1 Minute, 30 Seconds
Disclaimer: I’ve never had cancer, nor do I personally know anyone with cancer. I know absolutely nothing on what it is really like to be a victim of the disease. So in the context of pain and loss, and life and death - I’m sorry if my writing understates it.
Writer’s Note: I adore you all. It appears as though this story has readers on FF, LJ, and AO3, and I appreciate that. I will seriously do my best to update as soon as I can. I fully intend to complete this before season 4 is released in September. But at the same time, I also hope that you guys do your best to leave comments, because it’s the only way for me to know what you think, or how I’m doing. Sound fair enough? Haha. I hope so.
I had a bit of a hard time writing this update. I kept changing it. I’m not sure if I achieved what I hoped to. I feel I should warn you - we are stumbling into… grave matters, so to speak. But take heart, dear readers. My outline for this story is more than 10 pages, and there are still six minutes and 30 seconds after this.
--
1 Minute, 30 Seconds
“It was night and we were spinning.
The world stood still, but the time was winning.”
Smother + Evil = Hurt, The Kissaway Trail
I wanted to be late, so I refused to leave the house until I was already thirty minutes behind.
“The party can start without me.” I told my mother when she asked me why I was moving so slowly. She raised her eyebrows briefly, before wiping off the question on her face and plastering a smile over her lips.
“Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I watched her go, the warm combination of relief and appreciation settling deep in my gut. The first few days after I met Brittany, the atmosphere in house had been cautious. And that’s putting it mildly. It was more like my parents were tiptoeing, really. But their carefulness wasn’t from some kind of misplaced uncertainty; on the contrary, my parents were very aware that something was wrong, and they were giving me the space and time I needed to think for myself. They knew I would tell them myself when I wanted to.
I slipped very slowly into my clothes, and it felt for a moment like I was putting on someone else’s skin. I didn’t really want to go to the party - the idea of celebrating the loss of a limb made me seriously question Will’s sanity - but it felt even worse not to go. Like I was being too spiteful that Artie was going to be able to keep his life while I couldn’t.
“I’m ready.” I called out to my mother when I began to make my way down. I heard her stand from where she was sitting in the kitchen, and she appeared by my side just as I reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Wow.” She paused. “You look nice.” She complimented, pausing to give me a quick once over. It wasn’t much, really, but for the first time in a long time, I had elected to wear a pair of black jeans that weren’t too baggy or shapeless. My red shirt wasn’t too loose-fitting, either, thought it certainly was a far cry from what I knew other girls my age were capable of wearing.
“Thanks.” I said mutely, suddenly feeling keenly conscious.
My mother smiled, a twinkle entering her eye. “Anyone in particular you’re dressing up for?”
I looked up at her in mild embarrassment. “Uhm, no?” I swallowed against my throat, which felt oddly tight. “It’s a party, Mom. People dress up for parties. I mean… why would you think that?”
“I was teasing you, honey.” She began leading the way towards the front door. “That’s all.” She opened the door and waited for me to step out ahead of her. “So, is Brittany going to be in the party tonight?”
I shrugged, ignoring the casual tone of her voice. “I don’t know. She has no reason to be.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” She murmured as we walked towards the car. I could practically feel her side-glance burning holes into the side of my face.
“Right.” I drawled slowly, shaking my head once as I followed her. I walked out the door and shut it securely behind me. “Sure. I totally believe you.”
She laughed as we both stepped into the car. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
--
When we finally arrived in McKinley, I stalled by putting on my black jacket very, very slowly, before reaching for the glove compartment so I could pull out my notebook. When I was done, I inhaled slowly and turned to face my mother.
She was looking at me, in that deep way she had the tendency to. Her eyes softened when she asked me, “Will you be alright?”
I looked away and nodded. She knew. She always did, operating on that motherly instinct, the one that told her everything she needed to know in a single glance. She could already tell that all my delaying tactics weren’t for some stupid reason, like: I woke up this morning and decided I wanted to be late. She understood me well enough to know that my line of thinking went more like this: I woke up this morning and felt weird about going to a party that might very well be my last.
“Are you sure?”
I tightened my grip on my notebook and nodded again. After a pause, I took another deep breath and unbuckled my seat belt. “What time will you be back?”
“I have to swing by the grocery. Two hours, maybe?” She hesitated. “Unless you want me to be here earlier, and we can do the groceries together. It’s your choice.”
“It’s alright.” I gave her a wobbly smile. “Any time’s good with me.”
She said nothing for a moment, before reaching into her jacket pocket to pull out a small item. It stayed in her palm for a moment, like she was weighing it, before handing it to me. “Your father’s old phone.”
I frowned slightly, confused. “What for?”
She gave a tiny shrug, keeping her voice light. “You might need something.”
I doubted that I was going to need anything, but I accepted it anyway. When I took it from her hand, she flung an arm around and me and squeeze once, then let go. “Have a good time, Santana.”
Everyone already seemed to be in the choir room when I walked into it. The space had been cleared out to give way to a large table, where an assortment of food and beverages were. People were moving across the room, revealing both familiar and unfamiliar faces. There was karaoke music playing loudly, and I heard Rachel Berry singing long before I even saw her. After a quick search, I spotted Quinn sitting in the back of the room, sipping slowly from a bottle of water. I made my way to her instantly, dropping unceremoniously into the empty maroon seat beside her.
She looked at me. The smile she gave me in greeting was sweet but haunting, her lips void of their normal, pinkish color. I felt an odd ache, looking at her; there was an unearthly beauty beneath her unhealthy, pale skin. She was getting sicker, I could tell. We both were.
“Hey.” I said softly, as though any louder noise was going to startle us both. “How are you?”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Can’t say I’ve ever been worse.”
I chuckled dryly at her reply, fighting back a strange urge to reach out and touch her. Before I could, my throat suddenly felt blocked up, and I leaned forward and began coughing. After a near-violent fit, I collapsed back on the chair with a tired groan.
Her eyes were flashing with concern. “Are you alright?”
I waved my hand away dismissively. She didn’t look completely assured, but she dropped it. She offered me the bottle of water, and I took it gratefully, taking large mouthfuls of water.
“So.” She began, taking back the bottle as I handed it to her, “Brittany told me you gave her a ride home.”
I nodded in confirmation, shooting her a quick dirty look. “No thanks to you.”
She apologized guiltily. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to leave her behind. Puck just gets carried away some times.”
“I know. You both obviously got caught up in your own little A Walk To Remember thing.” I paused, then added hastily, “Without the dying part, though.” She made a small, half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. I was slightly tempted to draw it out a little longer - to pretend that I was mad, or something like that - but I decided to cut her some slack. “Seriously though, it was okay. My mom likes her, so it really wasn’t much of a problem.”
She paused, mulling over my words. “I’m glad.” She said finally. “But what about you?”
I furrowed my brows. “What about me?”
“Do you like her?”
The question caught me off-guard, but I didn’t want her to know just how much. Why do you ask? I almost wanted to say, but I decided not to. Looking away, I said nonchalantly, “She’s alright.” Before she could continue talking about her best friend, I nodded towards Rachel. She was attempting, with excruciating results, to belt out Kelly Clarkson’s Cry. Frowning, I pointed out, “She sounds really hoarse.”
Quinn turned her head to follow my line of sight, running her eyes over the short singer. Her gaze lingered noticeably on the now highly visible lump on the front of Rachel’s neck. “She’s obviously in pain.”
“Well, yeah.” The interruption came from my side, the voice sending recognition signals pinging in my brain. She’s here, I remember thinking. Mom was right. My entire body seemed to thrum with sudden energy, and I felt a body fall into the chair beside mine. My hand tightened over my notebook. “The thyroid is below the voice box, so every time she insists on singing, it’s going to hurt.” Brittany paused, allowing her sudden presence to wash over me. She looked beyond me to wave at Quinn, while I swallowed, keeping my gaze focused on the subject of our discussion.
“That’s the price of pretending everything’s okay.” I wanted to come across as derisive, but my voice was softened by something that sounded like pity. “It’s her fault.” I added, to cover the softness up.
But Brittany had already picked up on it. I felt her eyes move to the side of my face. “Shouldn’t someone tell her to stop? She’s only making her condition worse.”
Quinn replied for us both. “Maybe someone would, if her boyfriend weren’t around.” She raised an arm to point to one of the newcomers I wasn’t acquainted with, a teenager who I would come to describe in my notebook as big, tactless muscle. “His name is Finn, apparently.” Quinn continued, while the three of us watched him watch Rachel.
It was interesting, how he didn’t seem to look at anyone else except the girl struggling to sing. At first, I thought it was because he was one of those guys who didn’t acknowledge the world outside his girlfriend, until I realized he was consciously and actively avoiding eye-contact with everyone else in the room.
“Is there something…” I paused, trying to come up with a better word as I observed him in his discomfort, “well, you know, wrong with him?”
Quinn snorted softly. “He probably thinks he’ll get sick if he looks at any of us in the eye.”
From my peripheral vision, I saw Brittany shake her head. “Oh.” Her voice was hard; it was enough to make me do a double-take. “He’s one of those.”
I didn’t need to ask her what she meant, because I knew exactly what she meant. He was one of those people who, while not entirely discriminatory against sick people like us, didn’t exactly know how to deal with them, either. “So why is he here, then?” I asked incredulously. “Blaine would have been a better companion for her vocal escapades.”
Quinn nodded slowly. “Maybe. But he can’t sing right now.” Her gaze travelled through the crowd before settling on someone in particular. “Look.”
Blaine wasn’t sitting on a chair, but he probably should have been. He was leaning very heavily into Kurt, who kept both arms securely around him. Kurt was normally the paler one of the two, but that day, Blaine was much, much whiter in contrast. It was such a horrible description to make, but I remember thinking to myself how alive Kurt looked, standing next to Blaine.
Brittany, of course, had something wildly different to say about it. In a dreamy voice, she declared, “They’re the most beautiful couple in the room.”
I finally turned to her and stared, while Quinn laughed beside me.
“What?” Brittany protested, grinning unabashedly. “They are. And Rachel and Finn can pass for the most awkward, since I can’t understand the dynamics of their relationship; if he doesn’t know how to be around sick people, how do they get along?”
I opened my mouth to reply that the dynamics between Rachel Berry and her boyfriend were the least of my worldly concerns, but the only sound that came out was the harsh barks of another coughing fit. I stood up unsteadily, trying to ignore the worried expression on Brittany’s face. I waved away the hand she lifted to help me. “Water.” I croaked, pointing to the table with the beverages. “I’m going to get water.”
I knew the metallic taste in my mouth well, and I wanted to get rid of it.
When I finally got a bottle of water in my hands, I put my notebook down so I could use both hands to twist the top open. I felt calmed when the first flood of water washed into my mouth, removing the awful taste of blood. I kept drinking until the bottle was empty. My throat felt significantly less raw, but it was beginning to hurt just to breathe.
“Did you know that 15% of all people are left handed?”
I should have known she was going to follow me. Ignoring her question, I posed my own: “Are you stalking me?” I wanted to sound teasing, but my voice was tired, even to my own ears. I fought to hide the grimace of pain from my face as I reached for my notebook, my back still turned to her.
The little laugh she let out shouldn’t have been endearing, but it was. “Not that you aren’t worth that kind of effort, but no, I’m not.” I turned around to face her just as she reached for a can of Coke. “I’m just really thirsty.” She wiped the lid of the can with the bottom hem of her light blue cardigan, before opening it gingerly. “Did you know that without artificial coloring, Coca Cola would be green?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Why would I care to know something like that?”
She was about to reply when Kurt’s smooth voice interrupted from behind her, politely requesting her to pass a bottle of water to him. She turned around eagerly to introduce herself, before firing off with, “You and Blaine are adorable together.”
I took advantage of the temporary distraction to slip quietly back to my seat. Quinn was still there, watching Mike and Tina dance across the room. Their movements were soft and basic, but it was obvious that Mike had a lot of talent. Rachel had finally stopped singing, taken over by Will, who was crooning something Michael Buble.
But it was Artie who captured my attention. He was talking to Emma, his hands clasped tightly in his lap as he nodded along to whatever it was she was telling him. He smile was wide, and he was obviously trying his best to put up a brave front - but I could see right through him. His nervousness was almost palpable, and I couldn’t blame him. I knew how he felt.
Surgery was a big deal. Something could always go wrong. Or, worse - the surgery could go off without a hitch, but they could find something much worse that they didn’t notice before.
“He must feel like crap right now.” I heard myself say. Quinn turned to me questioningly, before following my gaze. When she saw who I was looking at, she made a quiet sound of agreement.
“Losing a leg is… difficult.”
Ironically, it was at that moment that Brittany suddenly reappeared.
“Hey.” She grinned at us both. See looks between the two of us and asked, “Why so serious?”
Quinn gestured to the boy in the wheelchair. “We were talking about Artie.”
The landscape of Brittany’s face shifted instantly. The grin vanished, replaced by grim line. In a small voice, she asked, “Do you think I should go talk to him?”
I exchanged a glance with Quinn. Carefully, the shorter blonde replied, “It might help him.”
Brittany turned her eyes to me, clearly seeking out my own opinion. I raised an eyebrow, feeling surprised; I couldn’t understand why she would care what I think. Except she obviously did, because she was waiting patiently for me to respond. Finally, clearing my throat, I answered, “Only if you really want to.”
She nodded slowly, looking deep in thought. After a moment, she sighed and stood up. Right before she left, she murmured, “I’m not really sure what I should say.”
We watched her limp towards Artie. When she was out of earshot, I muttered to Quinn, “Is she going to be alright?”
Quinn looked at me, smiling slowly. Her hazel eyes returned to Brittany, and she said, “Brittany will find a way to make sense of everything. She’s amazing that way.”
I looked back at the taller blonde. She was sitting on the ground beside Artie. Even from a distance I could see the earnestness in her eyes as she spoke to him. “So,” I began before I could stop myself, “all the trivia.”
Quinn’s lips twitched slightly. “What about it?”
I swallowed. “Why does she do it?”
She chuckled lowly. “Why, does it annoy you?”
I shook my head quickly. “Well, not really. It’s just… different.”
She made a hum of agreement. “I think it’s charming.”
I made a sound deep in my throat. After a pause, I dared to ask, “Is it… part of how she makes sense of everything?”
Quinn looked at me, her eyes warm. “Maybe you should ask her.”
I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I just looked away. Luckily, her phone suddenly began to ring. She stood up hurriedly, explaining, “it’s Puck” before making her way out of the choir room.
I looked around the choir room. Everyone seemed to be in their own little worlds. I let my eyes linger on Brittany, who was talking animatedly with Artie. He laughed, and the sight was more sincere than all the smiles he’s been wearing earlier.
Quinn was right; she was charming. And her charm worked on everyone.
Flipping my notebook open, I pulled out a pen from my pocket and began to write.
--
Brittany found me that way, bent over on the chair. I had just finished writing out the sentence If it took the amputation of all my limbs to save my life, would it be worth it? when she sank into the chair Quinn was previously occupying.
“Hello.”
I looked up at her, closing my notebook quickly. “Really?” I asked, faking surprise. “No clever trivia to greet me with? I’m disappointed.”
She smiled, but it looked half-hearted, and made me think her mind was far away. “Where did Quinn go?”
“Her boyfriend called.”
“Oh.”
There was a pause, and it felt out of place. I didn’t know Brittany well, but any lags in a conversation with her felt seriously strange. “Are…are you alright?”
She inhaled deeply, before reaching in to her pocket and pulling out a piece of paper - the same one, I was almost sure, as the one she’d held the last time I saw her. Her ran her thumb and forefinger over the worn texture of the paper, before putting it back into her pocket. “I’m fine.” She told me, sounding a bit more like the Brittany I was used to. “What about you?”
"Actually, I want to ask you something." I blurted out, meeting her gaze head-on.
She raised an eyebrow. All traces of half-heartedness or absentmindedness vanished as she grinned cutely. "Well, Santana Lopez. Ask, and you shall receive."
I shook my head, trying not to be amused. "I asked Quinn, but she told me to ask you.” She looked even more curious, if that was possible. “What is it with all the trivia?"
Her smile slipped slightly, looking slightly surprised. Then she chuckled lowly, shaking her head once. "You always take me by surprise, Santana Lopez. It's a nice feeling."
I knew I was blushing, but I wanted to act like I wasn't. "Seriously. Why do you know all of those little things?"
“Are you sure you want to know?"
“I asked, didn't I?"
She nodded, smiling in a satisfied sort of way. “Well, I’ll tell you, but you have to tell me something in return, too.”
I raised my eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
She looked at me for a long moment, like she was choosing her words carefully. She moved closer to me, until our knees were touching. The contact made me feel warm. “I just want to understand.”
I began to feel slightly nervous, but I fought against it. “What is it?”
“But I don’t want you to get upset. I know last time I didn’t say it right-”
“Brittany.” I interrupted. “What is it?”
She breathed in deeply, then exhaled. “It’s about your notebook.” When I said nothing, she took it as a hint to continue, just as I hoped she would. “Why do you keep it?”