“It doesn’t matter, butter scalp! I’m fine on my own!” As hard as she tried, there was a real emotion that slipped through her facade. A stray tear that she’d deny no matter what Blaine saw. “Why are you still here, I said I want to be alone! — Wait, are you okay?”
“Obviously. You’re perfectly fine, Santana. You exude fine. How could I have thought otherwise,” Blaine asks with a voice that he wished could be more calming when she needed it so badly. Regardless of what she said–Blaine knew Santana wasn’t fine. But he was lacking the energy to hide the fact that maybe–he wasn’t either. Quite honestly? He was just tired. “Yeah. I’m okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out snippy. I’m–I only want to make sure you know I’m here if you need me.” And maybe if she needed him? Then it wasn’t outright saying he needed her, too.
“Real quick of you, Anderson-of-a-bitch. I guess you have no way of knowing. Life sucks like that, have you not realized that by now? Again, real QUICK of you. No need to ask why. The only think you need to know is I’m gonna be out of here for a while. I’d like it if I had a friend around while I’m crashing at crappy motels, but frankly — I don’t trust you. Since you’ve moved in it’s all a big Kurt && Blaine pride parade. You do realize we haven’t hung out solo in weeks, if not over a month now, right? No, course you don’t. You’re to busy tending to the needs of tickle-me-elf-boy. I’m sick of it. So don’t bother, okay?”
“I’m sorry. What did you just call me? Really, Santana? Really? You don’t have to go. Please? Don’t go holing yourself up in shady hotels. This isn’t Lima. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? I know you think you’re a total badass and you are but–stay here. Where its safe and clean. Because God knows what you’re going to encounter in a roach motel in this town. Hold on. You don’t trust me? Because of Kurt and I being–well–us? I know we’ve been around each other a lot and I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was hurting you. Can we go out? Get dinner. A drink or two?” Or six considering how this conversation was going? He might need that many. “Talk this over? Will you give me that chance?”
“No, ACTUALLY, it has a lot to do with you && Kurt. Someone steps on his little toe && you’re back to playing superhero in your weird cross of a football uniform && pajama outfit. Yet when I am feeling betrayed by someone I consider FAMILY, you don’t even bother checking how bad it really is. What if I said I’m finally moving out? Would you listen then, butter-scalp?”
“Weird cross of a–what are you talking about? Oh. Whatever. How am I supposed to know what’s deemed necessary for an intervention anymore? Or if I do step in? Whether or not my head is going to be bit off? But! Apparently now? Not stepping in gets me that too. So I’m in a lose-lose situation. Butter—ugh. Why are you moving out? You know it’s better if we all stay here together until we’re settled. What’s happening that is so terrible you’d want to leave?”
“The fact that you care more about your hair gel than picking a side just shows how non-existent your backbone is. What? Did you eat it or something? Turn all your insides to goop? You know what, that makes PERFECT sense. I mean, why else would you be so utterly disengaged to stand up for the person who is being unfairly JUDGED. Oh, unless that person is Kurt, right?”
“Hold on. This has nothing to do with Kurt or me. Just because I am taking the sidelines on this one doesn’t mean I’m spineless, Santana. Maybe I’m staying out of this because this is the fifth fight in a week between you and her. Walking on a floor made out of eggshells is exhausting. Who knows what will set either one of you off? No one. I’m not sure either of you do, too. I don’t even know what the two of you are fighting about this time.”
“If you side with her — I’m going to use your hair gel to start a house fire.”
“I’m not siding with either one of you. As far as I can tell? This has nothing to do with me and by that threat? I’d like it to remain that way for my own and my hair gel’s safety.”
Santana was still fuming, though there was an ache in her chest. When she hurt the people she loved, whether they deserved it or not — the guilt came fast. Once upon a time there were no consequences for her cruel actions. The only pain was hidden in hushed sighs && tears behind the curtains. Now she had an ALMOST visible weak spot. She use to blame Finn for it. Saying he mostly, along with all of her closest friends && loved ones made her weaker. In time she grew to like having that soft spot. Until it started to break. Reminding her why she had walls built in the first place. It was becoming more clear as time went on how angry she’d made her friend. His body was still but there was a fury within, spreading like wildfire. This might just be the day that somebody truly broke the calm && collected Blaine Anderson. Of course if anyone was going to blow up this island, it’d be Santana. It was hard not to back away when he stepped closer, especially because her usual reaction was to get in close, show she wasn’t afraid. Of course physically she had no fear of the bow tie wearing musical enthusiast. Mentally though? Well they say the people you love the most can hurt you the worst, && that’s exactly what he was doing.
His blows were low. As low as those of her own design. Each one sent chills down her spine. Santana was usually on the other end of this kind of situation, && Blaine? She would never of expected Blaine to be the one to turn the tables around. First touching on her engagement, he hit the weak spot that came for Kurt in the first place. That deep layer of insecurity she masked so well with sheer anger && disgust towards one of her best friends. It didn’t help that his next turn was right where her thoughts were headed next. The fact that the person she hurt cared about her. He cared enough to stand up to her even when he knew she’d retaliate ( even though he couldn’t of been prepared for how far she really went ). He cared && put himself out there to be by her side. Then there she went, betraying him because it was the only reaction that felt right for how he made her feel. It seemed people were correct all along, in calling her the wicked bitch of the west.
In stopping there, he could of seen her storm out, could of left her remorseful && insecure until their little world patched itself back up again. The way they always believed it could. Only this time, that wasn’t so certain. Blaine had used the ammo that could truly tear her to pieces. The one thing that openly brought her dark hues to tears, glazing over them like crystals. He brought up her feelings for Finn. For what Kurt did when he learned how much pain she was in after losing him. One of the touchiest subjects the female ever had to face. So when his rant finished, Santana felt destroyed. Broken past repair. && what made it so much worse? Was that she always knew somewhere deep down, pass the cockiness && laughter — that there was no going back. She was broken, && now THEY were broken too. Him calling her out caused the tears, ones that she was ready to run off && hide from the world. But his final words, his mention of being ALONE, is what provoked her to lift her hand. Ready to slap him HARD for what he dared to say. Only instead he was barely threatened. There was just a jerking movement that almost hit it’s target. The strike was just barely held back by what little will power she had left. In fear of putting them both in more misery, unstable && quick movements brought her away from him, not pausing once as she headed for the door.
The lowest blow he dealt came from a ledge that gave way to nothing but darkness he tiptoed past for months and artfully dodged by turning a blind eye to it and then turning to therapy when he couldn’t anymore. Thanks to Dave being the one to intervene when he saw it inside Blaine’s eyes when their conversations turned to feelings and Blaine–who was so often the first to wear his heart on his sleeve when it came to how he felt–couldn’t talk without shaking, tears building up and anger always was the last and most overwhelming emotion to follow. Dave connected to it. Dave was helping him fix it and he was so, so sure they won. His days were brighter, life was good, he was happy. If he ever doubted it on important days between him and Kurt (their wedding date was the worst)? He avoided the calendar, fell in love with his Warblers then went home to Dave for comfort.
This story was never going to end. Was it? Months of putting Kurt out of his mind were torn away with the arrival of his ex and all the feelings that he swore to God he was over, were there waiting for him to find inside Kurt’s presence that didn’t belong in the life he made here. They were done. Kurt was in New York and he was in Ohio and building something. Why did his heart have to break when he saw Kurt hurting and knew he was hurting because of him? Kurt was the one to end things. Kurt realized his mistake too late. It wasn’t fair for him to come back and complicate things. WHY was he complicating things in the first place? There shouldn’t be things for him to complicate! So here he was. Arriving just to tell her how wrong that was and then—. Hell bent on focusing all his frustration that came rushing in on her.
He never should have made the mistake and called him like Rachel asked him to. The way Kurt’s voice cracked was the splintering line of his patience and usual gentility when handling a volatile situation. Or person. Or himself.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to rip her in half. She didn’t deserve that. Yes, Santana needed to hear a piece of someone’s mind but…he went too far. For the wrong reasons. Suddenly–he just wanted to be at home. As quickly as it flared up, the anger rushed out leaving him spent and catching up to what he just said. Oh God, he hated himself the second he did.
“Santana? Wait,” his voice lost it’s razorblade sharpness as he bolted after her. “I shouldn’t have said.. Would you just hold up?!” Without thinking, he drew near enough to reach her elbow and try to get her to stop. She had to hear him out. She had to.
Santana just watched in amusement as Blaine tried to down the liquor straight. It was fairly obvious that being a Warbler didn’t come with too many drinking lessons. Where as with Puck for a friend, && the Cheerios as a team, Santana had plenty of practice. Hopefully the poor boy wouldn’t try to keep up with her. Then again nothing would be more amusing than a wasted Blaine Anderson trying to pretend he’s fully functioning. While he tried to speak, the female fought back laughter. The way he winced && choked between words from a simple two chugs, was nothing short of hilarious. “Of course. If you ever think I’m cheap, it’s because you’re looking at Rachel’s extensions in the bathroom. Not mine.” Her lips curled upwards in a confident grin as she took the bottle back. Warmth emanated from her chest as she took the two gulps down easily. The burn only lasted a moment, so she tried not to make as big of a deal out of it as Blaine did. Without hesitation, she handed the bottle back, watching him expectantly to try going on. “I’m a little worried. What if I want to light a candle? Do you think the insane amount of hair gel in your hair mixed with the alcohol in your system will make you EXTRA flammable? Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you rubbed one out tonight && became the next fashion nightmare of elm street.”
Blaine was a little too concentrated on not drooling from the fire in his mouth to really mask the lopsided grin that appeared when Santana went off on her comparison between cheap and Rachel’s hair extensions. Seriously? Where did she come up with this stuff? He watched her take the gulps like a pro and give no outward sign of the nasty taste. Impressive. But that meant she probably burned enough tastebuds off to achieve that level of pro and he’d gladly keep the ones he had that held him back. Taking back the bottle with a nod of thanks–Blaine stopped in his tracks when the Bag of Witty Insults was tossed in his direction. Aw. Ones like this? Were Santana’s way of saying I love you and you know what? The feeling was mutual. Not taking it to heart–Blaine shrugged and hovered the neck of the bottle by his lips so he could give her a lift of his brows. “Okay–Santana,” he hummed and gave her a cock-eyed smirk, “First? Did you really have to use the phrase rub one out?” He put quotation marks around that one with one hand. “Second? Then just don’t light a candle to be on the safe side. If I go down? I’m taking you with me. Human Torch style.” And down went two more gulps as those tastebuds he swore he was keeping earlier screamed in protest–just a little quieter this time.
See you and me Have a better time than most can dream Have it better than the best So we can pull on through Whatever tears at us Whatever holds us down And if nothing can be done We’ll make the best of what’s around
If only he could see his mess of a hairdo. As much as she wanted to fire off a few quick one liners regarding the undone masterpiece, the situation didn’t call for it. There was no reason other than her own fear of commitment && connection that would lead her to say something cruel. As tempting as it was to self destruct, it seemed Blaine calmed her nerves enough to push those thoughts aside. The option was there, she could lean towards her dark side and snap any moment. Just not yet. Right now she was sticking to the part of her that always got what she wanted. The part that excused the things that scared her most, letting the future rest unbalanced so she could have the present.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like Blaine, or feeling close to people. It was just overwhelming when people looked out for her. Santana had seen too many people fall from greatness, too many hearts breaking from the hands of those whom they trusted. So to have love on her side, was what scared her the most. The bitch of their group prided herself in being independent, not giving a shit, always being on the heart breaker side to avoid being heart broken. A few times she’d slip, and her wicked ways would settle just long enough for her to share a moment of intimacy. A moment that showed the wicked witch had a heart. Deep brown hues flickered open to see her friend, so dangerously close by her own design. His question caught her off guard, striking a small panic to stir in her half asleep brain. Thankfully for the both of them, she was just comfortable && happy enough to let it slide. && She felt able to breathe again. “I don’t need to talk, wonder boy. Unless it’s about your full on muppet on meth hair.” She grinned at her joke, but curled her fingers over his chest to show some sort of care. Even if it came from that dark place, she didn’t mean to hurt him. She had to make sure he knew that.
Long fingers dared to card themselves into the dark strands of hair his nose previously was enjoying having a field day burying itself into. He waited–wondering if she was okay or if she needed to let something off her chest. Either way? They weren’t moving from this couch come hell or high water. Why? Because he was comfortable and this felt too good to give up yet. A break from all the head throbbing inducing studying was more than welcome and he planned on enjoying every second away from books and notes that he indulged himself in. Plus? He did have great company in that pause of work, work, work. So long as she was okay? Blaine was okay. If she wasn’t? Making sure she was wouldn’t be too much trouble. Truthfully, it’d be no trouble at all. “Okay, okay. Just thought I’d ask. Did you seriously just call me wonder boy. Cute, Santana. Real cute,” he kept his voice at a whisper because the quiet was nice and calm and perfect.
“I’ll let the muppet on meth hair comment slide just this once. Because I know–coming from you–that’s the best sort of compliment I can hope for. It probably does look like a wicked mess. I’d fix it but that requires moving and we already established that isn’t going to happen.” Humming at her fingers on his chest–Blaine gave her scalp a stroke of fingertips and piano key worn nails before untangling his fingers and covering the back of her hand. “You know? For swearing that you’re no good at any of this stuff? You’re a pretty amazing cuddler. You should give yourself more credit where it’s deserved. Comfy enough for you? I think I passed out on top of a blanket stuffed between me and the crease of the couch. If you want? I might be swayed into letting you try to get it out.” Maybe. Maybe he’d move. Chances were about fifty-fifty currently.
The females gaze narrowed the moment Blaine mentioned the tweedledum twink she’d shut down days before. He was going to get defensive, && that alone had her setting up defenses of her own. A rolodex of hateful words ran through her brain as she tried to listen to what he had to say. That was more than most people got from Santana. At least he started off on a semi-understandable note. Though his voice dripped with distaste, or disappointment. She didn’t bother learning the difference. “Okay puppy breath, I don’t think Kurt was that hurt by a few blows at his dance moves && creepy old people habits.” She should of kept quiet but the snark came out under her breath. How could it not when he was so pointedly attacking her? Even if it was well deserved, that wouldn’t mean she’d be backing down any time soon.
At this point her heart was pounding in her chest, the tension rising more && more with each passing moment of silence. He went on about how Kurt didn’t deserve it, but he did. The boy deserved the few quick witted, well delivered insults for what he said in glee club. How could he honestly be defending him? After everything, he was still Kurts bitch, && she wasn’t going to let it slide. “There are no words — for how absolutely PATHETIC you look right now. I can tell how hard you’re trying to stand up to me right now, because your over gelled hair is actually trying to defy gravity, only in a broken && totally repelling way, similar to Kurt’s rendition of the song when battling queen uni-brow. I think maybe it would of worked. MAYBE. If only you weren’t trying to fight with me on someone you can barely look at without breaking into some depressing song about broken hearts && lost dignity. You know, if you spent just half of the time you waste on the narcissistic purse dog you happen to still think is yours — maybe you’d stand a chance against anything other than a pastry shop. Now get out of my face please, before I end you.” Santana could tell she’d regret snapping at him the moment it stopped. Blaine cared about his friends, even her, through thick && thin. Yet here she was tearing him apart. Maybe some part of this was her fault, but that kind of confession still wouldn’t come soon.
Blaine didn’t go into this confrontation without expecting some sort of incinerating backdraft inferno exploding in his face. So when it came? He stood silently listening and took every word in with the drumming of his pulse in his ears as a soundtrack. Not a peep came from him until she was done. Though there were telltale signs of what her words were doing to him throughout the entire tirade. Prepared or not. He physically reacted in subtle ways. It showed in how he gripped down onto his arms so tight that the color drained out of his fingers and how the honied hazel of his eyes stopped exuding the light they normally captured and radiated back tenfold. Instead? They were darker, more serious and narrowed at their edges. The tip of his tongue pressed tight against the backside of his bottom row of teeth causing the muscles of his jaw to tense up. Finally. Either she ran out of words. Or she had to breathe. Something in him broke. Not in a loud, screaming sort of way. But something far more done. When he was sure he wouldn’t choke on what he had to say–Blaine slowly let gravity pull him from the wall he’d been leaning one heel against and took a few steps towards her–chin tucked down and eyebrows raised just to make his point crystal clear.
“Grow. Up. Santana. If all you have to hurt me with are insults about hair products that I’ve been hearing since I came to this school and degrading Kurt or what he may or may not mean to me? Are you sure you’re ready for such an adult decision as marriage? I’m pretty sure you should drop the middle school lash outs before you take that leap. The purse dog you continue to insult also happens to be the boy who tried to make things remotely better for you the only way he knew how when you were put through hell at this school. He is also that boy who didn’t boot your rear end to the curb when you randomly showed up in New York City proclaiming that you were going to live there. Why? Because he cares about you. You got to stay. Well. Until you drove the both of them so crazy with your selfish games they had to kick you out or go nuts. But most of all,” he stopped walking and stood there sighing softly. “That’s the same boy who told me when I asked where the heck it was and thought I was going to have to punch someone if they stole it from him again–gave you the most important thing that he ever had that belonged to his brother because he was so worried for you that he knew you needed it more than him. It was more than insults about dancing and old people. It was about his appearance, his personality, his entire self and you used me to make the hammer hit harder. Or do you not even hear what comes out of your mouth when you do this to the people that love you so much? Because–if that’s the case? Until you think about it? You’re going to keep on losing them until you end up alone.”
pianokeysandbowties back up 