Words 5
"Those who hate most fervently must have once loved deeply; those who want to deny the world must have once embraced what they now set on fire." Kurt Tucholsky
It was funny how things could change so fast. A few weeks before, she had been a "nobody". To others, she used to be as uninteresting as the fading colour of McKinley High's classroom walls. She had, since then, turned into a social butterfly. Almost as popular as a Cheerio, she was invited everywhere. Girls now wanted to be her friend and boys were lining up to ask her on a date.
Coincidentally, Santana's popularity had been decreasing. The Latina seemed to be plunging into a self-indulged solitary confinement. Most of the time, she could be seen dragging her feet down the hallways. Her whole body seemed to project an aura of darkness. She was gloomy and always in her own little world.
It would have been perfect if it weren't for the fact that Santana was a fighter. She was a raging tiger. Even when wounded, she imposed respect. Girls were scared of her and, since her promiscuity level had gained a colossal escalation, boys still whistled when she passed by them. Even in her despair, she was devastatingly beautiful.
It was ironic, Rachel mused, how the heartbreaking young woman was probably acting in that was because she was heartbroken herself.
The scheming singer had noticed how sometimes, when Santana thought no one was looking, she would look at Brittany and Artie's displays of affection. Her eyes were charged with regret. Her mouth would twitch nervously. And, occasionally, her forehead with crease with what seemed to be disgust, but what Rachel now knew to be inner-sufferance. Then, her body would stiffen. She would rise her chin up and look sternly in front of her. Her visage would become a wall of impassibly.
At times, Rachel would pity her. All thoughts of vengeance would fly out of her mind and a rush of compassion would take over her heart. It would last for a minute or two, but Santana would glare at her or throw one of her snarky remarks and the feeling would go away.
It was easy to hate her. It was almost as easy as it had been to love Finn or maybe even more.
It was turning into an obsession. She would think of her vengeance constantly. She would think of Santana constantly. She was everywhere in her mind.
She knew her habits perfectly. She knew her class schedule by heart. She knew that at the end of each class she would go to the closest bathroom to readjust her hair and makeup. She knew who she thought was cool and who she thought was not. She knew to whom she liked talking and with whom she was sleeping. She knew how she would often grunt through her teeth when she was sad. She knew how she would be snappier when she was mad. She knew the way she would like to stare out the window when she was bored. She knew that, even though she was pretending not too, Santana listened to what her teachers had to say and when she found it interesting her feet would sway in a childish back and forth motion.
Indeed, Rachel knew a lot of things about Santana Lopez, but the most important thing she had learned thorough her observation was that she was, like any other human being, fallible.
She had flaws.
She had secrets.
She had fears.
She was like everyone else and like everyone else she could be broken.
Rachel was proud of herself. The pieces of her plan were slowly falling into place. That morning, she had approached coach Sylvester about hoping to be given the opportunity of making the cheerleading team. The fanatical woman had answered that she would further the question of her trying out for the Cheerio team when she had more time for it. She apparently was, at the moment, busy plotting against the football coach whom, it was well known, she hated. The fact that she hadn't been completely turned out was, in Rachel's opinion, a very good sign.
When she had told them about the possibility of her joining the team, Kelly and Meredith had, of course, squealed over the news. They were as unexciting as they were useful. Rachel still pretended to like them as mush they probably pretended to like her. During lunch time they spoke about various important issues which turned mostly around whom should date whom and whom shouldn't. Trying to escape the unbelievable dullness of her social duties, Rachel excused herself.
"I have to go to the bathroom." She said before swiftly walking away.
Shaking her head to chase a headache away, she pushed the bathroom's door opened and was met with an unexpected vision. There, next to the window, was Santana looking in a forlornly way at the twirling, dancing, battling, sea of snowflakes. Her temple was pressed against the cold hard brick, her eyes were lost in despair, and her pearly white teeth were chewing nervously unto her strawberry bottom lip. Rachel was fast to notice that she was listening to music, a sad song judging by her facial expression, which explained why she hadn't reacted to her entrance. The room was terribly cold and, even though the Latina had unconsciously wrapped her arms around her own ribcage, she was shivering. Her right foot was leisurely running up and down her calf as a poor attempt to raise her body temperature, but Santana didn't seem to care about her frozen limbs, more than that, she didn't seem to notice her body state. She was so far off in her thoughts that the exterior world didn't seem to affect her.
Rachel flushed. She felt as though she was interrupting an oddly intimate moment. She was about to leave when a whispery voice stopped her.
"You think I haven't seen you?"
The small singer exhaled a breath she didn't realized she had been holding. She looked back at Santana. The sad-looking brunette had shifted position and was now standing with her back against the wall. Her ponytail was compressed against the wall which was messing her usually perfectly neat hairdo. Her eyes, now set on Rachel, were puffy and red. Her lips were swollen and, even if a fair amount of makeup was trying to conceal it, an obvious lack of sleep could be discerned by the large blue rings under her dark brown eyes.
"You seemed like someone in need for some time alone." Rachel replied with cautious apprehension.
Santana snorted darkly.
She brought her hands together and started rubbing them roughly against one another.
"This school is so cheap. It's like there's no heath. It's so freaking cold in here."
Rachel smiled hesitantly. What Santana was telling her wasn't exactly nice, per se, but it was kinder than her usual biting comments. It almost seemed as an attempt to engage into a form of dialogue.
"I know!" She answered in a similarly frustrated tone. Through Kelly and Meredith's contact, she had gotten used to those type of interactions and it had made her discover that the best way to be liked was to pretend to be deeply invested into others conversation.
Santana shrugged her shoulders before disappearing into a bathroom stall. She came back a few seconds later with a piece of toilet paper. She opened one of the sinks and imbibed the paper with water. She, then, closed it abruptly and proceeded into wiping off the smudges of mascara under her eyes.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"She suddenly stopped and her gaze shifted into Rachel's direction." It's creeping me out."
"You look..." Rachel realized she couldn't use the qualifying words that came to her mind which were "miserable", "lonesome", or even "exhausted". She stopped on her trail and bit her lip. "You look like you're freezing. Would you like me to lend you my jacket?"
Santana huffed. Her tongue slid anxiously across her lips and she looked thoughtful for a moment.
" 'Kay, I guess I wouldn't mind. You sort of improved your wardrobe lately." She said with a crooked smile.
Rachel unzipped her jacket and handed it to the other girl. Santana grasped it greedily and soon she was analyzing from every angle the effect it had on her figure. Then, she smirked, walked towards the door, and opened it.
She paused into the doorway.
"Thanks." She said briefly before disappearing into the hallway.
Rachel watched her go with a slight smile on her face. She had to admit that part of her admired the Latina. Even if her social status was sinking, Santana still walked with her head up high.
part6