Close Your Eyes -- Chapter 2;
Summary: Santana tries to explain to Brittany why they cannot be together, but the blonde refuses to have it. They fight, Brittany's vengeful side coming out to play. Based off the episode, "Britney/Brittany."
Characters: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13, only for mild language.
Note: This one's a lot longer than the first. Forgive me for angst-ifying the Brittany sexriot.
Fanfiction.net link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7247630/1/Close_Your_Eyes
Chapter 1
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She's avoided me ever since. A particularly loud crash rips through my right eardrum, and I whip around, seeing her slam her locker closed and walk off for rehearsal. I wince at the sound, and follow her.
"Wait, B! What's wrong? What did I do?" I place my hand on her left shoulder, gently pulling her around to face me. She pivots faster than I can follow, her hair almost hitting me, unadulterated rage painted across her face.
"Nothing, Lopez." She spits out my last name like acid on her tongue. It hits me straight in the chest, a solid thump that makes me stumble backwards, almost tripping over my own feet.
"...Britt?" She is once again the only person who can find me at a loss for words. Her eyes flash.
"What? I don't have to follow you around all the fucking time." I take another step backwards. She never swears. Never. My knees shake, daring my own body to keep itself upright, a true testament to what willpower can accomplish. I open my mouth and mentally order myself to say something. Unsurprisingly, I have nothing, and she shakes her head, now both angry and disappointed.
"I...We...Follow...No...best friends..." I feel a hitch behind my throat, my eyes fighting a battle between focusing on her and focusing on not crying. She blinks twice, once to process my lack of words, and again to challenge me to continue. I am more than aware that it is a trap, but my tongue powers on, a dangerous combination of upset and angry.
"We...We can't. Britt, I...I have a reputation to uphold! I worked my ass off to get to the top of the pyramid! What the hell do you think everyone will say? What don't you understand? We can't just do this and throw everything away. We'll turn into Lima losers, just like that! We need this. We need to be on top, because if we're not on top, we're at rock bottom. I can't protect you from rock bottom! And if I can't protect you, who will? God, B, not everyone is as bleedingly nice as you are!" My words exit my mouth twisted, harsher than I had intended, word vomit. My eyes plead with her to understand, to open her own eyes. She has always been black and white, so infuriatingly determined to make everything seem as easy as sliding our pinkies together. It makes me nauseous, fear bubbling just under my tongue. It makes me frustrated, curling my fingers into each other, squeezing until my skin is red and white. It makes me want to...well, it doesn't matter what I want. She has always been the pusher; I have always been the push-away.
She stands, frozen, her lip slightly curled in that way that means she is wholly untouchable.
"Britt-Britt...please..., I didn't mean it to come out like-" I use my childhood nickname for her, hoping to glean some reminiscent sympathy, but she is too far gone, cutting me off with a deadly whisper.
"My. Name. Is. Brittany." Her voice shoots straight through my ribcage, a serrated dagger, twisting with each word. She yanks the dagger out and turns, striding away. My hands fly to my chest as I cough, splutter, frozen.
I stumble to rehearsal, my bag falling out of my hand before I reach my seat next to her. We have always sat together. She inspects the pleats in her cheer uniform, distinctly making it clear that I am not to speak to her. My hands wipe at my face furiously, a last attempt to seem okay, a state of being that I am only vaguely familiar with. I fall into my seat, digging my thumbnails into the pads of my index fingers. I close my eyes.
We are eight and she is hanging upside down, knees curled tightly around a blue metal bar. I sit at the bottom of the slide next to the bars, looking up at her curiously. She smiles, letting her arms stretch down towards the ground, fingers barely sifting through the tanbark. I sigh softly, wishing I were that slender. She has always been lean, her body constantly drawing perfect lines in space. Me? I am currently five inches shorter than her, and slightly stocky, constantly reminded of this fact every time she cheerily offers to share her clothes with me. I always smile weakly and shake my head, and she always nods, understanding. One day, maybe.
I have little time to muse further, as the boy I hate more than Rachel Berry on vocabulary test days approaches her. She has her eyes closed, humming her favorite song. It is about a duck and a turtle, but he doesn't know that. He lets out a derisive snort, glaring at her.
"What the hell are you singing, Pierce?" She smiles, not opening her eyes.
"Well, there's a duck and-"
"It's stupid, isn't it? Just like you." Her eyes fly open, shocked, rosy lips turning downwards. Her knees lose their grip as she falls, hands scrabbling to turn herself upright. Her instincts are half a second too slow, and she lands on her side, curling into a tiny ball. He steps towards her, and I leap off of the slide, barreling into him with as much force as I can muster, hands shaking angrily. He weighs a good twenty pounds more than me, my movements hardly setting him off-balance, so I turn to my words.
"She's not stupid, Dave, you are! Take your big fat head and go pick on the hobbit!" He turns to me, and with one push of his meat hands, shoves me onto the ground next to her. I let out a hard breath, feeling the bite of several pieces of tanbark digging into my calf. She is still curled, vibrating slightly. She has never been one for confrontation, and the "s word" never fails to destroy her. Before I can scramble to my feet, he steps over me and sends a vicious kick to her back, laughing as he walks away.
I finally get up, my chest burning. Too slow, you were too slow. She doesn't have anyone else, and you were too slow. I drop to my knees in front of her, resting one hand on her shoulder lightly. She instinctively shivers away from the touch.
"Britt-Britt? It's just me, San. He's gone. He's not coming back." At least not today. My jaw shakes. I should have been faster. I should have stopped him. I should have let him kick me instead. Not you. Never you.
Her eyes open a crack and I can feel her muscles untensing slightly, her silent way of telling me it's okay to touch her. I pull her into my arms clumsily, kissing her cheek, shaking so hard that I almost miss, my lips grazing against her ear. She is still vibrating, pressing up against me, needing a place to hide. I tuck her face into my chest, not wanting her to see him across the playground, laughing with the others. My fingers pull up the edge of her shirt gently, revealing a dark blue-purple splotch. I tug her shirt back down quickly. My mouth twitches, my lower lip trembling. I've done this. I was too slow and now she has a mark to prove it.
"I'm sorry, Britt-Britt. Please." I need her to hear me, to forgive me. I was too slow. Too slow. He hurt you and I was too slow.
"I'm so sorry." She nods, a movement so imperceptible that I almost miss it. As always, she forgives me.
But I haven't forgiven myself.
I open my eyes.
"I would just like to say that from now on, I demand to have every solo in Glee club." Her words echo through the room, silent disbelief. She ignores this and continues.
"When I had my teeth cleaned, I had the most amazing Britney Spears fantasy. I sang and danced better than her. Now I realize what a powerful woman I truly am." She says this so matter-of-factly, her confidence higher than usual, not giving me even a glance. She hadn't talked to me at the dentist's either, only playing nice to get him to put us under. I'd been blessed with a moment of forgiveness immediately afterwards, quickly snapped back to reality as soon as she realized that her sex appeal would be a horrifyingly effective method of punishing me.
I look down, hearing her message clearly. She. Doesn't. Need. Me.
But I need her. So I open my mouth.
"I went with her, and I had a Britney fantasy, too. Although now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not really sure how our fantasies combined..." I trail off lamely, realizing that my attempt at reconciliation was much less useful than I'd thought it might be. She turns to smirk at me, and I smile back, a reflex that I've not been able to hold back. My smile falls as my brain catches up with her thought process, looking down again. She has an intimate knowledge of the effect her body has on me, as well as my inability to resist my hormones. She laughs gently, knowing I've fallen neatly into her trap.
"I'm more talented than all of you. It's Brittany." Her face is controlled, only solidifying the truth behind her statements. I blush angrily, digging my thumbnails even deeper, wanting to kick myself.
"...Bitch."
I freeze. She cocks her head slightly, enjoying every moment of her revenge. My fingers begin shaking harder than ever, trying to make up for the fact that my insides twisted into a black, and painful kidney stone. I want more than ever to say something back, but I cannot.
She's right.
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Chapter 3