd spent her whole life around would kick her to the dirt, cast her to hell and call for God to strike her down where she stood. Your abuela walked away from you, but Quinn stood to lose everyone; her whole family, her congregation, her life.
You'd messed up. You'd pushed when you should have pulled. You'd lost the girl of your dreams because you were selfish and cowardly. You could have waited, you could have told her you loved her and stood by her side as she made the decision to eventually come out.
Instead, you were selfish and thought only of yourself. You didn't deserve her. You couldn't sink lower in your estimation of yourself even if you tried. You had disregarded how hard things would be for her, and now you were paying the price.
Sobering up meant returning to school, and returning to school meant facing her sweet angelic face once more. It took all you had not to burst into tears when you saw her cold and stoic expression, skittering over you like a speck of dirt she didn't want to draw attention to.
It took you four days to get the courage to approach her, and even then you were still unsure whether you'd make it away with your life. If you didn't, it wouldn't be a loss, because she didn't care for you, and you certainly held no value in yourself. How could you? You were a monster.
"I need to talk to you," you whispered, ambushing her in the library.
Nine.
She wasn't even taken aback by your presence, but instead, grew angry as if you were a simple fly bothering her. She waved her hand at you, shooing you backwards and grabbed the book she needed from the shelves.
"No, you had your chance to talk, you said everything that needed saying, so we're done." Her voice was like ice, freezing you to the bone.
"Please," you begged, needed to apologise. "I want this, I want you. We can hide it and be together-" shooting you her coldest glare yet, she cut you off with a sharp head shake.
Twenty three.
"No. Now leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with you."
"Quinn, you don't understand. I was scared! I couldn't-"Jesus, you need to stop and shut the fuck up. You're wasting so many words! Stop it!
Thirty two.
"You never can, San." She frowned at the nickname that slipped past her lips and shook her head. "Stop this, okay? I'm done. We're done. Hell, we never were anything anyway, so it shouldn't matter."
"That's not true, and you know it. We were something. You love me, Quinn, you do. And I-"
Fifty.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No! No! This wasn't fair! You were so fucking close! Come on!
"You what, Santana?" Her eyes were distant but there was a small flame of hope lingering in the back. Hope; she was hopeful, despite everything you'd done to her, and once again you'd gone and let her down.
Whimpering, you feel the tears welling up in your eyes and you silently pleaded with her to see how badly you loved her, how much you need her, and how sorry you were for rejecting her. She wasn't seeing it, however. Instead, she was growing bored, the hope in her eyes dying as she waited for your answer, and you couldn't fucking give her one.
Fucking asshole, you were such a fucking asshole. You hated yourself. You hated yourself so fucking much.
Dropping your head, you admitted defeat, and felt the hot tears break free down your cheeks. Quinn watched you before laughing humourlessly, shaking her head.
"That's what I fucking thought. Stay the hell away from me." She stormed away, not once looking back as your heart broke once more in the religion section of the library.
*0*0*
Another week went by, and still there was no contact from Quinn. You had tried again to approach her, but she had sent you away with your tail between your legs like a feared animal. She wasn't putting up with you, even your mere presence seemed too much for her to handle.
It hurt, but you deserved it, because it was all your own doing.
With each passing day, your heart grew heavier, and you lost all semblance of what normal was. Everything felt dead to you. You were alone, wordless, and pinning after a girl who's heart you had torn so carelessly to shreds.
You wanted to explain. You wanted Quinn to know that you were going to tell her. You were. In the library, you were going to tell her you loved her. You were going to fix the mess you'd made. But you couldn't. Your words had cut you off, and that wasn't your fault. You had no control over it. You couldn't force more words to fall from your lips, nor could you take back the ones that slipped out by accident.
That conversation had spiralled, and you wished you'd controlled yourself more. Maybe then you would have been able to tell her. Maybe then you wouldn't be falling to pieces without her.
Tomorrow, you needed to change things. You needed to tell her the truth.
She needed to know that you only had fifty words per day.
Once she bought that, you'd tell her how you felt. But first, she needed to know about your lack of words. If she couldn't or wouldn't believe that, then this was a lost cause. You didn't know when you'd get your words back, or if this was you for the rest of your life. You needed her to understand, to accept this, to accept you and your words. Because if she knew how precious they were, she would know how much you loved her when you finally told her.
First, though, you needed her to believe that you did in fact only have fifty words per day. Only after that could you tell her how you really felt . You loved her wholeheartedly and you hoped she would still love you by the time that moment arrived. You could only hope and pray, because while you have a limit of fifty words, she didn't. Your words would get the ball rolling, and her words would decide your fate.
You loved her, you had lost her, and now you needed her back. You should have told her when you had the chance, you should have accepted her for who she was, and now you needed her to do the same to you. If she even felt one fifth of what you felt for her, she would. She'd accept your words and the truth, and let you love her like you should have been doing weeks ago.
That was the dream; acceptance.
You had now accepted her, her need for secrets and security, so surely she could accept you and your Fifty Words problem, right?
One could only hope.
*0*0*
This is going to sound fucking crazy, but I want you to hear me out with an open mind.
Imagine if you could only use a limited number of words a day. Let's say it's fifty words. You get fifty words a day, and after that you get no more. You can't say anything after fifty, no matter how hard you try.
By the end of this sentence, I will have used eighty-one words, and yet I haven't really said anything. That's the problem. You have to make those words count, but fifty is such a small number, and you want to say so much more.
Fifty words, Q, and then I can't say a damn thing. Now whether you buy this or not, I don't care, cause it won't change anything. I'll still only get fifty words tomorrow. This doesn't change the fact that I'll see you in the hallway, and I'll have ten words left, and I'll say them all to you.
You get my words. You get all fifty words.
My silence isn't a joke, and I'm not scheming, despite what everyone thinks. I don't want to waste my words, because they belong to you. Why would I waste them on small talk and all that crap when I could be using them to tell you that you look fucking gorgeous today? Which you do, by the way.
What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't take my silence as rejection. It's anything but. And yeah, I could have just written down how I was feeling and what I want for us, but I want to say it. I want to use those fifty words to let you know how I feel about you.
So, tomorrow, when I see you, I'll have fifty words to play with, and I'm going to make them count.
P.S. This is 328 words long. It would have taken me 8 days to tell you all this in person.
*0*0*