fic: next [2/2]
Title: Next [2/2]
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Angsting it up. This is the sequel to Now. Part One is here. Sorry this is a million years late. It’s first person. It should read sort of like Brittany is speaking to Santana, but in her head.
Spoilers: None.
Dear you,
Six years went by, and I never blinked. Well, at least, for the past five.
At first, nothing made sense. At first, there was the biting pain of knowing that you were only a few miles away, but those few miles could have been inches or planets apart, and it would have been the same. It was like you didn’t exist, but I knew you did. And Rachel and Quinn tried so hard to protect me, but when I sat in my our the apartment, counting the ticks of your alarm clock, the silence and the loneliness ate away at me. I kept thinking that if I closed my eyes hard enough and wished for it with my fists clenched that when I opened my eyes, you’d be beside me as you always were, your hair gently covering your face with your chest slowly rising and falling so serenely that I never could have imagined in a million years that we’d ever spend another night apart. Night after night, I dreamed you’d look at me and know how much I needed you, and you’d stay.
Sometimes, I think if you want something too badly, the universe makes sure you can’t have it.
You never came home. And three months later, you moved back to California. I thought it had ended then and there. For the rest of the year, I waited for a phone call or a letter or a postcard or any sign you were still a part of this universe. I never got it. I went back to dance and got picked up for a touring dance troupe. And suddenly I didn’t have the chance to breathe, and I stopped blinking.
From destination to destination, I woke up, prepared, practiced, performed, partied, and then collapsed as soon as I got back to my hotel room. I never told anyone about the UCLA sweatshirt I kept tucked in the bottom of my suitcase just in case and I eventually forgot it was there. I jumped from tour to tour to performances. I spent a while dancing on Broadway with Rachel and I met Katie. She had your eyes. Then, there was Maggie. She had your voice when she sang low enough. After that, there was Jenny, who had your smirk. I guess I must have lied to myself all those years, pretending it wasn’t because they reminded me of you somehow. But I managed it. I don’t know if it was because I was smart enough to trick myself or dumb enough to believe it. I forgot you in the sweatshirt underneath everything in my duffel bag.
And when I decided to go to Los Angeles with Rachel, I didn’t even realize the significance of where I was going. I didn’t even remember. Or, maybe, I didn’t want to.
You know how you think you’re over a person, but you see them, and the instant you realize who it is, you know you aren’t over them after all?
It was like that.
I walked into a Starbucks on the last two weeks of filming to grab Rachel’s daily coffee. I opened my purse to pull out the specifics of her coffee. She only drank it with one cream and two sugars, and I could never remember. I pulled her Berry stationary from my wallet when I heard you. I knew it was you the second I heard the words black, no sugar. I almost cried, and I still don’t know if I would have cried out of anger, pain, love, or fear. I looked up and saw your suit and your ponytail, and six years of pretending vanished. I don’t think you even knew I was there. I left.
Rachel didn’t even seem fazed when I told her. She acted like it was no big deal when I’m sure she knew it was. She was still talking to you, wasn’t she? She had to have known. And yet, she shrugged it off, choosing instead to rehearse lines with me when she knew I could not concentrate. All she said was, Funny. I didn’t think she liked Starbucks. I went home and curled up around your sweatshirt hoping it’d still smell a little like you.
It smelled like nothing.
Six years later, what did I really expect?
The walls I’d so preciously been building came crashing down around me, and I knew. I thought of Katie and of Maggie and of Jenny and I knew. I knew I still loved you, and I would never find my way back to you.
Rachel took me out that weekend. I kept forgetting my lines again. Jacob had sighed as he asked the guy next to the camera to hold up cue cards. I had gotten pretty good at remembering things, you know? After you left, I started having to cook for myself. I make a pretty mean quesadilla. Even real recipes started making sense after a few months of eating take-out and the meals that Quinn would come over with. I started figuring things out because I had to. You know, like how to turn on a computer. And how to use the answering machine with all the big buttons that didn’t tell you what to do. And how to change the channel on the television. I learned all of that; all the basic things I didn’t need to know because you’d always done everything for me. I learned to memorize lines.
And then you came along again, and I forgot.
So Rachel took me out to go party. She thought it’d help me relax. And you know what happens next. You were there for some office party. You wanted to talk to your boss about transferring back to New York. Rachel saw you in the club, and thought you were out drinking. I had been trying to find Rachel, and all of a sudden, there you were- and I couldn’t run any more. You looked at me; your face hadn’t changed a bit. You whispered my name so softly. I shouldn’t have been able to hear it, but your voice cut through the air and the club music and I heard you.
“Britt?” you whispered in that soft, broken voice you used on nights that you thought you’d lost the case. As if you already believed you’d lost me again. Or maybe you were mourning the loss six years ago. I wanted to walk away. I wanted to run. But I couldn’t. I was frozen in my place; suddenly in the same place I was six years ago.
You’d aged. It wasn’t in your skin or your body. God, it wasn’t there at all. It was in your eyes. Your eyes looked like someone had snuffed the lights out of them. They were dark and haunted. I was a rabbit caught in your lifeless eyes, though. Don’t come home too late, Rachel had called, leaving before I had the chance to ask for help. You looked at me and offered to take me home right then. I passed out.
Rachel laughed when she told me. You know, Britt, it’s called breathing, she had said with a chuckle, You should try it around her. I hear it’s pretty effective at keeping you conscious. You hadn’t stuck around. You’d gone home. She told me then, about the drinking, I mean. I can’t say I was completely surprised. It just felt like the time sophomore year of high school when we tried breaking up and being straight and you showed up to school piss drunk for two weeks before we ended up having make-up sex and forgetting about ever breaking up again. Coach Sylvester nearly murdered you when you took that misstep in the middle of the routine due to your drunken state. You were lucky she wanted a brainless figurehead as her captain after Quinn. Had you been captain instead of me, she would have killed you for sure.
Rachel got quiet then. She looked at me and her voice became that awkward quiet voice that she has when it feels like her heart is going to explode. She told me then about when you almost drank yourself to death. I didn’t know if I was angry or upset. She apologized softly, telling me I just thought you deserved to know. I don’t know what life is worse, the life ignorant of it all, or this life now knowing I almost killed you.
I slept in your sweatshirt that night.
It still smelled like nothingness.
I walked into filming late that next morning. I wonder if it mattered to you, too. Rachel almost scolded me for my irresponsibility, but then she saw the UCLA embroidered on the grey sweatshirt. She told me to go home. I didn’t. We bulldozed through filming and just kept going. I managed to film my very last scene without cue cards. Once the camera turned off, Rachel grabbed my wrist and dragged me back to my apartment. It wasn’t until after the second bird documentary that I realized in her hurry, I’d left the UCLA sweatshirt on the set. Rachel told me to get it tomorrow, and I cried.
I don’t know.
I guess, I’d already lost you once. Twice, even. I didn’t think I knew how to deal with losing you over and over. So, I cried.
Rachel drove back to the set, snuck in, and got the sweatshirt back for me.
Remember in seventh grade when Dave Karofsky took my lunch money so you gave him a big black eye?
It felt like that. Which didn’t help. When I kept crying, Rachel tried to rub my back, but like everyone else, she wasn’t you. She didn’t cradle me the right way and we didn’t fit together the way you and I used to. We used to be like those salt shakers that you see that come in a set that just fit together. You knew how to hold me softly so my head met your shoulder at that point where I could rest my head without ever straining my neck. I fit with you like a key and a lock. There was no other person who would fit with me the way you did. Ever.
I don’t know where I thought I was going that Saturday. Maybe leaving was where I was going.
And that’s how I found myself still in your sweatshirt and in sweatpants wandering around Los Angeles at 5 in the morning like some sort of a stray. I probably should’ve brought my cell phone with me, but I forgot. I mean, hell, I didn’t even remember leaving the apartment, let alone how I ended up at Starbucks nursing a small black coffee staring out the window watching the baby ducks learn how to swim. I don’t even like black coffee. You do.
I started crying, you know. I closed my eyes and let the scent of the coffee melt me like ice. I couldn’t help but remember every time you’d waltz into our bedroom carrying a coffee for yourself and a cup of orange juice for me. You’d set down the cups on our dresser before sliding back into bed with me and wrapping me up in your arms like you didn’t know I was already awake. We’d lie there for those few minutes before you had to go off to be a slave of the corporate world. When I think back, it was always me who broke the illusion. You’d lie there pretending we had all the time in the world. You’d bury your head in my shoulder like love could stop time. Eventually, I’d roll over and kiss your nose, and it’d be over. Time would move forward, you’d roll out of bed, and you’d grab your coffee and head out the door.
The barista came over to see if I was okay. I lied and told her I was. I looked at the clock and wondered when the sun had come out. It was 6:15 and I could imagine the way Rachel would be waking up and jumping out of bed to prepare for her day. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me she’d probably be worried. The barista sighed as I asked her to warm up the coffee for the fourth time.
“How does a person spend half an hour drinking coffee without ever touching it?” she laughed, placing the cup in the microwave.
“I just like the smell of coffee,” I remember murmuring absentmindedly. She had laughed again and leaned against the counter.
“What’s your name?” she asked. The bell of the microwave dinged and I never responded. I grabbed the hot coffee and moved to the table in the corner closest to the pond outside. I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard the jingling of the door’s bells.
“Oh, thank God,” I heard from an all too familiar voice.
“Britt!” you called, panting. You were half dressed. Well, you were wearing your button down shirt, but were still wearing your pajama pants. I couldn’t help but giggle. You smiled as if I meant it to be some sort of a sign of friendship; forgiveness, even. You sat down beside me.
“Rachel’s worried sick,” you told me. “She’s been running around L.A. looking for you. Why didn’t you bring your phone with you?” I shrugged. You peered into the cup.
“Since when do you drink coffee?” You asked, still grinning like it hasn’t been six long fucking years since the last time we’ve even had a conversation. I wanted to punch you in the face so hard you get knocked to kingdom come. And yet, I wanted you to hold me. I didn’t know how you could forget that so much can change in six years. I didn’t know how you knew that so much can stay the same.
“I don’t,” I managed to whisper. You whipped out your cell phone, still grinning.
“Hold on, let me call Rachel so she knows you’re okay.” I put the world on mute in my head as I watched you dial Rachel’s number. I heard Rachel in my head jokingly reminding me to breathe this time. You closed your phone and reached for my cup of coffee.
“Rachel’s coming. What the hell are you doing wandering around Los Angeles in your pajamas anyways?” You asked, taking a sip of my coffee. You still wore that goddamn confident smile of yours.
“What are you doing here, Santana?” I asked softly. You raised your eyebrow like it was obvious.
“Rachel sent me,” you replied. Your eyes told a different story, though. There was a sadness there; a wistfulness. You sighed as you place the coffee back on the table. In the silence I realized I was holding my breath again. I let it out in a sigh. There were a million things I wanted to tell you, but in that moment, I couldn’t pick out the right one. You picked at the table in the awkward silence, your smile slowly fading.
“I always knew you’d make it big,” you said quietly, looking out the window. A gift. You turned your head back at me, not even making eye contact. Instead, your eyes darted back and forth between your hands and the cup. You picked up the coffee again and took a sip. Part of me wanted to bring it up, but I didn’t have the heart to, so I picked at the table, too. I let the silence envelop us until I could hear it ringing in my ears and I forced myself to break it.
“Do you know how long it’ll be until Rachel gets here?” I asked quietly. You placed the cup back down, slowly turning it so the label faced you.
“It’ll be a while. She didn’t think to get her car, so she’s walking,” you replied with the same level of quietness. I could feel your leg start to twitch with impatience. The silence was killing you, too. You slowly rose and walked to the counter and bought a scone.
“Come on,” you sighed softly, tugging at your pajama bottoms self-consciously. I wanted to stay put. I wanted to sit and make you suffer. I wanted to watch you cringe as I made you walk away instead of being the one to crumble like six years ago when I watched you walk right out of my life. I wanted to hate you. Instead, I stood up.
“Where are we going?” I asked softly. You threaded your fingers through mine like you had so many times before. Your hand still fit so perfectly in mine; still like they were crafted for one another. I wanted it to be high school again, when you’d take my pinky and you’d take me all over Lima. I wanted to love you that purely again. You pulled me towards the pond.
“I usually have some bread on me, but since you caught me off guard, this scone will have to do,” you told me, handing me a chunk of the scone. A lump of silent words got caught in my throat. I couldn’t help but wonder if you did it because it reminded you of me. You still hadn’t looked me in the eyes. Were you afraid I’d know? Were you afraid your eyes would say what you couldn’t? Were you afraid mine would? I was. I wanted to look at you and know that you’d gone through the same hell I had. And yet, I didn’t. I didn’t want to know we both suffered. I didn’t want to see the hell that caused you to drink yourself half to death. I didn’t want to know that I burned a hole into those beautiful eyes; your beautiful soul. I didn’t want to know that I killed the Santana Lopez I fell in love with. You looked at me, amused by my staring. I dropped my eyes so our eyes couldn’t meet.
“You still remember how to feed them, right?” you smirked, dropping crumbs over the heads of the little ducklings that quacked happily. As you squatted down to hand feed the little ducks, the corners of your pajama pants pulled up just enough to let the lime green of your socks peek out from underneath them. Your lucky socks. Were you wearing them for a case? Were you wearing them so you’d find me first? I squatted down next to you, crumbling the scone so the ducks could pluck them out of my hand and run off back to their mother. I decided to give you a gift, too.
“I’m sorry for everything,” I whispered as the last of the ducklings took his fill and waddled off, “and I forgive you.” You smiled as you wiped the crumbs off of your hands. Our eyes met for a scant moment and I saw you. I saw the way the years had worn you down. I saw your reflection in the shot that would’ve killed you that you walked away from. I saw the you I thought I’d never see again. I saw the you I wanted so badly to hold, to love, and to be with.
“I never stopped loving you,” you said, like it could really change everything. I wanted to tell you the truth- that I didn’t either- but I didn’t. I watched you wince when I responded with silence. You turned your head away so I couldn’t see your eyes tearing up. But you’re still you. I could see the tearing up simply from the way your fists clenched.
“I heard. About the drinking. When Puck found you. Rachel told me,” I said. Your head whipped around and you bit your lip. I watched you suck in a breath.
“Oh,” you replied. You tugged at the corner of your sock. “What do you want me to say, Britt?” I didn’t know. I wanted you to say anything and everything. I wanted you to say nothing at all. I wanted you to remind me why I loved you. I wanted you to disappear and never return. I wanted to be six years ago, fixing things while we had the chance. But we weren’t six years ago. We were six years later. Nothing could change.
Suddenly I was flattened as Rachel tackled me to the ground.
“OhmygodIfoundyouIamgoingtokillyouwherethehellhaveyoubeen,” Rachel spewed out in one breath. You smiled at her gesture. I locked eyes with you for a moment and saw everything I wish I didn’t. I saw the loneliness you could not shake. Rachel sighed and pulled me into another hug. You started to walk away again. Your work was done. You were walking away again and I was stuck six years ago watching you walk out of our apartment.
I had so many things I needed to say then, too. I never got to tell you one last good bye. I never got to tell you how much I loved you. And I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout like I’ve never shouted before. I wanted to pour out my soul to you before you disappeared again. Rachel was saying something that I couldn’t hear over the sound of your footsteps. I wanted this to be like the movies where I’d scream your name and we’d run into each other’s arms in fifteen different frames. I wanted you so badly, but like I said.
I think when you want something too much, the universe makes sure you can’t have it. Rachel asked me if I was okay, and I turned to say ‘I’m fine’. When I turned my head back, you were gone. It was almost as if you never were.
Two days later as I packed to go home, Almost Lover came on the radio.
I can not go to the ocean
I can not drive the streets at night
I can not wake up in the morning without you on my mind
Now you’re gone and I’m haunted
And I bet you are just fine.
Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life?
I started sobbing. Wailing, even. Rachel rushed into the room trying to find me.
“Britt, what’s wrong?” she started shouting through the apartment. I couldn’t even say anything. She told me to talk to you. Told me to settle everything before I left. I had three days.
The first day, you did not pick up your phone.
The second, you did not call back.
And on the third day, you showed up at Rachel’s door and laid your heart on the floor.
“I love you,” you said when I opened the door.
“I love you more than anything in this world. I have loved you since the moment I met you. From that moment on there never could’ve been anyone in this world for me beside you. I made mistakes. I made a ton of mistakes. I wanted to fight this feeling. I wanted to be a badass or something stupid like that because I was young and I wanted to be something special. I lost you and you were the only thing I had going for me. I’ve spent six years without you, Britt. I can’t let you just leave. You let me get on the plane to Los Angeles, but I can’t let you get on that plane, Britt. I can’t let you just leave. I love you. And maybe that makes me a fool, but I will do what it takes. We can make it, Britt. I promise you.”
You bit your lip, waiting for me to welcome you in with open arms and profess my undying love for you. Part of me wanted to do it. Part of me wanted to take that jump. Instead, my mouth got ahead of my brain.
“You could’ve called,” I replied bitterly, “You could’ve apologized. You could’ve told me this six years ago, San. Hell, you could’ve told me this any time in the past six years. Why now? What makes you think I’m willing to take another chance with you?”
Your jaw clenched. Your heart was displayed so painstakingly, and I was stomping it and grinding it with my heel.
“You love me, too,” You said, “You wore the sweatshirt.” Half of me felt as though my bluff had been called; that I should forgive you and move on. I didn’t.
“I wore the sweatshirt because it was comfortable,” I snapped. You gave your last ditch effort and made a grave mistake. You pulled me in and kissed me like I hadn’t just told you to piss off. I slapped you. You walked away. I got on the plane and left.
I’m saying this because Rachel called me this morning to tell me about your engagement. I’ll be honest, it broke my heart. I can’t help but think I made a mistake. Anyways, congratulations and best of luck. I hope you’re happy. I do.
I guess I just wanted one last chance to tell you what I couldn’t for these past ten years.
You’re going to make a beautiful bride. It’s almost a pity I won’t be there to see it.
I wish you and your fiancé the best. Have a good life and, maybe, I’ll see you around.
Love Always,
Me
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Angsting it up. This is the sequel to Now. Part One is here. Sorry this is a million years late. It’s first person. It should read sort of like Brittany is speaking to Santana, but in her head.
Spoilers: None.
Dear you,
Six years went by, and I never blinked. Well, at least, for the past five.
At first, nothing made sense. At first, there was the biting pain of knowing that you were only a few miles away, but those few miles could have been inches or planets apart, and it would have been the same. It was like you didn’t exist, but I knew you did. And Rachel and Quinn tried so hard to protect me, but when I sat in my our the apartment, counting the ticks of your alarm clock, the silence and the loneliness ate away at me. I kept thinking that if I closed my eyes hard enough and wished for it with my fists clenched that when I opened my eyes, you’d be beside me as you always were, your hair gently covering your face with your chest slowly rising and falling so serenely that I never could have imagined in a million years that we’d ever spend another night apart. Night after night, I dreamed you’d look at me and know how much I needed you, and you’d stay.
Sometimes, I think if you want something too badly, the universe makes sure you can’t have it.
You never came home. And three months later, you moved back to California. I thought it had ended then and there. For the rest of the year, I waited for a phone call or a letter or a postcard or any sign you were still a part of this universe. I never got it. I went back to dance and got picked up for a touring dance troupe. And suddenly I didn’t have the chance to breathe, and I stopped blinking.
From destination to destination, I woke up, prepared, practiced, performed, partied, and then collapsed as soon as I got back to my hotel room. I never told anyone about the UCLA sweatshirt I kept tucked in the bottom of my suitcase just in case and I eventually forgot it was there. I jumped from tour to tour to performances. I spent a while dancing on Broadway with Rachel and I met Katie. She had your eyes. Then, there was Maggie. She had your voice when she sang low enough. After that, there was Jenny, who had your smirk. I guess I must have lied to myself all those years, pretending it wasn’t because they reminded me of you somehow. But I managed it. I don’t know if it was because I was smart enough to trick myself or dumb enough to believe it. I forgot you in the sweatshirt underneath everything in my duffel bag.
And when I decided to go to Los Angeles with Rachel, I didn’t even realize the significance of where I was going. I didn’t even remember. Or, maybe, I didn’t want to.
You know how you think you’re over a person, but you see them, and the instant you realize who it is, you know you aren’t over them after all?
It was like that.
I walked into a Starbucks on the last two weeks of filming to grab Rachel’s daily coffee. I opened my purse to pull out the specifics of her coffee. She only drank it with one cream and two sugars, and I could never remember. I pulled her Berry stationary from my wallet when I heard you. I knew it was you the second I heard the words black, no sugar. I almost cried, and I still don’t know if I would have cried out of anger, pain, love, or fear. I looked up and saw your suit and your ponytail, and six years of pretending vanished. I don’t think you even knew I was there. I left.
Rachel didn’t even seem fazed when I told her. She acted like it was no big deal when I’m sure she knew it was. She was still talking to you, wasn’t she? She had to have known. And yet, she shrugged it off, choosing instead to rehearse lines with me when she knew I could not concentrate. All she said was, Funny. I didn’t think she liked Starbucks. I went home and curled up around your sweatshirt hoping it’d still smell a little like you.
It smelled like nothing.
Six years later, what did I really expect?
The walls I’d so preciously been building came crashing down around me, and I knew. I thought of Katie and of Maggie and of Jenny and I knew. I knew I still loved you, and I would never find my way back to you.
Rachel took me out that weekend. I kept forgetting my lines again. Jacob had sighed as he asked the guy next to the camera to hold up cue cards. I had gotten pretty good at remembering things, you know? After you left, I started having to cook for myself. I make a pretty mean quesadilla. Even real recipes started making sense after a few months of eating take-out and the meals that Quinn would come over with. I started figuring things out because I had to. You know, like how to turn on a computer. And how to use the answering machine with all the big buttons that didn’t tell you what to do. And how to change the channel on the television. I learned all of that; all the basic things I didn’t need to know because you’d always done everything for me. I learned to memorize lines.
And then you came along again, and I forgot.
So Rachel took me out to go party. She thought it’d help me relax. And you know what happens next. You were there for some office party. You wanted to talk to your boss about transferring back to New York. Rachel saw you in the club, and thought you were out drinking. I had been trying to find Rachel, and all of a sudden, there you were- and I couldn’t run any more. You looked at me; your face hadn’t changed a bit. You whispered my name so softly. I shouldn’t have been able to hear it, but your voice cut through the air and the club music and I heard you.
“Britt?” you whispered in that soft, broken voice you used on nights that you thought you’d lost the case. As if you already believed you’d lost me again. Or maybe you were mourning the loss six years ago. I wanted to walk away. I wanted to run. But I couldn’t. I was frozen in my place; suddenly in the same place I was six years ago.
You’d aged. It wasn’t in your skin or your body. God, it wasn’t there at all. It was in your eyes. Your eyes looked like someone had snuffed the lights out of them. They were dark and haunted. I was a rabbit caught in your lifeless eyes, though. Don’t come home too late, Rachel had called, leaving before I had the chance to ask for help. You looked at me and offered to take me home right then. I passed out.
Rachel laughed when she told me. You know, Britt, it’s called breathing, she had said with a chuckle, You should try it around her. I hear it’s pretty effective at keeping you conscious. You hadn’t stuck around. You’d gone home. She told me then, about the drinking, I mean. I can’t say I was completely surprised. It just felt like the time sophomore year of high school when we tried breaking up and being straight and you showed up to school piss drunk for two weeks before we ended up having make-up sex and forgetting about ever breaking up again. Coach Sylvester nearly murdered you when you took that misstep in the middle of the routine due to your drunken state. You were lucky she wanted a brainless figurehead as her captain after Quinn. Had you been captain instead of me, she would have killed you for sure.
Rachel got quiet then. She looked at me and her voice became that awkward quiet voice that she has when it feels like her heart is going to explode. She told me then about when you almost drank yourself to death. I didn’t know if I was angry or upset. She apologized softly, telling me I just thought you deserved to know. I don’t know what life is worse, the life ignorant of it all, or this life now knowing I almost killed you.
I slept in your sweatshirt that night.
It still smelled like nothingness.
I walked into filming late that next morning. I wonder if it mattered to you, too. Rachel almost scolded me for my irresponsibility, but then she saw the UCLA embroidered on the grey sweatshirt. She told me to go home. I didn’t. We bulldozed through filming and just kept going. I managed to film my very last scene without cue cards. Once the camera turned off, Rachel grabbed my wrist and dragged me back to my apartment. It wasn’t until after the second bird documentary that I realized in her hurry, I’d left the UCLA sweatshirt on the set. Rachel told me to get it tomorrow, and I cried.
I don’t know.
I guess, I’d already lost you once. Twice, even. I didn’t think I knew how to deal with losing you over and over. So, I cried.
Rachel drove back to the set, snuck in, and got the sweatshirt back for me.
Remember in seventh grade when Dave Karofsky took my lunch money so you gave him a big black eye?
It felt like that. Which didn’t help. When I kept crying, Rachel tried to rub my back, but like everyone else, she wasn’t you. She didn’t cradle me the right way and we didn’t fit together the way you and I used to. We used to be like those salt shakers that you see that come in a set that just fit together. You knew how to hold me softly so my head met your shoulder at that point where I could rest my head without ever straining my neck. I fit with you like a key and a lock. There was no other person who would fit with me the way you did. Ever.
I don’t know where I thought I was going that Saturday. Maybe leaving was where I was going.
And that’s how I found myself still in your sweatshirt and in sweatpants wandering around Los Angeles at 5 in the morning like some sort of a stray. I probably should’ve brought my cell phone with me, but I forgot. I mean, hell, I didn’t even remember leaving the apartment, let alone how I ended up at Starbucks nursing a small black coffee staring out the window watching the baby ducks learn how to swim. I don’t even like black coffee. You do.
I started crying, you know. I closed my eyes and let the scent of the coffee melt me like ice. I couldn’t help but remember every time you’d waltz into our bedroom carrying a coffee for yourself and a cup of orange juice for me. You’d set down the cups on our dresser before sliding back into bed with me and wrapping me up in your arms like you didn’t know I was already awake. We’d lie there for those few minutes before you had to go off to be a slave of the corporate world. When I think back, it was always me who broke the illusion. You’d lie there pretending we had all the time in the world. You’d bury your head in my shoulder like love could stop time. Eventually, I’d roll over and kiss your nose, and it’d be over. Time would move forward, you’d roll out of bed, and you’d grab your coffee and head out the door.
The barista came over to see if I was okay. I lied and told her I was. I looked at the clock and wondered when the sun had come out. It was 6:15 and I could imagine the way Rachel would be waking up and jumping out of bed to prepare for her day. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me she’d probably be worried. The barista sighed as I asked her to warm up the coffee for the fourth time.
“How does a person spend half an hour drinking coffee without ever touching it?” she laughed, placing the cup in the microwave.
“I just like the smell of coffee,” I remember murmuring absentmindedly. She had laughed again and leaned against the counter.
“What’s your name?” she asked. The bell of the microwave dinged and I never responded. I grabbed the hot coffee and moved to the table in the corner closest to the pond outside. I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard the jingling of the door’s bells.
“Oh, thank God,” I heard from an all too familiar voice.
“Britt!” you called, panting. You were half dressed. Well, you were wearing your button down shirt, but were still wearing your pajama pants. I couldn’t help but giggle. You smiled as if I meant it to be some sort of a sign of friendship; forgiveness, even. You sat down beside me.
“Rachel’s worried sick,” you told me. “She’s been running around L.A. looking for you. Why didn’t you bring your phone with you?” I shrugged. You peered into the cup.
“Since when do you drink coffee?” You asked, still grinning like it hasn’t been six long fucking years since the last time we’ve even had a conversation. I wanted to punch you in the face so hard you get knocked to kingdom come. And yet, I wanted you to hold me. I didn’t know how you could forget that so much can change in six years. I didn’t know how you knew that so much can stay the same.
“I don’t,” I managed to whisper. You whipped out your cell phone, still grinning.
“Hold on, let me call Rachel so she knows you’re okay.” I put the world on mute in my head as I watched you dial Rachel’s number. I heard Rachel in my head jokingly reminding me to breathe this time. You closed your phone and reached for my cup of coffee.
“Rachel’s coming. What the hell are you doing wandering around Los Angeles in your pajamas anyways?” You asked, taking a sip of my coffee. You still wore that goddamn confident smile of yours.
“What are you doing here, Santana?” I asked softly. You raised your eyebrow like it was obvious.
“Rachel sent me,” you replied. Your eyes told a different story, though. There was a sadness there; a wistfulness. You sighed as you place the coffee back on the table. In the silence I realized I was holding my breath again. I let it out in a sigh. There were a million things I wanted to tell you, but in that moment, I couldn’t pick out the right one. You picked at the table in the awkward silence, your smile slowly fading.
“I always knew you’d make it big,” you said quietly, looking out the window. A gift. You turned your head back at me, not even making eye contact. Instead, your eyes darted back and forth between your hands and the cup. You picked up the coffee again and took a sip. Part of me wanted to bring it up, but I didn’t have the heart to, so I picked at the table, too. I let the silence envelop us until I could hear it ringing in my ears and I forced myself to break it.
“Do you know how long it’ll be until Rachel gets here?” I asked quietly. You placed the cup back down, slowly turning it so the label faced you.
“It’ll be a while. She didn’t think to get her car, so she’s walking,” you replied with the same level of quietness. I could feel your leg start to twitch with impatience. The silence was killing you, too. You slowly rose and walked to the counter and bought a scone.
“Come on,” you sighed softly, tugging at your pajama bottoms self-consciously. I wanted to stay put. I wanted to sit and make you suffer. I wanted to watch you cringe as I made you walk away instead of being the one to crumble like six years ago when I watched you walk right out of my life. I wanted to hate you. Instead, I stood up.
“Where are we going?” I asked softly. You threaded your fingers through mine like you had so many times before. Your hand still fit so perfectly in mine; still like they were crafted for one another. I wanted it to be high school again, when you’d take my pinky and you’d take me all over Lima. I wanted to love you that purely again. You pulled me towards the pond.
“I usually have some bread on me, but since you caught me off guard, this scone will have to do,” you told me, handing me a chunk of the scone. A lump of silent words got caught in my throat. I couldn’t help but wonder if you did it because it reminded you of me. You still hadn’t looked me in the eyes. Were you afraid I’d know? Were you afraid your eyes would say what you couldn’t? Were you afraid mine would? I was. I wanted to look at you and know that you’d gone through the same hell I had. And yet, I didn’t. I didn’t want to know we both suffered. I didn’t want to see the hell that caused you to drink yourself half to death. I didn’t want to know that I burned a hole into those beautiful eyes; your beautiful soul. I didn’t want to know that I killed the Santana Lopez I fell in love with. You looked at me, amused by my staring. I dropped my eyes so our eyes couldn’t meet.
“You still remember how to feed them, right?” you smirked, dropping crumbs over the heads of the little ducklings that quacked happily. As you squatted down to hand feed the little ducks, the corners of your pajama pants pulled up just enough to let the lime green of your socks peek out from underneath them. Your lucky socks. Were you wearing them for a case? Were you wearing them so you’d find me first? I squatted down next to you, crumbling the scone so the ducks could pluck them out of my hand and run off back to their mother. I decided to give you a gift, too.
“I’m sorry for everything,” I whispered as the last of the ducklings took his fill and waddled off, “and I forgive you.” You smiled as you wiped the crumbs off of your hands. Our eyes met for a scant moment and I saw you. I saw the way the years had worn you down. I saw your reflection in the shot that would’ve killed you that you walked away from. I saw the you I thought I’d never see again. I saw the you I wanted so badly to hold, to love, and to be with.
“I never stopped loving you,” you said, like it could really change everything. I wanted to tell you the truth- that I didn’t either- but I didn’t. I watched you wince when I responded with silence. You turned your head away so I couldn’t see your eyes tearing up. But you’re still you. I could see the tearing up simply from the way your fists clenched.
“I heard. About the drinking. When Puck found you. Rachel told me,” I said. Your head whipped around and you bit your lip. I watched you suck in a breath.
“Oh,” you replied. You tugged at the corner of your sock. “What do you want me to say, Britt?” I didn’t know. I wanted you to say anything and everything. I wanted you to say nothing at all. I wanted you to remind me why I loved you. I wanted you to disappear and never return. I wanted to be six years ago, fixing things while we had the chance. But we weren’t six years ago. We were six years later. Nothing could change.
Suddenly I was flattened as Rachel tackled me to the ground.
“OhmygodIfoundyouIamgoingtokillyouwherethehellhaveyoubeen,” Rachel spewed out in one breath. You smiled at her gesture. I locked eyes with you for a moment and saw everything I wish I didn’t. I saw the loneliness you could not shake. Rachel sighed and pulled me into another hug. You started to walk away again. Your work was done. You were walking away again and I was stuck six years ago watching you walk out of our apartment.
I had so many things I needed to say then, too. I never got to tell you one last good bye. I never got to tell you how much I loved you. And I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout like I’ve never shouted before. I wanted to pour out my soul to you before you disappeared again. Rachel was saying something that I couldn’t hear over the sound of your footsteps. I wanted this to be like the movies where I’d scream your name and we’d run into each other’s arms in fifteen different frames. I wanted you so badly, but like I said.
I think when you want something too much, the universe makes sure you can’t have it. Rachel asked me if I was okay, and I turned to say ‘I’m fine’. When I turned my head back, you were gone. It was almost as if you never were.
Two days later as I packed to go home, Almost Lover came on the radio.
I can not go to the ocean
I can not drive the streets at night
I can not wake up in the morning without you on my mind
Now you’re gone and I’m haunted
And I bet you are just fine.
Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life?
I started sobbing. Wailing, even. Rachel rushed into the room trying to find me.
“Britt, what’s wrong?” she started shouting through the apartment. I couldn’t even say anything. She told me to talk to you. Told me to settle everything before I left. I had three days.
The first day, you did not pick up your phone.
The second, you did not call back.
And on the third day, you showed up at Rachel’s door and laid your heart on the floor.
“I love you,” you said when I opened the door.
“I love you more than anything in this world. I have loved you since the moment I met you. From that moment on there never could’ve been anyone in this world for me beside you. I made mistakes. I made a ton of mistakes. I wanted to fight this feeling. I wanted to be a badass or something stupid like that because I was young and I wanted to be something special. I lost you and you were the only thing I had going for me. I’ve spent six years without you, Britt. I can’t let you just leave. You let me get on the plane to Los Angeles, but I can’t let you get on that plane, Britt. I can’t let you just leave. I love you. And maybe that makes me a fool, but I will do what it takes. We can make it, Britt. I promise you.”
You bit your lip, waiting for me to welcome you in with open arms and profess my undying love for you. Part of me wanted to do it. Part of me wanted to take that jump. Instead, my mouth got ahead of my brain.
“You could’ve called,” I replied bitterly, “You could’ve apologized. You could’ve told me this six years ago, San. Hell, you could’ve told me this any time in the past six years. Why now? What makes you think I’m willing to take another chance with you?”
Your jaw clenched. Your heart was displayed so painstakingly, and I was stomping it and grinding it with my heel.
“You love me, too,” You said, “You wore the sweatshirt.” Half of me felt as though my bluff had been called; that I should forgive you and move on. I didn’t.
“I wore the sweatshirt because it was comfortable,” I snapped. You gave your last ditch effort and made a grave mistake. You pulled me in and kissed me like I hadn’t just told you to piss off. I slapped you. You walked away. I got on the plane and left.
I’m saying this because Rachel called me this morning to tell me about your engagement. I’ll be honest, it broke my heart. I can’t help but think I made a mistake. Anyways, congratulations and best of luck. I hope you’re happy. I do.
I guess I just wanted one last chance to tell you what I couldn’t for these past ten years.
You’re going to make a beautiful bride. It’s almost a pity I won’t be there to see it.
I wish you and your fiancé the best. Have a good life and, maybe, I’ll see you around.
Love Always,
Me