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[relax_o_vision]

"Friends, there are no friends." the dying wise man shouted.

Chapter 17

It’s the familiar ringing noise that indicates trouble.

---

I cough

I cry

I can’t breathe

What’s happening?

Dad?

Dad, I understand

But why is it always on me?

You have to make a choice

---

When I open my eyes I’m with Gantz and Puck’s standing in front of me, naked as ever.

“Is this becoming a thing now, or what?” I snap at him, but he just stares. I aim my weapon at him, although it’s an empty threat; he knows it and I know it. His face stays blank when he finally speaks up:

“I told you to revive Nishi.”

“Well, too bad I don’t listen to scumbags. I don’t listen to anyone anymore.”

He looks calm. Way too calm for my taste. I would beat this fucker up if it weren’t for the prospect of having to touch his junk.

“Good,” he says. “I’m on your side, you know. And she is, too.”

Oh yea? Didn’t look like it when she made me kill Brittany.

“I know you’re confused. But she wants you to know that you’re running out of time. You can’t postpone the inevitable forever. You’re almost there.”

What’s he talking about?

“What are you talking about?”

He just shakes his head. “She’s giving you all these opportunities and you just… never mind. I can’t tell you what to do. I’m afraid you’re on your own now. Just… one thing.”

He steps closer and I grip my gun so tightly my knuckles turn white.

“It’s always been you. You need to quit. No, you need to continue. Damn it.” He wipes at his brow and is obviously searching for the right words. “Just do something about all of this. You’re the only one who can.”

He steps back and I see my hands disappear. The transmission has already begun. The last thing I hear him say is: “It’s about time, Santana.”

---

“Wake up. It’s about time, Santana.”

I blink my eyes open and Brittany’s hovering above me. But before I can process that, Quinn and Rachel come into my line of vision. Rachel decides it’s a good idea to jump on the mattress next to me.

“Get up! You and Brittany need to go to school. Just because Quinn and I can’t go doesn’t mean that you get to skip.”

So, was that encounter with Puck just a dream? Can this whole mess I’m in get any more confusing?

Scratching my head I wonder if Quinn would smack me if I ordered her girlfriend to make me breakfast.

I’m so not ready to start the day.

---

The longer Gantz makes me wait for my next mission the more restless I become. Even when I’m sitting in class, it feels like each second that passes increases the possibility of me being called back. I know that’s nonsense, though, because I’m not gambling. Gantz decides when I’m supposed to fight; it’s not a matter of chance.

This last fact adds to my restlessness because it reminds me that I’m not in charge. I feel helpless, wandering through a world I tried to leave behind, always with the prospect of being forced into another world I’d like to leave. Some say suicide is the ultimate act of narcissism. “If you can’t live with dignity then you ought to die with dignity”, as Quinn taught me. But the way I see it, if you don’t have control over your life then at least you can control how you end it. I wanted to have control over my life. I wanted that. And that’s the first thing Gantz took away from me.

And now it’s even worse, because I have to worry not only about myself, but about three more lives. Rachel, Quinn and Brittany; I’m responsible for them because I’m the only one who can protect them. Maybe that’s what Puck meant when he said it’s always been me? Or did I really make it all up? Am I that much of a narcissist?

Pressing my fingertips against my temples I try to refocus on the class. Not that it matters, but I could use the distraction. All I see, though, is the empty seat two rows in front of me.

I haven’t seen Finn around since I left him standing in the apartment. McKinley’s hallways are full of gossip about his death, but no one really raises a fuss. He never got a mention in a local paper or even the school paper, for that matter. Not a single teacher talks about him. They just quietly erased him from all the attendance lists so no one ever has to say his name again. I can only guess that’s what happened to me, too.

It’s ironic, actually, if you consider what a bigwig he seemed to be when he was still alive. You’d think some of his loyal minions would miss him. Instead, no one even seems to notice that he’s gone. Classes continue like they used to, the cheerleaders still cheer, the choirs still sing and life goes on the way it always has.  Apparently being popular doesn’t automatically mean that you’re loved… or even wanted.

Later that day I have lunch with Brittany. We’ve been doing this since she moved in with me and it’s weird, mostly because it doesn’t feel weird at all. About a week ago I preferred having lunch on my own and now it almost feels like she’s always been there.

She amazes me with her enthusiasm for everything except classes. She enjoys getting up for early morning runs; she likes Rachel’s pancakes just as much as scrambled eggs; she likes it when the sun shines into her face and she likes catching drops of rain on her tongue; she likes talking to people and she even likes having lunch at school. And what she likes most of all is dancing.

“Dancing? Really?” I ask her, surprised. It’s actually something I’ve always wanted to do; it’s one of the things I never got the chance to try.

“Yea,” she replies, shoving a fry into her mouth. “I’ve been taking classes since I was little. Why?”

“Oh. It’s… uhm… just...”

She realizes I’m blushing and thankfully cuts me off: “I could teach you,” she smirks knowingly. Why does she always know everything about me?

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t that be weird, considering…” a quick look around confirms that no one’s paying attention. “…considering we’re facing death?”

She just shrugs and shoves another fry into her mouth. “No,” she says. “It’d be weird if we didn’t try to enjoy ourselves.” And I have to admit she’s got a point there. “Look,” she continues, “How about I teach you some dancing basics and you help me out with Spanish? Sound fair?”

I can’t suppress my smile when I finally nod. “Ok.”

She beams, but it only lasts a second, because some loser decides to empty his tray on to her plate and sneers: “Sorry, Brain, thought that was a trash can.” He laughs and high fives his buddy.

I’ve already jumped up from my seat, ready to break his neck, when Brittany grabs my arm. “Thanks, but we don’t want to draw attention.” And as much as I hate it, she’s right.

“Oh, screw this shit,” I bark at no one in particular. When I turn to look at Brittany, her smile has vanished and I hate it. “C’mon,” I say, reaching out my hand. “We’re gonna go somewhere less crowded.” She happily accepts my offer and I freeze when I realize that I’m holding her hand. I guess I can’t take it back now? She glances around with a shy smile and it’s so adorable that I immediately forget to be mad at myself for letting me like her.

And, yea, shit, I like her.

It’s not a special place I lead us to, but it’s quiet like I promised. No one ever comes to lurk around under the bleachers.

Brittany lets go of my hand first and it’s a little disappointing and a little relieving. We sit down on the ground against a wall. I open my bag and hand her a spare sandwich I packed this morning, but she waves me off. “No, thanks, I’m good.”

“Just take it. What if Gantz calls us back? You have to stay in shape.”

She bursts into laughter and I have no idea what’s going on. I’m sitting there with my sandwich and a frown on my face and she actually starts to snort and cry from laughing so hard.

“What’s so funny?” I try to interrupt her and she wipes her eyes as she tries to catch her breath. When she’s finally calmed down she clears her throat and says: “You are aware of the fact that I’m the more experienced fighter of the two of us, right?”

And that actually makes me chuckle, too.

“You don’t have to look out for me, Santana. But I appreciate that you want to.”

“Sorry,” I say, “I was just being stupid.”

Her face darkens and her voice sounds tiny when she speaks. “Please don’t use that word. I don’t like it.”

Oh, shit.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I don’t get it, though. Why do they all pick on you?”

She shrugs. “Why wouldn’t they? I’m not as smart as everyone else.”

“Everyone else sucks.” It’s the truth and she needs to know it. But she seems like she doesn’t quite believe me, and maybe it’s because I don’t look at her when I say it. Instead I just stare at my feet.

“I actually like talking to people. I like being around people,” she states.

“You really like a lot of things,” I comment with a small smile. It’s not even a criticism, because as much as I think that her worldview is pretty naïve I also find it pretty sweet.

“Yea, that’s true,” she answers. “But you want to know what I like best?”

Oh god, she’s probably going to talk about something totally random and endearing like cats or unicorns or sunsets or her favorite kind of bubble gum.

When she says nothing, I look up and see that she’s got a calm smile on her face. Her eyes are wide and the blue of her irides shines so bright it seems to light up everything around us.

“You.”

This girl has a habit of catching me off-guard.

---

We don’t have any classes together today so I spend a good portion of my time just staring out the window. Every now and then I overhear a conversation about college plans. I always try to ignore those, because college will never be an option for me. No need to burden myself with nonsense like that.

When the bell rings after my last class I’m beyond relieved. Not only was the last hour of geography pure  torture, but I also kinda want to go home and see the others. Well, Brittany, mostly.

I hurry to my locker and stuff my books into it, which isn’t exactly an easy task, because let’s be real, it’s a mess. Maybe Rachel’s right and I am a bit of a slob. Who cares?

Only this time the pile of books and shorts I thought I’d lost and nail files and other various items decide to fall out and spill across the hallway floor. Great.

Groaning to myself, I bend down and start picking everything up and tossing it back into my locker. Somehow my attempt to go home quickly turned out to actually slow me down.

I slam the door shut, spin on my heels, take a step forward and run right into someone.

Great.

The impact hit her worse than me and she’s actually fallen and sitting on the floor. I rub my forehead and mumble a “Sorry.”

But when I look up it’s just Rachel. I offer her my hand and help her up. “What the hell, ‘Cakes? I thought you had to work?” There’s confusion written all over her face and she stares at me as if she’s never seen me in her life.

“’Cakes?’ Who are you?” she asks and it takes a few seconds before my brain manages to process those words.

“What? Don’t fuck with me, Rachel.”

As I take a step forward she takes a step back and furrows her eyebrows. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

I want to yell at her that it’s really not funny when I realize she’s not wearing her suit, but some ugly argyle sweater and a pleated skirt. When did she buy that? Her outfit makes her look even dorkier than usual and with that notebook she’s clutching in front of her chest she could pass for an average school girl. Only when she clears her throat do I realize that I’ve been openly staring.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got to be somewhere… less creepy.”

She’s already speeding down the hall again and I’m still standing there completely puzzled over what just happened.

“Have you completely lost it?” I yell after her and she just quickens her pace.

Oh, hell no. She’s not getting away that easily. It was Rachel without a doubt, but something was seriously off and I need to know what it was.

I take a quick look around and when I’m sure no one’s paying attention I click the device on my neck. Thanks to Gantz, stalking people is a piece a cake.

Rachel’s short legs move faster than I’d expected and although it’s not hard to keep up with her, it’s annoying to move so fast without making any noise. I follow her around the block and down the street until we reach a neighborhood I don’t usually get to visit.  The houses here are nice, like, really nice and I’m so glad I’m invisible, because I’d stick out like a rat on a fancy dinner table. It’s so weird thinking that two years ago before dad died I lived in a house like that. We had a garden and a fancy car and three bathrooms and I had my own room.

God, I miss having my own room.

When Rachel stops it’s just to open a garden gate and enter one of the properties. ‘Cakes, what the hell are you up to? I hop over the low fence and watch her take a key from her purse and open the front door. I watch her being welcomed by two perfectly healthy men as she closes the door behind her, shutting me out.

I knew you were a liar, ‘Cakes. I could hear it in your voice the moment you told me that they killed your dads. But I had no idea it’d be this bad.

I decide to stick around for a bit and peek through the windows. Rachel goes upstairs to her room and I climb up the drainpipe to follow her. She sits down at her desk and starts to study. For about two hours nothing happens and it’s so boring and so awkward at the same time. This is definitely Rachel. This is ‘Cakes.

And then she flips open her laptop, gets up from her chair, picks up a microphone she had standing in one corner of her bedroom and starts to sing “Funny Girl”. I sit there, stunned. This is insane. This is fucking insane! ‘Cakes is singing. I’m dead and she’s fucking singing fucking Funny Girl.

When she’s finished she sits back down and clicks around on her laptop.

“What the fuck?!”

Her head jerks up and I realize that I’ve actually said this out loud. She furrows her eyebrows and approaches the window, looking around, searching the darkness. But the only one around is me and I’m invisible, so of course she doesn’t find anything.

Instead I get a good look at her face and into her eyes. They’re the same color brown, but these are not the eyes of the Rachel that I know. They’re not the same brown eyes that love to challenge me; they’re not the same eyes that look up to Quinn with so much adoration; they’re not the same eyes that begged me not to hate her.  These eyes are just brown eyes; they’re almost… empty. ‘Cakes seems sad most of the time, just like the rest of us, but she’s never hollow. When you look at her there’s always this spark that tells you she’s a fighter.

These eyes I’m looking into right now? They haven’t seen what ‘Cakes has seen.

I study her closely. Who are you? An alien? Have you managed to find a way into reality?

But then she raises her arms to close the curtains and I see bandages on her wrists.

‘Cakes, we really need to talk.

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