Brittany sighed as she dropped her purse on the leather couch of her living room. She plopped herself next to it, not bothering to untie her shoes or take her coat off. Instead, she worried her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at the dark screen of her television with a blank expression, wondering how she had gotten herself into such a big mess in so little time.
She hadn't meant to dismiss Santana so quickly, but she knew it'd been the best possible answer. It wasn't like Brittany didn't want her either...god, did she want her—Santana's little foray down memory lane had reminded her of so many small but endearing things about the woman—but it wasn't something she could actually act on. Santana was only trying to talk her way back into her bed, and Brittany...well, it had been a couple of weeks since she'd last had sex, but she wasn't so painfully turned on that she would let herself fall back into a destructive relationship. Then again, if it was only sex...
Brittany shook her head. It would never stop at "only sex" with Santana. Perhaps the first few orgasms would be mindblowingly satisfying, but then would come the small bickering about odd little things, passive-aggressive remarks, never-ending arguments, and angry blowups. They had once had a fight about who would wear a damn strap-on, which did not result in the angry sex Brittany had wantonly expected. Oh no, that had definitely not been one of those fights. Santana had slept on the couch that night, mumbling and groaning about the unfairness of it all.
God, Brittany thought, how ridiculously dramatic they used to be.
That being said, they had had their share of good times. It was unfair to list all the things that had gone wrong without reminding herself of their more loving times. In two years, they'd had many beautiful moments together, and Santana had made Brittany happy for quite a long time. It was often overshadowed by more frustrating memories, but if she was honest with herself, Brittany knew her relationship with Santana had been more passionate and intense than any other. She'd dated since, of course, but nothing so serious that she'd felt the need to share all her secrets, talk into the wee hours of the morning, make love for hours on end, or text silly things every now and then.
Maybe her job was the reason for the lack of romance in her life, but it wasn't like she hadn't been working her ass off at the Culinary Magazine during their relationship. Santana had also bounced from job to job, from waitressing to being a kitchen hand, so perhaps Brittany was trying to pull excuses out of thin air. No one had ever come close to the chef, and that was perhaps the most infuriating truth.
But what was Brittany supposed to do? Admit that their past was catching up with her and she wouldn't mind giving it another shot? It would be the equivalent of opening herself up to heartbreak all over again. What was she thinking? People didn't change...or at least not drastically over the span of three years. She and Santana might have matured, but together, they would still be a recipe for disaster. For now, Brittany convinced herself, she'd have to make sure Santana knew their banter was the best they would get.