Missing Her (And Mistaking Him)
Santana/Brittany, Brittany POV, PG-13, 3.1k
And so you just watch her walk away, and feel everything turn into rain around you again. Except this time there's no sunshine and no matter the weather report, you don't think there ever will be unless she forgives you.
And so you just watch her walk away, and feel everything turn into rain around you again. Except this time there's no sunshine and no matter the weather report, you don't think there ever will be unless she forgives you.
Santana's been gone for so many weeks now, and you've never felt this alone. This empty. This down.
You get kicked off the Cheerios and you feel like you're falling apart, so you do what any other girl in your position would do and go for the full on breakdown.
You decide to lip sync in Glee, and Mr Schue gets pissed off with you but you don't care. You find yourself not caring about a lot these days because Santana's not with you and if you were to tell the truth–not to Lord Tubbington because he would get upset and do that thing where he crawls under your bed and refuses to get out–she's all you really care about.
And now she's hundreds of miles away and that space in the left side of your chest hurts and aches and not even a really big meal makes it go away.
(You thought it might be hunger but after fifteen tuna fish sandwiches and two cans of baked beans, you realize it wasn't.)
You even sit and stare at your laptop for hours and hours, watching her name on the screen and hoping that she comes on Skype so you can see her smile. You can hear her laugh and hear her tell you she loves you. To just see her and let however long she's on screen give you the energy to fight another day.
So that's what you do and you wait and wait–why does it always feel like you're waiting?–and the only time you move is when you have run your finger over the mouse pad to bring the back light of the screen back on so you can stare and wait a little longer.
Santana never comes on though, and you always wake up on your tear stained pillow the next day to an I'm sorry text and kisses that you see but don't feel.
It gets to the point where everything is falling apart around you, but then Sam comes along and that space in your chest aches a little less than it did before. It no longer makes you want to curl up into a ball and want to cry for forever, but it still hurts.
Because Sam comes along and he gives you the cuddle you need and lets you tell him how much you miss her. How much you miss her laugh and her smell–you lie and say the smell of her armpits because you're not used to talking about your feelings with anyone but Santana–and he comforts you in the way you need through words and hugs.
In fact, he does that several times over the next week and even though you're still missing Santana so much it hurts to think about her, things are getting a little better. A little brighter. Like a rainbow when another dose of rain and sun comes along, because that's the only way it'll survive. And you feel like just like that, because missing Santana is your rain but Sam comforting you is your sun, and even though sometimes it goes off balance, it comes back and then you're getting brighter with both sides evening up.
The left side of your chest finally gets to a stage that you can handle, and you can laugh again and then it gets to the presidential elections and you think it's for the best that you run again. It got you back on the Cheerios after all, and being a two term president would be kind of cool.
So you run, asking Artie to be your vice president because you don't want Sam to turn into rain because you two spent too much time together and fell out. He understands, even though you don't use the rain analogy thing because Santana told you that it's only you two that get that most of the time, and you begin to run against each other.
But then there's the debate, and Sam takes his top off when Sue asks him about being a stripper, and you cheer by the sides. He is hot, you'd be blind not to see that, but he doesn't make you feel the way Santana does when she doesn't have a top on and so you just continue to cheer. He shoots you a wink afterward and you just smile back, knowing the wink was playful but feeling a weird pressure on your chest.
You don't dwell on it for long though, because then Artie's ushering you out of the wings and Blaine's saying all these things about banning the use of hair gel and how you didn't do anything but organize a dinosaur themed prom and it hurts. It hurts in a different way to the one in the left side of your chest and you glance to your right to see Sam pulling his shirt back on and feel like you were just caught doing something wrong.
So you look to the front and continue to listen, trying to figure out why he's telling people you're going to start burning them. Obviously you deny it, because you'd never do that, you don't even know how to use a lighter let alone light a fire, and Blaine then begins to say how he would offer a change.
And that's when it hits you.
You want a change.
It's exactly what you want because it means you won't have this. Life without her.
You want that change because you just want to go back to last year when she was by your side, supporting you and nodding when you got nervous about reading out your presidential speech.
Which means you don't want to go through another year of being president but it's just not going to be the same without her.
She's not going to support you and throw her arms around your neck when you tell her that you're organizing prom and want her to perform, and she's not going to spend hours lying in bed next to you, stroking the hair from your face and telling you that she wants nothing more than to be your first lady when you suggest it to her.
She's not going to do any of those things because she's not here.
And that hurts.
So when it's your turn to speak, your mind goes back to the memory of the previous day when Artie told you ninety percent of people were coming because they wanted to see you say something stupid, and you get your escape. You get it and even though you hate that word–stupid–you decide to go along with it.
Even though you know if she were here, she'd hold your face between her hands and look you in the eye to tell you how you're the smartest person she knows, and there wouldn't even be a blink of doubt in her face.
But you do it anyway and decide to talk some bullshit about how you love school and want to erase weekends and Summer holidays so you can all be together all the time. And it hurts, but people actually buy it, and then you walk off the stage, cursing to yourself for doing that but knowing it was for the best because there's no point in being president if you don't have her as your first lady.
You can feel Sam staring at you as you walk away, and you hear Artie saying that you've already lost the election but you don't care.
There's no point in caring when she's not here, and so you walk away with your head down.
- -
Blaine and Sam win. Big surprise.
There's a celebration at Breadstix and even though you don't plan on going, Sam turns up in a shirt that reminds you of the Green Giant and tells you you have to come. So you do, and you slip on that blue dress your mom bought you the other week and get into his car.
(You're still not sure how he has a car, but you suppose strippers get paid a lot, so.)
He drives you to Breadstix and you sit there, bobbing your head and knees along to the low hum of whatever song is playing on the radio and he helps you out the car. It makes your heart clench because that's what Santana used to do whenever you came here, and you think that for one night it'd be nice to remember.
You've spent so much time trying not to that it feels good to feel wanted again, even if it's Sam doing the wanting.
He leads you inside and then there's the main celebration. He gets whisked away and you start chatting to Sugar and smile when she tells you you should've won, and you know you could have, you know you would have, but you don't want to explain that to her just yet. You think it's a little heavy for her and you've always had this weird, parental protectiveness over her, so you just keep your mouth shut and nod along to whatever she's saying.
The celebration goes on and you chat and meet a new freshman and talk to people, and wait until Blaine gets up from the table he's at to go and talk to Sam. You still haven't congratulated him and you feel kind of bad about it.
So you sit down and tell him congratulations, and he does this weird thing where his eyes flicker down and his fingers pick at the tablecloth, and then he tells you he wants to tell you a secret. You nod, because you love secrets, they're so fun, and you shuffle around because sometimes people don't want their secrets to be heard– like Santana, when she used to whisper in your ear that she loved you when she thought you were asleep. You always kept that a secret, though even now–and he leans in to tell you he voted for you.
It's a little shocking and you stare at him for a moment, asking if that's true and he says yes. You smile and thank him because you know he has faith in you, but you can't shake that little voice in the back of your mind that's saying she voted for you first.
That voice is almost protective, but you can't dwell on that because it makes that space in the left of your chest hurt, and so you just toy with your hair–it's your nervous habit–and tell him that you would've voted for him if you didn't want to win so much.
He doesn't even blink an eye at that lie, and starts saying something about a gory person and how they won an Oscar, and for a split second you think that someone lost their child but then you remember watching Kate Winslet accept one of those golden statues with Santana and how it'd reminded you of her because of its golden skin.
So you hug him and he hugs you back, but as your ear presses against his chest you swear his heart jumps a little. But you do the right thing and pull back, telling him he always knows what to say because he does–he reminded you of Santana in a good way–and he does this weird impression thing that makes you laugh because you remember all those times Santana came back from a date with him and said how annoying those impressions were. You have to admit, you get her point now.
Everything goes well up until ten minutes after that, when he asks you to dance to the music that starts playing, and because you're addicted to it, you can't say no.
You spin and he twirls you, and you both laugh, throwing your head back and for a moment, you remember her. You remember how it was only several months back, in February, when you were standing here doing the same thing and kissing her and smiling against her mouth because you could, and it makes things feel a little lighter.
But you so badly want to go back to then, and so close your eyes and somehow when you open them, it's like Santana's standing right in front of you. Somehow you've made your eyes turn on a switch and your body must crave her that badly because suddenly Sam's turned into her, and she's reaching for your hand and tugging you down towards the disabled toilet.
You think it's a bit weird for a moment, because neither of you are robots like Artie, but then she's pulling you into that little gap, the one where you two used to make out because your dates were boring, and where you'd always feel and leaning into you. One of her arms goes above you, and because you're so damn happy that she's here, you don't think to consider the fact that she's smaller than you can wouldn't be able to press her arm above your head even with her boots on.
You talk and smile, and your eyes find hers and you just get so lost in them. You get so lost that you bite on your bottom lip and put that smile–the one you always put on when you want her to kiss you–on your face and she gets it right away. That little smirk comes across her lips and you're licking yours, tilting your head up as she ducks down and you're a second from kissing when you hear it.
And that breaks you out the weird trance.
Your head whips around to find the real Santana, standing three metres away from you and you blink to see if you're dreaming but you're not, and then everything comes crashing down on you. Your neck hurts from twisting back so fast, but you don't care because then it sinks in that Sam's in front of you after the third or fourth glance. Sam is and you were about to kiss Sam even though your mind thought it was Santana.
You hear her choked gasp and your eyes go so big you think they're going to pop out like that guy can do with his eyes on YouTube, and then she's backing away. You're not sure she even know she is but you're too caught up in confusion, in the shock that you were about to kiss Sam, that you can't move.
But your voice still works. So you use that.
“Santana!”
You watch her stop, you watch her blink drowsily and how her hand comes up to her chest, clawing at the space on the left side that matches the place where yours aches, and then that expression comes on her face. The same one she got when you told her last year you couldn't be with her, and you see her break all over again, and if you thought it hurt the first time, you were wrong. The second time is so much worse.
“Santana–“ Your voice cracks and your throat feels too dry. How can you explain to her that you didn't want to kiss Sam, that you thought it was her without her closing up on you? “It wasn't–We weren't–“
At that moment she looks up, and you meet her gaze, watching her shake her head because she doesn’t believe you. She doesn't and it hurts because she hasn't even given you a chance to explain yet. So you do the only thing you can do and physically push Sam away, sliding out the gap because she has that look on her face that she gets when she doesn't know how to react. It's like she's on the edge of breaking down or killing someone, and you don't want her to kill Sam because it wasn't his fault. He didn't do anything. It was you.
She just continues to shake her head though, and you watch her fists ball up at the side as her mind chooses to lash out. Her mind chooses it before her heart does and you just need to explain. You need to explain because your stomach's somewhere on the floor and your heart's in your throat and you know if you don't you're going to lose her. You almost did last year and this looks exactly like it did back then, but two times worse.
“I didn't mean–I just miss you,” you blurt out, trying to tell her that what you did wasn't out of spite, it was because you missed her and your mind thought Sam was her because he was treating you so well. “And I was lonely and Sam–Please.”
Behind you, Sam's shoes squeak against the linoleum tiles and you widen your eyes because you know she's just cracked. She's just cracked and if you don't reach out and grab her now, you'll never be able to again. And so you do it. You just stretch your arm and touch her skin, and it feels good for a split second before she's yanking her arm away from you, glaring at you with that same glare she perfected back in Freshman year back when she met you. Back when you're sure she fell in love with you.
Your body flinches and you're backing away, because you can see her turning into the person she used to be. Turning into the protective, guarded girl who's too scared to open herself up to anyone and you know it's because of you. You did that and you'd do anything right now, you'd give anything to take back that switch in your mind.
You want to touch her, your body craves to, but she's got that look in her eye and you understand that. You understand her and you know if you touch her she's going to say something she regrets and you don't want that. You don't want that at all and so you reel backwards, your chest feeling like it's caving in on you as the tears begins to trail down your cheeks.
You can see her, walking away from you in emotionally and physically, and though your muscles burn with the urge to tell her you love her, to grab her and explain that you don't want Sam, you want her–only her–you don't. You can't.
And so you just watch her walk away, and feel everything turn into rain around you again. Except this time there's no sunshine and no matter the weather report, you don't think there ever will be unless she forgives you.
You get kicked off the Cheerios and you feel like you're falling apart, so you do what any other girl in your position would do and go for the full on breakdown.
You decide to lip sync in Glee, and Mr Schue gets pissed off with you but you don't care. You find yourself not caring about a lot these days because Santana's not with you and if you were to tell the truth–not to Lord Tubbington because he would get upset and do that thing where he crawls under your bed and refuses to get out–she's all you really care about.
And now she's hundreds of miles away and that space in the left side of your chest hurts and aches and not even a really big meal makes it go away.
(You thought it might be hunger but after fifteen tuna fish sandwiches and two cans of baked beans, you realize it wasn't.)
You even sit and stare at your laptop for hours and hours, watching her name on the screen and hoping that she comes on Skype so you can see her smile. You can hear her laugh and hear her tell you she loves you. To just see her and let however long she's on screen give you the energy to fight another day.
So that's what you do and you wait and wait–why does it always feel like you're waiting?–and the only time you move is when you have run your finger over the mouse pad to bring the back light of the screen back on so you can stare and wait a little longer.
Santana never comes on though, and you always wake up on your tear stained pillow the next day to an I'm sorry text and kisses that you see but don't feel.
It gets to the point where everything is falling apart around you, but then Sam comes along and that space in your chest aches a little less than it did before. It no longer makes you want to curl up into a ball and want to cry for forever, but it still hurts.
Because Sam comes along and he gives you the cuddle you need and lets you tell him how much you miss her. How much you miss her laugh and her smell–you lie and say the smell of her armpits because you're not used to talking about your feelings with anyone but Santana–and he comforts you in the way you need through words and hugs.
In fact, he does that several times over the next week and even though you're still missing Santana so much it hurts to think about her, things are getting a little better. A little brighter. Like a rainbow when another dose of rain and sun comes along, because that's the only way it'll survive. And you feel like just like that, because missing Santana is your rain but Sam comforting you is your sun, and even though sometimes it goes off balance, it comes back and then you're getting brighter with both sides evening up.
The left side of your chest finally gets to a stage that you can handle, and you can laugh again and then it gets to the presidential elections and you think it's for the best that you run again. It got you back on the Cheerios after all, and being a two term president would be kind of cool.
So you run, asking Artie to be your vice president because you don't want Sam to turn into rain because you two spent too much time together and fell out. He understands, even though you don't use the rain analogy thing because Santana told you that it's only you two that get that most of the time, and you begin to run against each other.
But then there's the debate, and Sam takes his top off when Sue asks him about being a stripper, and you cheer by the sides. He is hot, you'd be blind not to see that, but he doesn't make you feel the way Santana does when she doesn't have a top on and so you just continue to cheer. He shoots you a wink afterward and you just smile back, knowing the wink was playful but feeling a weird pressure on your chest.
You don't dwell on it for long though, because then Artie's ushering you out of the wings and Blaine's saying all these things about banning the use of hair gel and how you didn't do anything but organize a dinosaur themed prom and it hurts. It hurts in a different way to the one in the left side of your chest and you glance to your right to see Sam pulling his shirt back on and feel like you were just caught doing something wrong.
So you look to the front and continue to listen, trying to figure out why he's telling people you're going to start burning them. Obviously you deny it, because you'd never do that, you don't even know how to use a lighter let alone light a fire, and Blaine then begins to say how he would offer a change.
And that's when it hits you.
You want a change.
It's exactly what you want because it means you won't have this. Life without her.
You want that change because you just want to go back to last year when she was by your side, supporting you and nodding when you got nervous about reading out your presidential speech.
Which means you don't want to go through another year of being president but it's just not going to be the same without her.
She's not going to support you and throw her arms around your neck when you tell her that you're organizing prom and want her to perform, and she's not going to spend hours lying in bed next to you, stroking the hair from your face and telling you that she wants nothing more than to be your first lady when you suggest it to her.
She's not going to do any of those things because she's not here.
And that hurts.
So when it's your turn to speak, your mind goes back to the memory of the previous day when Artie told you ninety percent of people were coming because they wanted to see you say something stupid, and you get your escape. You get it and even though you hate that word–stupid–you decide to go along with it.
Even though you know if she were here, she'd hold your face between her hands and look you in the eye to tell you how you're the smartest person she knows, and there wouldn't even be a blink of doubt in her face.
But you do it anyway and decide to talk some bullshit about how you love school and want to erase weekends and Summer holidays so you can all be together all the time. And it hurts, but people actually buy it, and then you walk off the stage, cursing to yourself for doing that but knowing it was for the best because there's no point in being president if you don't have her as your first lady.
You can feel Sam staring at you as you walk away, and you hear Artie saying that you've already lost the election but you don't care.
There's no point in caring when she's not here, and so you walk away with your head down.
- -
Blaine and Sam win. Big surprise.
There's a celebration at Breadstix and even though you don't plan on going, Sam turns up in a shirt that reminds you of the Green Giant and tells you you have to come. So you do, and you slip on that blue dress your mom bought you the other week and get into his car.
(You're still not sure how he has a car, but you suppose strippers get paid a lot, so.)
He drives you to Breadstix and you sit there, bobbing your head and knees along to the low hum of whatever song is playing on the radio and he helps you out the car. It makes your heart clench because that's what Santana used to do whenever you came here, and you think that for one night it'd be nice to remember.
You've spent so much time trying not to that it feels good to feel wanted again, even if it's Sam doing the wanting.
He leads you inside and then there's the main celebration. He gets whisked away and you start chatting to Sugar and smile when she tells you you should've won, and you know you could have, you know you would have, but you don't want to explain that to her just yet. You think it's a little heavy for her and you've always had this weird, parental protectiveness over her, so you just keep your mouth shut and nod along to whatever she's saying.
The celebration goes on and you chat and meet a new freshman and talk to people, and wait until Blaine gets up from the table he's at to go and talk to Sam. You still haven't congratulated him and you feel kind of bad about it.
So you sit down and tell him congratulations, and he does this weird thing where his eyes flicker down and his fingers pick at the tablecloth, and then he tells you he wants to tell you a secret. You nod, because you love secrets, they're so fun, and you shuffle around because sometimes people don't want their secrets to be heard– like Santana, when she used to whisper in your ear that she loved you when she thought you were asleep. You always kept that a secret, though even now–and he leans in to tell you he voted for you.
It's a little shocking and you stare at him for a moment, asking if that's true and he says yes. You smile and thank him because you know he has faith in you, but you can't shake that little voice in the back of your mind that's saying she voted for you first.
That voice is almost protective, but you can't dwell on that because it makes that space in the left of your chest hurt, and so you just toy with your hair–it's your nervous habit–and tell him that you would've voted for him if you didn't want to win so much.
He doesn't even blink an eye at that lie, and starts saying something about a gory person and how they won an Oscar, and for a split second you think that someone lost their child but then you remember watching Kate Winslet accept one of those golden statues with Santana and how it'd reminded you of her because of its golden skin.
So you hug him and he hugs you back, but as your ear presses against his chest you swear his heart jumps a little. But you do the right thing and pull back, telling him he always knows what to say because he does–he reminded you of Santana in a good way–and he does this weird impression thing that makes you laugh because you remember all those times Santana came back from a date with him and said how annoying those impressions were. You have to admit, you get her point now.
Everything goes well up until ten minutes after that, when he asks you to dance to the music that starts playing, and because you're addicted to it, you can't say no.
You spin and he twirls you, and you both laugh, throwing your head back and for a moment, you remember her. You remember how it was only several months back, in February, when you were standing here doing the same thing and kissing her and smiling against her mouth because you could, and it makes things feel a little lighter.
But you so badly want to go back to then, and so close your eyes and somehow when you open them, it's like Santana's standing right in front of you. Somehow you've made your eyes turn on a switch and your body must crave her that badly because suddenly Sam's turned into her, and she's reaching for your hand and tugging you down towards the disabled toilet.
You think it's a bit weird for a moment, because neither of you are robots like Artie, but then she's pulling you into that little gap, the one where you two used to make out because your dates were boring, and where you'd always feel and leaning into you. One of her arms goes above you, and because you're so damn happy that she's here, you don't think to consider the fact that she's smaller than you can wouldn't be able to press her arm above your head even with her boots on.
You talk and smile, and your eyes find hers and you just get so lost in them. You get so lost that you bite on your bottom lip and put that smile–the one you always put on when you want her to kiss you–on your face and she gets it right away. That little smirk comes across her lips and you're licking yours, tilting your head up as she ducks down and you're a second from kissing when you hear it.
And that breaks you out the weird trance.
Your head whips around to find the real Santana, standing three metres away from you and you blink to see if you're dreaming but you're not, and then everything comes crashing down on you. Your neck hurts from twisting back so fast, but you don't care because then it sinks in that Sam's in front of you after the third or fourth glance. Sam is and you were about to kiss Sam even though your mind thought it was Santana.
You hear her choked gasp and your eyes go so big you think they're going to pop out like that guy can do with his eyes on YouTube, and then she's backing away. You're not sure she even know she is but you're too caught up in confusion, in the shock that you were about to kiss Sam, that you can't move.
But your voice still works. So you use that.
“Santana!”
You watch her stop, you watch her blink drowsily and how her hand comes up to her chest, clawing at the space on the left side that matches the place where yours aches, and then that expression comes on her face. The same one she got when you told her last year you couldn't be with her, and you see her break all over again, and if you thought it hurt the first time, you were wrong. The second time is so much worse.
“Santana–“ Your voice cracks and your throat feels too dry. How can you explain to her that you didn't want to kiss Sam, that you thought it was her without her closing up on you? “It wasn't–We weren't–“
At that moment she looks up, and you meet her gaze, watching her shake her head because she doesn’t believe you. She doesn't and it hurts because she hasn't even given you a chance to explain yet. So you do the only thing you can do and physically push Sam away, sliding out the gap because she has that look on her face that she gets when she doesn't know how to react. It's like she's on the edge of breaking down or killing someone, and you don't want her to kill Sam because it wasn't his fault. He didn't do anything. It was you.
She just continues to shake her head though, and you watch her fists ball up at the side as her mind chooses to lash out. Her mind chooses it before her heart does and you just need to explain. You need to explain because your stomach's somewhere on the floor and your heart's in your throat and you know if you don't you're going to lose her. You almost did last year and this looks exactly like it did back then, but two times worse.
“I didn't mean–I just miss you,” you blurt out, trying to tell her that what you did wasn't out of spite, it was because you missed her and your mind thought Sam was her because he was treating you so well. “And I was lonely and Sam–Please.”
Behind you, Sam's shoes squeak against the linoleum tiles and you widen your eyes because you know she's just cracked. She's just cracked and if you don't reach out and grab her now, you'll never be able to again. And so you do it. You just stretch your arm and touch her skin, and it feels good for a split second before she's yanking her arm away from you, glaring at you with that same glare she perfected back in Freshman year back when she met you. Back when you're sure she fell in love with you.
Your body flinches and you're backing away, because you can see her turning into the person she used to be. Turning into the protective, guarded girl who's too scared to open herself up to anyone and you know it's because of you. You did that and you'd do anything right now, you'd give anything to take back that switch in your mind.
You want to touch her, your body craves to, but she's got that look in her eye and you understand that. You understand her and you know if you touch her she's going to say something she regrets and you don't want that. You don't want that at all and so you reel backwards, your chest feeling like it's caving in on you as the tears begins to trail down your cheeks.
You can see her, walking away from you in emotionally and physically, and though your muscles burn with the urge to tell her you love her, to grab her and explain that you don't want Sam, you want her–only her–you don't. You can't.
And so you just watch her walk away, and feel everything turn into rain around you again. Except this time there's no sunshine and no matter the weather report, you don't think there ever will be unless she forgives you.