Yellow Cakes
Title: Yellow Cakes
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: Reference to drug abuse, so I guess it's PG-13?
Summary: A short one. Sans good feelings. Also death and angst.
Spoilers: Sectionals
The wet moonlight shone upon her, sympathising with its pale thoughtful gaze. The cold wind saunters by, leisurely, mercilessly; she could feel its dry abuse leaving her bravely vulnerable. The irony of how her skin feels so acutely the touch of invisible ghostly winds, yet her heart, no matter how painfully it strives to catch any shattered pieces only her touch and warmth could provide, to still remained heavily void, perplexes her.
Hours thread by,or maybe slurred minutes...she wasn't sure. She's lying on the floor, drowsy and happily relaxed. The initial euphoria beginning to diminish. It doesn't matter though, cause she's happy. She lazily streches her arm upwards, smiling at the light, "How happy is the light?", she thought. "How happy is the world? The sad sad world...", letting out a weak chuckle, she turned sideways, facing the abandoned needle. She smiles, drifting towards the dreamy horizons of the warm synthetic paradise. "....she's happy, she's always happy."
**
That was about 5 years ago when she overdosed and was later rushed to the hospital. "Close.", the doctors noted, relieved or perhaps sadly at the prospect of what there is to come. She was sent to a rehab, broke out twice and had since relapsed about 4 times. Her parents were supportive, still are; her friends concerned, helpful although they themselves are very much aware of the limiting extent to which she could be helped or understood. It's a cliche to ponder the ever defeating question of "Why?", but as abruptly as the sick question arises, as soon as it fades into the mist of anger and rage. She couldn't understand how or when or what exactly went wrong. "Why?" Another vase was broken, another glass, cup or any fragile objects which seem to have offended her in some way, was crushed with her melancholy rage.
"Santana..?! Santy..!", she cried, her inconsolable sobs unbearable, to herself and to her parents. The walls hummed silently, the wind was at a standstill, the only motion she felt were of her trembling tears, warm and burning her soft cheeks; cheeks which used to be rosy-red, cheeks which Santana used to cup with her gentle hands, cheeks where feathery kisses dance upon them, cheeks that blushes and once rests on Santy's soft breasts...She let out a vacuous laugh, Santana had told her that she was the only one she had and will ever love, the one whom Santana will grow old and be grumpy with. Yet somehow, somewhere, someone decides that maybe it would be poetic or maybe funny, or maybe it would be repaying some kind of karmic debt to have Santana taken away from her. Taken away without the power to even pretend that she has a choice, taken away through the hands of some white trash drunk driver. Taken away...taken away before they had even graduate, or attend college together, or have their beautiful wedding, on the whitewashed beach, the warm sun, maybe they could have yellow wedding cakes, cause yellow was Brittany's favourite colour, or they won't be having cakes, because Santy hates cakes, that would be fine too, Brittany would let Santy choose, Santana...Santy...she hates cakes doesn't she? She hates cakes...Santana hates cakes. But she loves Brittany. She loves Brittany...Santana loves Brittany...
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: Reference to drug abuse, so I guess it's PG-13?
Summary: A short one. Sans good feelings. Also death and angst.
Spoilers: Sectionals
The wet moonlight shone upon her, sympathising with its pale thoughtful gaze. The cold wind saunters by, leisurely, mercilessly; she could feel its dry abuse leaving her bravely vulnerable. The irony of how her skin feels so acutely the touch of invisible ghostly winds, yet her heart, no matter how painfully it strives to catch any shattered pieces only her touch and warmth could provide, to still remained heavily void, perplexes her.
Hours thread by,or maybe slurred minutes...she wasn't sure. She's lying on the floor, drowsy and happily relaxed. The initial euphoria beginning to diminish. It doesn't matter though, cause she's happy. She lazily streches her arm upwards, smiling at the light, "How happy is the light?", she thought. "How happy is the world? The sad sad world...", letting out a weak chuckle, she turned sideways, facing the abandoned needle. She smiles, drifting towards the dreamy horizons of the warm synthetic paradise. "....she's happy, she's always happy."
**
That was about 5 years ago when she overdosed and was later rushed to the hospital. "Close.", the doctors noted, relieved or perhaps sadly at the prospect of what there is to come. She was sent to a rehab, broke out twice and had since relapsed about 4 times. Her parents were supportive, still are; her friends concerned, helpful although they themselves are very much aware of the limiting extent to which she could be helped or understood. It's a cliche to ponder the ever defeating question of "Why?", but as abruptly as the sick question arises, as soon as it fades into the mist of anger and rage. She couldn't understand how or when or what exactly went wrong. "Why?" Another vase was broken, another glass, cup or any fragile objects which seem to have offended her in some way, was crushed with her melancholy rage.
"Santana..?! Santy..!", she cried, her inconsolable sobs unbearable, to herself and to her parents. The walls hummed silently, the wind was at a standstill, the only motion she felt were of her trembling tears, warm and burning her soft cheeks; cheeks which used to be rosy-red, cheeks which Santana used to cup with her gentle hands, cheeks where feathery kisses dance upon them, cheeks that blushes and once rests on Santy's soft breasts...She let out a vacuous laugh, Santana had told her that she was the only one she had and will ever love, the one whom Santana will grow old and be grumpy with. Yet somehow, somewhere, someone decides that maybe it would be poetic or maybe funny, or maybe it would be repaying some kind of karmic debt to have Santana taken away from her. Taken away without the power to even pretend that she has a choice, taken away through the hands of some white trash drunk driver. Taken away...taken away before they had even graduate, or attend college together, or have their beautiful wedding, on the whitewashed beach, the warm sun, maybe they could have yellow wedding cakes, cause yellow was Brittany's favourite colour, or they won't be having cakes, because Santy hates cakes, that would be fine too, Brittany would let Santy choose, Santana...Santy...she hates cakes doesn't she? She hates cakes...Santana hates cakes. But she loves Brittany. She loves Brittany...Santana loves Brittany...