I'm really happy about the reactions for the last chapter! Thank you guys (:
I'm jealous of your cigarette
And all the things you do with it
I'm jealous of your cigarette
And the pleasure that you get from it
And not me
All this time you're talking no
(Hawksley Workman - Jealous Of Your Cigarette)
It was only when someone cleared their throat that I noticed we weren't alone. I pushed her away quickly and took my bottom lip between my teeth. "Rhys," I said, startled. The little boy stood in the frame of my door, his head tilted in confusion. "What are you doing up?" I asked him, and winced when my voice cracked.
"I'm sorry," he uttered. "I'll c-come back later."
"No, it's okay," Santana said awkwardly as she stood up, "I was just leaving."
"Didn't look like it," Rhys crossed his arms. Santana shook her head slowly, an amused smile rested on her lips.
"You spend too much time with Leo," she countered. She's right, that was exactly what Leonardo would have said. He calls it as he sees it. Rhys shifted awkwardly on his feet, and Santana cleared her throat. "Good night," she said.
"Night," I said softly. When she left, Rhys shuffled his feet and made his way to the foot of my bed before plopping down face forward and burying his front into my blanket. He said something, but it was muffled by the comforter. "What was that?" I giggled. He sat up and sighed, then hopped up and onto my bed.
"I'm… tired," he said carefully.
"Then go to sleep," I told him simply.
"No," he shook his head, "not sleepy tired. I'm.. I don't want to think, so I want to go to sleep. My body is tired. My brain is tired. I think it's going to explode," he said. I arched an eyebrow and pulled him closer. "It's like math. I don't want to do the work, so I fall asleep."
I chuckled and shook my head, "Why don't you sleep in here tonight?"
"Was Santana going to sleep in here?" He asked. I shrugged. "Why were you kissing? Aren't you supposed to kiss Sam?" Again, I shrugged. I'd love to tell him the truth, but I'm still figuring that out. "This feels like a secret," he mumbled.
"It is," I said quickly. "Just you and I, okay?"
"And Santana," he added as he laid down and tucked himself in next to me.
"Right," I breathed. "And Santana." I closed my laptop and put my papers and books away, then slid under the covers. He was already asleep by the time I turned the lamp off.
I carefully moved away from Rhys' embrace and got out of bed. While I walked through the long hallway of Santana's house, the only thing I could hear was the sound of my feet pattering against the wood floor. I made my way down to the kitchen, and smiled when I saw a dim light in the kitchen, then silently prayed that it wasn't Leonardo.
"It's me," Santana said. I let out a sigh of relief, then walked all the way in. "What happened with the kid?"
"He was confused."
"I bet he still is," she mused. I nodded. "I wonder where he gets that from," she smirked as she sauntered towards me. A playful smile formed on my lips.
"What exactly are you insinuating, Santana?" I asked her. She placed her hands on my hips and rested her forehead against mine.
"You know what I think is funny?" She asked instead of answering. "You call me Santana when we're here," she pecked my lips, "and Lopez at school."
"What's your point?" I whispered. She chuckled.
"It's like I'm two different people," she said against my lips. "One is a Black Jack, who you hate. The other is your little secret."
"Am I your's too?" I asked softly.
She shrugged. "It looks like it."
The next morning, I found Momma in the kitchen with Rhys, Leo, and Santana. Maribel went into work early.
"You may have your car today," was her way of saying 'good morning.' I nodded in acknowledgement.
"Will you take me to school, Quinnie?" Rhys asked me. I nodded.
"Of course," I said to him.
"I'm heading out," Santana said.
"I'm going with you," Leo sat up.
"No way, kid. You're riding with the Fabrays," she fixed the collar of her leather jacket.
"I'd rather not," he argued. She looked at him with furrowed brows, then shrugged. He grabbed his backpack, then walked away without another word.
"See you at school, Fabray," Santana said as she picked her her notebook and tucked her pen in her pocket.
"See you… Lopez."
It's been three days since Rhys found out about Santana and I. In those three days, Santana sneaks kisses when we are alone. We don't talk much, seeing as how neither of us know what to say. Rhys and Leonardo don't spend as much time together, but I'm sure they'll get over it. The weather has plummeted, and there's a 75 percent chance of snow tomorrow. One last thing - other girls are attractive. Not Santana attractive, but attractive all the same.
It happened earlier. I gave Brittany a ride home after practice, and as she was walking away, I noticed her legs looked different. Long,as they always did. But alluring. I didn't notice I was staring until she spun on her heel and wiggled her fingers before disappearing behind her front door. I decided that I'd ask Santana about that. I can't think of a time that I thought that Sam's legs were attractive.
"It's because you have eyes, Q," she tells me with a smirk.
"I've always had eyes," I rolled them. I'm laying on her lap, in her room. The door is locked.
"Now you're letting yourself see. It's like when you break up with someone, and suddenly, you see how attractive someone else is," she explained.
"That makes sense," I yawned. My phone buzzed. I was almost tired enough to ask Santana to answer it for me -
"Hello, Quinn Fabray's phone," I heard her say. I sat up in a panic and reached for my phone.
"Santana!" I hissed when she pulled away.
"Right!" She smiled cheekily, "I'll be sure to let her know."
"Oh god," I grumbled, crossing my arms as she hung up and tossed my phone to my lap.
"It was some band called 'Rhyme and Reason of The Falling.' Aren't they the ones who performed at Breadsticks after the Homecoming game?" She asked.
"Santana, that wasn't funny," I said sternly. "What if that wasn't Jason? What if it was Sam, or Brittany?"
"Then I would have said I stole your phone, calm down," she said nonchalantly. She leaned down and pecked a small trail of kisses down my neck. "No one will find out about us."
"A-Are you okay with that?" I struggled to say. She stopped, and I could feel her breathing.
"Yeah," she said after a few seconds. "Your band can play at the Winter Formal." I nodded. "Is Sam taking you?"
"Mhm. Are you going?" I asked.
"Probably not."
"Shame."
"Would you like me to?" She asked. I thought about it. If she did go, we wouldn't dance together. We'd pretend to hate each other. It would be torture. She'd probably disappear down a hallway, and I'd follow blindly. We'd spend the rest of the night together, having our own little private dance.
"I would," I admitted.
"We'll see."
"Quinn. Quinn, are you even listening to me?" The voice was fuzzy and familiar. I shook my head slightly to look at who it came from: Sam.
"Mm," I hummed.
"I said, what colors will we be wearing to the Winter Formal?" He asked. If Santana goes, I wonder what colors she'll wear. Maybe Black. Maybe Red. Maybe a black dress with red heels - or the other way around, and a leather jacket. I can see it. I'll be dancing with Sam, looking past his shoulder. I'll see Santana standing in the doorway, watching. Then she'll hold out her hand and say - "Earth to Quinn!"
I jumped and looked at Sam, "I'm sorry, I'm really tired. What were you saying?"
"Forget it," he rolled his eyes. "Just wear something white, I'm wearing my blue button up."
"Sure," I answered softly. He eyed me carefully.
"Are you feeling okay?" He asked. I looked away and towards the entrance of the cafeteria. Noah, Santana, Sebastian, and the rest of the Black Jacks were coming in. They looked like they should be on the cover of Rolling Stone.
"I'm fine," I say as my eyes find Santana's. Her stare is cold, and I don't doubt that mine is too. I've learned to scowl effortlessly. When I look at her, I don't see the same person that I saw a few short weeks ago. I don't see an annoying brat, an irritating pest, or even someone simply unpleasant. It's taking up a lot of energy to restrain myself and not go running up to her to kiss her. Then she winked, breaking me out of my trance.
Sam scoffed. "Who does she think she is?" He asked no one in particular.
"Santana Lopez," I deadpanned.
The next day, I find myself thinking about my night with Santana. I met her in the kitchen, per usual, and ended up sneaking to her room. I snuck out a little after sunrise. After school, from my place at the top of the pyramid, I see the Black Jacks going to their usual spot: under the bleachers. By the time we're running laps because Sue finds us incompetent, most of them left. Not Santana. When we're doing the last of our crunches, I assume that all but Santana have gone elsewhere. When practice is over, I tell Brittany that I'm not feeling well, and I'd shower at home. When they'd all gone to the locker room, I went towards the bleachers.
I haven't been under here in ages. It used to be clean. It smelled like weed before, but we covered the scent. The Black Jacks don't bother; they like it. It soothes them. There's two couches, a table with three legs and some books holding the fourth corner up, and a dust mini fridge. There's nothing to plug it into, but even if there was, it wouldn't help. Someone snipped the wire.
I found Santana sitting on the larger couch, her feet propped up on the table. Her head is tilted back, and there is a cigarette between her teeth. When she exhales smoke, the cigarette doesn't move. She doesn't jump when I sit on the couch - she doesn't even open her eyes. Instead, she cracks a small smile and takes the cigarette out of her mouth.
"Quinn," she said.
"How did you know it was me?" I asked her. She opened her eyes and squinted at me.
"Your perfume," she answered. I arched an eyebrow.
"I don't drown myself in it," I argued. She shrugged.
"I could recognize it anywhere."
We just sat there for a few minutes. She looked away from me and closed her eyes again, tilting her head back as she had it before. I watched her take slow, long drags. I think she knew I was watching, because she started making little circles with the smoke. I got a little too bored and a little too curious, so I leaned in a little closer.
"Can I try?" I whispered. She raised both of her eyebrows, then opened her eyes.
"Smoking kills your lungs," she said.
"You do it," I pointed.
"And you don't." She said it firmly, and I knew she wouldn't let me. A part of me wanted to argue, and wanted to one-up her like old times. I wanted to take it and make four rings, to better her three. Instead, I nodded and rested my head in the crook of her neck. She wrapped her arm around my shoulders, pulling me in a little closer.
"Why do you do it?" I asked. I saw her furrow her eyebrows. "Smoke," I clarified.
"You're a smart girl, Quinn," she breathed. "Don't ask questions you know the answer to."
"I don't know anything about you," I said honestly.
"That's not true," she put out the cigarette on the arm of the couch, then dusted away the ashes. "You know me better than I know myself."
I placed my hand on her cheek to make her look at me, then took her bottom lip between mine.
"Maybe you shouldn't smoke," I suggested against her lips.
"Don't like the taste?" She asked smugly.
"It's not that. I like it, it makes me want to."
She frowned. "Maybe I'll quit." I moved on top of her, straddling her hips. I wiped my pink lip gloss from the corners her her mouth. Happy. I'm happy when I'm around her. Under the bleachers might not be the most romantic spot, but beggars can't be choosers. I smiled down at her and sighed internally. Since when am I a beggar?
I'm editing the next chapter. I love hearing how into this you guys are, huge confidence boost, so thank you (:
(Also, I dunno why, but I like putting little songs in the beginning. Kind of like a heads up for whats to come? I just like how it looks. Okay, I'm done, haha.)
See you very soon!