I was majorly depressed, not sure why, and this thought popped into my mind, so I decided to write it.

Hope you enjoy and please tell me what you thought!

Too Late

It was the 19th of February, year 2020 when Santana Lopez received the envelope.

She'd just returned from the Big Apple, where she'd been filming several scenes for her upcoming movie, Love is Lost. The limo had dropped her off, and with a quick thanks to the driver she'd grabbed her bags and headed on up to her penthouse apartment in Downtown, Santa Monica.

It'd been a busy week. She'd shot a few scenes running through Central Park, which she mentally thanked her personal trainer for, another and then a romantic scene with her on screen partner, in the middle of Times Square. Her life hadn't turned out the way she expected, but she'd got everything she thought she'd ever wanted.

After graduating from McKinley High, she'd left Lima and travelled straight to LA. Within two months, she'd signed a contract with Columbia Records. She released a few albums, earning numerous awards consisting of a few Grammy's, an ALMA award and a 'Single of the Year' MTV award, presented to her by no other than Paula Abdul, her numero uno Latina. A few years later, she told her agent she wanted to dabble in some acting. Only about three or four weeks after that, no other than Stephen Spielberg rang her up and demanded her to be the lead role in his new film, Love is Lost. She'd accepted gracefully, and received the script a month after.

During November, it was time to start acting, and she finally got to meet her colleagues. Much to her surprise, it was no other than Noah Puckerman, the owner of her virginity and number one high school Lesbro. They'd fallen back into their usual routine, stupid jokes, swollen knuckles on Santana's side due to Puck's crude, sexist comments and late night outings to strip clubs - where Puck would ultimately sneak off into the back room for a little "somethin', somethin'" (as he liked to call it) with one of the skanky strippers.

Three months later, and they'd manage to get through half the film due to long nights and way to early mornings. But Spielberg ordered the actors to take a break, and so they did. Santana returned home, after spending months away from her penthouse apartment looking over the North Pacific Ocean, and travelled down the Pacific Coast Highway in the black of a long, sleek limo, window open and raven locks blowing in the wind.

There was something about that day, something that just pulled her down, sunk her emotions and caused her to snap at everyone and anyone that got in her way. She couldn't explain it, she had no idea what the hell was going on and why she felt the irrational urge to punch someone and then break down in a whimpering mess. But as soon as she saw the envelope lying on the welcome mat just inside her apartment, her heart morphed into a ticking time bomb. She found her palms sweaty, breathing transforming into short, heavy pants and her skin shining with a thin layer of sweat. Her bags were on the floor before she knew it, and her slender, perfectly manicured fingers trailing the outside of the crisp, white envelope.

It felt heavy, heavier than an envelope should've been, but it wasn't due to the weight. She slid her forefinger underneath the paper, front door still wide open behind her as a thick piece of beige parchment was revealed, a small, white, silk bow tied on top. There was just something… Something out of the ordinary about the parchment Santana was grasping in the sweaty palms of her hands, and she just couldn't figure out why. With a single movement, the envelope floated to the floor and her caramel fingers traced the outline of the thick card.

There was a distinct creamy décor towards it, and she cocked her head to the side as the pads of her fingers stroked over the small sparkles and miniature bows positioned at each corner of the card. It reminded her of something… Of someone. And the mere memory of the person was excruciatingly, heart-wrenchingly painful. It reminded Santana of her. She flicked the card, noticing for the first time it was folded and suddenly her heartbeat was pounding a mile a second. With an inhale that ran sharply and deeply through her chest, she squeezed her eyes shut and flipped it open.

A single tear escaped her right eye almost immediately, and moved agonisingly slowly down her cheek, leaving a small salty track in its midst. Her vision blurred, and mind raced as her eyes darted from right to left, trailing over the thin, black, calligraphy present in the middle of the card. Her fingers slacked, hands dropping effortlessly as the card balanced the end of her fingertips. A second and slight waving of the Latina's frame, the card slipped off, landing on the hardwood floor with a quiet thud that seemed magnified a thousand times. Her heartbeat mimicked the volume, and soon enough the intense pounding was the only thing she could hear in the large space of her penthouse apartment.

Yes, you could say Santana Lopez got everything she wanted, that everything in her life was perfect. That she had her own personal driver, millions of dollars, a hunky model on her arm during award shows, an impressive Range Rover that she barely ever drove and a ridiculously oversized apartment that overlooked one of the most beautiful views known to man - but there was something missing from her life. Something that had been missing for eight years of the Latina's life. Eight, long, heart-shattering and excruciatingly painful years.

A breath-takingly beautiful, sparkling steel blue orbed, wavy, golden locked person that'd owned Santana's heart, well, for as long as she can remember. That person? Brittany Susan Pierce.

During the first twelve years of Santana's life, her and Brittany's friendship was the usual one. They'd formed an unbreakable relationship at the mere age of four, where the brunette had pushed Noah Puckerman into the sandpit after he'd thrown a lump of sticky mud at the blonde.

It developed over the years, the girls became friendlier, their lives had taken different paths, but they still remained the best of friends. However on Santana's twelfth birthday, Brittany had given the Latina something that she'd never forget, but had taken something unconsciously in return. It was the night they shared their first kiss, and the night Brittany stole Santana's heart.

It had been perfect, well, more than perfect actually. They were sitting cross-legged on Santana's bed, knee's touching and fingers threaded together in front of them. The blonde had told Santana to close her eyes, because her present was coming and the brunette obliged without a question. Brittany leant forward and the bed dipped in the process. She remembered wondering what was going on, but her heart told her to shut up and enjoy whatever it was, because, well, it was Brittany.

Santana swallowed against her thick throat, feeling her hot breath suddenly mix with her best friend's, and her lips parted slightly in reaction. Their noses brushed, and she cracked open her eyes the smallest bit to see Brittany's bright orbs hidden by pale eyelids. Their lips touched, ever so gently, the blonde's top lip slid perfectly in between Santana's parted ones. Brittany froze, and Santana could tell that the blonde didn't know what her reaction was going to be, but the way her lips tingled and heart pounded, told her it was just so right.

The Latina's lips curved upwards slightly, and she lowered her head, making sure their lips stayed together as she felt Brittany retract, and she brushed them against the blondes once more. She parted her lips gradually, and managed to summon the courage to kiss Brittany back. The blonde tasted of everything she loved. Fresh vanilla ice cream, sweet strawberries and delectable remnants of hot cocoa.

Ever since that night, kissing had become a regular occurrence in their relationship, and gradually over the years, it evolved into a sexual relationship. Santana never wanted to admit that their friendship was more than what it was, because she managed to convince herself sex wasn't dating, and that what she felt for Brittany was no more than physical. And up until Senior year, she'd stuck to her stubborn ways and trained herself into believing that she wasn't in love with her best friend.

But when Brittany started dating Artie, and told the Latina she was falling in love with the wheelchair-bound boy, it'd hit Santana harder than she thought it ever would. Brittany had always been hers, whether it was spoken out loud or not, but gradually over the winter, they'd grown apart. Santana was in pieces, and eventually the blonde took note of her feelings, and broke up with the boy.

On the last day of Graduation, Brittany had come up to Santana and declared her undying love for the Latina in the midst of the celebration, surrounded by screams, cheers and hats flying all over the place. But Santana, she hadn't been ready to hear it, and since hearing it come out loud, she did what she did best and ran. Her legs were burning by the time she arrived home, and before she could even decide what she was doing, the first flight to LA was booked on her dad's credit cards and she was on her way to Lima Allen County Airport.

Hours later, Santana arrived in LAX, father's credit card tucked into her back pocket and clutching a suitcase and two duffle bags. She found a hotel in West Hollywood, and booked in a few nights there. However when she arrived in the room, she felt emptier than ever. Her knees gave way, and her body curled itself a tight ball, hands clutching her skin tightly and leaving half-moon indentations in her olive skin. What felt like a waterfall flooded out her eyes, and she felt her eyes swelling by the second.

But now, eight and a half years later, she's back in Lima, surrounded by her old school friends just outside Lima Church, a few blocks away from McKinley High. Mike and Tina greet her first, and Santana isn't surprised to a small, Asian child, only about one or two years old, snuggled under thick layers of white comforters in a buggy beside them. She knew some people were meant to last, and the two Asians, even through high school were just meant to be. But sometimes she was wrong, and a tug of her heartstrings just confirms it.

"Wow, you guys have a kid?" Santana says, distracting herself from the ache throbbing throughout her body. She cocks her head to the side and scrunches up her nose to the kid before wiggling her finger in front of the child's face.

Tina nods, "Yeah, and another one on the way,"

She pats her stomach and Santana looks to Mike, "Nice work Chang. You still dancing?"

"Yeah, own my own studio in Indianapolis."

Santana smiles, "Well congratulations guys, I'm happy for you."

She gives them a quick smile before heading off towards the being pulled into a tight embrace by Quinn Fabray. Her jaw hits the floor as soon as the small diva, known as Rachel Berry snakes her arm around the ex-head cheerleader's waist, and kisses her softly on the temple.

"Uh, Q?" She says, disbelief lacing her tone, her eyes flickering between the two women.

The blonde smiles and pulls the Jewish girl tighter into her body, "Santana, I'd like you to meet my wife. Rachel Fabray-Berry."

Santana's face falls, and for a second she considers trying to slap some sense into the blonde but when she sees the hazel eyes sparkle, her heart falters and she smiles.

"Wow, well, congratulations guys." She says, opening her arms and beckoning the two women for a hug.

They oblige and Santana stands there for a few moments, hating the way she can feel how in love her old best friend and ex-verbal punch bag are. After a few moments, she pulls away and straightens down her violet, strapless dress. Quinn leans over and murmurs something into Rachel's ear, squeezing her hand gently before the small brunette heads away towards Finn, who's standing awkwardly Kurt and Blaine, who to Santana's surprise, still look very together. And judging by the matching golden bands, very married.

"How you doing S?" Quinn asks, concern sketching itself into her expression.

Santana gulps, knowing it would come up sooner or later, "I'm fine Q."

The blonde raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow, "I'm gonna call bullshit on that. There's no way you can be fine, Brit-"

"Don't." Santana deadpans, trying to suppress the pain seep out through her battered heart, "Just please, don't" She continues, her voice breaking at the very end of her sentence.


She raises a hand, "Honestly, I'm fine Quinn. I have to be."

Quinn places her hand on the Latina's shoulder, "You don't have to be."

"I do."

"You don't."

Santana gulps against a thickened throat, "Quinn, please, can we not do this. I just want to get today over and done with."

The blonde hesitates for a moment, and Santana lets her eyes roam around the area, watching the trees sway lightly in the wind and the birds flying low overhead. After a few seconds, she sighs heavily and looks back into concerned, hazel orbs.

"Let's just," She punctuates with a shake of her head, "Let's just get this done."

Quinn nods and Santana brushes past her, heading towards the large entrance, the doors propped open by two wedges of wood lodged under the small gap between the floor underside of the door. The scent of her punches Santana, and she halts to a stop, Quinn barging into her shoulder.

"Whoah, S? Come on," She takes Santana's hand, "Let's find a seat."

Chocolate orbs roam the church, and find Sam sitting at the front, his once blonde; Justin Bieber inspired hair cropped into a small quiff. He's sitting next to Mercedes, and their talking animatedly, laughing and looking pretty damn happy. She finds Artie next, on the edge of one of the pews, head dipped and looking pretty damn miserable, and for a second she wants to smile smugly.

But the urge is completely diminished by the time her eyes settle on a large, muscular, brown haired man sitting on the front pew, nearest to the aisle. His knee is bobbing up and down, and by the way the elderly, blue eyed woman, (who Santana's known for a considerable amount of her life), is sitting beside him and rubbing her hand reassuringly on his back, she knows this is the guy. The guy who's taking away the one thing that ever meant anything to her. This is Brittany's fiancée.

Before she knows it, Quinn has led them to the third row, parallel to the nervous looking groom and sat them down. She's nearest to the aisle, and she can't help but scan the man up and down, noting every imperfection he has, like the five o'clock shadow on his face, his larger-than-average ears and feminine cheekbones. Santana feels the tears brimming behind her eyes, and squeezes them shut as a hand links with her own.

She expects Quinn to be staring at her, but when she looks up, dark chocolate eyes, similar to her own are staring at her apologetically. Apparently Quinn had left Santana with Rachel, and now the Jewish girl is rubbing her thumb in circular motions over her knuckles.

"We can leave Santana, if you want too."

Santana knows her and Rachel never got on, and for most of the years they'd known each other, she'd done nothing but insult the smaller brunette at any opportunity. But right now, she's nothing but grateful for the Jewish girl looking at her with saddened eyes.

"No," Santana replies, wiping away an invisible teardrop as her lip quivers, "I can do this. I have too."

Rachel shakes her head, and Santana knows the woman in front of her knows not to press the issue, and she's incredibly thankful for that. Christ, she's thankful for Rachel Berry, she never thought she'd say that.

"Thank you." She whispers as Quinn sits beside the Jewish girl.

Rachel smiles and mouths 'no problem' as the blonde returns to her place, in between Rachel and Santana. She glances between the two chocolate orbed women, but decides not to ask what's going on, and once again, the Latina's thankful.

It only takes a few minutes for the pews to fill, and within twenty minutes, Leila Pierce, Brittany's mother arises from her seat and heads to the back of the church. Santana follows the older woman with her, until she disappears through a side door and into what the Latina can only assume is Brittany's dressing room.

She gulps, and her lip quivers even more as she feels her heart start to beat faster in anticipation. As soon as 1pm strikes, the priest steps out onto the altar, dressed in a soft, yellow robe and ridiculous hat that Santana can only assume Brittany asked for, and smiles sadly.

"Everyone rise." The priest demands.

The Latina looks to Quinn who smiles and nods. Her heart drops as she hears the side door open, and looks back to see Leila Pierce exit, with a large, I'm-so-happy, expression on her face. Her heart drops into the pit of her stomach, but sighs in relief as she realises it's not the Pierce she was expecting.

She takes a final glance around the church, noticing the huge Pierce family that occupy the two rows in front of her. Santana see's Alice, John, and Craig, Brittany's cousins that the Latina stayed with one summer at their house in Miami. Next, she finds Gary and Tyler Pierce, Brittany's gay uncles that she'd only met once, and refused to see them again due to fear of their 'gaydar'. There's many more of Brittany's relatives that possess those damn, piercing blue eyes that Santana knows so well, but she can't focus as the soft, piano starts playing from the far corner.

Her ears perk up as she hears the door open again, and suddenly her heart breaks even more, more than she thought was possible. The one thing she's been dreading, and wishing never happened since the age of six, when Brittany promised to marry her in the sandpit, is happening right before her eyes. Her world is crumbling and she can't do a thing about it.

Chocolate eyes roam the church, and fall on the tall, beautiful blonde positioned at the top of the aisle. She's dressed in a brilliantly white wedding dress, one tailored to accentuate Brittany's slim waist and show every curve and contour of her sculpted shoulders. The blonde's hair is loose in curls around her shoulders and a small weaved vine halo delicately placed on top of her head. Blue eyes are enhanced by a light layer of white eye shadow and a heavy layer of mascara, and Santana immediately notices the lack of brightness behind Brittany's piercing orbs.

She inhales deeply and thinks of all the memories she had with the blonde, all the kisses, the cuddles, the comfort, the nights they spent with limbs entangled and breaths mixing. It's all too painful and she shuts her eyes, trying to supress the intense pain crushing her chest with every step the blonde makes. Each graceful step causes Santana's insides to feel like they're being ripped out, and each one hammering another spike through her heart.

The Latina's bottom lip begins to quiver once more, and her eyes begin to sting as she holds back the unshed tears just screaming for release. She's trying, but it's too hard. It's too damn hard to hold them back. And with each step that Brittany takes, it's just another blow to the wall holding them back. It takes literally everything she has to pass each minute by without breaking down in the middle of the ceremony.

Santana flicks her eyes back up to Brittany, and her breath hitches as she locks gazes with the blonde. She sees the sheer surprise behind the cerulean eyes, and for a second, she thinks that Brittany's eyes darkened with fear, with panic, with regret. She inwardly pleads with the dancer not to do this, to not marry the jerk at the front (well she hopes he's a jerk) and just run away with her. She knows it's wrong, and that Brittany's happy. But it doesn't stop the fact that she's still painfully in love with the blonde, even after all these years.

She wishes that she could take everything back, and in her mind she can hear Adele singing softly as the memories play like movie reels inside her brain, tracing back to the old days where she was blissfully happy, with Brittany wrapped up tightly in her embrace. The Latina feels a comforting brush of her hand, and she doesn't need to look to see that it's Quinn's attempt at trying to console her.

The connection is brief, but it feels like forever for Santana as she watches Brittany tear her gaze away from her and look to the front, where the suited man is standing proudly, grinning from ear to ear at the bride metres in front of him.

Brittany's fiancée.

Brittany's soon-to-be husband.

She furrows her brow and inhales deeply, hoping to calm her emotions and try to feign happiness across her features. She's an actress, she should be able to do this, she should be able to act her ass off and give the performance of a lifetime, which could possibly receive a few Oscar's.

Somehow, she does manages to force a smile; one she hopes looks real and follows the beautiful bride until Brittany reaches the altar, and takes her place in front of her fiancée, who's looking happier than anyone she's ever seen. She only notices that David Pierce, Brittany's dad, is standing beside the blonde, as he leans over and kisses her on the cheek.

She begs with every glance, hoping Brittany can feel her, just like she used too. But deep inside, she knows the silent connection has disappeared, just like everything they used to have together. Everything she hoped they still had. It's ridiculous, and she doesn't know why she ever thought coming back to Lima and attending the love of her life's wedding was a good fucking idea. Because it's not.

"Do you Leo Taylor Johnson take Brittany Susan Pierce as your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to cherish and to nurture, in sick and in health, till death parts you?"

"I do." Brittany's fiancée replies.

The priest turns to Brittany and smiles, "And do you, Brittany Susan Pierce take Leo Taylor Johnson as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to cherish and to nurture, in sickness and in health, till death parts you?"

Hurt burns through her body, attacking every fibre of her being and she knows, she knows she should be the one up there. She should be the one with the impossibly large grin and overwhelming happiness, with Brittany standing in front of her. She should be the one declaring her undying love for the blonde, and telling everyone important in her life that they were meant to be, that they were made for each other.

It should be her.

But it's not.

"I do."

Santana lets a single tear escape, her heart cracking and tearing into a million tiny little pieces. And finally, finally she feels everything weigh down on her like a ton of bricks, crushing her soul and shattering everything that was good in her.

She's too late.

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