Fic: They never tell you how love hurts (´till you break)
Title: They never tell you how love hurts (´till you break) (one-shot)
Author: Sharizai
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don´t own the awesomeness that Brittany and Santana are.
Pairing: Brittany/Santana (one-sided)
Spoiler: season 1 to be sure (but not really), kind of AU-ish
Summary: Love is supposed to make you feel good about yourself, to breathe life into your darkened heart. They never tell you how falling in love can hurt you that much until you wish to never have met that one person that makes your heart beat quick and hard. (angst-ish)
You realize you have been staring at her that way again. For minutes, your gaze has been locked at her scarcely clad body moving slowly and sensually in front of the mirror and you are terribly lucky she has not caught you watching intently because she is too focused on applying make-up and fixing her hair.
She runs the brush through thick waves of the black cascading down her shoulders and you just know how heavenly it feels to bury your hands in her hair and hold her close so you two share not only body-heat but breathe the same air.
You shudder because these are thoughts that keep you wide awake in the midst of the night, rolling restlessly on your bed with your legs tangled in the sheets, your face pushed into your pillow, screaming your heart out when your hands travel the path you wish hers would find.
But she is not “that way”, you know for sure (You hate how at almost sixteen you cannot even admit to yourself what this might be. The hell, how are you supposed to when you don´t find the right words?) and if she knew that being with her on the Cheerios is the best damn thing that has happened to you in your whole life -not because of the power you have gained over the student pody and most of the teachers at MC Kinley High or the respect or maybe the national championship your team won last year but because you can be close to her, because it allows you to spend lots and lots of time with her without anyone second guessing your intentions or putting a label on you- she´d freak out.
She´d throw a tantrum and in the end, although she might not admid it, you´d lose her to the fear that shakes her every being.
She´d be gone and you in turn would no longer be able to spread sunshine and love.
You know what she is doing. What she is been doing all your life, forever, since the day you met and she decided to be your knight in shining armour thus you immediately falling for her.
Back then she was a kid like every other (but more special) with scarred knees, ripped jeans and a weakness for chocolate. She was bright and friendly and popular. But when you walked into her life she gave up everything. -Willingly and proudly so. (For there was this chance for you to be hers [and her to be yours although she did not know] and even stupid Quinn Fabray had not such a best friend she could have sleep-overs with at the weekends. Well, she had but Rachel Berry was even back then far from cool. And anyways, she was not Brittany. She was not Brittany.)
She changed with everyone else but stayed the same with you.
-Only fear of her wrath can protect you -the most important thing in her life- from being picked on by the other children. From being called mean names, from being tossed in the dumpster or slushied day after day.
Santana knew what she was giving up but she did not even consider the other choice:
Being one of those girls at school that look down at you, calling you a retard or a special needs.
Instead, she forced her way up the social ladder, pushing and scowling and screaming and sometimes even kicking.
She has become Santana Lopez. She has a name and a reputation. She has changed. But she changed for you.
Dragged you up behind. Always keeping you close, pinkies linked. -She´s been keeping you safe.
However… if she knew…
You being a bit slow in the mental department…
You socializing with those people from Glee which, with every other person would equal a hard and long fall from grace…
You skipping down the halls singing rainbows and unicorns…
She can take that.
She can make them not care about all that shit and recognize the beauty in your soul. She can make you shine because she herself is the Black Hole that suffocates all the insults, swallows punch after punch, fights like a lioness.
You being a lesbian? (If that is what this seems to be; you are not sure)
She cannot take that.
You do not know why. You really do not understand people fussing about if someone loves a man or a woman but you realize with dread: she cannot handle you falling for her.
She just cannot.
And that´s that.
It does not matter you have been SantanaandBrittany forever, a single unit, an unbreakable bond keeping you tigether.
She is bending backwards for you.
Straddling lines.
It just does not matter. If you say those words, let them slip in a weak moment (one of those you have had too many times around her, lately) she will disappear from your side. Taken from you. Ripped apart.
You blink for she has turned around and is facing you now; talking. Her hair is up and you can feel the harsh pain on your scalp from the tight ponytail the two of you have been wearing now for almost two years.
On the one hand you long for nothing more than to gently free her hair from that ribbon and let her lose. (You wonder if she would go back to being the little girl you first met and if you could be SantanaandBrittany in a whole new way then.)
On the other hand you know this -the ponytail, the uniform, the scowl- is her knight´s armour, her weapon.
-Without, you´d not only lose the life you know but after some time Santana, too.
Now they belong together.
They are one.
A mighty power.
Pieces from a whole.
Her hands are on her hips and you watch them silently. They have long, slender fingers with neat but short fingernails. Santana has painted them red the other day -or was it you? You do not know because in your mind the lines blur, you have a hard time figuring where you and she begins - but they are chipped for Santana has a nasty habit of chewing on them when nervous.
She would never admit it; you know anyways. You know everything there is to know.
You know how she hates Quinn Fabray because even though you are supposed to be friends by now, she is looking down on you.
Scolding Santana for being a whore (which she certainly is not, you think. Because even if she says otherwise, she has never slept with a guy and in your understanding, to be a slut you have to have lots of sex) and talking shit about you behind your back. It is not what friends do.
You know how she loves singing and how she wishes to be a part of Glee Club. You have seen her eyes shining when “American Idol” is on TV and sometimes when you were sleeping over at her place and Santana thought you were already asleep, she´d sing for you in the dark room.
You know how she is proud to be a latina, having that fire inside, how she adores her family, how behind all those snarky remarks there is still left a pure core.
You simply know her. -Thinking that maybe she knows you just as well makes your heart beat faster. Although she has never said so (since you have become Cheerios), it would mean she cares.
“Did you see what Rachels was wearing today?” She sits down on her bed across from you, her skirt riding up a bit, revealing some more skin (out of respect you refuse to look, which is kind of hard. Surrounded by all things so purely Santana, her smell, all those things she has touched, her bed… you can barely hold on to the edge of your sane mind.).
“I mean, how comes her dads let her out of the house like that? -Aren´t gays supposed to have a good fashion sense?” She chuckles and you join her because, seriously that look Berry was sporting today was horrible.
Then you think about what she said. The wheels are only turning slowly but you finally grasp the words. Have you a good fashion sense? Or is that an unwritten rule restricted to the male homosexual population? That Kurt Hummel guy sure has a good eye for clothes and he is almost throwing up rainbows. You always thought lesbians were supposed to wear only Birkenstocks and flannel so maybe it is really only about the G in the GLBT. -Or maybe you are not a lesbian. Or maybe you have to kiss a girl first… scratch that. Been there, done that with Santana at Puck´s party a few months back… maybe it is the sex that turns you into a flat top-sporting , jicma- eating raging lesbian.
“You´ve been silent since we came here.” ,she says, tracing invisible lines on the covers. “You ok, Brit?”
With everyone else she would not have noticed, she would not care. -With you, she does.
For a second you decide to be brave. To say it and face the consequences. Set her free and continue that farce they call life on your own. Then you realize that for you, there is no life without her. There is no you without her.
So you nod and smile.
However, there must be some bravery left in you because the next moment you take her hand and say: “I love you.”
You do not shy away from her gaze, surprised but pleasantly so. Her lips almost brush your ear when she leans forward and hugs you. “Me too. You are my best friend.”
You hold her, knowing this is one of those moments. With your face in her hair she cannot see that sad look in your eyes.
Best friends.
It is not what you meant.
~*~
It is almost a year later that you lose it and slip. Things have changed.
You are sure. You are a lesbian, the sex seals the deal.
It´s been innocent enough, it is always been an act for the boys.
-Those are her words.
“Sex is not dating.”
“If it were, Santana and I would be dating.”
Author: Sharizai
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don´t own the awesomeness that Brittany and Santana are.
Pairing: Brittany/Santana (one-sided)
Spoiler: season 1 to be sure (but not really), kind of AU-ish
Summary: Love is supposed to make you feel good about yourself, to breathe life into your darkened heart. They never tell you how falling in love can hurt you that much until you wish to never have met that one person that makes your heart beat quick and hard. (angst-ish)
You realize you have been staring at her that way again. For minutes, your gaze has been locked at her scarcely clad body moving slowly and sensually in front of the mirror and you are terribly lucky she has not caught you watching intently because she is too focused on applying make-up and fixing her hair.
She runs the brush through thick waves of the black cascading down her shoulders and you just know how heavenly it feels to bury your hands in her hair and hold her close so you two share not only body-heat but breathe the same air.
You shudder because these are thoughts that keep you wide awake in the midst of the night, rolling restlessly on your bed with your legs tangled in the sheets, your face pushed into your pillow, screaming your heart out when your hands travel the path you wish hers would find.
But she is not “that way”, you know for sure (You hate how at almost sixteen you cannot even admit to yourself what this might be. The hell, how are you supposed to when you don´t find the right words?) and if she knew that being with her on the Cheerios is the best damn thing that has happened to you in your whole life -not because of the power you have gained over the student pody and most of the teachers at MC Kinley High or the respect or maybe the national championship your team won last year but because you can be close to her, because it allows you to spend lots and lots of time with her without anyone second guessing your intentions or putting a label on you- she´d freak out.
She´d throw a tantrum and in the end, although she might not admid it, you´d lose her to the fear that shakes her every being.
She´d be gone and you in turn would no longer be able to spread sunshine and love.
You know what she is doing. What she is been doing all your life, forever, since the day you met and she decided to be your knight in shining armour thus you immediately falling for her.
Back then she was a kid like every other (but more special) with scarred knees, ripped jeans and a weakness for chocolate. She was bright and friendly and popular. But when you walked into her life she gave up everything. -Willingly and proudly so. (For there was this chance for you to be hers [and her to be yours although she did not know] and even stupid Quinn Fabray had not such a best friend she could have sleep-overs with at the weekends. Well, she had but Rachel Berry was even back then far from cool. And anyways, she was not Brittany. She was not Brittany.)
She changed with everyone else but stayed the same with you.
-Only fear of her wrath can protect you -the most important thing in her life- from being picked on by the other children. From being called mean names, from being tossed in the dumpster or slushied day after day.
Santana knew what she was giving up but she did not even consider the other choice:
Being one of those girls at school that look down at you, calling you a retard or a special needs.
Instead, she forced her way up the social ladder, pushing and scowling and screaming and sometimes even kicking.
She has become Santana Lopez. She has a name and a reputation. She has changed. But she changed for you.
Dragged you up behind. Always keeping you close, pinkies linked. -She´s been keeping you safe.
However… if she knew…
You being a bit slow in the mental department…
You socializing with those people from Glee which, with every other person would equal a hard and long fall from grace…
You skipping down the halls singing rainbows and unicorns…
She can take that.
She can make them not care about all that shit and recognize the beauty in your soul. She can make you shine because she herself is the Black Hole that suffocates all the insults, swallows punch after punch, fights like a lioness.
You being a lesbian? (If that is what this seems to be; you are not sure)
She cannot take that.
You do not know why. You really do not understand people fussing about if someone loves a man or a woman but you realize with dread: she cannot handle you falling for her.
She just cannot.
And that´s that.
It does not matter you have been SantanaandBrittany forever, a single unit, an unbreakable bond keeping you tigether.
She is bending backwards for you.
Straddling lines.
It just does not matter. If you say those words, let them slip in a weak moment (one of those you have had too many times around her, lately) she will disappear from your side. Taken from you. Ripped apart.
You blink for she has turned around and is facing you now; talking. Her hair is up and you can feel the harsh pain on your scalp from the tight ponytail the two of you have been wearing now for almost two years.
On the one hand you long for nothing more than to gently free her hair from that ribbon and let her lose. (You wonder if she would go back to being the little girl you first met and if you could be SantanaandBrittany in a whole new way then.)
On the other hand you know this -the ponytail, the uniform, the scowl- is her knight´s armour, her weapon.
-Without, you´d not only lose the life you know but after some time Santana, too.
Now they belong together.
They are one.
A mighty power.
Pieces from a whole.
Her hands are on her hips and you watch them silently. They have long, slender fingers with neat but short fingernails. Santana has painted them red the other day -or was it you? You do not know because in your mind the lines blur, you have a hard time figuring where you and she begins - but they are chipped for Santana has a nasty habit of chewing on them when nervous.
She would never admit it; you know anyways. You know everything there is to know.
You know how she hates Quinn Fabray because even though you are supposed to be friends by now, she is looking down on you.
Scolding Santana for being a whore (which she certainly is not, you think. Because even if she says otherwise, she has never slept with a guy and in your understanding, to be a slut you have to have lots of sex) and talking shit about you behind your back. It is not what friends do.
You know how she loves singing and how she wishes to be a part of Glee Club. You have seen her eyes shining when “American Idol” is on TV and sometimes when you were sleeping over at her place and Santana thought you were already asleep, she´d sing for you in the dark room.
You know how she is proud to be a latina, having that fire inside, how she adores her family, how behind all those snarky remarks there is still left a pure core.
You simply know her. -Thinking that maybe she knows you just as well makes your heart beat faster. Although she has never said so (since you have become Cheerios), it would mean she cares.
“Did you see what Rachels was wearing today?” She sits down on her bed across from you, her skirt riding up a bit, revealing some more skin (out of respect you refuse to look, which is kind of hard. Surrounded by all things so purely Santana, her smell, all those things she has touched, her bed… you can barely hold on to the edge of your sane mind.).
“I mean, how comes her dads let her out of the house like that? -Aren´t gays supposed to have a good fashion sense?” She chuckles and you join her because, seriously that look Berry was sporting today was horrible.
Then you think about what she said. The wheels are only turning slowly but you finally grasp the words. Have you a good fashion sense? Or is that an unwritten rule restricted to the male homosexual population? That Kurt Hummel guy sure has a good eye for clothes and he is almost throwing up rainbows. You always thought lesbians were supposed to wear only Birkenstocks and flannel so maybe it is really only about the G in the GLBT. -Or maybe you are not a lesbian. Or maybe you have to kiss a girl first… scratch that. Been there, done that with Santana at Puck´s party a few months back… maybe it is the sex that turns you into a flat top-sporting , jicma- eating raging lesbian.
“You´ve been silent since we came here.” ,she says, tracing invisible lines on the covers. “You ok, Brit?”
With everyone else she would not have noticed, she would not care. -With you, she does.
For a second you decide to be brave. To say it and face the consequences. Set her free and continue that farce they call life on your own. Then you realize that for you, there is no life without her. There is no you without her.
So you nod and smile.
However, there must be some bravery left in you because the next moment you take her hand and say: “I love you.”
You do not shy away from her gaze, surprised but pleasantly so. Her lips almost brush your ear when she leans forward and hugs you. “Me too. You are my best friend.”
You hold her, knowing this is one of those moments. With your face in her hair she cannot see that sad look in your eyes.
Best friends.
It is not what you meant.
~*~
It is almost a year later that you lose it and slip. Things have changed.
You are sure. You are a lesbian, the sex seals the deal.
It´s been innocent enough, it is always been an act for the boys.
-Those are her words.
“Sex is not dating.”
“If it were, Santana and I would be dating.”