Pezberry: You Could Do Better
Part Three (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five)
"Oh no you're not!" Jumping forward, Rachel managed to successfully swipe one away from the other girl, quickly coming back to take the one she had been opening.
"Hey! Le'go!" Pushing Rachel back and keeping the other one away from her, Santana growled, "What the hell?"
Pushing the first bottle into the pocket of her yoga pants, Rachel lunged forward, trying to slip under her arm. "You are not going to take part in underage drinking in my house! Why do you even feel the need to do so? I thought we were trying to sober you up!"
"No, you were the one who wanted to sober me up." Gritting her teeth and sliding around so her back was to Rachel, Santana snapped out, "I need it to deal with you and your fucking Virgin Mary routine. It's fucking ridiculous."
That made Rachel pause. Taking a step back, she watched in silence as Santana, looking wearily at her the whole time, downed the vodka. She knew she should be going back to making a fuss over the illegal and stupid act, but she needed to take a moment to finish putting the pieces together in her mind.
"You really want me," she whispered, looking at Santana in wonder, "You want me, but you hate that you do. That's why you're drinking. You want to be able to blame everything on the alcohol."
Closing her expression, Santana turned away, picking up her clothes, the lines of her shoulders tight.
Rachel knew she was on the right track. "You've liked me for a while, haven't you?" she asked softly, "But you were able to keep it to yourself."
Santana continued ignoring her, putting her bra back on, followed by her shirt, in short, quick movements.
"But something changed. Something happened tonight, didn't it? Something that made it impossible to continue doing so." Seeing Santana flinch, Rachel walked over to her, stopping at her side. "Santana, what happened? What made you send those texts?"
"You don't know what you're talking about." Avoiding her gaze, Santana shrugged her jacket on, "Stop flattering yourself."
That retort was incredibly weak, not up to the cheerleader's usual standards. Sucking her lower lip into her mouth and chewing on it, Rachel knew she only had a small window of time before Santana tried to run away. Moving in front of her, she smiled supportively, not surprised in the least to see returning tears starting to crowd the taller girl's eyes. "Come on, San," she reached out and straightened Santana's jacket, patting it softly, "When I'm not talking, I've been told I'm a good listener." She hoped the use of Santana's nickname and self deprecating humor would surprise the other girl mentally enough to keep her off balance.
When Santana looked down at her, Rachel's heart skipped a beat at what she saw in her eyes. So deep brown, so intense… Studying her gaze intently, Santana's expression was so severe it looked like it hurt.
Rachel held her breath. If she was rational, she should have been worrying about this backfiring, because there was no telling what kind of hell Santana would put her through for the rest of high school if that happened. But that was the farthest thing from her mind. Somewhere, however it happened, she and Santana had developed an explosive attraction to each other, and now that she'd discovered it, Rachel wanted to explore it. But first, she needed to see where Santana stood. She needed an explanation.
Long fingers reached out and pushed hair behind her ear, making Rachel shiver, Santana taking a small step forward. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out shakily, the taller girl tried to smile through the tears she couldn't keep from slipping down her cheeks, "You're an annoying little midget, you know?"
"I'm only three inches shorter than you," Rachel huffed, glad Santana wasn't retreating.
"Yeah. Tiny." Sniffing, Santana blinked then took a step away, heading for the couch and tissue box, which at some point had gotten squished.
Well, at least that was better than Man Hands or Ru Paul. She could deal with being called tiny, but midget and dwarf and any other variation would have to go. Even if she was two inches below the average height for women in the U.S. She took refuge in the fact that she still had time to grow.
"Ugh," Santana moaned, dropping onto the couch, using the palms of her hands to scrub at her eyes, blinking as she looked up at her, "I think I am willing to chance some of that crime against nature ice cream."
Well, she had made progress. Santana wasn't angry, and she wasn't trying to run. Rachel could be patient for a little longer. So she found herself grinning even as she rolled her eyes. "It's really not bad once you get used to it," she lightly poked Santana's leg with the tip of her sock.
Santana snorted. "'Once you get used to it'. Really?" Making a face, she kicked back. Then, sighing and fluffing her hair, taking it out of the ponytail that was barely hanging on, she looked at Rachel expectantly. "Well? You're not gonna make me get it myself, are you? I might drop your dishes or somethin', and I'm sure your dads wouldn't like that."
Sighing, Rachel gave Santana an exasperated look and figured she wouldn't be able to understand the girl's mood swings any time soon. Hopefully the ice cream would jumpstart the sobering process again and overturn whatever effect that small bottle of vodka had done. She couldn't believe she'd been right about Santana smuggling in some more alcohol into her house.
Making her way into the kitchen and heading straight for the freezer, she prayed she was right in trusting Santana not to bolt. Was she giving the girl too much credit? She frowned, starting to look through frozen peas and Eggos and everything else her parents had stored away; she was not looking forward to chasing after her in the cold if she did make a run for it.
…Wait. That gave her pause. Letting go of the carton of ice cream she had just found, Rachel sat back on her heels. Exercise was another way of sobering up, right? And since she and Santana were not going to be doing any more of that anytime soon, she thought, blushing, and chances were Santana wouldn't try anything in public, she had a really bad idea that could turn out to be a really good one.
Standing up and shutting the freezer door, she turned around, intent on walking back into the living room. …Only to find Santana standing right behind her. "Ahh!" she screamed, jumping backwards and hitting the freezer door, a hand flailing out to hit Santana's shoulder in admonishment, "Don't do that!"
Looking at her with wide eyes that quickly shut in amusement as she started chuckling, Santana let Rachel push past her. "Ohh, Berry, that was hilarious! You should have seen your face."
Rachel glowered at her as she tried to catch her breath and calm her pounding heart. "Just for that," she threatened, "I'll make you eat the dairy-free ice cream instead of what I was going to get you."
"And what would that be?" Smirking, Santana sauntered forward, stopping just a couple of inches away from her.
Rachel raised her chin, crossing her arms. She knew very well what Santana was doing. Could the girl not exude sex? "Tell me," she sidestepped the question and questioner, starting to head out of the kitchen and towards the stairway, "How good are you at walking in a straight line?"
"Uh… Why?"
Hah! She'd managed to make Santana speechless! Giggling to herself, Rachel stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to see if Santana was still following her. She was. While staring at Rachel's ass. Blushing furiously, Rachel spun around and jogged into her room. She was always helpless against blatant ogling.
Leaving the door open to make doubly sure Santana would know where she was, as well as make it clear that she was allowed to come in, Rachel turned to her closet. If she and Santana were to leave the house, she wanted to change. Her tank top and yoga pants weren't appropriate attire.
The soft click of her bedroom door let her know Santana had entered. Barely throwing her a glance, she went back to visually comparing tops and sweaters, trying to remember what bottoms she had in her dresser.
"Whoah, no pink."
Rachel made a face. Why was it that everyone thought she would have a pink bedroom?
Santana's voice became appraising, interested, "Ohh…? That's a nice, big bed. I knew you - "
Whirling around, Rachel glared, unamused at the toothy smirk Santana was giving her, "Do not finish that sentence, Santana Lopez! You and I are not going to… To engage in any sort of physical activity until we talk." Then, adding quickly, forcing herself to ignore the falling of Santana's expression, "And it's not even guaranteed then.
"Now," grabbing a long sleeved shirt from her closet and a pair of skinny jeans from her dresser, she offered a small smile to the now sullen girl sitting on her bed, "Make yourself at home while I go change. I shouldn't be long at all."
"Whatever. Have fun touching yourself while you think of me."
Dropping her mouth open, Rachel decided it would be better to not respond at all, and gave Santana a cross look before hurrying into her bathroom, Santana's extremely self satisfied smirk and dancing dark eyes following her in.
As soon as the door shut behind her, Rachel let out a deep breath of air. What… What was she doing? Was this an episode of Twilight Zone? Was she going insane? Santana Lopez, the girl who'd seemingly hated her for years, had shown up at her front door, drunk and horny, jumped her, pretty much molested her, and Rachel hadn't kicked her out? She'd left her on her bed? Oh goodness. What if the girl took that as an invitation and stripped while Rachel was getting changed? She'd seen this scene before, in movies. Once Rachel stepped out of the bathroom, Santana would be waiting for her under the covers, then, as Rachel looked at her in confusion, she'd draw back the blankets and whisper seductively for her to join her and…
Rachel dropped her head into her hands, groaning. Okay, so she had always thought Santana was one of the most attractive people at McKinley High, didn't matter what gender. So maybe she'd admired her from a distance, but that was normal female development. This rush of arousal and want for the cheerleader, though… It wasn't exactly heterosexual. Had it always been there?
Or was she substituting Santana for the hole Finn had left in her life? That it was just a warm body and attention she was responding to? That maybe whenever Santana had kissed her or touched her, her body had thought it was Finn?
Of course, that theory didn't hold up when she realized Finn didn't have breasts. Unwillingly, her mind conjured up the feeling and sight of Santana's naked chest, and she sucked in her breath, biting her lip. If it was only Finn she wanted, a girl's naked body wouldn't affect her so much.
And, as Rachel studied her reflection in the mirror, taking in her mussed hair, still slightly swollen lips, various red marks and blemishes Santana had left on her neck, her heart thudded in her chest and her legs grew weak. No. It was safe to say she was now one hundred percent certain Santana affected her.
And she was one hundred percent certain she was attracted to the other girl.
Almost as if that realization lifted some sort of weight off her shoulders, Rachel smiled to herself and started stripping. There wasn't anything wrong with being gay or bisexual, as she now figured she could think of herself as. Growing up with her fathers had prepared her for every possibility in the maturation of her sexuality, so she didn't feel any different. Not really. Just a little surprised, that's all, but it wouldn't change anything about herself. Rachel was still Rachel. She had just figured out she wasn't adverse to female companionship. And if that attraction turned out to only apply to Santana and no other female, she didn't care, either.
Shimmying into her jeans and pulling the long sleeved shirt on over the tank top, Rachel quickly brushed out her hair enough to keep it flowing around her neck. She may have enjoyed getting the hickeys, but she really didn't want to show them off. She'd have to bring that up with Santana. If they were ever going to engage in similar behavior again, she should know that leaving noticeable marks would be prohibited.
Splashing water on her face and applying a quick coat of lip gloss, taking one last look in the mirror and telling herself she did not have to put any extra effort into looking good for the other girl, Rachel dropped her yoga pants into the clothes hamper after securely hiding the vodka under the sink and exited her bathroom.
Her eyes immediately flew to the bed.
Which, while Santana was lounging on it, she wasn't under the covers or naked. Pushing a faint feeling of disappointment away, she smiled shyly at the raised eyebrows and wide smile that grew on Santana's face, "I am done if you would like to use the bathroom."
"Damn, Berry! Why the hell have I not seen you in those jeans before?" Sitting up straight and hopping off the bed, Santana grabbed her shoulders to spin her around. "Oh fuck, that ass," Rachel heard muttered huskily, and Santana's hands slid down to dig into her hipbones, tensing before letting go.
Pure fire had run down the path Santana's hands had gone. Rachel's decision in the bathroom must have made things easier for her body to feel. Taking a second to gather her wits, breathing deeply, she found Santana sitting on the edge of her bed again, watching her with hooded eyes. "Well," she smiled nervously, nodding her head, "I am assuming you don't need to freshen up." Santana raised an eyebrow, and Rachel continued, "Alright then. Let's go."
Following her out of her bedroom and down the stairs, waiting as she grabbed her coat and scarf off of the coat rack near the front door, slipping on boots she'd left earlier in the day, Santana stayed silent the whole time. When Rachel unlocked her Prius and waited for her to enter, she couldn't help casting the other girl concerned glances. Buckling her belt, she paused, lowering the keys to hold them on her thigh. "You okay?" she asked quietly.
Santana stared out the passenger side window. Face in shadow from the streetlight down the street, she sighed. "Take me home, Berry."
"What?" Stomach dropping and eyebrows furrowing, Rachel licked her lips. "No, I was going to drive us down to the Dairy Queen. You wanted ice cream, and I admit I wouldn't mind something to eat as well, so I figured that would be an appropriate place to sit and perhaps sort out the situation we have found ourselves in."
Santana didn't turn away from the window. "No, I'm over this."
Feeling rejected and blindsided, Rachel tried again, hoping to keep her hurt out of her voice, "Over what? Maybe we should talk about it. Because I honestly believe if we let everything go without discuss - "
"Jesus, Berry! Shut up. I'm over this, okay? I'm over you. I don't want to be around you anymore. So put that damn key in the damn ignition and fucking take me home."
Rachel flinched, clicking her mouth shut. In the tense atmosphere within the car, she could hear Santana breathing deeply. Blinking and swallowing, trying to find her voice, she clenched the keys tightly in her fist. "Alright, fine," she finally managed, low and restrained, "If that's what you want, you can walk home. I imagine if you're over my company, you wouldn't be able to handle the fifteen minute ride. So, if you excuse me, I am going to take a walk in the exact opposite of your house so there's no chance you will run into me, or, if for some reason you decide to come back to my house, I won't be there." Jabbing her seatbelt free, she pushed the door open, swung herself out, and slammed the door shut, all in a rather impressive imitation of her frequent glee storm out. Shoving her hands into her pockets to get them out of the chill of the night air, she started power walking in the direction she knew wasn't the one Santana would take.
Trying to hold in the tears that had been building since Santana told her to take her home, Rachel yelled at herself in her head. How stupid was she? Dairy Queen. Talking. Getting Santana to talk was like getting Mr. Schuester to not pick Journey songs; just didn't happen. She'd been naïve to think that whatever truce Santana had been working under would have lasted. Rachel had already rejected her three times, wanting to talk.
But talking was what Rachel was good at. She needed to talk. She couldn't just… Jump into things. Suddenly making out with Santana, especially when Santana was drunk… She needed to know why. Because if she didn't know why, she let herself imagine why. And when she imagined, she always found the 'good' reasons for the whys and hows. The reasons that only benefited her. The reasons that made things more important than they were.
Santana had probably just been horny. The two people Rachel knew Santana had continuing history with, Brittany and Puck, weren't available anymore, and it was just like Santana had said: Rachel was alone, and she was probably needy enough that if even Kurt had looked her way, she'd be all over him. But when Rachel didn't fall all over herself to get into Santana's pants - no, she wanted to talk instead - that probably ended any interest the cheerleader had in her.
There was no 'incident' that made Santana text her. She'd probably just calculated the best way to get Rachel's attention. Made her think she liked her, because she knew Rachel wasn't into flings or one night stands.
Rachel angrily rubbed at her eyes, knowing that walking and crying at the same time wasn't the safest thing to be doing. But even if she could make herself cry on cue, it was something else entirely making herself stop when she was actually crying. And she couldn't see herself stopping anytime soon. Santana had played her. In fact, she was probably laughing at her right now, plotting to humiliate her in some enormous way on Monday. Though she knew she'd be able to survive whatever it was Santana was going to cook up for her, as there was no choice for her not to, it didn't mean it wouldn't hurt her.
Because even if most of the night had been about trying to figure out how to deal with Santana and her bipolar drunkenness, Rachel had never felt as… Close to the other girl as she had that night. Not just physically. Emotionally. Even if a lot of it had been bravado or the alcohol talking, she'd thought she might have been seeing something real.
But that had probably been a calculation, too.
The sound of her phone getting a text message cut through her thoughts. Instantly, her stomach dropped again; she wasn't in the mood for getting angry texts from Santana that probably read like U effin B*TCH! How DARE u leave me here, u effin LESBO, man hands!
Eight seconds later, the text notification sound went off again.
Okay… That was either a long text cut into two, or two quick texts sent after each other, or two texts suddenly sent from two different people around the same time. Slowly taking her phone out of her pocket, she unlocked it just because she didn't want miss it if it was from one of her fathers. Pushing the icon of 2 new messages, and sneaking a quick look up the street to make sure there was nothing or no one in front of her, her inbox appeared.
Santana Lopez (2).
And, as she watched, it switched to (3).
Tightening her grip on her phone, Rachel slid it back into her pocket. There was no way she was going to read them anytime soon. She needed to prepare herself first. And that meant, she took a more thorough look around, taking a left at the next street and walking towards downtown Lima to get the nearest coffee shop. It was still fairly early in the evening, and if she picked up her pace, she should get there with enough time to hang out for maybe a half hour or so. That was probably long enough to make sure Santana was gone when she came back.
Rachel shook her head. Using the end of her scarf, she scrubbed some of the tear tracks off her face. The cool night air was seemingly determined to latch onto the wetness, so she decided to concentrate harder on stopping crying. It was a simple fact that would make it easier to do so: Santana wasn't worth her tears.
Turning left, she'd made it halfway down the block before her phone rang. Checking hesitantly, Dad flashed on the screen, so she quickly hit accept. "Hi, Dad!" she forced herself to sound normal, hoping wind interference was down to a minimum.
"Hey, honey. How are you? Still hard at work studying?"
Rachel winced. "Uhm, no, not currently. Actually, I left the house a little while ago to take a walk."
"Oh? Are you sure that's safe?"
"Yes, Dad. I have my coat with me, and it has pepper spray and a whistle in it. As well as I have my phone, and my wallet has my emergency info in it."
"Good. Do you have any idea when you'll be coming home? Your Daddy and I are making the last circuit around the party, so we should be leaving soon. If you need a ride, we'd be glad to come get you."
That made her smile. Glancing up at the nearest street sign, she mentally tried to calculate her estimation of time, but because it was so dependent on how she felt, she finally settled on, "Okay, Dad. Give me a call when you actually leave, and I'll let you know. Thank you."
"Of course." She could hear an answering smile in her dad's voice. "Ohp, he's giving me the hairy eyeball, so I guess my time is up. Talk to you soon, hun. Love you."
"Love you too, Dad! Pass it on to Daddy, too. Bye."
Hanging up, Rachel sighed, shuffling her shoulders. That had almost made her turn around and start walking home. She needed to make sure Santana and all traces of her were gone, after all. However, going back over the evening, all she could think of was the squashed tissue box, and that wasn't anything big. Thankfully.
As for Santana herself… Rachel really couldn't see her hanging around her house, waiting for her to come back. She'd almost, honestly, expected the cheerleader to have chased after her when she'd stormed off, but that hadn't obviously happened. She hadn't heard the car door open or close, and she'd already checked to make sure no one was following her. She didn't want to admit that hurt, but it did.
Rachel groaned, her forehead wrinkling. What had she been thinking, leaving Santana in her car? Had she locked it when she left? Had she even left? Hopefully she hadn't gotten so desperate to get home and angry at Rachel that she'd hot wired the vehicle and gone for a drunken joyride. It wouldn't be a surprise if the girl knew how to do so; like Puck, she had the air of 'juvenile delinquent' about her. Then again, that could always be another of the false airs the girl put on. Which made her wonder, not for the first time, who the real Santana actually was.
She tightened her scarf around her neck, anything to ignore the burning of her phone in her pocket. Checking it had to wait. She wanted to be settled and calm before she did so, and that would not be accomplished as she was walking down the street. Seeing she was only about five minutes away from where she remembered a Starbucks being, she picked up her pace even more.
It would probably be warmer inside. She wasn't freezing, but she wasn't very comfortable, either. Hopefully her coat and scarf were enough to keep her from getting sick. If she did take ill, that would be another reason to be mad at Santana. And she would be able to justify her anger. Absolutely justify it. Rachel's livelihood was her voice, and she couldn't risk damaging it. There were many dangers with even the mildest of colds, laryngitis notwithstanding.
Her latest battle with laryngitis had been mortifying. First she'd chosen Miley Cyrus, which was pretty terrible, but combining that with the cat screeching that had come out of her? Sheer and utter humiliation. Once cured, she'd listened to the tape of the recording Lauren had made before being told to remove all of the microphones, and she hadn't known how she was ever going to live that down. Fortunately, glee and the gleeks had a new scandal almost every week, so eventually it seemed everyone had forgotten about the complete and utter fool she'd made of herself.
Starbucks appeared up ahead. Gladly tramping up to the door, she ducked inside, welcoming getting out of the cold, and headed straight for the counter. Idly browsing the CDs they had for sale as the cuter of the two male baristas she'd seen many times before retrieved a cup of steeping mint tea for her, she quickly claimed the small table in the corner of the shop, away from the few other patrons. Ever since she'd left the kettle by the stove at home, tea had been in the back of her mind.
And now, finally, she had some. Holding her hands close to the searing heat of the sides of the paper cup, she used a warm palm to rub her forehead. Well. She'd promised herself that as soon as she got situated, she was going to take her phone out and read whatever abuse Santana had left her. And now she was situated. So, taking a deep breath and firming her constitution, she opened Santana Lopez (3).
Fuck berry ur such a fuckin drama queen. FUCK U 2.
Ok dammit cum back. I didnt mean wut i just wrote.
Berry, u kno i dont do apologies. Cum back so we can talk. Or tell me where ur going. I dont wanna freeze out here.
Rachel drew in a deep breath of air, holding it in her lungs before releasing it slowly. It was bad, but it could have been worse. Did Santana really want to talk? Could she believe her? What was she supposed to think?
"Oh no you're not!" Jumping forward, Rachel managed to successfully swipe one away from the other girl, quickly coming back to take the one she had been opening.
"Hey! Le'go!" Pushing Rachel back and keeping the other one away from her, Santana growled, "What the hell?"
Pushing the first bottle into the pocket of her yoga pants, Rachel lunged forward, trying to slip under her arm. "You are not going to take part in underage drinking in my house! Why do you even feel the need to do so? I thought we were trying to sober you up!"
"No, you were the one who wanted to sober me up." Gritting her teeth and sliding around so her back was to Rachel, Santana snapped out, "I need it to deal with you and your fucking Virgin Mary routine. It's fucking ridiculous."
That made Rachel pause. Taking a step back, she watched in silence as Santana, looking wearily at her the whole time, downed the vodka. She knew she should be going back to making a fuss over the illegal and stupid act, but she needed to take a moment to finish putting the pieces together in her mind.
"You really want me," she whispered, looking at Santana in wonder, "You want me, but you hate that you do. That's why you're drinking. You want to be able to blame everything on the alcohol."
Closing her expression, Santana turned away, picking up her clothes, the lines of her shoulders tight.
Rachel knew she was on the right track. "You've liked me for a while, haven't you?" she asked softly, "But you were able to keep it to yourself."
Santana continued ignoring her, putting her bra back on, followed by her shirt, in short, quick movements.
"But something changed. Something happened tonight, didn't it? Something that made it impossible to continue doing so." Seeing Santana flinch, Rachel walked over to her, stopping at her side. "Santana, what happened? What made you send those texts?"
"You don't know what you're talking about." Avoiding her gaze, Santana shrugged her jacket on, "Stop flattering yourself."
That retort was incredibly weak, not up to the cheerleader's usual standards. Sucking her lower lip into her mouth and chewing on it, Rachel knew she only had a small window of time before Santana tried to run away. Moving in front of her, she smiled supportively, not surprised in the least to see returning tears starting to crowd the taller girl's eyes. "Come on, San," she reached out and straightened Santana's jacket, patting it softly, "When I'm not talking, I've been told I'm a good listener." She hoped the use of Santana's nickname and self deprecating humor would surprise the other girl mentally enough to keep her off balance.
When Santana looked down at her, Rachel's heart skipped a beat at what she saw in her eyes. So deep brown, so intense… Studying her gaze intently, Santana's expression was so severe it looked like it hurt.
Rachel held her breath. If she was rational, she should have been worrying about this backfiring, because there was no telling what kind of hell Santana would put her through for the rest of high school if that happened. But that was the farthest thing from her mind. Somewhere, however it happened, she and Santana had developed an explosive attraction to each other, and now that she'd discovered it, Rachel wanted to explore it. But first, she needed to see where Santana stood. She needed an explanation.
Long fingers reached out and pushed hair behind her ear, making Rachel shiver, Santana taking a small step forward. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out shakily, the taller girl tried to smile through the tears she couldn't keep from slipping down her cheeks, "You're an annoying little midget, you know?"
"I'm only three inches shorter than you," Rachel huffed, glad Santana wasn't retreating.
"Yeah. Tiny." Sniffing, Santana blinked then took a step away, heading for the couch and tissue box, which at some point had gotten squished.
Well, at least that was better than Man Hands or Ru Paul. She could deal with being called tiny, but midget and dwarf and any other variation would have to go. Even if she was two inches below the average height for women in the U.S. She took refuge in the fact that she still had time to grow.
"Ugh," Santana moaned, dropping onto the couch, using the palms of her hands to scrub at her eyes, blinking as she looked up at her, "I think I am willing to chance some of that crime against nature ice cream."
Well, she had made progress. Santana wasn't angry, and she wasn't trying to run. Rachel could be patient for a little longer. So she found herself grinning even as she rolled her eyes. "It's really not bad once you get used to it," she lightly poked Santana's leg with the tip of her sock.
Santana snorted. "'Once you get used to it'. Really?" Making a face, she kicked back. Then, sighing and fluffing her hair, taking it out of the ponytail that was barely hanging on, she looked at Rachel expectantly. "Well? You're not gonna make me get it myself, are you? I might drop your dishes or somethin', and I'm sure your dads wouldn't like that."
Sighing, Rachel gave Santana an exasperated look and figured she wouldn't be able to understand the girl's mood swings any time soon. Hopefully the ice cream would jumpstart the sobering process again and overturn whatever effect that small bottle of vodka had done. She couldn't believe she'd been right about Santana smuggling in some more alcohol into her house.
Making her way into the kitchen and heading straight for the freezer, she prayed she was right in trusting Santana not to bolt. Was she giving the girl too much credit? She frowned, starting to look through frozen peas and Eggos and everything else her parents had stored away; she was not looking forward to chasing after her in the cold if she did make a run for it.
…Wait. That gave her pause. Letting go of the carton of ice cream she had just found, Rachel sat back on her heels. Exercise was another way of sobering up, right? And since she and Santana were not going to be doing any more of that anytime soon, she thought, blushing, and chances were Santana wouldn't try anything in public, she had a really bad idea that could turn out to be a really good one.
Standing up and shutting the freezer door, she turned around, intent on walking back into the living room. …Only to find Santana standing right behind her. "Ahh!" she screamed, jumping backwards and hitting the freezer door, a hand flailing out to hit Santana's shoulder in admonishment, "Don't do that!"
Looking at her with wide eyes that quickly shut in amusement as she started chuckling, Santana let Rachel push past her. "Ohh, Berry, that was hilarious! You should have seen your face."
Rachel glowered at her as she tried to catch her breath and calm her pounding heart. "Just for that," she threatened, "I'll make you eat the dairy-free ice cream instead of what I was going to get you."
"And what would that be?" Smirking, Santana sauntered forward, stopping just a couple of inches away from her.
Rachel raised her chin, crossing her arms. She knew very well what Santana was doing. Could the girl not exude sex? "Tell me," she sidestepped the question and questioner, starting to head out of the kitchen and towards the stairway, "How good are you at walking in a straight line?"
"Uh… Why?"
Hah! She'd managed to make Santana speechless! Giggling to herself, Rachel stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to see if Santana was still following her. She was. While staring at Rachel's ass. Blushing furiously, Rachel spun around and jogged into her room. She was always helpless against blatant ogling.
Leaving the door open to make doubly sure Santana would know where she was, as well as make it clear that she was allowed to come in, Rachel turned to her closet. If she and Santana were to leave the house, she wanted to change. Her tank top and yoga pants weren't appropriate attire.
The soft click of her bedroom door let her know Santana had entered. Barely throwing her a glance, she went back to visually comparing tops and sweaters, trying to remember what bottoms she had in her dresser.
"Whoah, no pink."
Rachel made a face. Why was it that everyone thought she would have a pink bedroom?
Santana's voice became appraising, interested, "Ohh…? That's a nice, big bed. I knew you - "
Whirling around, Rachel glared, unamused at the toothy smirk Santana was giving her, "Do not finish that sentence, Santana Lopez! You and I are not going to… To engage in any sort of physical activity until we talk." Then, adding quickly, forcing herself to ignore the falling of Santana's expression, "And it's not even guaranteed then.
"Now," grabbing a long sleeved shirt from her closet and a pair of skinny jeans from her dresser, she offered a small smile to the now sullen girl sitting on her bed, "Make yourself at home while I go change. I shouldn't be long at all."
"Whatever. Have fun touching yourself while you think of me."
Dropping her mouth open, Rachel decided it would be better to not respond at all, and gave Santana a cross look before hurrying into her bathroom, Santana's extremely self satisfied smirk and dancing dark eyes following her in.
As soon as the door shut behind her, Rachel let out a deep breath of air. What… What was she doing? Was this an episode of Twilight Zone? Was she going insane? Santana Lopez, the girl who'd seemingly hated her for years, had shown up at her front door, drunk and horny, jumped her, pretty much molested her, and Rachel hadn't kicked her out? She'd left her on her bed? Oh goodness. What if the girl took that as an invitation and stripped while Rachel was getting changed? She'd seen this scene before, in movies. Once Rachel stepped out of the bathroom, Santana would be waiting for her under the covers, then, as Rachel looked at her in confusion, she'd draw back the blankets and whisper seductively for her to join her and…
Rachel dropped her head into her hands, groaning. Okay, so she had always thought Santana was one of the most attractive people at McKinley High, didn't matter what gender. So maybe she'd admired her from a distance, but that was normal female development. This rush of arousal and want for the cheerleader, though… It wasn't exactly heterosexual. Had it always been there?
Or was she substituting Santana for the hole Finn had left in her life? That it was just a warm body and attention she was responding to? That maybe whenever Santana had kissed her or touched her, her body had thought it was Finn?
Of course, that theory didn't hold up when she realized Finn didn't have breasts. Unwillingly, her mind conjured up the feeling and sight of Santana's naked chest, and she sucked in her breath, biting her lip. If it was only Finn she wanted, a girl's naked body wouldn't affect her so much.
And, as Rachel studied her reflection in the mirror, taking in her mussed hair, still slightly swollen lips, various red marks and blemishes Santana had left on her neck, her heart thudded in her chest and her legs grew weak. No. It was safe to say she was now one hundred percent certain Santana affected her.
And she was one hundred percent certain she was attracted to the other girl.
Almost as if that realization lifted some sort of weight off her shoulders, Rachel smiled to herself and started stripping. There wasn't anything wrong with being gay or bisexual, as she now figured she could think of herself as. Growing up with her fathers had prepared her for every possibility in the maturation of her sexuality, so she didn't feel any different. Not really. Just a little surprised, that's all, but it wouldn't change anything about herself. Rachel was still Rachel. She had just figured out she wasn't adverse to female companionship. And if that attraction turned out to only apply to Santana and no other female, she didn't care, either.
Shimmying into her jeans and pulling the long sleeved shirt on over the tank top, Rachel quickly brushed out her hair enough to keep it flowing around her neck. She may have enjoyed getting the hickeys, but she really didn't want to show them off. She'd have to bring that up with Santana. If they were ever going to engage in similar behavior again, she should know that leaving noticeable marks would be prohibited.
Splashing water on her face and applying a quick coat of lip gloss, taking one last look in the mirror and telling herself she did not have to put any extra effort into looking good for the other girl, Rachel dropped her yoga pants into the clothes hamper after securely hiding the vodka under the sink and exited her bathroom.
Her eyes immediately flew to the bed.
Which, while Santana was lounging on it, she wasn't under the covers or naked. Pushing a faint feeling of disappointment away, she smiled shyly at the raised eyebrows and wide smile that grew on Santana's face, "I am done if you would like to use the bathroom."
"Damn, Berry! Why the hell have I not seen you in those jeans before?" Sitting up straight and hopping off the bed, Santana grabbed her shoulders to spin her around. "Oh fuck, that ass," Rachel heard muttered huskily, and Santana's hands slid down to dig into her hipbones, tensing before letting go.
Pure fire had run down the path Santana's hands had gone. Rachel's decision in the bathroom must have made things easier for her body to feel. Taking a second to gather her wits, breathing deeply, she found Santana sitting on the edge of her bed again, watching her with hooded eyes. "Well," she smiled nervously, nodding her head, "I am assuming you don't need to freshen up." Santana raised an eyebrow, and Rachel continued, "Alright then. Let's go."
Following her out of her bedroom and down the stairs, waiting as she grabbed her coat and scarf off of the coat rack near the front door, slipping on boots she'd left earlier in the day, Santana stayed silent the whole time. When Rachel unlocked her Prius and waited for her to enter, she couldn't help casting the other girl concerned glances. Buckling her belt, she paused, lowering the keys to hold them on her thigh. "You okay?" she asked quietly.
Santana stared out the passenger side window. Face in shadow from the streetlight down the street, she sighed. "Take me home, Berry."
"What?" Stomach dropping and eyebrows furrowing, Rachel licked her lips. "No, I was going to drive us down to the Dairy Queen. You wanted ice cream, and I admit I wouldn't mind something to eat as well, so I figured that would be an appropriate place to sit and perhaps sort out the situation we have found ourselves in."
Santana didn't turn away from the window. "No, I'm over this."
Feeling rejected and blindsided, Rachel tried again, hoping to keep her hurt out of her voice, "Over what? Maybe we should talk about it. Because I honestly believe if we let everything go without discuss - "
"Jesus, Berry! Shut up. I'm over this, okay? I'm over you. I don't want to be around you anymore. So put that damn key in the damn ignition and fucking take me home."
Rachel flinched, clicking her mouth shut. In the tense atmosphere within the car, she could hear Santana breathing deeply. Blinking and swallowing, trying to find her voice, she clenched the keys tightly in her fist. "Alright, fine," she finally managed, low and restrained, "If that's what you want, you can walk home. I imagine if you're over my company, you wouldn't be able to handle the fifteen minute ride. So, if you excuse me, I am going to take a walk in the exact opposite of your house so there's no chance you will run into me, or, if for some reason you decide to come back to my house, I won't be there." Jabbing her seatbelt free, she pushed the door open, swung herself out, and slammed the door shut, all in a rather impressive imitation of her frequent glee storm out. Shoving her hands into her pockets to get them out of the chill of the night air, she started power walking in the direction she knew wasn't the one Santana would take.
Trying to hold in the tears that had been building since Santana told her to take her home, Rachel yelled at herself in her head. How stupid was she? Dairy Queen. Talking. Getting Santana to talk was like getting Mr. Schuester to not pick Journey songs; just didn't happen. She'd been naïve to think that whatever truce Santana had been working under would have lasted. Rachel had already rejected her three times, wanting to talk.
But talking was what Rachel was good at. She needed to talk. She couldn't just… Jump into things. Suddenly making out with Santana, especially when Santana was drunk… She needed to know why. Because if she didn't know why, she let herself imagine why. And when she imagined, she always found the 'good' reasons for the whys and hows. The reasons that only benefited her. The reasons that made things more important than they were.
Santana had probably just been horny. The two people Rachel knew Santana had continuing history with, Brittany and Puck, weren't available anymore, and it was just like Santana had said: Rachel was alone, and she was probably needy enough that if even Kurt had looked her way, she'd be all over him. But when Rachel didn't fall all over herself to get into Santana's pants - no, she wanted to talk instead - that probably ended any interest the cheerleader had in her.
There was no 'incident' that made Santana text her. She'd probably just calculated the best way to get Rachel's attention. Made her think she liked her, because she knew Rachel wasn't into flings or one night stands.
Rachel angrily rubbed at her eyes, knowing that walking and crying at the same time wasn't the safest thing to be doing. But even if she could make herself cry on cue, it was something else entirely making herself stop when she was actually crying. And she couldn't see herself stopping anytime soon. Santana had played her. In fact, she was probably laughing at her right now, plotting to humiliate her in some enormous way on Monday. Though she knew she'd be able to survive whatever it was Santana was going to cook up for her, as there was no choice for her not to, it didn't mean it wouldn't hurt her.
Because even if most of the night had been about trying to figure out how to deal with Santana and her bipolar drunkenness, Rachel had never felt as… Close to the other girl as she had that night. Not just physically. Emotionally. Even if a lot of it had been bravado or the alcohol talking, she'd thought she might have been seeing something real.
But that had probably been a calculation, too.
The sound of her phone getting a text message cut through her thoughts. Instantly, her stomach dropped again; she wasn't in the mood for getting angry texts from Santana that probably read like U effin B*TCH! How DARE u leave me here, u effin LESBO, man hands!
Eight seconds later, the text notification sound went off again.
Okay… That was either a long text cut into two, or two quick texts sent after each other, or two texts suddenly sent from two different people around the same time. Slowly taking her phone out of her pocket, she unlocked it just because she didn't want miss it if it was from one of her fathers. Pushing the icon of 2 new messages, and sneaking a quick look up the street to make sure there was nothing or no one in front of her, her inbox appeared.
Santana Lopez (2).
And, as she watched, it switched to (3).
Tightening her grip on her phone, Rachel slid it back into her pocket. There was no way she was going to read them anytime soon. She needed to prepare herself first. And that meant, she took a more thorough look around, taking a left at the next street and walking towards downtown Lima to get the nearest coffee shop. It was still fairly early in the evening, and if she picked up her pace, she should get there with enough time to hang out for maybe a half hour or so. That was probably long enough to make sure Santana was gone when she came back.
Rachel shook her head. Using the end of her scarf, she scrubbed some of the tear tracks off her face. The cool night air was seemingly determined to latch onto the wetness, so she decided to concentrate harder on stopping crying. It was a simple fact that would make it easier to do so: Santana wasn't worth her tears.
Turning left, she'd made it halfway down the block before her phone rang. Checking hesitantly, Dad flashed on the screen, so she quickly hit accept. "Hi, Dad!" she forced herself to sound normal, hoping wind interference was down to a minimum.
"Hey, honey. How are you? Still hard at work studying?"
Rachel winced. "Uhm, no, not currently. Actually, I left the house a little while ago to take a walk."
"Oh? Are you sure that's safe?"
"Yes, Dad. I have my coat with me, and it has pepper spray and a whistle in it. As well as I have my phone, and my wallet has my emergency info in it."
"Good. Do you have any idea when you'll be coming home? Your Daddy and I are making the last circuit around the party, so we should be leaving soon. If you need a ride, we'd be glad to come get you."
That made her smile. Glancing up at the nearest street sign, she mentally tried to calculate her estimation of time, but because it was so dependent on how she felt, she finally settled on, "Okay, Dad. Give me a call when you actually leave, and I'll let you know. Thank you."
"Of course." She could hear an answering smile in her dad's voice. "Ohp, he's giving me the hairy eyeball, so I guess my time is up. Talk to you soon, hun. Love you."
"Love you too, Dad! Pass it on to Daddy, too. Bye."
Hanging up, Rachel sighed, shuffling her shoulders. That had almost made her turn around and start walking home. She needed to make sure Santana and all traces of her were gone, after all. However, going back over the evening, all she could think of was the squashed tissue box, and that wasn't anything big. Thankfully.
As for Santana herself… Rachel really couldn't see her hanging around her house, waiting for her to come back. She'd almost, honestly, expected the cheerleader to have chased after her when she'd stormed off, but that hadn't obviously happened. She hadn't heard the car door open or close, and she'd already checked to make sure no one was following her. She didn't want to admit that hurt, but it did.
Rachel groaned, her forehead wrinkling. What had she been thinking, leaving Santana in her car? Had she locked it when she left? Had she even left? Hopefully she hadn't gotten so desperate to get home and angry at Rachel that she'd hot wired the vehicle and gone for a drunken joyride. It wouldn't be a surprise if the girl knew how to do so; like Puck, she had the air of 'juvenile delinquent' about her. Then again, that could always be another of the false airs the girl put on. Which made her wonder, not for the first time, who the real Santana actually was.
She tightened her scarf around her neck, anything to ignore the burning of her phone in her pocket. Checking it had to wait. She wanted to be settled and calm before she did so, and that would not be accomplished as she was walking down the street. Seeing she was only about five minutes away from where she remembered a Starbucks being, she picked up her pace even more.
It would probably be warmer inside. She wasn't freezing, but she wasn't very comfortable, either. Hopefully her coat and scarf were enough to keep her from getting sick. If she did take ill, that would be another reason to be mad at Santana. And she would be able to justify her anger. Absolutely justify it. Rachel's livelihood was her voice, and she couldn't risk damaging it. There were many dangers with even the mildest of colds, laryngitis notwithstanding.
Her latest battle with laryngitis had been mortifying. First she'd chosen Miley Cyrus, which was pretty terrible, but combining that with the cat screeching that had come out of her? Sheer and utter humiliation. Once cured, she'd listened to the tape of the recording Lauren had made before being told to remove all of the microphones, and she hadn't known how she was ever going to live that down. Fortunately, glee and the gleeks had a new scandal almost every week, so eventually it seemed everyone had forgotten about the complete and utter fool she'd made of herself.
Starbucks appeared up ahead. Gladly tramping up to the door, she ducked inside, welcoming getting out of the cold, and headed straight for the counter. Idly browsing the CDs they had for sale as the cuter of the two male baristas she'd seen many times before retrieved a cup of steeping mint tea for her, she quickly claimed the small table in the corner of the shop, away from the few other patrons. Ever since she'd left the kettle by the stove at home, tea had been in the back of her mind.
And now, finally, she had some. Holding her hands close to the searing heat of the sides of the paper cup, she used a warm palm to rub her forehead. Well. She'd promised herself that as soon as she got situated, she was going to take her phone out and read whatever abuse Santana had left her. And now she was situated. So, taking a deep breath and firming her constitution, she opened Santana Lopez (3).
Fuck berry ur such a fuckin drama queen. FUCK U 2.
Ok dammit cum back. I didnt mean wut i just wrote.
Berry, u kno i dont do apologies. Cum back so we can talk. Or tell me where ur going. I dont wanna freeze out here.
Rachel drew in a deep breath of air, holding it in her lungs before releasing it slowly. It was bad, but it could have been worse. Did Santana really want to talk? Could she believe her? What was she supposed to think?