Work Text:
Santana Lopez didn't know when exactly she realized Brittany breaking up with Sam was not inevitable.
I mean, she'd always known in a sense- but, somewhere, deep down, she wanted- no she believed fate would bend to her will and it would simply happen. Like with Artie- or any other guy the blonde dated. (No matter how brief)
She didn't like viewing it as an opening, a way to get inside and have Brittany for herself. No. Sweet, beautiful, thoughtful Brittany wasn't something to snatch up when no one had her, or to put down when she was getting difficult to hold onto.
But that's what Santana did, wasn't it? No matter how much she could tell herself their break(up) was mutual- reasonable. She knew it for what it really was, it was her fleeing like a coward. Running away from a relationship for so many reasons that didn't make sense. Not even to Santana herself.
She laid in bed that night, thinking if only she had been a better girlfriend, one more determined to make them work, the love of her life wouldn't be off dating yet another guy.
Of course Brittany wasn't the only girl trying to move on. Santana had Dani now, and she was great. Dani was good to her and made her happy, but Santana knew it wouldn't be the same happiness Brittany had made her feel.
The latina rolled over in bed, frustrated at the sheets for no particular reason except the fact she wanted to be frustrated at something, more accurately, someone. She wanted to be mad, mad at anyone really. She wanted to shove a middle finger into the faces of nearly every person in her life right now.
She shifted again, except this time her foot caught on the bedframe's corner, and pain shot up her leg.
"¡Ay, hijo de puta!" Santana hissed through gritted teeth, giving up trying to sleep and sitting upwards against a pillow.
After a few moments of doing nothing, Santana reached for her phone, almost instinctively. When she had been at McKinley, her phone had been her friend. No matter how crappy basic technology was a few years ago. She'd always known what was going on with people then, and it was relatively easier than talking to people in person. Especially boys. Santana lost count of how many McKinley Football or Basketball players she "sexted" those past years. She wondered sometimes what the hell she had been thinking at the time, to find awkwardly sending sweaty, desperate boys those kinds of things a necessity for status.
Brittany hadn't liked it. (The parts she knew about anyways.) Brittany-
Santana stopped to chide herself for getting lost on another Brittany related thought train again and opened her device.
The bright bubble that signaled a notification quickly appeared on the glowing screen, and upon reading it Santana almost fell over.
Twelve missed texts from: Berry
3 missed calls from: Berry
Santana muttered something incoherent and skimmed the texts- something about the Bushwick, and Pamela Lansbury.
That goddam band. Santana groaned inwardly. for probably the fortieth time that night she wished Brittany was in New York with her so she could vent her troubles out to her best friend, like they used to do, not stuck in high school, and with Sam.
What was Brittany doing now? Was she already asleep? Was she up like Santana, wanting the other girl with her? Or was she with that marsh-mellowed headed Bieber creep? Just the thought of him made the raven-haired girl's skin crawl, and her chest bubble with unidentifiable emotions.
Santana shut her eyes and furiously tossed her phone aside, flopping back down onto the bed and willing herself to sleep.