It's short, I'm sorry. But I just couldn't leave it like it ended the last chapter. And this is better than me leaving for a few months, isn't it? I hope so. Sorry about grammar mistakes! I don't have an excuse, I'm flawed. Grammatically. Any way, on with the story... (I listened to Heart Beat, Childish Gambino while writing some of this.)
We were never friends, and you know that.
Pretty dresses and pretty crowns, pretty little skirts, and pretty little smiles. That's how it's always been for me. Pretty. And when I look at myself in the mirror, wearing this pretty light green dress, it kind of makes me want to barf. I'm pretty. I've been pretty for a few years now, and it's very likely that I always will be. But I'm going to be sick, and ruin this pretty little dress.
Rhys's tie matches my dress, and we look sickeningly adorable. When I straighten it for him, Leo waits just a few feet away. They run off when I'm done, because they've already eaten their breakfast. Already, it feels like it used to. An old familiar state settles in; I'm not speaking with Santana because we're not friends, and Rhys acts like he's Leo's brother because they are best friends.
"You look pretty," I hear Santana say. I get that feeling in my stomach again, and I don't even bother to turn around to face her.
"I'm going to be sick," I mumbled as I ran to the bathroom.
I sat on the bathroom floor with a disgusting taste in my mouth, and a gross little stain on my dress. Perfect. Everything about this is just picture perfect. I'm sitting with my knees to my chest, hoping that the puking fest is over, when I hear three knocks on the door. Thinking that it's probably just my mom, I say, "Come in."
"Hey, everyone just left- Quinn, are you okay?" Santana let herself in and sat next to me. "I didn't know you'd actually be sick. Did you eat something weird? Do you have a fever? Is it just your stomach-"
"Could you please not do that?" I groaned. All of her questions were way too much for me to handle.
Then, she did something unexpected. She chuckled. I glared at her, and she put her hands up in defense. "I'm sorry, it's just… it smells terrible in here."
"What were you expecting?" I rolled my eyes.
"I dunno. Not this," she chuckled again.
"I'm glad you find this funny," I stood up as abruptly as I could, but the room started spinning.
"Whoa there. Let me help you-"
I stepped away and swallowed, as if that would help me find my balance. To my luck, it did. "No, I'll manage," I said.
"Well, maybe since neither of us have plans today, we can-"
"Santana, let me stop you right there. Apparently, I haven't been obvious enough. I don't want to be your friend. Not now, not two weeks from now, not ever." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "And I don't know what came over me before, but please believe me, it's gone now."
For a second, pure and utter hurt flashed on her face. But then, she was smiling. No, not smiling. Smirking. "Oh, Q," she said as she stepped closer to me. I retreated, but not very far. She has me with my back pressed to the wall. "We've never been friends. You and I both know that it's been so much more than that," when she put her hand to my side, I flinched. Only to see that she was grasping the door handle. "Excuse me," she said with a bored tone.
I slowly stepped out of the way, and my throat was suddenly very dry. Once she was out, I almost let out a sigh of relief. But then, she said, "And one more thing. We both know that I won't just give up like that. I'm a spoiled kid, Quinnie. I always get what I want."
She left me alone in the bathroom. She left me alone, and wanting her to stay with me, and she knows it. I hate her, I hate her, I hate that I want her.
The timing for this is just fantastic. Mom came home yesterday as saw that I was noticeably pale, and looked like I was on the verge of getting sick every two or three steps I took. She took my temperature, and I have a fever. So now, I'm on bedrest. I'm not particularly worried about school, because I'm not planning on missing too much. I know that Brittany will try her best with the Cheerios! . It's Santana. As always. I know that she doesn't mind missing school, especially if she has an excuse. Poor Quinn just has to be taken care of. As I expected, she ditched her last class, study hall, to be by my side. I have to admit, it's sweet.
"I made you some soup," she said as she came into my room, tray in hand. I scrunched up my nose. "I'm guessing you're not hungry?"
"I can't even drink water," I admitted. I didn't mean to whine, but the amused expression on her face told me that I had anyway.
"Aw," she cooed, almost sarcastically, "well, you have to eat sometime."
"I'll puke all over your blanket," I mumbled.
"My? Quinn, this is your bed, not mine."
I shook my head softly, so the room wouldn't go spinning again. "This isn't my bed. My bed is charred in a dumpster somewhere."
"I get that you're mad about the Puck thing and all, but you shouldn't be. It's just for a few days-"
"I don't care about Noah," I hissed. My stomach turned. "I don't care about any of your friends. But I care about you, even though I really don't want to. But you make all of these stupid decisions and one day, you're going to seriously end up hu-hurt- hurl!" I got out of bed as quickly as possible.
"I'm going to end up hurl?"
"I'm going to-" I went into the bathroom, followed by Santana. She stood there until I was finished, staring at the wall intently. "You didn't have to come in here," I muttered, my voice has a rasp to it and my throat is incredibly sore.
"Well you go admitting all your feelings, then throw up right before you finish," she jested. "Look Quinn," she sat down on the tiles; not too far, but not close either.
"I care about you. I've made that clear. But… the things that I'm doing with my life have nothing to do with you," she told me. "To you, it just looks like I'm making a bunch of bad choices. I can see that. You know why?"
I shook my head.
"Because I'm actually trying to figure out how you view the world. But you can't be selfish and not do the same thing."
"Selfish?" I glared lazily.
"Yes," she chuckled, "selfish. Try to walk a mile in my shoes. You don't know what's happened to me, you don't know the war that I fight every single day in my mind. Maybe that's why I'm so mad all the time- I dunno. All I know is that I'm not mad in I'm high, or drunk. Or with you."
"Santana-"
"The light feeling is all I want. When it feels like all my problems are gone, and nothing really matters- I crave that. But you wouldn't know. Because all you do is get mad at me for trying to cope," she said more to herself than to me. Then, she looked at me. "I like being with you. But I can't just shake who I am. And you can't just stomp your foot and expect me to do what you say."
"I just don't want you to get hurt," I said softly.
"You don't have to worry about me," she smiled gently. Then, she took a breath, and drummed her hands on her lap. "Alright, lets get you back to bed, sicko." I rolled my eyes and she helped me up slowly. I gestured that I could walk by myself, but she still stayed close. "I'm getting you a bucket and some water. Whatever's going on obviously has to get washed out."
"Thank you, Santana," I said greatfully. Once I was back in bed, she left to get the things. She's bad for me, but she's good for me. I don't think the bad outweighs the good, or the other way around. I think that change is possible. Just, maybe, not right now.
When she came back, I noticed her arched eyebrow. "What?" I asked curiously.
"Did you get your flu shot?"
"I think."
She rolled her eyes. "This'll be fun," she muttered as she sat on the foot of my bed. She handed my the water bottle. I played with the cap- water has never looked more unappealing. "You know, if you weren't sick, I'd probably try to kiss you."
"I wouldn't let you," I said quickly.
She scoffed. "Keep telling yourself that." She rose from the bed. "The boys are going to be out soon. I'm picking them up today."
"Okay," I nodded.
"Right." It looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn't. And I didn't press her. When she was about to close the door behind her, I stopped holding my tongue.
"Santana," I said. She turned to look at me. "I do care. I worry about you," I admitted. She sighed.
"I know you do."
I really liked the feedback and PMs from the last chapters, so thank you guys.
Also, I'm still Beta hunting, but I honestly don't know how that works, so if you do, please help.
BUT guys look, they talked about their feelings! Aww.
How would you guys feel about a Santana's POV chapter (or chapters)? Or should I just keep it at Quinn's?
Alright, I'm done. See you soon! (Wait, one last thing, if you guys have any fic recommendations, tell me! If it's your's or just one of your favorites, I'm looking for a new one to read.) (Okay. Bye. For real this time.)