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Sam crossed his arms as he noticed the shirt his girlfriend was wearing.
Brittany was sat there wearing a property of Louisville cheerleading department shirt. A shirt that clearly had belonged to Santana. He was pretty sure those sweatpants were Santana’s too because he saw her wearing them last year.
“You look grumpy.” Brittany pointed out from her spot sitting on the bed.
“Why are you wearing her clothes?” He asked going straight to the point.
“What?” Brittany looked confused as she glanced down at her outfit.
“You’re wearing her clothes. Why?”
“These are my comfy clothes…I always wear them after motocross.”
“You’re wearing her clothes. Santana broke your heart, and you’re sitting here, with your boyfriend, wearing her clothes.”
“These are my pants.”
“They’re not. I saw Santana wear them all the time when we dated.”
“Yeah, she stole them from me.” Brittany shrugged. “Are you telling me you don’t share clothes with your friends?”
“You’re not sharing clothes with your friend, you’re sharing clothes with your ex!”
“I used to share clothes with Q all the time too. She’s just a lot further away so it’s hard to keep doing it.” Brittany defended herself. “Plus her style was very…sunday school and I don’t remember the last time I went to church…okay, that I went to church without Santana.”
“You went to church with Santana?”
“Yeah, all the time. If I slept over at her house on a Saturday night I had to go with her to church on Sunday mornings.”
“You never want to come to church with me.”
“Well, I don’t go to church with Santana anymore either. Mostly because she doesn’t go to church anymore. I mean Father Reyes molested five alter boys and he’s still welcome, but because San likes sweet lady kisses she’s not allowed in the church anymore.” Brittany sighed. “But you need to get used to the fact that I share clothes with my best friend and Santana is still my best friend. So I’m going to wear her shirts, not her pants because they’re way too short on me, she’s so tiny. So if you don’t want to date me for wearing it, that’s fine.”
“What if I give you some of my shirts?” Sam offered.
“Yeah, no. You have horrible style. No offense. I mean it’s fine for a boy, if a boy is fashionable, you know he’s a bit gay. So…”
“Alright. Can you put on a different shirt though? It says Property of Louisville on it…”
Brittany just rolled her eyes and took the shirt off.
“If we have sex will you drop this whole thing?”
“Yes.”
…
Kurt rubbed his eyes because he knew he couldn’t be seeing this right.
There was Santana standing in the kitchen making some fancy drink for herself, dressed in short sleep shorts and a long sleeve, bubblegum pink and cotton candy blue FXR motocross jersey with the name Pierce and the number 28 written on the back.
“What are you wearing?” He finally asked.
“Clothes.” Santana answered simply as she finished making her cocktail.
“That’s Brittany’s shirt…why are you wearing her shirt?”
“Fuck off Lady Hummel, I didn’t ask for your fashion advice, and I will never ask for your fashion advice unless I have the sudden urge to look like a dollar store knockoff version of one of Liza Minnelli’s Badly Closeted Husbands. So fuck off.”
“Does Brittany know you stole her race shirt?”
Santana chugged her drink and then poured some of the pure liquor into the glass, downing that as well.
Kurt sent a picture of Santana he just took off to Brittany to see if she knew that said shirt was missing.
Me: Hey Britt, do you know that this shirt is in New York?
Brittany: Yeah, it’s been hers for like three years now. I steal it back now and then so it smells like me again.
Brittany: DON’T TELL ANYONE I SAID THAT
Brittany: Shit. Kurt Really. Don’t. Tell. Santana. You. Know. That.
Brittany: How is she?
Brittany: Has she just been drinking the whole time?
Me: She is heartbroken over the break up and I think she made a voodoo doll that is meant to be Sam, but has like…well…let’s just say if Sam was black, the lips she put on it would be really racist.
Me: Why’d you two break up anyways? I asked her and she got mad.
Santana sank down on the couch/her bed and continued to drink.
After a while when Kurt went to bed, Santana lifted the neck of the shirt up to her nose.
It still smelled like Brittany.
Santana opened her texts and re-read her past texts with Brittany silently crying.
She really fucked everything up.
Santana was ready to drift off to the dreamless sleep, the dreamless sleep that only came with copious amounts of liquor.
She was half awake, barely aware of what she was doing as she sent a text to Brittany.
Me: I miss you. I miss sleeping in your arms.
Me: I love you.
Me: Breaking up was the worst mistake I ever made.
Me: I hope one day you can forgive me.
Me: Because I know I never can.
Britt-Britt: I miss you too.
Britt-Britt: I love you.
Britt-Britt: Of course I forgive you.
Britt-Britt: call me.
Britt-Britt: Lord T attacked Sam. I think he misses you most of all.