A ton of people I haven’t seen in years started following you.
I figured that. My fiancee…he was infected.
I’m sorry about your fiancée…
A ton of people I haven’t seen in years started following you.
Yeah, and so are you. Has everyone survived?
No…I mean. Most of the New Directions seem to be okay but..Our families and parents…
A ton of people I haven’t seen in years started following you.
I-hello. I can’t believe you’re all still alive.
Quinn! I…I…You’re alive. I’m glad.
(Source: adreamthatshalfawake)
(via beringwells)
Breath || Pezberry
Santana sighed. Again. Then massaged a hand over her neck. Again. Every twitch of a muscle was turning into a nervous habit, every motion shaky and painful. “Your dads were hilarious,” she said dreamily. She remembered seeing them in the back of auditoriums at performances and their little quips at the almost-wedding. Dammit, things were so unfair now. At once the room was too cold. Santana stood from the couch and stretched her back. Breaking her gaze on the window, she walked over to the bed and swung her legs up on it. Settling back against the headboard, over the sheets, she stared forward at a lone painting on the wall opposite them.
“Honestly, Berry? It’s nice to hear you made it in New York.” She smiled again, picturing tiny Rachel Berry curled up on a crappy college mattress typing away a paper on the Life and Times of Vaudeville, or whatever the hell they did at NYADA. “I’m proud of you.” She craned her neck and smiled at the woman next to her. She looked so broken. There were undshed tears welling behind the familiar brown eyes, her hair sweeping haphazardly over her forehead. She gave her a squeeze on the thigh.
“I used to dream of a future with Brittany.” Part of her was alarmed that she’d just said the words, another part was crying with relief at actually speaking them out loud. “She’d come home from the dance studio, I’d be finishing some piece of shit thesis on how to conduct a proper cross-examination. We’d cook dinner together… talk…” She let out a loud sigh. It was almost hopeless beyond the point of pain, how much she still felt for the blonde. “Then one night my dad came into my room. He told me I was accepted to Harvard Law. He held my hand and… he said taking Brittany there would…” she swallowed thickly. “There’s nowhere to dance in Massachusetts. I couldn’t hold her back like that. So I left. I was stupid, and I left.” She exhaled slowly again, trying to control her breathing. “Now I don’t know what to do either.” She looked at Rachel again. “Look at us. We’re quite the site, aren’t we.”
Rachel could feel the pain coming off Santana. She could tell how much she was hurting. In a lot of ways, Santana and Rachel were different. Different people from different back grounds and cultures. They had wanted different things and had even been on opposite rungs of the social ladder. Glee had been their only common group. They loved to perform, to sing and dance and compete. They both loved to win. Now, with a few missed years between them, some life experience, and a nice dose of heartbreak, she found it almost laughable how much they shared, almost. But not quite.
Grabbing the pillow from behind her back, Rachel moved so her head was in Santana’s lap, she curled herself safely into a ball, and closed her eyes. Pretending for a minuet they were in high school again, that this was just some weird moment in a hotel after winning a National title where-in everyone was safe in their minds and no one was arguing. She slowly opened her eyes, reality pressing down on her as grey and hopeless as the sky beyond the window and she could feel the panic and hysteria that longed to bubble to the surface and take hold.
“I thought I was doing the right thing. We…we were so young. Eighteen, just graduating high school. Still in Lima! I mean…we hadn’t even had the chance to live and we were getting married? I tried to tell myself I was just being stupid. That this was Finn. Not some guy that would leave me with three kids and in a trailer. But the more I thought about it, the worse of an idea it seemed. I mean, I believed in him. I believed him to get out there, to live his life. When the day came…I just couldn’t. I couldn’t walk down that isle and say I do. I felt like it was a death sentence…” So I ran. She didn’t say that, she didn’t have to. It was there in the silence between them.
“I hurt him. I hurt the one person I loved even more than I loved myself. I think I was doing the right thing.” Her voice pleaded with the slightly older woman to understand that she hadn’t done it to be cruel. She wasn’t trying to break his heart or screw him up. She just didn’t know how to say she wasn’t ready. She had gone so far that it seemed like there just wasn’t anyway to turn back, so instead of turning around, she altered her path and sprinted past it all. “I wanted him to have the chances I had. I wanted him to be able to wake up in the morning, and be starving and cold, but happy because he was living his dreams…I didn’t want any of this.” Her voice was quite with the suppressed sobs she wouldn’t let through. It was too late to cry.
(Source: veryzomberry, via run-santana-deactivated20120327)
Breath || Pezberry
Standing, looking out through the window. That was all she did now; watch the yard. She had been so shaken the night Brittany had caught one in the yard, she hadn’t slept since. One, because she so achingly lonely, and two, she couldn’t bare the thought of leaving anyone vulnerable in this house. They’d been lazy in her opinion. They hadn’t scouted for food, the electricity was on its way out, they needed ammo…
The sound of footsteps snapped Santana out of her daze, eyes glazed over staring out the dark window pane. “Berry,” she threw softly over her shoulder. She kept her eyes trained on the blackness of the yard for a few more moments before sighing resignedly and backing up to the sofa once more. She plopped down and ran a hand through her hair, stress tightening every muscle she moved. She ached everywhere, her back, her shoulders… her heart. Her throat was sore from the lump that had set up a constant residence there. Honestly, she just needed to puke. Everything inside of her felt toxic. Brittany’s skin still burned on her fingertips.
Turning her attention to Rachel, she couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on her lips at the sight of the girl already tucked in her bed. “They were already gone,” she stated bluntly. Then, softening her voice and eyes, she looked back to the girl. “I’m really sorry, Rachel,” she whispered. Sighing, she turned her gaze back to the window. She’d said that a lot today. Exhaling, she breathed it out again “I’m so sorry.”
Rachel sighed softly. “No, I don’t mean….I know that they were already gone. I know…but. I miss their wisdom. How they made me feel better; no matter what. I miss feeling like maybe I’ll wake up and things will be okay again…” She took a shaky breath, looking at the Latina, or at the couch she was on. She wanted her to not be so far away. She had learned to rely on the small amounts of physical contact she could get to sooth her always frazzled nerves. She wanted to get out of bed, cross the room and sit on the couch, maybe pull Santana’s legs into her lap and just pretend for a few minuets that the rest of the world didn’t exist. Instead, she found herself rooted to the spot.
Running her fingers through her hair she chewed her bottom lip, a nervous habit. Santana looked pretty bad, but even like this she was beautiful. Rachel was positive she looked like crap. She also looked heart-broken, and she wanted to help with that, to feel for one moment like she could offer her friend the kind of comfort and peace of mind she had been giving her since the day she’d arrived in the mansion. “Don’t say your sorry, San. You don’t have to be. Its the truth, and I may not want to hear it, but even if I don’t - its still true.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands, watching her fingers twist together. “I always used to lay in bed at night and dream about my future, about Broadway. New York, about how I’d finally fit in, and people would love me because I was finally in the one place where how talented I was would actually matter.” She swallowed past the lump in her threat, something that had seemed impossible. “I made it to New York, and it was hard, and I was always tired, and hungry, and I didn’t have heat after the first two months, not that I’d ever tell my Dad’s about that. I wanted to do it on my own…everything I ever believed in. Everything I used to get me through..it doesn’t matter anymore, and I don’t know what to do.”
(Source: veryzomberry, via run-santana-deactivated20120327)
Breath || Pezberry
Rachel wanted to cry and scream. She wanted to act out. To march into Glee club with tape over her mouth like she did once in high school. She wanted to run away, to pack up her car, and just drive. No destination in sight, just drive. All the things that had once seemed so impossible because of money, time or even just the ability. Now, what had seemed impossible, truly was. Zombies, made things that way. Letting her head fall back heavily against the wall she sighed, maybe she just wanted to cry. She hadn’t really been allowed to feel. To mourn. There was so much to get done to survive. She hadn’t seen Finn in a while, she was really sure what he was up to. It didn’t matter.
Chewing her lip, she stood and smoothed her skirt before she set out to find Santana. She knew the room the Latina had claimed was upstairs, it over looked the gate, and front yard. It was a beautiful room, but she really just needed someone to talk to. Someone who would understand. Their friendship had been a bit of a surprise, she never thought she’d be happy to see Santana. She never thought she’d actually seek her out to speak, but here she was.
Rachel paused in front of the closed door, hesitating for a second before she lightly knocked and then stepped inside. “Hey, Santana…” She could that the Latina was upset, seeing Brittany again was probably just a huge reminder of how much she’d messed up. Rachel knew how she felt because she had done it to. The day she had her diploma she’d hit the ground running so fast she hadn’t bothered to look back. It was a mistake, one that hurt someone. Someone who should have never been hurt. Wetting her lips she walked to the edge of the bed, slipping off her shoes, before she crawled in, pushing back the blankets, she got settled against the headboard, covering her lap. “I miss my Dads…”
Can we just leave? Go somewhere?
… Me too.You need a talk?
More like a run…I….I just…yeah..maybe a talk would be nice.
(Source: veryzomberry, via run-santana-deactivated20120327)
Can we just leave? Go somewhere?
I wish.It’s too dangerous out there. Time to start getting used to hell, Rachel.
Please? I don’t want to get used to hell. I want things to go back to normal.
(Source: veryzomberry, via run-santana-deactivated20120327)
