Fic: I Have Taken a Wrong Turn
Title: I Have Taken a Wrong Turn
Author: mallardeer
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13-ish
Length: ~4,000 words
Summary: My take on the beginning of Santana and Brittany’s relationship-and why Santana doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Slight angst, I guess.
Author’s Note: This started out as a songfic, inspired by “Forevermore” by Katie Herzig, but then it kind of outgrew that as I tried to think of a reason for Santana’s keeping her feelings for Brittany a secret that didn’t have to do with fear of homophobia, because that kind of story has been told a million times. I don’t really know if I succeeded, but. Anyway, comment if you like, and thanks for reading. This is the first time I’ve ever done this.
Author’s Note 2: I took the title from “Locked Up” by Ingrid Michaelson. It’s a good song, and I suck at coming up with my own titles.
Santana had never actually punched someone in the face before. It hurt more than she’d thought it would. But she saw with satisfaction that it hurt Dave more than it had hurt her. His nose was bleeding. “What the hell!” he yelled, shoving at her blindly.
“Don’t call her stupid,” she retorted, and Dave ran inside to tell on her.
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” the new girl said quietly, and Santana deflated.
“He shouldn’t make fun of you,” she said gruffly, and the girl smiled.
“You don’t think I’m stupid?” she asked, and Santana frowned.
“No. You’re different.”
“Thank you,” the other girl said softly, and her smile made Santana’s stomach feel warm.
“Santana Lopez!” a teacher-their teacher, Mrs. Greene-called. “Inside, please.”
“See ya,” Santana said, shrugging, and resignedly followed Mrs. Greene inside.
Outside of the principal’s office, she found Rachel Berry, who had a black eye and was crying, and Santana frowned. Rachel was obnoxious, but she was so much smaller than everyone else. Who would hit her? “Sit, Santana,” Mrs. Greene ordered, like she was a bad dog. “Mr. Evans will see you in a minute.”
She left, and Santana looked at Rachel. “What happened to you?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing,” Rachel sniffed, and Santana rolled her eyes.
“You have a black eye,” she said.
“I got into a fight.”
“Pretty unfair fight,” Santana mused.
“What did you do?”
“I punched Dave.”
“For what?”
Santana shrugged. “He was being a jerk.”
“I punched Carl,” Rachel confessed.
“For what?”
“He was being a jerk.”
Neither one would share the real reason they had been fighting, but Santana thought maybe she knew what jerky thing Carl had done. “Did he say something about your dads?” Santana asked quietly, and Rachel went rigid.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I punched Dave because he called Brittany stupid,” Santana admitted, and Rachel’s eyes widened in surprise.
“You punched Dave on someone else’s behalf?”
“What?”
“For someone else?”
“Wha-? Oh. Yeah.” Santana shrugged. “Stop staring at me.”
“I didn’t think you liked anyone.”
“I like people. Quinn Fabray is my best friend,” Santana insisted.
“Because your parents make you.”
“Rachel, come inside please,” Mr. Evans said, coming to the door, and Rachel got up.
Santana was left alone, swinging her legs above the floor and waiting dejectedly for her turn. The bell rang, signaling the end of afternoon recess, and Santana just sighed. That would be her last afternoon recess for a while.
After school, Santana made sure she was the last one to leave; Quinn was waiting impatiently for her, but she just waved her on. “I heard you punched Dave. You have got to stop getting in fights, Santana,” she lectured, but that was all. What Quinn really meant, anyway, was that she had to stop getting caught.
Santana shouldered her backpack and wandered out of the school slowly. Most of the kids had been picked up or gotten on the bus. A few were running around the playground. Some were waiting for younger-or older-siblings. No one was around to bother Santana, so she started on her way home.
“Hi!” came a voice at her side, and she turned to find Brittany, all blonde pigtails and smiles, walking beside her.
“Hi,” she said quietly.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Can I walk home with you?”
“I guess. If you want.” Santana didn’t know why the new girl liked her-or why she wasn’t pushing her away. She had a feeling perfect Quinn Fabray, who always knew her catechism and always lectured Santana on how to behave properly, would not approve. One of Brittany’s pigtails was coming undone, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. And her socks didn’t match. Her hands were probably dirty, too.
“You don’t talk much,” Brittany remarked as they left the school parking lot. She was still smiling, and Santana didn’t like the way it was making her feel.
“No,” she agreed.
“I thought you were kinda scary, my first day, but I see you’re not really. I think maybe you’re just lonely, Santana. I know Quinn is your friend, but I don’t think you like her much. I don’t think she likes you much either.”
“Aw, what do you know about it?” Santana demanded, irritated.
Brittany just shrugged. “You never smile at her.”
“I never smile at anyone.”
“Why are you sad, Santana?” Brittany asked, her own smile fading.
“I’m not.”
Apparently, Brittany didn’t know what to say to that, so they kept walking in silence. “Where do you live?” Santana asked suddenly.
“Ashland,” Brittany replied, and Santana blinked.
“I live on Cortland.”
Brittany’s smile returned, full force, at the thought of living near Santana. And Santana’s stomach flipped. Irritated, she started walking faster, but Brittany, who was taller, kept up easily. When Santana got to her own driveway, she stopped short, and Brittany banged into her. “Jeez, can’t you watch where you’re going?”
“Sorry,” Brittany apologized meekly, and Santana felt oddly remorseful.
“It’s all right,” she said softly. “This is my house.”
“Oh. Okay.” Brittany grasped that she was being dismissed. “Thank you, for sticking up for me today,” she said, smiling that sweet smile that kept making Santana feel things she didn’t understand-which, in turn, made her angry.
But she pushed that away and cautiously smiled back. “You’re welcome.”
Brittany was absolutely beaming, and she leaned in and planted a quick, soft kiss on her new friend’s lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Santana was stunned. “Okay,” she managed, and she stood still while Brittany walked away, humming happily to herself.
If that’s what standing up for the new girl earned her, Santana thought she might gladly give up the rest of her afternoon-and morning-recesses.
***
“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?”
“Britt,” Santana groaned, rolling over. The girl had an uncanny knack for trying to get Santana to talk just when she didn’t want to. Usually after they’d just had sex.
“Do you?” Brittany persisted, running her fingers up and down Santana’s bare back, making her shiver.
“Yes. You were drunk, and I was drunk, and the entire football team was watching,” she said, though she knew very well that was not the first time.
Brittany fell silent and moved away from her. God. Why did she keep hurting her? Why couldn’t she just…? Disgusted, she got up and started getting dressed. “Where are you going?” Brittany asked in a small voice.
“We shouldn’t be doing this anymore,” Santana said gruffly.
“Why not?” Brittany said, and Santana hated how upset she was.
“I’m with Puck,” she sighed.
“You said sex wasn’t dating,” Brittany reminded her.
“It’s not. I shouldn’t be having sex with two people at once.” She pulled on her shirt. “I’ll see you at school.”
She left Brittany alone in her bed, and even though everyone knew Brittany wasn’t the brightest girl in their class, Santana was aware it had been made clear to her that she’d just chosen Noah Puckerman over her best friend.
It wasn’t that she was afraid of people finding out. Brittany had already blurted their secret, and no one had seemed to care, except for Kurt, who’d acted intrigued and then mostly relieved. It was that Santana hardly remembered how to love someone she wasn’t related to. She’d never been close to anyone until the day she’d punched Karofsky in the face. That was seven years ago, and she still didn’t know what to do with these feelings she had for Brittany. It was easier to get what she wanted, to rule the school, without getting attached to anyone. That was why it had been so natural to move into Quinn’s position once the former head Cheerio had fallen from grace-Santana had stopped letting herself care what happened to Quinn one way or the other.
But, she realized with a vague sense of dread, it was far too late to prevent herself from caring about what happened to Brittany.
The next day, Brittany wasn’t waiting for her at her locker, and her heart kind of sank. Before she could think of where Brittany might be, she got assaulted by Rachel. “Santana, emergency glee rehearsal after school-you’ll be there, won’t you? We really need to get in shape for sectionals, and we only have four days, and I have been unable to get in touch with Finn-”
“I’ll be there, Berry,” she said exhaustedly. “Please stop talking.” And she pushed past the small brunette and went to look for Brittany.
First, she came upon Puck and Quinn, arguing quietly by her locker. “Have you guys seen Britt?” she asked casually, and they both glared at her. “Jeez. Sorry,” she muttered, and kept walking as the bell rang.
With a sigh, she swung around and went to homeroom, hoping to catch Brittany at lunch. Of course, she was nowhere to be found, and Santana ate with the other vapid bitches on the Cheerios, not listening to a thing any of them said. At least she’d have to see Brittany at Rachel’s emergency glee rehearsal.
However, when Santana showed up in the choir room, Brittany wasn’t there, and Rachel immediately demanded to know her whereabouts. “I don’t know; I’m not her keeper,” Santana huffed, slinging her backpack to floor and taking a seat with Mike and Matt, whom she could count on not to say a damn thing.
“Of course you’re not her keeper, but I can’t remember a single day since the fourth grade when I’ve seen one of you without the other,” Rachel said, frowning. “Did you guys have a fight? Santana, we can’t lose any more members!”
“Oh, whatever. We’re toast without Mr. Schue anyway,” Santana snapped.
“Yeah. Screw this,” Puck said, getting up, and Rachel suddenly looked like she was about to cry.
“All right, all right, come on,” Artie spoke up. “We still like doing this. Don’t we? We can figure it out.”
“This is a fucking mess,” Santana decided, getting up, but then Brittany appeared, looking glum, and they stopped bickering.
“Where’ve you been?” Rachel asked, not unkindly.
“Sorry. I forgot about practice today,” Brittany said quietly and went to sit with Quinn.
“Well, all right, we need someone to sing Finn’s part in ‘Don’t Stop Believing,’” Rachel said briskly, going to the piano. “Noah?” she asked expectantly, and Puck just shrugged.
Glee rehearsal was pretty much a mess, and Rachel threw at least three fits, before everyone just gave up and went home. Santana tried to get Brittany, but she made a beeline for the door, as Rachel cornered Santana. “Oh my god, Berry, what is it?” she asked, exasperated.
“I need your help,” Rachel said, refusing to actually look at Santana.
“With what?” she asked impatiently.
“With this. No one listens to me. You care about glee club; I know you do.”
“Fine, Berry, tomorrow I’ll be your effing lieutenant or whatever, but I have got to go,” she said, rushing out the door, but Brittany had managed to disappear.
“You guys did have a fight, huh?” Rachel said quietly, handing Santana her backpack as she left the room.
“Sorry to have disrupted the perfect balance of glee club,” Santana said snidely, snatching her bag.
“You didn’t do that. I did,” Rachel said faintly, looking at the floor.
“Don’t throw yourself a pity party. He had to find out sooner or later,” Santana sighed. “Catch you later, Rachel,” she said, hardly even realizing she was using the girl’s first name.
“She really loves you, you know,” Rachel said quietly, but Santana just kept walking, unwilling to hear that.
No matter how much the rest of the student body may have believed it, Santana Lopez’s heart was not two sizes too small. If anything, it was at least two sizes too big. Ever since she could remember, she’d felt every hurt and every triumph so much that it choked her. Her parents worried, and her teachers frowned, and she hated it, but she didn’t know how to stop it until the beginning of second grade. That was when she still smiled at Quinn, when they were friends without their parents’ insistence. They were playing on the swings before school started, Santana pushing Quinn, who still knew how to have fun herself, when Andy Kramer shoved into Santana, knocking her roughly to the ground. “Watch it, spic,” he said rudely, and all Santana could do was look up at him with big, hurt eyes.
Quinn jumped off the swing and hit him, knowing that was a bad word but not what it meant-knowing most of all that it had hurt Santana. He just laughed and shoved her, making her fall over Santana’s legs. “I’m telling Mr. Phelps on you, Andrew!” Quinn yelled, furious, but Santana just tugged her back.
“Don’t bother,” she whispered, and Quinn turned to her, confused.
“He said something mean to you, and he pushed us.”
“Mr. Phelps is probably the one who taught him that word,” Santana muttered, picking herself up. “Forget it, Quinn.”
“Santana.” Quinn frowned and wiped away the tears on Santana’s cheeks, and the look on her face troubled Santana’s heart too much.
“I said forget it,” she all but growled, and Quinn, for once, obeyed her.
After school that day, she’d knocked Andy down and kicked him in the shins. Quinn had looked vaguely horrified, but she said nothing, just ran to catch up with Santana, who was striding purposefully away from the schoolyard. That was when it had changed, when she’d stopped smiling, when she’d stopped letting herself have fun with Quinn. It was soon after that that Quinn had changed as well, becoming more and more the proper little girl her parents so wanted her to be. They stuck by each other out of habit, and because deep down they felt they could still trust each other, but they never played anymore, and when Santana got picked on for being different, for having darker skin, she started swinging, and Quinn turned a blind eye. It was a rough thing to go through at the age of seven, but it made them both tougher. Safer.
But two years later, Brittany had shown up, and no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t push the other girl away. Brittany had wormed a hole into her heart, but Santana couldn’t admit it to herself, because that meant she could get hurt again-or even actually be happy again-and it was all too much. So now it was easier, much less complicated, to make herself think it was just sex-like it was with Puck. Just sex, just fun, so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge how important Brittany was to her. Or how important she was to Brittany, which was the harder thing to accept. She still didn’t want to know that Brittany loved her; she didn’t deserve that-she, who started fights, who turned on her alleged best friend in the blink of an eye, who threw slushies at hapless sophomores and routinely laughed in under-classmen’s faces, all without any remorse. Because it kept her safe.
But Brittany had always been there, tugging at the corner of her heart, somewhat like a conscience, making her feel like she should feel bad for these things she was doing. She was hurting people, exactly the way she’d been hurt, but she couldn’t stop-it kept her apart from everyone else, and keeping herself separate was the only thing she knew how to do anymore. But she’d never been able to keep Brittany separate. And look what that had gotten her.
Brittany avoided her for the rest of the week. Santana didn’t sleep or eat, and she spent Thursday afternoon getting chewed out in Coach Sylvester’s office, but it hardly made an impact. It was a hard thing for her to admit to herself, but without Brittany, being head Cheerio hardly mattered. That night, as she lay on her bed in the dark, clutching an old sweater Brittany had left behind months ago, her brother Alejandro crept into her room and sat beside her. “Where’s Britt?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Santana said, listless, letting the sweater fall out of her hands.
“You should find her,” he advised. “You’re really depressing like this.”
Santana laughed hollowly. “Thanks, Alex.”
“It’s okay if you love her,” he said, and he got up, leaving her alone in the dark.
She reached out to the other side of the bed, where Brittany had fallen asleep many times before, her blonde hair spilling across the pillows, and she clutched the blankets and heaved one dry sob.
On Friday, as soon as she got to school, she went straight to the dance room, knowing if Brittany was at school, she would be there, practicing. That’s where she always went when she was upset. Brittany was, indeed, in the dance room when Santana got there, but she wasn’t practicing. She was slumped in the corner, crying. She didn’t even notice Santana walking into the room. “Britt,” Santana called softly, and the other girl jumped.
“Sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Brittany said lamely, and Santana’s heart fell, hearing that Brittany felt she was the one who had to apologize.
“Why are you crying?” she asked gently, kneeling in front of her.
“I’m not,” she lied, turning her head.
“Please tell me,” Santana said softly.
“You keep hurting me,” Brittany blurted, and then immediately looked guilty.
At that, Santana’s heart completely fell apart. “I’m sorry,” Brittany said, seeing how she’d hurt Santana, and it was just too much.
“Don’t you apologize,” she ordered, trying to check her tears. “You did nothing wrong. It’s me; I keep… I’ve been terrible to you.”
“I tried to be patient,” Brittany said. “I thought you’d…eventually get tired of the boys and just want to be with me, like I want to be with you.”
“You…you want to be with me?” Santana asked, even though she knew the answer. And then the bell rang.
“We’re late,” Brittany said, standing up. “I’ll talk to you later, Santana.”
She needed to say something, but her mouth wouldn’t move, and all she could do was watch as Brittany walked out on her. Just as she’d done to Brittany so many times before.
Feeling wretched, she dragged herself to first period and went through the school day like a zombie. Glee rehearsal that day was better, because she got to yell at everyone, and they were actually kind of coming together. “Proud Mary” was great, and Puck was actually pretty good singing the male lead in “Don’t Stop Believing,” and everyone started to feel good about their chances at sectionals again.
But Brittany still left right after rehearsal, without a glance in Santana’s direction. “You should really tell her how you feel,” Rachel said quietly, appearing at Santana’s elbow.
“Jeez, Berry,” Santana muttered, startled. “What do you know about it?”
“I know you’ve kept yourself separate from everyone you’ve ever met your entire life, and you’re scared to admit that you care about Brittany,” she said softly, and Santana just did not have the energy to argue with her. “It doesn’t make you weak, Santana.”
“You’ve been separate from everyone your entire life, too, huh?” she said wearily, looking at the other girl for the first time since elementary school.
“Not of my own choosing,” Rachel said, shrugging.
“You were always off-putting, but they-we-shouldn’t have picked on you,” Santana found herself admitting.
“I remember when you looked impressed that I’d gotten into a fight with Carl Michaelson.”
“I was.” Santana laughed shortly.
“You never said anything rude about my dads.”
“You were easy enough to pick on without that.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said ruefully, and Santana just shook her head. “You really need to talk to Brittany,” she said gently. “For your own sake, if not for hers.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, and left Rachel without saying anything else.
There was a message from her mom on her phone, asking if she could pick Esteban up after school, and she sighed but drove to the elementary school, where her youngest brother was waiting, playing basketball with some of the other boys. “San!” he said excitedly, and ran at her.
“Hey, Steve,” she said, ruffling his hair. “How was school?”
“Good. San, are you and Britt fighting? Alex says you’re fighting,” he said innocently, and she just took his hand and walked with him to the car.
“Britt doesn’t like me very much right now,” she admitted. “I haven’t been very nice to her.”
“Why not?” Esteban asked. “She’s your friend. Isn’t she? I miss her.”
“Me too,” she sighed, buckling his seatbelt for him.
When they got home, he jumped out of the car, but she stayed put. “San, come on! I don’t have a key,” he whined, and she got up to let him in.
“I have to talk to Brittany,” she said. “Alex will be home soon. You’ll be okay, right?”
Esteban grinned and nodded. “Can I watch tv?”
“Whatever you like, buddy. It’s Friday.” She smiled as he raced into the living room, and she turned around to drive to Brittany’s house.
She found her, sitting on the swing on parents’ front porch, wearing only her Cheerios uniform and looking dejected. “Hey, Britt,” she said cautiously, and Brittany lifted her head up.
“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” she said, biting her lip.
“You were expecting me?” Santana asked, confused.
“I told you I’d talk to you later.”
“Then why did you leave right after glee?” She took off her jacket.
“I thought you’d want to talk, just us.” Brittany was getting upset, so Santana sat down with her, draping her Cheerios jacket over Brittany’s shoulders.
“I do,” she promised. “I had to pick Esteban up at school.”
Brittany looked at her expectantly, and she found she didn’t know what to say. How could she tell her all the things she’d been struggling with? “What do you want me to say?” she asked quietly, and Brittany stood up, all her patience seemingly evaporating as Santana’s jacket fell to the floor.
“Never mind, Santana. I thought you knew,” she said, her eyes filling, and Santana desperately cast about for something to make her stay.
“I remember the first time you kissed me,” she said, grabbing the other girl’s wrist.
Brittany turned and looked right into her eyes, daring her to tell the story. “It was fourth grade; you’d just moved here, and Dave Karofsky had made you cry, so I punched him, and after school you walked me home, and you said thank you, and you kissed me. And ever since that day, the only thing that’s mattered to me is making sure no one ever makes you cry again, and now…” Santana choked as a sob rose up in her throat. “Now it’s me. I’m the one making you cry.”
“Shhh,” Brittany said, sitting down and putting her arms around her. “It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right,” Santana insisted, and the sobs overwhelmed her.
“You’re allowed to make mistakes, San,” Brittany said, stroking her hair. “I’m okay. I knew you’d figure it out.”
“How did you know that?” Santana demanded.
“You’ve never let me down before,” Brittany said softly, and Santana collapsed. That was more than she could ever deserve.
They stayed out on the porch until it began to get dark, because Santana was still crying, because Santana had begun to feel everything too much again. “I’m sorry I made you cry,” Brittany said, at one point, but that just made Santana worse, so she didn’t say anything else after that.
Finally, Santana had exhausted her tears, but she kept her face in Brittany’s shoulder, unwilling to move. “San?” Brittany asked cautiously, and she lifted her head up.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, offering a watery smile.
Brittany dug in her bag and pulled out a couple of tissues, which Santana accepted gratefully. “Are you okay?” Brittany worried.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry I bawled all over you,” she said, cleaning herself up.
Brittany just smiled, that same comforting, brilliant smile she’d been sharing with Santana since the fourth grade, and kissed her gently. “Come inside,” she beckoned, getting to her feet.
“Britt?” Santana said timidly. She had to say this now, before she locked her heart up again.
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” she said, closing her eyes.
Brittany tugged on her wrist, gently, until she opened them again, and she was met with that familiar smile. “I know,” Brittany promised, and they went inside.
Author: mallardeer
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13-ish
Length: ~4,000 words
Summary: My take on the beginning of Santana and Brittany’s relationship-and why Santana doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Slight angst, I guess.
Author’s Note: This started out as a songfic, inspired by “Forevermore” by Katie Herzig, but then it kind of outgrew that as I tried to think of a reason for Santana’s keeping her feelings for Brittany a secret that didn’t have to do with fear of homophobia, because that kind of story has been told a million times. I don’t really know if I succeeded, but. Anyway, comment if you like, and thanks for reading. This is the first time I’ve ever done this.
Author’s Note 2: I took the title from “Locked Up” by Ingrid Michaelson. It’s a good song, and I suck at coming up with my own titles.
Santana had never actually punched someone in the face before. It hurt more than she’d thought it would. But she saw with satisfaction that it hurt Dave more than it had hurt her. His nose was bleeding. “What the hell!” he yelled, shoving at her blindly.
“Don’t call her stupid,” she retorted, and Dave ran inside to tell on her.
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” the new girl said quietly, and Santana deflated.
“He shouldn’t make fun of you,” she said gruffly, and the girl smiled.
“You don’t think I’m stupid?” she asked, and Santana frowned.
“No. You’re different.”
“Thank you,” the other girl said softly, and her smile made Santana’s stomach feel warm.
“Santana Lopez!” a teacher-their teacher, Mrs. Greene-called. “Inside, please.”
“See ya,” Santana said, shrugging, and resignedly followed Mrs. Greene inside.
Outside of the principal’s office, she found Rachel Berry, who had a black eye and was crying, and Santana frowned. Rachel was obnoxious, but she was so much smaller than everyone else. Who would hit her? “Sit, Santana,” Mrs. Greene ordered, like she was a bad dog. “Mr. Evans will see you in a minute.”
She left, and Santana looked at Rachel. “What happened to you?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing,” Rachel sniffed, and Santana rolled her eyes.
“You have a black eye,” she said.
“I got into a fight.”
“Pretty unfair fight,” Santana mused.
“What did you do?”
“I punched Dave.”
“For what?”
Santana shrugged. “He was being a jerk.”
“I punched Carl,” Rachel confessed.
“For what?”
“He was being a jerk.”
Neither one would share the real reason they had been fighting, but Santana thought maybe she knew what jerky thing Carl had done. “Did he say something about your dads?” Santana asked quietly, and Rachel went rigid.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I punched Dave because he called Brittany stupid,” Santana admitted, and Rachel’s eyes widened in surprise.
“You punched Dave on someone else’s behalf?”
“What?”
“For someone else?”
“Wha-? Oh. Yeah.” Santana shrugged. “Stop staring at me.”
“I didn’t think you liked anyone.”
“I like people. Quinn Fabray is my best friend,” Santana insisted.
“Because your parents make you.”
“Rachel, come inside please,” Mr. Evans said, coming to the door, and Rachel got up.
Santana was left alone, swinging her legs above the floor and waiting dejectedly for her turn. The bell rang, signaling the end of afternoon recess, and Santana just sighed. That would be her last afternoon recess for a while.
After school, Santana made sure she was the last one to leave; Quinn was waiting impatiently for her, but she just waved her on. “I heard you punched Dave. You have got to stop getting in fights, Santana,” she lectured, but that was all. What Quinn really meant, anyway, was that she had to stop getting caught.
Santana shouldered her backpack and wandered out of the school slowly. Most of the kids had been picked up or gotten on the bus. A few were running around the playground. Some were waiting for younger-or older-siblings. No one was around to bother Santana, so she started on her way home.
“Hi!” came a voice at her side, and she turned to find Brittany, all blonde pigtails and smiles, walking beside her.
“Hi,” she said quietly.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Can I walk home with you?”
“I guess. If you want.” Santana didn’t know why the new girl liked her-or why she wasn’t pushing her away. She had a feeling perfect Quinn Fabray, who always knew her catechism and always lectured Santana on how to behave properly, would not approve. One of Brittany’s pigtails was coming undone, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. And her socks didn’t match. Her hands were probably dirty, too.
“You don’t talk much,” Brittany remarked as they left the school parking lot. She was still smiling, and Santana didn’t like the way it was making her feel.
“No,” she agreed.
“I thought you were kinda scary, my first day, but I see you’re not really. I think maybe you’re just lonely, Santana. I know Quinn is your friend, but I don’t think you like her much. I don’t think she likes you much either.”
“Aw, what do you know about it?” Santana demanded, irritated.
Brittany just shrugged. “You never smile at her.”
“I never smile at anyone.”
“Why are you sad, Santana?” Brittany asked, her own smile fading.
“I’m not.”
Apparently, Brittany didn’t know what to say to that, so they kept walking in silence. “Where do you live?” Santana asked suddenly.
“Ashland,” Brittany replied, and Santana blinked.
“I live on Cortland.”
Brittany’s smile returned, full force, at the thought of living near Santana. And Santana’s stomach flipped. Irritated, she started walking faster, but Brittany, who was taller, kept up easily. When Santana got to her own driveway, she stopped short, and Brittany banged into her. “Jeez, can’t you watch where you’re going?”
“Sorry,” Brittany apologized meekly, and Santana felt oddly remorseful.
“It’s all right,” she said softly. “This is my house.”
“Oh. Okay.” Brittany grasped that she was being dismissed. “Thank you, for sticking up for me today,” she said, smiling that sweet smile that kept making Santana feel things she didn’t understand-which, in turn, made her angry.
But she pushed that away and cautiously smiled back. “You’re welcome.”
Brittany was absolutely beaming, and she leaned in and planted a quick, soft kiss on her new friend’s lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Santana was stunned. “Okay,” she managed, and she stood still while Brittany walked away, humming happily to herself.
If that’s what standing up for the new girl earned her, Santana thought she might gladly give up the rest of her afternoon-and morning-recesses.
***
“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?”
“Britt,” Santana groaned, rolling over. The girl had an uncanny knack for trying to get Santana to talk just when she didn’t want to. Usually after they’d just had sex.
“Do you?” Brittany persisted, running her fingers up and down Santana’s bare back, making her shiver.
“Yes. You were drunk, and I was drunk, and the entire football team was watching,” she said, though she knew very well that was not the first time.
Brittany fell silent and moved away from her. God. Why did she keep hurting her? Why couldn’t she just…? Disgusted, she got up and started getting dressed. “Where are you going?” Brittany asked in a small voice.
“We shouldn’t be doing this anymore,” Santana said gruffly.
“Why not?” Brittany said, and Santana hated how upset she was.
“I’m with Puck,” she sighed.
“You said sex wasn’t dating,” Brittany reminded her.
“It’s not. I shouldn’t be having sex with two people at once.” She pulled on her shirt. “I’ll see you at school.”
She left Brittany alone in her bed, and even though everyone knew Brittany wasn’t the brightest girl in their class, Santana was aware it had been made clear to her that she’d just chosen Noah Puckerman over her best friend.
It wasn’t that she was afraid of people finding out. Brittany had already blurted their secret, and no one had seemed to care, except for Kurt, who’d acted intrigued and then mostly relieved. It was that Santana hardly remembered how to love someone she wasn’t related to. She’d never been close to anyone until the day she’d punched Karofsky in the face. That was seven years ago, and she still didn’t know what to do with these feelings she had for Brittany. It was easier to get what she wanted, to rule the school, without getting attached to anyone. That was why it had been so natural to move into Quinn’s position once the former head Cheerio had fallen from grace-Santana had stopped letting herself care what happened to Quinn one way or the other.
But, she realized with a vague sense of dread, it was far too late to prevent herself from caring about what happened to Brittany.
The next day, Brittany wasn’t waiting for her at her locker, and her heart kind of sank. Before she could think of where Brittany might be, she got assaulted by Rachel. “Santana, emergency glee rehearsal after school-you’ll be there, won’t you? We really need to get in shape for sectionals, and we only have four days, and I have been unable to get in touch with Finn-”
“I’ll be there, Berry,” she said exhaustedly. “Please stop talking.” And she pushed past the small brunette and went to look for Brittany.
First, she came upon Puck and Quinn, arguing quietly by her locker. “Have you guys seen Britt?” she asked casually, and they both glared at her. “Jeez. Sorry,” she muttered, and kept walking as the bell rang.
With a sigh, she swung around and went to homeroom, hoping to catch Brittany at lunch. Of course, she was nowhere to be found, and Santana ate with the other vapid bitches on the Cheerios, not listening to a thing any of them said. At least she’d have to see Brittany at Rachel’s emergency glee rehearsal.
However, when Santana showed up in the choir room, Brittany wasn’t there, and Rachel immediately demanded to know her whereabouts. “I don’t know; I’m not her keeper,” Santana huffed, slinging her backpack to floor and taking a seat with Mike and Matt, whom she could count on not to say a damn thing.
“Of course you’re not her keeper, but I can’t remember a single day since the fourth grade when I’ve seen one of you without the other,” Rachel said, frowning. “Did you guys have a fight? Santana, we can’t lose any more members!”
“Oh, whatever. We’re toast without Mr. Schue anyway,” Santana snapped.
“Yeah. Screw this,” Puck said, getting up, and Rachel suddenly looked like she was about to cry.
“All right, all right, come on,” Artie spoke up. “We still like doing this. Don’t we? We can figure it out.”
“This is a fucking mess,” Santana decided, getting up, but then Brittany appeared, looking glum, and they stopped bickering.
“Where’ve you been?” Rachel asked, not unkindly.
“Sorry. I forgot about practice today,” Brittany said quietly and went to sit with Quinn.
“Well, all right, we need someone to sing Finn’s part in ‘Don’t Stop Believing,’” Rachel said briskly, going to the piano. “Noah?” she asked expectantly, and Puck just shrugged.
Glee rehearsal was pretty much a mess, and Rachel threw at least three fits, before everyone just gave up and went home. Santana tried to get Brittany, but she made a beeline for the door, as Rachel cornered Santana. “Oh my god, Berry, what is it?” she asked, exasperated.
“I need your help,” Rachel said, refusing to actually look at Santana.
“With what?” she asked impatiently.
“With this. No one listens to me. You care about glee club; I know you do.”
“Fine, Berry, tomorrow I’ll be your effing lieutenant or whatever, but I have got to go,” she said, rushing out the door, but Brittany had managed to disappear.
“You guys did have a fight, huh?” Rachel said quietly, handing Santana her backpack as she left the room.
“Sorry to have disrupted the perfect balance of glee club,” Santana said snidely, snatching her bag.
“You didn’t do that. I did,” Rachel said faintly, looking at the floor.
“Don’t throw yourself a pity party. He had to find out sooner or later,” Santana sighed. “Catch you later, Rachel,” she said, hardly even realizing she was using the girl’s first name.
“She really loves you, you know,” Rachel said quietly, but Santana just kept walking, unwilling to hear that.
No matter how much the rest of the student body may have believed it, Santana Lopez’s heart was not two sizes too small. If anything, it was at least two sizes too big. Ever since she could remember, she’d felt every hurt and every triumph so much that it choked her. Her parents worried, and her teachers frowned, and she hated it, but she didn’t know how to stop it until the beginning of second grade. That was when she still smiled at Quinn, when they were friends without their parents’ insistence. They were playing on the swings before school started, Santana pushing Quinn, who still knew how to have fun herself, when Andy Kramer shoved into Santana, knocking her roughly to the ground. “Watch it, spic,” he said rudely, and all Santana could do was look up at him with big, hurt eyes.
Quinn jumped off the swing and hit him, knowing that was a bad word but not what it meant-knowing most of all that it had hurt Santana. He just laughed and shoved her, making her fall over Santana’s legs. “I’m telling Mr. Phelps on you, Andrew!” Quinn yelled, furious, but Santana just tugged her back.
“Don’t bother,” she whispered, and Quinn turned to her, confused.
“He said something mean to you, and he pushed us.”
“Mr. Phelps is probably the one who taught him that word,” Santana muttered, picking herself up. “Forget it, Quinn.”
“Santana.” Quinn frowned and wiped away the tears on Santana’s cheeks, and the look on her face troubled Santana’s heart too much.
“I said forget it,” she all but growled, and Quinn, for once, obeyed her.
After school that day, she’d knocked Andy down and kicked him in the shins. Quinn had looked vaguely horrified, but she said nothing, just ran to catch up with Santana, who was striding purposefully away from the schoolyard. That was when it had changed, when she’d stopped smiling, when she’d stopped letting herself have fun with Quinn. It was soon after that that Quinn had changed as well, becoming more and more the proper little girl her parents so wanted her to be. They stuck by each other out of habit, and because deep down they felt they could still trust each other, but they never played anymore, and when Santana got picked on for being different, for having darker skin, she started swinging, and Quinn turned a blind eye. It was a rough thing to go through at the age of seven, but it made them both tougher. Safer.
But two years later, Brittany had shown up, and no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t push the other girl away. Brittany had wormed a hole into her heart, but Santana couldn’t admit it to herself, because that meant she could get hurt again-or even actually be happy again-and it was all too much. So now it was easier, much less complicated, to make herself think it was just sex-like it was with Puck. Just sex, just fun, so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge how important Brittany was to her. Or how important she was to Brittany, which was the harder thing to accept. She still didn’t want to know that Brittany loved her; she didn’t deserve that-she, who started fights, who turned on her alleged best friend in the blink of an eye, who threw slushies at hapless sophomores and routinely laughed in under-classmen’s faces, all without any remorse. Because it kept her safe.
But Brittany had always been there, tugging at the corner of her heart, somewhat like a conscience, making her feel like she should feel bad for these things she was doing. She was hurting people, exactly the way she’d been hurt, but she couldn’t stop-it kept her apart from everyone else, and keeping herself separate was the only thing she knew how to do anymore. But she’d never been able to keep Brittany separate. And look what that had gotten her.
Brittany avoided her for the rest of the week. Santana didn’t sleep or eat, and she spent Thursday afternoon getting chewed out in Coach Sylvester’s office, but it hardly made an impact. It was a hard thing for her to admit to herself, but without Brittany, being head Cheerio hardly mattered. That night, as she lay on her bed in the dark, clutching an old sweater Brittany had left behind months ago, her brother Alejandro crept into her room and sat beside her. “Where’s Britt?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Santana said, listless, letting the sweater fall out of her hands.
“You should find her,” he advised. “You’re really depressing like this.”
Santana laughed hollowly. “Thanks, Alex.”
“It’s okay if you love her,” he said, and he got up, leaving her alone in the dark.
She reached out to the other side of the bed, where Brittany had fallen asleep many times before, her blonde hair spilling across the pillows, and she clutched the blankets and heaved one dry sob.
On Friday, as soon as she got to school, she went straight to the dance room, knowing if Brittany was at school, she would be there, practicing. That’s where she always went when she was upset. Brittany was, indeed, in the dance room when Santana got there, but she wasn’t practicing. She was slumped in the corner, crying. She didn’t even notice Santana walking into the room. “Britt,” Santana called softly, and the other girl jumped.
“Sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Brittany said lamely, and Santana’s heart fell, hearing that Brittany felt she was the one who had to apologize.
“Why are you crying?” she asked gently, kneeling in front of her.
“I’m not,” she lied, turning her head.
“Please tell me,” Santana said softly.
“You keep hurting me,” Brittany blurted, and then immediately looked guilty.
At that, Santana’s heart completely fell apart. “I’m sorry,” Brittany said, seeing how she’d hurt Santana, and it was just too much.
“Don’t you apologize,” she ordered, trying to check her tears. “You did nothing wrong. It’s me; I keep… I’ve been terrible to you.”
“I tried to be patient,” Brittany said. “I thought you’d…eventually get tired of the boys and just want to be with me, like I want to be with you.”
“You…you want to be with me?” Santana asked, even though she knew the answer. And then the bell rang.
“We’re late,” Brittany said, standing up. “I’ll talk to you later, Santana.”
She needed to say something, but her mouth wouldn’t move, and all she could do was watch as Brittany walked out on her. Just as she’d done to Brittany so many times before.
Feeling wretched, she dragged herself to first period and went through the school day like a zombie. Glee rehearsal that day was better, because she got to yell at everyone, and they were actually kind of coming together. “Proud Mary” was great, and Puck was actually pretty good singing the male lead in “Don’t Stop Believing,” and everyone started to feel good about their chances at sectionals again.
But Brittany still left right after rehearsal, without a glance in Santana’s direction. “You should really tell her how you feel,” Rachel said quietly, appearing at Santana’s elbow.
“Jeez, Berry,” Santana muttered, startled. “What do you know about it?”
“I know you’ve kept yourself separate from everyone you’ve ever met your entire life, and you’re scared to admit that you care about Brittany,” she said softly, and Santana just did not have the energy to argue with her. “It doesn’t make you weak, Santana.”
“You’ve been separate from everyone your entire life, too, huh?” she said wearily, looking at the other girl for the first time since elementary school.
“Not of my own choosing,” Rachel said, shrugging.
“You were always off-putting, but they-we-shouldn’t have picked on you,” Santana found herself admitting.
“I remember when you looked impressed that I’d gotten into a fight with Carl Michaelson.”
“I was.” Santana laughed shortly.
“You never said anything rude about my dads.”
“You were easy enough to pick on without that.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said ruefully, and Santana just shook her head. “You really need to talk to Brittany,” she said gently. “For your own sake, if not for hers.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, and left Rachel without saying anything else.
There was a message from her mom on her phone, asking if she could pick Esteban up after school, and she sighed but drove to the elementary school, where her youngest brother was waiting, playing basketball with some of the other boys. “San!” he said excitedly, and ran at her.
“Hey, Steve,” she said, ruffling his hair. “How was school?”
“Good. San, are you and Britt fighting? Alex says you’re fighting,” he said innocently, and she just took his hand and walked with him to the car.
“Britt doesn’t like me very much right now,” she admitted. “I haven’t been very nice to her.”
“Why not?” Esteban asked. “She’s your friend. Isn’t she? I miss her.”
“Me too,” she sighed, buckling his seatbelt for him.
When they got home, he jumped out of the car, but she stayed put. “San, come on! I don’t have a key,” he whined, and she got up to let him in.
“I have to talk to Brittany,” she said. “Alex will be home soon. You’ll be okay, right?”
Esteban grinned and nodded. “Can I watch tv?”
“Whatever you like, buddy. It’s Friday.” She smiled as he raced into the living room, and she turned around to drive to Brittany’s house.
She found her, sitting on the swing on parents’ front porch, wearing only her Cheerios uniform and looking dejected. “Hey, Britt,” she said cautiously, and Brittany lifted her head up.
“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” she said, biting her lip.
“You were expecting me?” Santana asked, confused.
“I told you I’d talk to you later.”
“Then why did you leave right after glee?” She took off her jacket.
“I thought you’d want to talk, just us.” Brittany was getting upset, so Santana sat down with her, draping her Cheerios jacket over Brittany’s shoulders.
“I do,” she promised. “I had to pick Esteban up at school.”
Brittany looked at her expectantly, and she found she didn’t know what to say. How could she tell her all the things she’d been struggling with? “What do you want me to say?” she asked quietly, and Brittany stood up, all her patience seemingly evaporating as Santana’s jacket fell to the floor.
“Never mind, Santana. I thought you knew,” she said, her eyes filling, and Santana desperately cast about for something to make her stay.
“I remember the first time you kissed me,” she said, grabbing the other girl’s wrist.
Brittany turned and looked right into her eyes, daring her to tell the story. “It was fourth grade; you’d just moved here, and Dave Karofsky had made you cry, so I punched him, and after school you walked me home, and you said thank you, and you kissed me. And ever since that day, the only thing that’s mattered to me is making sure no one ever makes you cry again, and now…” Santana choked as a sob rose up in her throat. “Now it’s me. I’m the one making you cry.”
“Shhh,” Brittany said, sitting down and putting her arms around her. “It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right,” Santana insisted, and the sobs overwhelmed her.
“You’re allowed to make mistakes, San,” Brittany said, stroking her hair. “I’m okay. I knew you’d figure it out.”
“How did you know that?” Santana demanded.
“You’ve never let me down before,” Brittany said softly, and Santana collapsed. That was more than she could ever deserve.
They stayed out on the porch until it began to get dark, because Santana was still crying, because Santana had begun to feel everything too much again. “I’m sorry I made you cry,” Brittany said, at one point, but that just made Santana worse, so she didn’t say anything else after that.
Finally, Santana had exhausted her tears, but she kept her face in Brittany’s shoulder, unwilling to move. “San?” Brittany asked cautiously, and she lifted her head up.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, offering a watery smile.
Brittany dug in her bag and pulled out a couple of tissues, which Santana accepted gratefully. “Are you okay?” Brittany worried.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry I bawled all over you,” she said, cleaning herself up.
Brittany just smiled, that same comforting, brilliant smile she’d been sharing with Santana since the fourth grade, and kissed her gently. “Come inside,” she beckoned, getting to her feet.
“Britt?” Santana said timidly. She had to say this now, before she locked her heart up again.
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” she said, closing her eyes.
Brittany tugged on her wrist, gently, until she opened them again, and she was met with that familiar smile. “I know,” Brittany promised, and they went inside.