Long overdue, but here it is. More of an author's note when you are done reading. With that said there is a trigger warning so be mindful if suicide is a very tender situation for you, then this update isn't for you. At any rate, those who will be reading, enjoy the chapter.

x.

Part II: Chapter Seven

The air is thick and the darkness that has consumed me has only pressed me into a downward spiral as my knees buckle before me. I land on solid ground; dead weeds and grass surround an outer ring in my wake. As I kneel unmoved by the haunting thoughts that plague my mind, I place a gentle touch upon cool stone, tracing the lettering engraved within its thick threshold.

Each letter pressed against my fingertips begin to slowly make their way into my brain till I feel my body crumbling, ready to spill out a heart wrenching cry. I can't breathe though nor can I even shed a single tear because with each fine stroke the name burns into my soul and the sky cries out for me instead as drops of rain begin to descend from Heaven's gates.

S—A—N—T—A—N—A

Everyone promised it'd be okay; that she'd make it through her illness. I slowly began to believe it all held such truth. She was the strength that I had held so dearly to, but she's gone now as is a part of me. The weakness that compels me is dominating my every sense as I become drenched with my own sorrows. She was my heart and the only love I've ever known and I wasn't strong enough to save her.

"We were too late," an echoing whisper escapes my lips. "I was too late and I failed you," tracing the last of her name as the winds from above envelope me in a suffocating squeeze, that I gasp for life.

L—O—P—E—Z

Her pocket knife appears in my grasps, it's blade is quite happy to see me as is my palm screams with joy over being able to hold it in its clutches. It shines with pure adulterated power that it sends a wave of tingles down my spine.

She is gone now and I cannot live without the only woman I've ever truly loved. Fighting for her life for almost two years without any knowledge of it till six months into our lives together made me feel nauseous to say the least, especially when all the signs were pointed there.

I should have known. All those times when she ran to me out of breath or those times where her heart had extra beats spewed in different times should've arose some suspicions, but I was naïve. I only cared about myself and my emotions towards her that I didn't care to notice the bigger picture here. If only she got on that list sooner—maybe she'd still be here in my arms, but instead I kneel before her stone every moment I can. I will never love another again and even after a year, I still can't say goodbye, no matter what Brittany or my family try to tell me.

"I will not fail you again," That knife taunts my waking senses that my nose flares with absolute desire. As I bring the blade down to my skin, feeling it's cold welcoming, I chance one last look at my lover before me—roses decorate her stone while droplets dance on their peddles. "I will be with you again soon baby," I whisper my final words before I slice a line across my pulsing vain, letting the blood spill on the ground that I kneel before…

My heart races and I awake in a cold sweat on Brittany's pull out, taking in my surroundings. I begin to inhale puffs of air to calm my lungs of the eerie dream that I just returned from. I sigh deeply several times before allowing my body to relax into my pillows tiredly.

I pull my phone off the nightstand—it's a little after three in the morning, but there is no way that I'll be able to get back to my trance now. I run my hand through my hair, before settling on scrolling through my contacts to get to the person I'm searching—longing for.

I press her name and it rings on the other line several times, before finally getting picked up. As soon as her voice echoes on the other end in a dreamy like state, I immediately feel guilty over such pettiness, though I imagine if she knew of this nightmare, which has been reoccurring she'd be highly concerned because that's just how Santana can be. I love her for being so caring over me, but more so I don't want her to place so much worry on me when she needs to keep her stress down to a bare minimum with her condition.

"I'm sorry I woke you," I tell her knowing my voice will sound just as exhausted as hers is, but I have no energy to hide it. She'd see right through it anyway, besides why would I call at such an ungodly hour if I didn't need to hear her soothing voice?

"It's alright baby, are you okay?" Even in that tone, I can feel the rising sincerity flooding through my phone and I would give anything to just have her arms around me or her simple touch that gives me rising goose bumps and yet still manages to leave me in such serenity.

"I—uh—I'm fine, I just miss you next to me that's all. I'm having a hard time sleeping," I've been told countless times that lying to one's partner is a sign of lack of trust, but with Santana and I; it's different. I trust her with every ounce of my being—it's her illness that keeps me from being completely committed emotionally. I take two steps back when she takes two steps forward because I'm afraid of giving too much then losing her in the blink of an eye.

Yet maybe that's what these nightmares are trying to feed into me. Perhaps they are trying to enlighten me that I need to be more supportive because much like any other patient that is in a near death experience whatever the illness may be, physicians state that with the support of loved ones the risks of having your love one consumed by death is at a decrease because of their hope—some believe illnesses can be controlled psychologically which is why support is absolutely essential in the healing process, but in this case it's the waiting process.

"You didn't have to leave Q," she resonates and I can tell through her response that she's smiling, which only means that deep down—either way I wouldn't have been sleeping right at this moment, but then again that nightmare wouldn't have occurred either.

The only thing that presses my mind is my nightmare self decides to commit suicide out of grief. Would I stoop to such a level of utter depression that I would be willing to end my life for the woman I love? I question this, but I'm brought back to the realization of what Santana would think about all of this. She wouldn't want that life for me if it got to this point. She may never have said it, but she doesn't have to because I'm aware of how my girlfriend is after I've known her for as long as I have.

Knowing each other for technically almost two years, even though we lost one of those years in each other's lives, we've been in a relationship for two thus far and according to Rachel, all is well with her health as of right now, but like any other life threatening illness, the worst can spring on at any time, which is why I'm refraining from getting too close and any time Santana tries to get us to go for more than one round of sex in one night, I have to fake being tired. I worry that Santana's heart could shut down by having that much activity and I don't want to risk it.

When Santana officially got on the transplant list, I imagined it would take a shorter amount of time to get a heart than this. I overestimated the process and I hold some reservations at my girlfriend for waiting has long as she had to get on the list, prolonging the wait time longer than considered necessary.

When I first addressed this to her, she was bringing me lunch at work—it was two days after Rachel made the arrangements for her name to get on the list of transplants. She merely chuckled lowly at me, before stating, "This isn't like some John Q shit Quinn. Getting on the list requires a period of time where you wait your turn, but more than that, you wait for a person to die too—there is just a lot of waiting involved and I don't mind waiting if the outcome is positive in the end." Unfortunately, I thought to myself that entire day, is the outcome really going to be positive? No one really knows till the waiting game is officially over.

"Quinn," her voice snaps me away from my piercing thoughts and I'm reminded that I can't dwell on the future when it isn't officially foreseen. She isn't gone and there is no ounce of death within her aside from my compelling thoughts that still haunt my subconscious.

I love this woman with every part of me. I know that, but I refuse to let myself lose the one person that I hold so dearly to me. I'm realizing through all of the hardships that I'm holding in such secrecy from her that I can't make this about me. I can't hold back my love and that I need to shower her with all the love I can give.

"I love you," were all the words I can manage to distribute to her and when I hear the content sigh escape her lips. I ache to have them upon my own, but yet I decided to go back to Brittany's. I had work in three hours and I knew my priorities were being compromised by my sudden sleepless nights, but I couldn't control my psyche.

"I love you too baby," she says tenderly and I didn't have to see her to know that her lips have curled up in a relaxed smile. "You sure you're alright?"

I don't want to lie to her, but if I'm going to get these to vanish—I have to let her in. "I had a nightmare," I confess, capturing my bottom lip between my teeth and with a deep breath on the other end I know she's far more alert than she was originally.

"Again?" My eyes scrunch in confusion as to how she knows that this has already occurred previously.

"How did you know this has been reoccurring?" I ask curiously.

"The last time you stayed over, you were tossing and turning a lot and talking in small riddles in your sleep," she explains as my body grows hot in embarrassment—to think I expected I was being stealth about my feelings, but apparently I underestimated my power.

"It's okay to be scared of losing me Q. You didn't have to have those nightmares for me to catch on to it either," Okay so I've really underestimated myself entirely. "I'm terrified of the outcome of all of this, but if I'm supposed to die then that's what happens, but don't push away little by little because I'm not gone yet,"

I sniffle and place my hand on my cheek to brush away a tear I didn't realize I started to shed. I can feel the pain in her voice—she knew this entire time I was hurting, but was just waiting for me to come to her for guidance. All I truly seemed to need was to hear those words from her that everything could be okay if I just allowed them to me. She isn't promising anything that she can't control like everyone else seems to be willing to do in order to keep my mind at ease, but she's just promising that if I just push myself forward she'll be there through the end and I think that's a good enough compromise.

I lay back, letting out a deep breath fixing so the pillows rested comfortably under my head to leave just enough support as I adjust the phone to a better angle. "Tell me something to help me relax," I whisper—anything that will allow me to fall asleep to her love as I close my eyes to drift away.

She hums on the other end, as she makes her own movements noticeable. "Well I'd kiss you down your neck, darting my tongue up the length of your hot skin—," as wonderful as I imagine where that is going, I open my eyes at her husky rasp.

"Uh no—I said relax not get horny," I chastise only to be welcomed with a chuckle on the other end and I could tell she was only stirring me up as a way to lighten the mood—another reason to love this woman so much; she doesn't make much too seriously and if there is a serious matter at hand, I can trust her to distract me from it.

"Okay, okay," she calms, before sighing. She pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts I'd presume till she finally reveals them. "I always picture my life without this condition and where I'll be when it no longer exists," she begins. "It's with you, but I just imagine vividly that years from now we'll be married and a year later we would have a child on the way—you'd make a beautiful mother Quinn; I hope it looks just like you even if I am the one to carry it. We will no longer live in the city, but in suburbs to raise our child in a beautiful house with three bedrooms and it's close enough to the train station so we can go to work still. We'd have Sunday lunches with my family in Brooklyn and holidays in Ohio with your family—they'd dote on our little one like we'd no longer matter to them, but we wouldn't care because we have a family and our love is still strong even after the hardships we've faced along the way," as I relish in her tale of our future, a small smile begins to form on my lips as I drift back into my slumber with her words.

I miss whatever else she may have said, but when I wake up three hours later for my day of work to my phone still pressed between my ear and my pillow, the phone is still connected to Santana on the other end, sending warmth coursing through to my heart.

It's like you're attached by this invisible tether and no matter how far away you are, you can always feel them.

x.

Work was far from a distraction than it should be and for good reason. With clients coming in and out of my office this week asking on the progression for their product designs, I am fairly certain that I'm in over my head at the moment. It's not like I'm pending on eliminating my position in this company, because I for one value my career and plus Santana would never allow me to give up my status since she knew how hard I've worked for my position, but also unless I wanted to leave willingly she was just the backbone I needed to stay.

Lately I've just felt overworked and the lack of energy doesn't compensate for my work being up to its full potential. Due to this realization, I've been putting much unneeded pressure on Tina to make sure that everything is handled and revised for my future meetings.

As I place my pen down on my desk, I sigh in utter frustration, rubbing at my weighed down eyelids as a light tap is heard at my office door. I sound quietly, but it was apparently enough as the creaking of the hinges makes it apparent that my guest as granted access. I look up through a half lidded gaze at Tina, holding several files.

She clears her throat. "I have the files you've asked me to revise and I made a few changes that are within reason, but I must be frank—if I may that is," she begins and I gesture to her with my hand with no visible annoyance, but rather intrigued by her concerns. "It seems that your work is not as—well precise as it usually is. You've always been a genius inventor when it comes to product improvement, but lately I feel your work as been fairly inadequate. I think you're still a genius—don't misinterpret that, I guess what I'm trying to say from assistant to boss, I'm concerned," she fully expresses and I'm awestruck by her deliverance.

I grimace at her and I know she's worried that I'm a time bomb just waiting to explode at her for such out of turn comments, but instead I stand and walk around my desk till I take a seat on my couch, gesturing for her to sit down next to me. She does so, placing the files on her lap and crossing her hands above them.

I sigh, looking away for a moment to recollect myself before meeting her gaze. "You are a brave woman Tina. Most people wouldn't say such things to their bosses, but I am not angry or enraged by your forwardness—it's if you were cowardly restraining your thoughts that I'd be harsher; however, I've been dealt with an eye opening situation in my personal life that it's taking a toll on my work and emotionally," I resonate to her because sure I have Brittany, but the thing with Brittany is she will tell me anything to remain positive, it's seeing Tina's forwardness that makes me actually trust her with my thoughts about Santana.

"You don't have to tell me about it if you aren't comfortable Miss. Fabray," she begins and I hold my hand up—Miss. Fabray only shows we've continued such a professional demeanor for far too long that it needed to change. Tina could be a well valued person in my life and not just as a asset to the company, but to my personal well being. I needed someone like her to give me the harsh truth and not half ass it.

"Tina you may call me Quinn and honestly—I want to," I tell her and she nods slowly a small smile hidden behind her lips that shows she's grateful for my sudden sincerity. "My girlfriend is possibly dying of a heart condition, providing she gets a transplant in time and I find myself having nightmares of her death. The recent one is of me committing suicide at her grave," I unload it like it's a gun at a range, but her expression never changes, but I know she's still—just there. "I want them to go away so I'm not haunted with the negatives, in order to be positive for her, you know?" I add and she nods, so I know she's listening.

It's only when she lets out a breath I didn't know she was even holding that I'm anticipating her answer, though I'm not entirely certain how she will approach this subject, considering the uncharted territory she has just been thrown in. She doesn't know Santana—hell she doesn't even know me, but knowing Tina—she'll speak through an unbiased opinion, much like a therapist would her patient.

"In order to give your girlfriend a fighting chance, you cannot let the darkness of your mind plague your reality," okay when I imagined I was hinting for advice, I didn't imagine her to come up with a something that I could find in a fortune cookie—I know she's Asian, but I didn't want to be stereotypical and racist.

"Which in lamest terms means, you can't let the possibility of her death be a deciding factor on how you live your life with or without her—if it comes down to it. You shouldn't feel obligated to end your life based on the fact that she's no longer on this earth. It'll hurt, I'm not implying it won't if by chance she doesn't get a new heart, but these cards we are dealt with are just obstacles that we will hurdle over, providing we don't give up," she expresses and I stare at her as she pours her thoughts out before me as I drink in everything she is addressing, milking it for what it's worth.

"Your dreams are telling you that you feel she's already dead, but she's not. You have to just be willing to remind yourself of the fact that she's still with you, showering you with love and adoration, expecting the same in return. Don't let your relationship be solely based on her illness, but on the passion that it was originally stemmed from," she completes and I smile wider at the woman before me, but not enough to show happiness, but gratitude.

I place a hand on her knee. "Thank you," I tell her softly as she smiles sadly at me, pressing a hand on my shoulder to show her sympathy for the entire situation—it isn't a good one for nor Santana and I, but I'm treating it like I'm the one with a clock that is ticking on my death bed when it's Santana. She shows no signs of reservations on the situations, but I know deep down she's just as scared as I am; however, she may be refusing to reveal them to me because she knows how difficult it is for me since I'm fairly too obvious for my own good.

I needed to grow the fuck up and take charge of my emotions. I need to be there for my girlfriend and give her my strength—she needs it far more than I do. I need to gain some patience with this list, but I'm far too antsy that this will take longer.

My thoughts always return to Santana's words about John Q—that movie with Denzel Washington holding a hospital hostage till his son got a heart transplant. His son was barely hanging on for his life and they got a heart from a woman who dies in a car accident, remove it from her dead corpse as soon as possible, then transport it to the facility just in time. I keep thinking that it could happen to her. Even if Santana gets worse and is near the break of death, John Q's son got a heart just before his time came—maybe there is always hope Santana could too if it came to that situation, but like Tina said. I can't think this way.

I need to dote on my girlfriend—and possible future wife because it is only a matter of time before Santana gets that transplant and we are one step closer to starting a life together.

I did something a little different. I used a wide variety of vocabulary I didn't even know that I was capable of salvaging together; however, I feel this is my best writing in a very long time. I've been in a dark place these past few months and I've been forcing updates that I just find hard to endure. I presume me going back to this story will allow me to clear away that depth that is clawing at me, allowing me to produce the angst this story solely deserves. Be mindful, my emotions won't conflict with the ending outcome of Santana's fate, even though I am just as unsure of how she'll end up as you are, so please don't ask me because I don't know.

Anyway, thank you all for your complete support and patience throughout my Fanfiction career (is it even a career? Blah.) I think I left off last author's note that my grandmother had cancer, so if you are not following any other story other than this one, I will inform you she passed roughly two months ago. As I've already mentioned, I've been having a rough time physically and emotionally, so I'm trying to regain my sanity. Hopefully I will do so which will allow me to produce better writing for you all. I continue to be grateful for all of you who have stuck by me from the beginning and take your time out of your lives to read what I write, scrape up a review for me to read and come to Tumblr to tell me of all the anticipation you feel. I hope you all continue to support me throughout my life in the future, wherever my future takes me in this writing business.

Thanks again!

sam

lacksubstance . tumblr . com