By The Sea (3/?)
Title: By The Sea
Author: mayislytherin
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Brittany/Santana
Word count: 1,580
Summary: "By the sea...I found my heart." A tale of friendship, discovering yourself, and the beauty in life
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Glee, unfortunately.
Warnings/Spoilers: This is AU
Author's notes: The beach house featured in this story is a real place this is what it looks like: click. Not much to say but I'm sorry for any errors! I hope you enjoy and thank you for the reviews!
The door closes a little too loudly and there's a soft rumble of thunder as it does. Santana hears footsteps on the stairs before her door is pushed open, light filling it up; she pulls her covers over her body tightly. Brittany stands there, makeup smeared on her face, shaking and obviously drenched from the rain.
"Santana?" She slurs, "Can I come in?"
"No." Santana answers, her face heating up, anger and jealousy running through her veins.
"Why not?" Brittany pouts, ignoring what Santana says and walking into her room, "Can I wear your clothes?"
Sighing, Santana sits up in her bed, reaching down and putting on her shirt on the floor by her bed as quickly as she can. "Why do you want to come in, anyway? You ditched me, remember?"
Brittany overlooks what she says again as she undresses, pulling on a pair of Santana's shorts and a t shirt, thunder rolls in once more. She jumps. Landing softly into Santana's bed she makes a small whining noise, "I hate storms. I hate them so much." She crawls towards Santana and hides in the pillows around her.
"What about Nikki?" Santana questions, "Why didn't you stay with her?" The tone in her voice is harsh, not that she meant it to be, not when Brittany is shaking in her bed the way she is.
Brittany mumbles something in the pillow that Santana can't understand, but she chooses to not question it again, placing a hand on Brittany's back. "Hey, it's okay. It's just rain."
"It's not that." She turns on her side and faces Santana, "It's the memories it brings." Lightning flashes out the window and soon Santana has Brittany so close their noses are touching. "Sorry." She whispers.
"It's okay…do you want to talk about it?" Brittany turns away from Santana and looks up at the ceiling, hearing the pitter-patter as the rain falls on the roof. Her breathing follows along with it before she decides to talk.
"One night when I was sixteen, I told my parents something really big." Brittany finally speaks up, gulping, "I expected it to go okay, I didn't think what would happen would."
"What did you tell them?" Santana knows the answer, but she wants it to be something else, there's goose bumps on her forearms, her neck, even her goddamn ankles.
"I told them that I'm gay." The words take a few seconds to fully slip from Brittany's lips, her buzz from earlier in the night still lingering, "and it's not like my parents were ever homophobes, I had a lot of gay friends that they always seemed to like." She faces Santana like before but with more distance, "I'll never forget the way my dad looked at me, the way he told me to get out of his house, how my mom helped him throw my clothes out on the lawn. It was pouring that night, the rain was almost hail-like, and it stung my skin. But I couldn't leave so I - I just sat outside all night."
Santana's eyes are full of tears looking for an escape route, she feels like she might be choking, "Oh, Brittany." She reaches her hand to touch Brittany's face, "Did they let you back in?"
"Yes." She closes her eyes, "Just because they wanted me to take Maggie and clean out my room. They didn't even stay home when they let me in." A tear rolls freely down Brittany's cheek, she sighs as she wipes it out of the picture; "Things are different now. I really hated myself then."
Santana looses it then, similar to how she felt in the bathroom hours before, because she hates herself. She hates herself like Brittany did. For the same reason, all because she's different, because she's not what a girl is 'supposed' to be, and most of all because she's not confident. She's no Brittany, she's no Kurt. She's just Santana: a liar, a secret-keeper, a loner.
Brittany's eyes widen at the sight of the other girl, her arms wrapping around her as she tries to calm her down. "Santana, it's okay, it's okay."
"It's not, Brittany. It's not, not even a little." Santana finds herself curling up into the arms around her, though everything in her head is saying to push them away, to tell Brittany to leave the room. She doesn't listen to her head; she listens to another voice - her heart.
Santana wakes up beside someone else for the first time. And it feels good. It feels really good.
She gets dressed and goes downstairs to grab the sketchbook she bought with her other art supplies, heading outside to the sandy beach. There aren't many people around, just a few groups near the opposite side of where she chooses to sit away from it all so she can take everything in. It's weird how someone can live in a place for years, and never really see what it looks like. Really looks like. Santana wonders if it's the same with a person. Maybe she had met the right person years ago, but never looked at them the correct way, or maybe she hadn't even looked at herself the right way in the moments she spent eying herself in the mirror, searching for some form of imperfection. She flips through her sketchbook, watching empty pages pass by, until she catches a little scribble of writing on the corner of one of them. Some letters are caps and some are lowercase, scribbled just like a child's writing, it takes her a moment to figure out what it says: "You can do it - B"
And then she can't stop sketching, Santana doesn't even know what she is drawing until she drops the pencil in the sand, her brain relaxing. Then she looks at it, a picture of the ocean with two dark eyes hovering above it in the sky. It's dark - too dark. So much that it makes her put the sketchbook aside, and think of her childhood. Her escape.
A small Santana Lopez sits on the swings, her feet kicking her up higher and higher. Another girl is beside her, two long braids hanging on the sides of her head, a laugh that echoes each time she swings high enough to shake the swing set.
"Sanny! Look, look! It's like we're flying." The girl says, "Like Peter Pan."
"I want to be Peter!" Santana says, "But only if you're Wendy."
The two of them stop swinging and run off into the playground, arms extended like airplanes, screaming about never land. They fall in the sandbox and laugh and laugh. So carefree, so happy. It's a routine, everyday they play. House, dolls, hopscotch, jump rope.
It stops over the years, becoming less frequent, until the other girl shuts her out completely when they turn thirteen. Quinn Fabray.
Santana pushes her out of her mind. That was then, this is now. Her hands trail through the sand, as she watches a couple walk beside the shore of the water, carrying on about pointless things. But they're happy, she notices, their smiles aren't forced and their eyes aren't empty. She wants that.
But how can she reach it? There are a lot of steps to getting somewhere comfortable, to finding someone.
Who am I? She asks the sky, the sun, the faded moon. Help me.
When she gets home Brittany is laying on the couch with a bag of frozen vegetables on her eyes.
"Hangover?" Santana questions, watching Brittany nod with a groan.
"You know it."
"I guess it's not a good time to practice your reading then?" Santana moves Brittany's feet and sits down, placing them back into her lap.
"No, definitely not." Brittany wiggles her toes, "I wish, I really want to do that."
"You will soon, I promise."
"A promise is a big thing."
"I know. But, this is one I know I can keep." Santana rests the back of her head on the couch, sighing deeply, "Do you remember last night at all?"
"Of course. I wasn't that drunk. I just don't drink often, so it kind of hits me hard when I do." She sits up and swings her legs off of Santana, "Why did you cry so much? I can't remember that, did I do something?"
"No! Of course not. I just…what you said affected me."
"Why?" Santana starts to think Brittany asks too many questions.
"Are you hungry? There's this restaurant we can drive to that I think you'd like." Santana gets up and walks around, trying to act busy and distracted.
"Santana, I'm not stupid."
"I never called you that, you're far from it."
"Then stop trying to distract me and tell me what's up." Brittany smiles a little, reaching out to her.
"Just…I can't really talk about it." Santana takes a breath, "It's a touchy subject right now."
Brittany just looks at her, "You can tell me anything, I promise I won't judge you."
"It's not you…" It's me, It's all me. "I'm just not ready to talk about it." Santana heads up the stairs and goes into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, her chest tightens. There's a decision to be made that she doesn't feel like making. Why can't things be simple? Why can't they just be written on people's faces? Why do I have to say the hardest words that have ever exited my mouth?
"I'm gay." She says it to the air, because it will listen.
Author: mayislytherin
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Brittany/Santana
Word count: 1,580
Summary: "By the sea...I found my heart." A tale of friendship, discovering yourself, and the beauty in life
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Glee, unfortunately.
Warnings/Spoilers: This is AU
Author's notes: The beach house featured in this story is a real place this is what it looks like: click. Not much to say but I'm sorry for any errors! I hope you enjoy and thank you for the reviews!
The door closes a little too loudly and there's a soft rumble of thunder as it does. Santana hears footsteps on the stairs before her door is pushed open, light filling it up; she pulls her covers over her body tightly. Brittany stands there, makeup smeared on her face, shaking and obviously drenched from the rain.
"Santana?" She slurs, "Can I come in?"
"No." Santana answers, her face heating up, anger and jealousy running through her veins.
"Why not?" Brittany pouts, ignoring what Santana says and walking into her room, "Can I wear your clothes?"
Sighing, Santana sits up in her bed, reaching down and putting on her shirt on the floor by her bed as quickly as she can. "Why do you want to come in, anyway? You ditched me, remember?"
Brittany overlooks what she says again as she undresses, pulling on a pair of Santana's shorts and a t shirt, thunder rolls in once more. She jumps. Landing softly into Santana's bed she makes a small whining noise, "I hate storms. I hate them so much." She crawls towards Santana and hides in the pillows around her.
"What about Nikki?" Santana questions, "Why didn't you stay with her?" The tone in her voice is harsh, not that she meant it to be, not when Brittany is shaking in her bed the way she is.
Brittany mumbles something in the pillow that Santana can't understand, but she chooses to not question it again, placing a hand on Brittany's back. "Hey, it's okay. It's just rain."
"It's not that." She turns on her side and faces Santana, "It's the memories it brings." Lightning flashes out the window and soon Santana has Brittany so close their noses are touching. "Sorry." She whispers.
"It's okay…do you want to talk about it?" Brittany turns away from Santana and looks up at the ceiling, hearing the pitter-patter as the rain falls on the roof. Her breathing follows along with it before she decides to talk.
"One night when I was sixteen, I told my parents something really big." Brittany finally speaks up, gulping, "I expected it to go okay, I didn't think what would happen would."
"What did you tell them?" Santana knows the answer, but she wants it to be something else, there's goose bumps on her forearms, her neck, even her goddamn ankles.
"I told them that I'm gay." The words take a few seconds to fully slip from Brittany's lips, her buzz from earlier in the night still lingering, "and it's not like my parents were ever homophobes, I had a lot of gay friends that they always seemed to like." She faces Santana like before but with more distance, "I'll never forget the way my dad looked at me, the way he told me to get out of his house, how my mom helped him throw my clothes out on the lawn. It was pouring that night, the rain was almost hail-like, and it stung my skin. But I couldn't leave so I - I just sat outside all night."
Santana's eyes are full of tears looking for an escape route, she feels like she might be choking, "Oh, Brittany." She reaches her hand to touch Brittany's face, "Did they let you back in?"
"Yes." She closes her eyes, "Just because they wanted me to take Maggie and clean out my room. They didn't even stay home when they let me in." A tear rolls freely down Brittany's cheek, she sighs as she wipes it out of the picture; "Things are different now. I really hated myself then."
Santana looses it then, similar to how she felt in the bathroom hours before, because she hates herself. She hates herself like Brittany did. For the same reason, all because she's different, because she's not what a girl is 'supposed' to be, and most of all because she's not confident. She's no Brittany, she's no Kurt. She's just Santana: a liar, a secret-keeper, a loner.
Brittany's eyes widen at the sight of the other girl, her arms wrapping around her as she tries to calm her down. "Santana, it's okay, it's okay."
"It's not, Brittany. It's not, not even a little." Santana finds herself curling up into the arms around her, though everything in her head is saying to push them away, to tell Brittany to leave the room. She doesn't listen to her head; she listens to another voice - her heart.
Santana wakes up beside someone else for the first time. And it feels good. It feels really good.
She gets dressed and goes downstairs to grab the sketchbook she bought with her other art supplies, heading outside to the sandy beach. There aren't many people around, just a few groups near the opposite side of where she chooses to sit away from it all so she can take everything in. It's weird how someone can live in a place for years, and never really see what it looks like. Really looks like. Santana wonders if it's the same with a person. Maybe she had met the right person years ago, but never looked at them the correct way, or maybe she hadn't even looked at herself the right way in the moments she spent eying herself in the mirror, searching for some form of imperfection. She flips through her sketchbook, watching empty pages pass by, until she catches a little scribble of writing on the corner of one of them. Some letters are caps and some are lowercase, scribbled just like a child's writing, it takes her a moment to figure out what it says: "You can do it - B"
And then she can't stop sketching, Santana doesn't even know what she is drawing until she drops the pencil in the sand, her brain relaxing. Then she looks at it, a picture of the ocean with two dark eyes hovering above it in the sky. It's dark - too dark. So much that it makes her put the sketchbook aside, and think of her childhood. Her escape.
A small Santana Lopez sits on the swings, her feet kicking her up higher and higher. Another girl is beside her, two long braids hanging on the sides of her head, a laugh that echoes each time she swings high enough to shake the swing set.
"Sanny! Look, look! It's like we're flying." The girl says, "Like Peter Pan."
"I want to be Peter!" Santana says, "But only if you're Wendy."
The two of them stop swinging and run off into the playground, arms extended like airplanes, screaming about never land. They fall in the sandbox and laugh and laugh. So carefree, so happy. It's a routine, everyday they play. House, dolls, hopscotch, jump rope.
It stops over the years, becoming less frequent, until the other girl shuts her out completely when they turn thirteen. Quinn Fabray.
Santana pushes her out of her mind. That was then, this is now. Her hands trail through the sand, as she watches a couple walk beside the shore of the water, carrying on about pointless things. But they're happy, she notices, their smiles aren't forced and their eyes aren't empty. She wants that.
But how can she reach it? There are a lot of steps to getting somewhere comfortable, to finding someone.
Who am I? She asks the sky, the sun, the faded moon. Help me.
When she gets home Brittany is laying on the couch with a bag of frozen vegetables on her eyes.
"Hangover?" Santana questions, watching Brittany nod with a groan.
"You know it."
"I guess it's not a good time to practice your reading then?" Santana moves Brittany's feet and sits down, placing them back into her lap.
"No, definitely not." Brittany wiggles her toes, "I wish, I really want to do that."
"You will soon, I promise."
"A promise is a big thing."
"I know. But, this is one I know I can keep." Santana rests the back of her head on the couch, sighing deeply, "Do you remember last night at all?"
"Of course. I wasn't that drunk. I just don't drink often, so it kind of hits me hard when I do." She sits up and swings her legs off of Santana, "Why did you cry so much? I can't remember that, did I do something?"
"No! Of course not. I just…what you said affected me."
"Why?" Santana starts to think Brittany asks too many questions.
"Are you hungry? There's this restaurant we can drive to that I think you'd like." Santana gets up and walks around, trying to act busy and distracted.
"Santana, I'm not stupid."
"I never called you that, you're far from it."
"Then stop trying to distract me and tell me what's up." Brittany smiles a little, reaching out to her.
"Just…I can't really talk about it." Santana takes a breath, "It's a touchy subject right now."
Brittany just looks at her, "You can tell me anything, I promise I won't judge you."
"It's not you…" It's me, It's all me. "I'm just not ready to talk about it." Santana heads up the stairs and goes into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, her chest tightens. There's a decision to be made that she doesn't feel like making. Why can't things be simple? Why can't they just be written on people's faces? Why do I have to say the hardest words that have ever exited my mouth?
"I'm gay." She says it to the air, because it will listen.