It was around 10:30 when Brittany started to get worried.

For starters, Santana hadn't answered any of her text messages all night. That wasn't anything new, though. She'd been giving Brittany the cold shoulder ever since last Thursday, when it happened. When Santana had finally come clean after so long, scraped together all the courage she had ever possessed and finally told Brittany the truth. She not only told Brittany her true feelings, no, she ripped them out of her stomach and bled them out for her to take. She'd been so vulnerable, so scared, finally taking the leap and just praying that Brittany would be there to catch her.

And she wasn't.

She didn't catch Santana.

She couldn't, she was just... she was so tied up. She felt so awful, she felt dirty. She'd done something terrible to Artie, and she hadn't the slightest clue how to fix it. He seemed to just want her to stay by him, so, she figured that she was obligated to. She wasn't in to him, she never had been. He'd just been unfortunate enough to get caught up in Brittany and Santana's stupid little tug-of-war.

Stupid.

Yeah, that was exactly how Brittany felt. She had been so stupid. She should've known that Artie was too sensitive for her to just pick up and dump to make Santana jealous. She should've known that playing along with Santana's hard-to-get act was stupid. Brittany just thought that maybe if she wasn't there for Santana to fuck after a date with Puck or Sam, maybe if she wasn't kneeling at her every beck and call just for once, that it would thaw Santana's icy heart. Or, at the very least, make her care more.

It didn't. All she'd done is driven Santana further away, and invited Artie closer. It was the exact opposite of what she wanted. But... Brittany felt as though she owed it to him. Artie was one of those weird types of guys who's virginity is the most important thing to them, and she just took it without a second thought and tried to walk out.

Yeah, Brittany was pretty stupid, but not so stupid that she could think tonight was just another night like the last and the next. She knew that Santana wasn't just sitting in her room, or maybe in the shower, watching Rizzoli and Isles and ignoring Brittany's texts. She knew that Gary Skinner was having a party that night, and she knew that Santana would be there. Skinner's parties were legendary. They were loud, long, and there was a lot of booze. His house had four bedrooms, too. It was actually somewhat of a Cheerios initiation ritual to have sex in Skinner's parents' bed (Bonus points if it's your first time.)

With how withdrawn Santana had been lately, Brittany knew she couldn't expect Santana to be anywhere but Skinner's party. Santana never went to parties to enjoy herself. She went to parties to punish herself. She'd drink herself numb, taking whatever was offered to her, just letting people use her body as they pleased. Maybe they wanted to dance. Maybe the wanted to make out. People mostly never wanted to dance, and a handful of guys wanted to make out.

Mostly, everyone just wanted sex.

Santana gave it to them, no questions asked.

Part of Brittany knew that she wasn't one to talk. She'd racked up quite a reputation alongside Santana, and, yeah, she'd been drunk and/or high for a good portion of it all. But she didn't have sex because she hated herself. She had sex to let loose and have fun. Santana... Santana was damaging herself, and now Brittany knew that she didn't even like boys. She was trying to cram herself in to normalcy, trying to shove a square block in to a circular mold.

It scared Brittany more than anything, Santana's apparent need to punish herself for things that were beyond her control. That was why after the girl had deliberately ignored six texts from Brittany, she threw on a pair of sandals and snuck out of her window.

Gary lived within walking distance of the Pierce residence, luckily. It was no short walk, but it wasn't unreasonably long, either. Brittany reached his house in about ten minutes, spending the entire walk deep in stony, nervous silence. What would Santana be doing when she got there? What if she couldn't find her? What if she was already in one of the bedrooms? Brittany flinched at every thought, her legs pushing faster and faster until she was running towards the Skinner's. The dull thump of the bass could be heard from outside, as well as loud chatter and laughter. Brittany's legs seemed to freeze as she came to the top of the house's front porch, suddenly terrified to see Santana. She pushed the door open shakily, putting on the bravest face she could muster.

She was met by half of the swim team at the door, drunk out of their minds and thinking that everything was just stupidly hilarious.

"Hey, Britt's here!" a couple of them cheered, somehow managing to slur one syllable of her name. Brittany managed a sickish smile, waving to the boys as she attempted to walk past but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. One of the swimmers, more sober than the rest of them, but still not entirely put together, was holding out a red plastic cup to her, while his friend had a bundle of dollar bills.

"Beer's two bucks," he said, nudging the cup in to her hands. Brittany gently pushed it back towards him, closing his fingers around the cup.

"Thanks, but I'm not drinking," she explained quietly.

"What? Brittany Pierce is not only late to a party, but not drinking?" his friend with the money exclaimed loudly, making Brittany cringe. "Britt, are you feeling okay?" he continued, feigning worry and pressing the back of one of his hairy, sweaty hands to her forehead.

"Just picking someone up," Brittany said, taking him by the wrist and pushing his hand away from her face before she quietly excused herself. She delved deeper in to the party, trying her hardest not to loose her lunch at the heavy stench of beer, weed, and sweat in the air. It luckily didn't take long to find Santana.

She found the brunette sitting with her legs folded in the middle of the living room floor, seated in between two of the biggest guys on the football team. Brittany cringed at the sight- one of them had his arm around Santana's waist, the other one with a hand resting obscenely high on Santana's inner thigh. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts so short that Brittany was sure that if the latina was standing up, you would see her ass cheeks, a white tank top that broke down in to fringe at the midriff (Brittany could totally see her bra through it, too) and a tall pair of white cork wedges. Santana had a bong in her lap, holding a lighter to the bowl, which was stuffed full. Brittany watched as Santana lit it up, sealing her lips around the mouthpiece and taking a big rip.

Brittany shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before storming over and snatching the bong out of Santana's hand. Santana was shocked, but didn't make a sound, holding the smoke in for as long as she could. The jock who had his arm around Santana's waist laughed out, "Hey, look who decided to join us!" Turning to his friend on the other side of Santana, he added, "One for each of us."

Brittany felt like she might vomit. They were sober, totally sober, and she could tell that Santana could hardly stand. It was disgusting.

"We're just leaving," she spat, grabbing Santana by the wrist and pulling her out of the men's grasp. Santana exhaled a cloud of white smoke in Brittany's face as she pulled her up, making Brittany cringe.

"God, that's disgusting," she coughed, her stomach twisting at the smell of it. Santana giggled, stumbling after Brittany as she pulled her through the living room and out on to the lawn.

"Where're we going?" Santana asked, a dumb smile splitting her face.

"Home," Brittany huffed.

"You got a car?"

"Nope. You're staying the night at mine."

"Britt-Britt, mami and papi are gonna kill me," Santana whined, still grinning, her steps bouncy and uncoordinated.

"They'll kill you less if you're at my house, not doing anything illegal."

"Are you mad? You sound mad."

"I'm not mad," Brittany forced out, though she did feel a twinge of anger in her chest.

"Why weren't you there? It was so awesome. Mark and Dalton and me were having so much fun."

"They were going to take advantage of you, Santana," Brittany sighed, stopping in her tracks and turning to face Santana. Santana stumbled at the sudden halt, nearly knocking in to Brittany.

"They can't take advantage of me if I want it," she slurred lowly. Brittany wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"I know you don't want it," Brittany cut in. Santana blanched, gulping at Brittany. Suddenly, her entire demeanor shifted. She went from deliriously energized to just... broken.

"I know you want me," Brittany said softly after a moment's silence, taking a step closer to Santana. A black truck rolled down the street next to them, fluttering Santana's hair as she gawked at Brittany, lost for words. The headlights roamed over Santana's face, casting her in orange lights for a moment. The look in her eyes, detached and faded, killed Brittany.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Brittany continued after Santana made no attempt to reply. "You're punishing yourself. What for?"

"Because I want you," Santana responded, her voice suddenly dead. Brittany had already known that that was the answer, but it didn't stop her from deflating when she heard it.

"Why is that a bad thing?" Brittany asked softly.

"Because I'm not gay," Santana answered stiffly. Brittany shook her head, suddenly just feeling helpless.

"I'm not," Santana repeated, sitting down on the curb. She attempted to lower herself down gracefully, but the mixture of substances in her system coupled with the heels she was wearing caused her to kind of sit-fall. The brunette sighed, running her hands through her hair restlessly. "I'm not."

"If you were... what would be wrong with that?" Brittany probed, sensing not only that Santana was lying to both herself and Brittany, but why she was doing it. Brittany knew Santana was gay. She'd sensed something different about Santana a long time ago. She'd known it, she'd felt it because she was the same. Brittany wondered if the Latina next to her had ever felt the same way. She knew that she'd always just sensed it- that there was something about the two of them, something secret, something different- but something that they had in common.

Brittany sat down next to Santana, keeping a respectable distance between them.

"I'm not a dyke. That's just not me!" Santana exclaimed, gripping her hair hard from the roots. Brittany winced at the slur.

"Maybe you're not gay. Maybe I'm just... an outlier," Brittany tried weakly.

Santana took a long pause, her breathing heavy.

"What does it matter? You don't want me like that," she eventually laughed harshly.

"Yeah, I do," Brittany replied, barely above a whisper.

"No you don't," Santana shot back. "You told me. You chose Artie over me."

"That doesn't mean I don't love you!"

"It means you love him! You can only love one person, Brittany!" Santana lifted her head up to glare at Brittany, fires burning in her eyes. Brittany knew she'd pulled Santana too hard, and now she was snapping.

"I don't love him!" Brittany insisted. "I'm just... I'm tied up, okay? There's nothing I want more in the world than to be with you, but... I can't leave him. I can't hurt him like that."

"Why? Santana challenged, knowing that the blonde was babying him because he was crippled, and wanting to hear the words from her mouth.

"Because we had sex," Brittany answered, leaning away from Santana a little.

"We have sex. Probably more than you and Wheels do, too."

"Don't call him that!"

"We fuck, Brittany. You and I. You know we do, and you love it. We go at it like wild animals," Santana said, her eyes taking over a hazy look. "Don't try to tell me Wheels can do it better. I'll bet he's never even made you cum," she continued, her voice lowering. Brittany looked away, feeling herself blush.

"Don't tell me you can get what I give to you anywhere else."

"I can't," Brittany admitted. "No one else can give me what you do."

"Especially not Artie."

"Not... especially," Brittany gulped, earning a hard glare from Santana. "He doesn't give me what you do... like... sex-wise. And he definitely doesn't make me feel like you do in terms of... not sex." Santana's gaze turned softer once again, questioning.

"I love you. Not him. You. Santana Lopez," Brittany stated, quietly, as if someone would hear them. Santana held Brittany's stare, beckoning her to continue. "You just... You don't know what he feels, Santana. I don't know what he feels."

"He feels like he's a damn nerd and he got a hot cheerleader girlfriend. He's not going to let you go," Santana deadpanned.

"He's paralyzed!" Brittany shot back. "After his accident, they didn't even know if that was going to work anymore, and by some miracle it did!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "I'm fucking gagging," she said dryly.

"He didn't know if he was going to even have sex, ever," Brittany continued, choosing to ignore Santana's crudeness. "And I just walked all over that."

"You didn't rape him," Santana scoffed.

"He thought it meant something, and it didn't! I was just trying to make you jealous, playing your stupid little game!" Brittany exclaimed, standing back up. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It worked," Santana grumbled miserably.

"Then why are you being so difficult?" Brittany shouted. She almost never raised her voice, but it was late, she was tired, and Santana was really getting on her nerves.

"Because I can't play this dumbass game with you!" Santana yelled back, glaring up at Brittany defiantly. "We've got two options, at this point- you dump the four-eyed, no-legged loser and we're a couple of gay freaks together, or you just leave me for good!"

Brittany shrunk back, her eyes starting to water. "W-..What?"

"I can't take this anymore, Britt," Santana choked out, starting to cry as well. "I can't stand just having a piece of you. It's all or nothing. ...You.. you can take me now, and we'll deal with all this crap together... or you can just wheel off in to the sunset with your damn boyfriend. One or the other, because this limbo shit we've got going on hurts too much."

"I choose you..." Brittany breathed out, kneeling back at Santana's side. "I'll choose you every time."

Santana gulped, tears freely streaming down her face. "You have to be sure of it," she said quietly. "Because if you lie... I don't know what I'll do."

"I've never been so sure of anything," Brittany assured her, tentatively reaching out a hand to rest on Santana's back. Santana thankfully made no attempt to shake her off, instead curling towards Brittany, resting her head against her chest. "I'm yours."

"Can we go home?" Santana asked quietly. Brittany's heart swelled, knowing that she meant that she wanted to go to her house, not the Lopez's. She hadn't heard Santana refer to her house as "home" in a long while. Every since their falling out in the beginning of the year, it had turned to "your house." Brittany had secretly been waiting until "your house" finally reverted back to "home," and the wait was now over. It was the best kind of warmth Brittany had felt in a while.

"Yeah, we can go home," Brittany smiled, standing back up and helping Santana do the same. "Home," she repeated, quieter, letting Santana lean on her as the walked down the street.

"Home," Santana echoed, and Brittany felt the latina's cheeks scrunch up against her shoulder as she grinned. The streets were quiet, completely tranquil, the soft yellow streetlights illuminating their path home.