(no subject)
Chapter 16
The next day Quinn tells me everything about her website. It was originally planned as a platform to gather information. She’d hoped that our black orb wasn’t the only one or that maybe someone else knew something about it; that someone could tell her what Gantz actually is. She wanted people to contribute rather than putting gossip out there.
But that suicide pact? Definitely not her idea.
When I show her the site she can barely keep her eyes from popping out of their sockets. She goes completely pale and spends the rest of the day browsing through the comments section, reading and re-reading the rumors people posted and dates people announced to kill themselves.
Turns out these pacts are not about coming together as a group, but rather helping each other to find the strength to actually do it. The site is full of ‘encouraging’ words like “Life’s got nothing to offer anymore. Gantz is the answer,” “Think about the powers you’ll gain,” and “Don’t give up now. Remember everything you’ve been through. Remember that you can make it stop.”
“This is the worst thing ever,” she keeps mumbling as she scrolls through the pages. “I’m de-activating the comments section as soon as I’m finished reading.”
I know her well enough to know she’s gonna go through every single entry. She’s always had this weird sense of honor. Somehow she feels like she owes it to the people on there to read every single sentence they wrote. She opened this arena and she’s going to pay her respects to each and every one who came to take part. If she can’t take it back at least she’s going to pay attention to everyone’s history. Those people on her website existed and even though they died, they’ll go on existing in Quinn’s guilty conscious.
It’s quite a painful journey and her face looks grey and worn-out when she’s done. She doesn’t say a word; instead she just deletes the whole comments section and only leaves an e-mail account open, asking people to send her information if they know anything.
“This is the opposite of what I was hoping for,” she finally says, burying her face in her palms. We all sit there quietly for a while, and as disappointed as I am that Quinn hasn’t turned out to be the source of information I’d hoped she’d be, my sympathy for her grief is greater.
The only thing Brittany had actually found out during her investigations was that the people who had posted on Quinn’s site and disappeared shared a history of depression. Not much to work with considering they all killed themselves.
Eventually we decide to stop updating the page, but not to take it down completely, either. Maybe someday we’ll be lucky and get an e-mail with something useful.
---
The next week goes by extremely slowly. Quinn and Brittany both start working at Sheets ‘n Things, a little store run by a crazy blonde woman; she’s one of those ‘Lima Losers’ who were born here and who’re going to die here. But the pay is fair and the work is easy, and with the extra income we might be able to afford moving into a bigger apartment soon.
The outside wall next to the front door becomes somewhat of a regular meeting spot. At first I used it to get away for a while. It’s still kinda awkward living with three other people in one room. Between battles, my apartment, as run down as it is, had always served as my quiet place in this lousy world. But with Quinn, Brittany and Rachel here, the only chance of having a moment of quiet had been to go outside my apartment and sit by the door. Until the others discovered my hiding spot.
Of course Quinn had been the first one to find me. It turns out she’s actually really pleasant to have around, because just like me she loves to just be. When we sit there next to each other we only talk very occasionally. Sometimes she bumps my knee with her own or offers me a cigarette. I always tell her that I can’t afford getting lung cancer and ignore the mocking look she gives me. “Yea, I’m gonna quit, too,” she always says before lighting one and although she never mentions it, I can tell it’s because Rachel doesn’t like it. Whenever Quinn does talk, though, I can feel this old connection that I had with her before she died. She knows what issues not to tackle, and we never talk about the missions. It’s light small talk, with the few exceptions when out of nowhere she comes up with something super profound. With her punk look distracting me it’s easy to forget that she’s probably read more books than anyone else at McKinley High, including the teachers. In another life, or just life, she could’ve become a writer or an editor or something equally smart.
“You know, San,” she says on one of these occasions, “They say we’re terrified of the idea of being terrified.” I’m never sure what to do with these smart-ass statements of hers so I usually choose to stay quiet and as usual she just continues, lost in thought: “I should be terrified, too, considering everything, but I’m somehow not. All these people who commented on my website,” her eyes go dark for a second as she stares out into the distance, “they were afraid of death, but what really terrified them was the prospect of staying alive.” And she looks at me again with that sad smile she gets whenever she thinks about the life she left behind and adds: “I was terrified of the future and I was terrified of the past and now that I’ve given up on both of those sometimes I just feel empty. Sometimes I wish all my fears would come back.”
I know what she means. I know it all too well. This nothing’s been taking over everything for me as well and I used to embrace it, mistake it for safety. That’s over, though. Because I’m taking everything back.
“We’ll work on that,” I tell her. “Gantz betrayed me and I’m planning on getting back at her. I don’t know how, yet, but I’ll figure something out. And if you want, we can even get your precious fears back.”
That earns me a small laugh. She leans her head on my shoulder, but only briefly. It’s just a gesture, but it’s nice nonetheless. “I know you don’t believe in destiny and I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe you’re right. Maybe fate is just an illusion. Maybe we tell ourselves that there’s a master plan so we can avoid the burden of making all the wrong decisions.”
Yea, maybe.
“Maybe it’s all about the choices we make instead. Maybe that’s the only thing we’re really terrified of; that it’s really all on us and not on anybody else.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified of anything before.
---
One time Rachel shyly walks up to me and asks if she can take a seat. I bite back a remark about the lack of seats around and just shrug. Rachel’s the kind of girl who never runs out of things to say. It’s really annoying most of the time, but in some odd way it’s also something I admire. I’ve never been good with expressing what’s inside my head. Sure, I can do insults; I’m not bad with words generally. But Rachel’s head seems to be this organized archive and all she’s got to do is think of something and she’ll immediately have the matching vocabulary for it. She’s never speechless, never short of words, never confused about what to say. I guess it’s only annoying because that’s so different than me.
So when she sits down, of course she starts to talk right away. “Santana,” she says, “I want you to know that I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done.”
I shrug again. “Don’t mention it. No, seriously, don’t ever mention it.”
Rachel also has a habit of ignoring all my sarcasm. Fumbling with the hem of her shirt she continues: “It’s important to me that you don’t hate me.”
I just look at her, unsure of what to respond. Yea, I act like I hate her…kinda. And I absolutely do my best to let her know that I couldn’t care less about her. But she’s probably not so convinced of that anymore since I let her live with me and saved her ass and helped her find a job and lend her my stuff and all that; maybe I’m not so convinced myself anymore, either.
“I know you’ve been alone for a long time now and you’d rather not have anyone around. But we’re here now and despite everything you say to me I regard you as my friend. Maybe you’re the first real friend I’ve ever had.”
Her eyes are glistening and as much as I’d want to ignore it, I can’t. “I don’t hate you, ‘Cakes,” is all I manage to answer. I feel my voice shake a little and quickly clear my throat.
Rachel beams at me with a smile way out of proportion to my lame declaration and jokes: “Now I’m not sure if you’re talking to me or if you just want me to make you breakfast.”
That actually makes me chuckle. “Could be both.”
To be honest, she reminds me of what Nishi had told me shortly before he died. When he went down and started to cry and it was clear that he wouldn’t make it his last words were: “I never hated anyone, not personally. I just hate society.” Back then I thought it was pretty pathetic. I thought he deserved to die. A part of me still does. That’s the part that’s mad at him for betraying me.
I understand you now, Nishi. And I’ll never be like you.
When Rachel gets back up she still hasn’t dropped her smile. I’m extremely close to insulting her just to wipe it off her face, you know, out of principle. I restrain myself, though and as she opens the door she turns back around once more and comments in a challenging tone: “I’m glad. Especially because Quinn and I are dating now. I really want my girlfriend and my best friend to get along.”
She’s smart enough to quickly close the door behind her before I can respond.
---
The encounters - as I like to call them - with Brittany are a lot lighter. She comes to join me whenever I’m about to drift off into dark thoughts, as if she’s able to sense them coming; it’s like she’s a positive to my negative and she keeps me here, preventing me from getting lost. Ever since she moved in I haven’t had a single moment in which I felt sad or lonely. It’s beyond remarkable how lively she is.
It becomes pretty clear that she doesn’t think very highly of boundaries and personal space. In fact, she’s an over-sharer and for some reason can’t keep her hands to herself.
Right now she’s talking about something school related, I think. I’m not sure, because, to be honest, I’m having a hard time listening to what she says when her arm’s around my back and her hand’s holding on tightly to my waist. I hear the word “cheerleading” and try to focus on that instead of her fingers pressing into my flesh.
“Your heart’s racing.”
What?
It takes a few seconds before my brain manages to catch on. She giggles and repeats: “Your heart’s racing. I can hear it all the way over here.” ‘Here’ is actually not too far away from my chest, which may or may not be the reason for the loud hammering of my pulse.
She presses her ear against my chest, which is really unfair, because my heart increases its speed immediately. She chuckles when I try to inch away. “No, I want to hear it.”
God.
I close my eyes and rest my head against the wall behind me and try to think of something entirely different. I try not to focus on her ear against my chest or the scent of her hair or the fact that she’s practically sitting in my lap. I try to think of anything, but my mind is wiped clean and I fail to come up with a single thought.
“You’re not good with this, huh?” she finally says when she leans back again and looks at me. For a brief moment I hope she doesn’t notice that my face is flushed crimson and I’m pretty sure there’s panic written all over it, too. Disappointment flashes across her face but is immediately replaced by a genuine smile.
“Don’t worry. It’s fine with me.”
She sits back down next to me and takes my hand into hers. “I can wait,” she states. I wish I could pretend I didn’t know what she’s waiting for, but unfortunately I do. And I have no idea if I’ll ever be able to give it to her.
“I… I just…” I stutter.
I killed you. I killed you and you’re not even mad at me. And that makes it even worse. You’re not mad at me so I’m going to beat myself up for it instead and I’ll continue to do so, because it’s the only thing I know how to do right. I’ve never felt anything like this before and I have no clue what it is and I’m beating myself up for that as well. Because it’s all I’ve ever been doing. That’s how I lived and that’s why I died. I killed you and that’s all the damage I can do to you. I’ve got to punish myself for all the things I’ve done wrong and I can’t let you be part of that. I can’t pull you down with me.
“I know,” she answers. “I told you I’ll wait.”
We stay outside for the rest of the day. She talks and I try to listen; she laughs and I smile at her; she looks at me and I blush. Her hand stays on mine until the sun’s setting and I realize she’s shivering.
Quinn cracks the door open and peeks her head outside. “Guys, Rachel made dinner and I’m sure it’s vegan, but you should still come in or whatever.”
Poor Quinn misses her bacon. That’s what you get for getting involved with the dork. I’m only a little spiteful. Just a tiny bit.
---
It’s pitch black when I open my eyes. For a second or two I’m not even sure if I’m awake until my brain catches on. Brittany is wrapped around me and grabs me tight and pulls me close.
I didn’t really get to have a say in whom I share my mattress with; when Quinn had come back from the bathroom that first night she lay down next to Rachel as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And Rachel? She just glanced at her with a shy smile and lifted the covers. I hadn’t spent much time thinking about who’d sleep where, to be honest. Only when Brittany practically jumped into bed next to me and put her arms around me and whispered a sweet, “Good night,” did I realize I’d be spending my nights in bed with her. I don’t know what that means, but it definitely feels like it means something.
I don’t have an inch to move; surprisingly enough it doesn’t bother me at all. Rachel used to spoon me, too, but the way she did it was clingy, like she needed me. I don’t like to be needed. The way Brittany does it she’s telling me we’re equal. She holds on to me not because she needs to, but simply because she wants to. Rachel always asked for permission and kept up strict boundaries. Her touches were never really intimate. I could have been anyone, because anyone’s touch could confirm she was really here. I was her anchor.
With Brittany I feel like she could let go any second, because she doesn’t really need anyone. She’s strong on her own. And yet, she chooses to hold on to me, to breathe into my back and to nuzzle my neck while fisting the fabric of my shirt. It’s not demanding, either. If I told her to go, she’d go.
I don’t think I’ll ever tell her to.
“…uh…”
It’s the quietest little sigh from way across the room and if I wasn’t wide awake already I’d never have heard it. That was unmistakably Rachel’s voice and I can’t believe she’s now even incapable of being quiet in her sleep.
“…oh…”
“Shh!”
Realization hits me and for a second I consider yelling at Quinn for fucking that dork in my presence. I’m mad, because they woke me and I don’t like to be woken up in the middle of the night.
“…uhn…”
It’s a tiny whimper followed by a series of what I can only guess are little pecks on Rachel’s face.
“You have to be quiet,” Quinn whispers and when she continues: “You’re so beautiful.” my anger fades. She isn’t fucking the little dork. She’s making love and although it’s still highly inappropriate, hearing Quinn and Rachel making love to one another tugs at my heart. After that it’s only heavy breathing and flat panting and the smacking noises lips create when they meet skin.
It’s something I’ve never experienced. It’s something that I might never experience. I died before I got the chance. Then I remember that Rachel, too, is - was - a virgin before Gantz summoned her and suddenly I’m sad for all of us. There’re too many things we’ll never do or say or have in our lives. I’ll never have anyone love me and who I can love back.
I can’t be mad at Rachel. I envy her a little because, at least for a little while, she’s able to forget that she’s not alive. With Quinn she now has one good thing in this miserable world. And I can’t be mad at Quinn, either. She’s died twice. She deserves this piece of happiness even more than I would.
I hear Rachel sucking in air and holding it for a few seconds. When she finally releases it with a little whimper something washes over me.
It evokes nostalgia. It reminds me of my past as flashes from the life I once had light up in my mind: There’s my dad sitting across from me at the kitchen table. There’re pictures of my mom showing off her baby bump. There’s that girl at school I liked and who actually talked to me a couple of times. There’s the way things could have been… under different circumstances. Then there’s Quinn’s sad smile as she confesses her suicide to me. I feel Brittany’s arm around me, lying heavy on my rib cage. I hear Rachel sigh contently and I understand: I care.
I care about them. I care about us.
And it’s not one of these “Oh I don’t want to care but I still do” scenarios. It’s not one of those “I think I care, but in reality I’m just sorry” things, either. I really fucking care with the intensity of the heat of the sun. It makes my mind race and my heart ache; to call it excruciating would be an understatement. It reminds me of why it’s easier to fight alone and I swear if I had a choice I would.
But I have to accept that this choice has been taken from me. Nishi taught me to fight alone and Gantz brought me Quinn. Quinn died and again I followed Nishi’s path until Gantz brought me Rachel and forced me to fight Brittany. Whenever I think I’ve figured everything out Gantz interferes. Whenever I found a way to deal with the cruelty of this game, Gantz changes the rules.
My stomach churns at the prospect of what will happen next. I care. Fuck. Now I’ve got everything to lose.
And I have Gantz against me.
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