Work Text:
“Come on, Santana.”
Brittany’s sitting right in front of her today. Rachel Berry is singing ( what’s new? ), and as always, Santana tunes her out. But Brittany’s into it. She’s swaying in her seat, singing along every now and then. Santana can’t find it in herself to focus on anything but her. Everything she does just makes her so happy- it’s almost like magic. While she sits, eyes focused on the movement of her petite body, all of her problems melt away. Santana’s not worried about someone noticing the intensity of her gaze, nor is she worried about her grades, or the Cheerios, her grandmother- nothing seems to bother her.
But then it’s over. The one time she doesn’t want Berry to shut up, she decides to go ahead and do just that. At once the swaying stops. Brittany has come to a halt, and Santana has to look away now. The magic’s worn off. Worries come gushing back to her in an instant. If Santana wasn’t so strong, the sheer force of it all would be enough to knock her flat onto her ass.
Schue says something about homework, and before she can start to listen, the practice is over. Everyone gets up and leaves. Santana lingers for a second, picturing the blonde as she was a moment ago. Her fingers rubbed gently against the phone in her pocket, prepared to dial any number at record speed. Then, they stop. The only thing her hands are doing is grabbing her backpack, leaving the phone to it’s lonesome. And then Santana’s gone.
“You thought in your head- it would all be so easy .”
Home’s not much better. The only boon it offers her is privacy. Actually, it might be worse there. Memories of Brittany are scattered all over the room. And here, she has full freedom to pick up the phone and call her. No one could stop her here. Santana had no excuse not to call her friend ( because that’s all they were ).
This thought in mind, her hands reached for her phone. This time she manages to get Brittany’s contact open. Her finger looms over the screen, threatening to press down at any moment and actually call the girl. She stays like this for a good two minutes, most of her body frozen as if time has stopped. The only movement is that of her index finger. She lowers the finger, getting it dangerously close to that elusive green icon, and then it’s raised back to safety.
She can’t do it.
With a defeated sigh the phone was put down. Santana lays down and stares at the ceiling, wondering why on earth she can’t just do it? Santana Lopez isn’t afraid of anything. Never before has she been afraid to do or say anything, even if someone’s feelings got hurt. Maybe she just isn’t used to the feelings to be her own? She really isn’t sure. No one has ever made her feel like this before. It’s just so foreign to the brunette. The only ‘love’ she’s ever known are shitty one night stands with boys she didn’t care about, and who in turn, didn’t care about her. The sex means nothing to her. She can fuck a guy on Monday, and then proceed to shove him in a locker on Tuesday. It’s always just been a game to her- just some stupid, meaningless little contest that she had to win.
But Brittany wasn’t a game of Jeopardy. She was real.
“Must I always be alone?”
Desperate to make the thoughts go away, Santana rolls over and closes her eyes at five in the afternoon.
The next day isn’t any better. In fact, Santana chalks it up to the worst day of her life. She walks into the choir room, and what are her eyes subjected to? Brittany is sitting on Artie’s lap, lips locked in a passionate embrace. It takes everything she has not to cry. She sits, Rachel sings, but this time Santana isn’t watching Brittany. She fixes her gaze on everything else in the room. Once, only once, does Santana steal a glance at the vixen. She’s desperate to feel her magic again.
She feels nothing.
Santana’s the first out of the room. She runs home, throws her bag on the ground, and bursts out into a pathetic sob. Her phone ends up somewhere near her bed, which helps her grab it, considering she can’t see much through the tears. Clumsily, she unlocks it and calls Brittany. The line rings three times before someone picks up. “Hey San, what’s up?” Her entire body stiffens. That wasn’t Brittany’s voice.
The phone is thrown across the room.
But oh, she does what she wishes.
And no, she won’t be your missus.