Words 14
"HYPOCRITE, n. One who, profession virtues that he does not respect secures the advantage of seeming to be what he despises." Ambrose Bierce
Colorless days were going by and Rachel still didn't have any idea to how she was going to proceed in her Machiavellian plan. She realized that she tended to find herself observing Brittany more and more.
At first, she wasn't able to understand why people as intelligent as Artie and Santana could find in such a girl. There was nothing mentally challenging in spending time with her. She could barely form a concrete sentence.
After some time of spending time with her, she started noticing some things. For someone like Rachel who could only see darkness in her surroundings, to be in Brittany's presence seemed to act like a strong analgesic.
She was a very strange girl. Sometimes, while everybody else was in class, she could be seen twirling down the hallways as if Peter Pan was pulling her by the hand towards Neverland. While everybody else seemed reluctant to go into the cold, she could be found running against the wind with her coat wide open and frozen tears of excitement in the corner of her eyes.
When she liked you, she would sometimes intertwine your fingers and invite you in her strangely wonderful world. Without even realizing it, you would lose your balance and fall into Brittany's wonderland. There, it seemed like you could breathe again. It was all your trouble would fade away and you could be as carefree as a child. Rachel had become friends with her out of necessity, but she was truly starting to be fond of her.
Contrastingly, the more time she spent with Santana, the more her hate for her grew deeper. Paradoxically, the Latina, on the other hand, seemed to grow in affection for her or, more exactly, for the image Rachel had built for herself. What was odd about it was that as much as she was cold and distant when she did not like you, when she did, her need for physical contact seemed to be restless. It was as if she had been deprived of affection for so long that, when she could get some, she would latch on it almost desperately. She also seemed to try to physically compensate for her incapacity to express herself verbally.
She would come and hug Rachel from behind when she wanted to pull her out of sorrowful thoughts. She would kiss her on the cheek when she wanted to be forgiven. She would slide her fingers up and down her arms in a feather-like touch to express contentment. She would braid her hair or simply twirl a brown lock around her finger when she was bored. Everything seemed like a pretext to touch her. It shouldn't have come as a surprised considering the fact that Santana's favourite activity seemed to be to throwing all of her emotions into her highly active sexual life. She clearly had no understanding of them which would have been sad if it wasn't so revolting.
It was the only thing Rachel could think about when those filthy hands would touch her skin or when those lips linger on her cheek.
"Where have they been?"
"Does she wash her hands?"
"Does she brush her teeth?"
In the beginning, she would flinch every time it happened or shudder with disgust. With time, she grew immune to it. It was simply one of those things she would suffer through like high school. Sometimes, she could almost convince herself that she liked it. At some point, she would gain something out of it. It was the only thing that mattered.
One night, they were working on a school project when Rachel realized that, even though it had to be the twelfth or the thirteenth time she was at Santana's house, she still hadn't met her parents.
"Where are your parents?" Santana didn't even lift her head from the book she was reading. She continued on staring at it with a frown on her face."Santana, your parents, where are they?"
"My father's working." She replied. "My mother's on a business trip." She closed her book and walked towards the bed."I'm tired of this shit. We're never gonna finish this paper by tomorrow."
"Santana, this is import-"Rachel started.
"I didn't say I didn't want to finish it."Santana interrupted her." Do you think you're the only one that wants good grades? I'm just fed up so I'm gonna take a break and we'll get back at it later."
The singer started pacing back and forth. She stopped abruptly in front of the mirror and chewed her bottom lip in a way that made her seem as though she hadn't eaten in days. She was tired of this. She couldn't stand the Latina's infuriating way of acting. She briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to calm down. She didn't want to say something that she might have regretted saying later.
Her gaze fell on the dresser's disorganized top. There were beauty products everywhere. They were carelessly piled on top of each other. On one side, Rachel could see an animal patterned bra hanging loosely around a straightening mousse. An old exam was squished between various bottles of nail polish. On top of a school book, there was a half-eaten chocolate bar which made her want to scream in horror. How could someone live in such a repulsive environment? She sighed. She grasped the cleanest looking lip-gloss and started applying it on her lips.
That's when she noticed them, Santana's sad dark eyes, half-hidden by a dark lock of hair, slowly, shyly, travelling up her legs. Even through the mirror, Rachel could see how much shame they wore. The Latina's lashes were barely able to conceal the world of emotions that existed beyond their gates. How strange was it that the fierce woman seemed so vulnerable when she thought no one was looking.
She almost looked like a defenseless child. She was clearly fearful to admit her own desires.
Rachel blushed as she suddenly realized that she was the one being scanned by that hooded stare. For a second or two, she stopped breathing. She became deeply aware of her own body which seemed to be paralyzed at the moment. It didn't make sense to her that the girl she envied the most could be physically attracted to her.
Blinking her way back to reality, Rachel nervously licked her lips.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was imagining everything. Maybe Santana wasn't looking at her the way she thought she was.
She had to verify her hypothesis. Lazily stretching her arms over he head and arching her back in a sensual manner, Rachel waited to see the other girl's reaction. As she did so, Santana shifted her position pulling her legs towards her chest as though she was trying to shield herself from some external danger. Her brown eyes darted nervously from side to side before taking their usual undecipherable composure.
Rachel laughed inwardly.
It stunned her suddenly how confident this situation was making her feel. It made her proud to know how much power she held over her enemy even if it was that kind of power or maybe because it was that kind of power.
The power Santana had over Finn.
Ironic.
Yes, truly ironic…
Rachel smiled at her own reflection. She was beautiful. She had to be beautiful for this gorgeous woman to look at her that way. The girl desired by Finn was attracted to her.
"You're right. We should take a break." Rachel blurted out after a moment.
Santana shrugged her shoulders. She unfolded her legs and changed position to lie on her back. The tension left her body as she did so. She closed her eyes. Rachel climbed into the bed and sat next to her. Her hand went to the Latina's forehead. She pushed her bangs to the side and slid her fingers down her face. It was the first time that she was voluntary touching her. Santana smiled under her touch and reached for her hand, topping it with her own.
"It tickles." Her eyes flew open. They were brown and shiny.
Rachel dropped her head on the Latina's pillow and smiled. She grasped her enemy's hand and squeezed it firmly.
Santana was not strong. She was fragile, so incredibly fragile.
part15