Title: Room 47

Pairings: Santana/Brittany, Santana/Sam

Rating: M/NC-17

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: AU. Santana Lopez is engaged to her high school sweetheart Sam Evans. With her wedding 3 months away, Santana begins to get stressed, pressuring her relationship and is also stuck in a dead end job. Her friend Quinn advises her to seek counsel from sex therapist and relationship counselor Brittany Pierce.

Authors Note (important, please read): Hey you lot, so I've decided to start another fic (one that's completely different from my other one, which I haven't abandoned don't worry). Anyway this is going to be a long note because I don't plan on putting any further notes in this fic at all and I'll just let the chapters run through, although that doesn't mean I don't appreciate reviews because I always read them and they always make me smile and laugh. If you do want to ask me questions/see previews drop me an ask in my Tumblr (link is in my profile page). This fic will be entirely from Santana's point of view and use a second-person narrative. Also, what I will say is that even though it is M rated, this will be a slow burner so if that's not your type of fic I suggest you bow out now. Also a pre-warning, Santana in this fic is in a heterosexual relationship with Sam, and whilst they will not have too much focus (and I will not write anything much of a graphic nature between them) I will leave it narratively obvious that they are a couple, so if you really don't like that idea, again, I suggest you don't read. This is a Brittana fic first and foremost though. I don't know how often I'll be able to update this one, but I find myself writing second person a lot faster for some reason, anyway I hope you enjoy. :)


Chapter One – Something Spontaneous

This is the most boring job in the entire world of that you are certain. Sure, you dreamed of being a singer, singing in snazzy bars and fancy clubs in New York City, smoking all the cigars you wanted in secret, but then your mother told you to get a life so you got one. Some life. Santana Lopez, young, gorgeous (so you've been told), a little too mouthy for your own good, yet here you are in the big city working in a technical support department mostly taking calls from old ladies who still in this day and age have no idea how to turn on a freaking computer, much less create their own home network or, god forbid, know how to run a simple anti-virus check. If everyone weren't so stupid you'd be out of a job, then again you aren't all that sad about that possibility either.

You're getting married in 3 months. The parents are even paying for the wedding. They're glad you are marrying the guy you dated in high school and the love of your life. The only love of your life. Sam's cute, blonde, a dork – very much the antithesis of you, yet somehow the two of you have managed to work. He makes you laugh and is a really sweet guy, and according to your friends (not that you have many) they are a rare breed, so when he got down on one knee, albeit outside of Domino's, you said yes.

Yet, you aren't even excited, not even a little.

Actually, you're sort of depressed. Maybe it's the job, the monotonous day-to-day same routine, maybe it's Sam, you have no idea but you've never felt so old, even though you're only 25, you feel like you're turning 50. Your time in college was probably the most interesting your life is ever going to get. You got drunk on occasion, learned new things, hell you even made out with a girl once. Now you're settling down, or at least you think you are, yet you can't shift this feeling of emptiness from your heart and head. You aren't quite satisfied with how your life has turned out or as much as the thought scares you, where it's going.

Life is moving too fast.

It's lunch and like every other workday at lunch time, you are in the busy setting of Starbucks, because you literally cannot stand to be in your office much less your work building, and because you also meet your best friend Quinn here. The blonde woman was smart, articulate and worked in law, and surprisingly had a lot more work-related horror stories to share than you did so you are both on the same boat. Kind of. She's a single mother raising a small child of her own and, even though you don't say it often enough, or ever to be honest, you kind of admire her.

She's looking at you across the table; hot steam bellowing up from her cappuccino, studying you like she knows there's something wrong. She knows you better than you know yourself, then again these days your beginning to question whether you really know yourself at all.

You put your own coffee down with a soft thud and shoot her an impatient look. "I know you're itching to say something Quinn, so spill already, I hate when you're weird and quiet like this, makes me think you're a killer or something" you say quickly, feeling uncomfortable in this long silence.

"I was just thinking," she smiles a little, taking a sip of her hot beverage. "On what to get you and Sam for a wedding gift"

"Oh," you sigh, unable to mask your disappointment. You really don't care. If anything you don't want to talk about it. What's the big deal about weddings anyway? You just want the day to come quickly so it's over and done with and people don't hassle you about it anymore.

"Also I was thinking what's wrong with you" she adds.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on Santana," she sighs at you like the game is up. "You're getting married yet I don't think I've ever seen you so miserable"

You sigh as your shoulders slump. You kind of feel like crying but no way, Santana Lopez does not do crying, especially in front of Quinn, she'd never let it go.

"I think I'm depressed," you admit quietly, slightly shocked that you even said it.

Quinn 'cool as a cucumber' Fabray simply inclines her head and takes another sip of coffee. "Go see your doctor then" she shrugs, like it's the simplest thing in the world.

You roll your eyes at her. "Sure Q, I don't need pills or a god damn shrink…I'll…be fine…I'm just in a funk, maybe it's this crappy job" it comes out more like a question than a statement.

"Maybe," Quinn says in tone that suggests she doesn't agree with you at all, and it kind of pisses you off. "But you should make an appointment nonetheless"

A groan of frustration escapes your lips as you chug more coffee down your throat.

"I actually know someone," Quinn says airily, like she's testing the waters for your reaction.

"Know someone what?" you frown.

"A counselor" Quinn says simply. "She's one of the most recognized in the profession-"

"I don't need counselling" you interject. "Besides, how do you even know a…" you trial as realization seeps in. You both look at each other sadly.

Puck. Noah Puckerman, the father of Beth (Quinn's daughter) had died in a motorcycle accident soon after the baby was born. You always thought the guy was a loser, but you had seen how upset Quinn was, the accident left her without anyone and her daughter without a father.

"She's really great you know," Quinn says firmly, perhaps not wanting to linger on the thought of Puck for too long.


"Brittany" she smiles.

"Whose Brittany?" you ask, annoyed. Quinn was acting very weird today. You just want to drink your damn coffee in peace and have her moan to you about the constant sexism she's objected to at work. It makes your own situation seem bearable.

"The counselor. Brittany Pierce is her name," Quinn informs you. "She works in the building across from your work actually"

"What building?" you ask trying to think if you ever saw shrinks be advertised. "The office block across the way?"

"Yep" Quinn nods. "She's the best counselor there is apparently, I can certainly vouch for her," she smiles faintly like she's remembering something. "I've heard she isn't conventional but she was good with me…she's not even a bereavement counselor and yet…she helped me understand things…and move on to seeing new people. It may sound silly but she reminded me who I was."

You stare at Quinn. You're not going to lie and say you didn't notice a change about a year ago in the other woman. Quinn was so hung up on Puck even after his death, but then suddenly last year she started casually dating again. You always did wonder what exactly got into her. You and Quinn usually tell each other most things, but you're both not the close emotional type so you understand why she'd keep this from you.

"She's a shrink like most others but specifically she's a relationship counselor and sex therapist" Quinn says casually.

You choke on your coffee a little. "A what?" you splutter out. "A sex therapist? What the hell is that?"

Quinn shrugs.

"And what the hell Fabray? What makes you think I need relationship guidance or…sex therapy or whatever the hell it is," you snap at her.

"Oh so you dreading your own nuptials is completely normal then? And how are things in the bedroom department between you and Sam anyway?" she asks like she already knows the answer.

You open your mouth to retort with something but nothing comes to mind.

"Look," she begins softly, straightening up her thick black coat over her office wear. "I hate seeing you like this, and I know that things between you and Sam aren't perfect. I think you're depressed because you're not really all that happy with-"

"Shut up," you cut her off. "What the hell would you know anyway? I am happy with Sam" you insist, for some reason feeling really defensive of your relationship.

"I wasn't even going to say unhappy with Sam, but whatever, you won't mind going to see this counselor then," Quinn says like she's already decided for you. "I have her number, I can text her and ask if you can go over during your lunch break tomorrow"

"But we normally come here for lunch"

"Exactly and tomorrow I'll just be nagging you all over again to go" Quinn says. "Please Santana, for me?"

You roll your eyes at the look she's giving you.

"Look you only have to meet her once, if you decide it's not for you then fine you don't have to see her any more, but the introductory session is free so…"

"Even if I did see this shrink on occasion, I can't really afford it Quinn" you argue, feeling proud you finally have a fair point.

"She's a friend of mine, I'll get a discount, you can afford it, your parents are paying for most of the wedding anyway," she says as she brings her mobile out of her pocket.

"I haven't agreed to anything yet Quinn," you warn her, eyeing her thumb as it taps furiously over her phone.

"You're going Santana," she says with finality. "You've got nothing to lose, besides, it's about time you did something spontaneous."

You sink back in your chair and cross you arms. Do you have any say in your life at all?

The walk back to your work in the chilly New York air is one of the few things you actually enjoy.

"Something spontaneous" you grumble to yourself a little while later slumping down on your sofa after work.

You get up and start pacing for no reason, finding your way to the mirror in the hallway. You're wearing your usual work clothes, white shirt and black pencil skirt, you look up and a sad caramel toned face looks back at you. Brown eyes duller than usual, a constant crease in your brow it's like you can't get rid of it and a hairline that refuses to stay in shape. You're still hot though, you know that, in fact its all people tell you usually. You guess other people would be flattered by such attention, but there's only so many times a guy can tell you you're hot before it starts to loose all meaning. You're not interested in any other guys anyway. Sam is all you need.

You and Sam live in this crappy little apartment. It's sort of cozy but it's just temporary, or so you've both been telling yourselves for the past two years. Sam's a graphics artist and designs video games and such, the both of you have been saving up to move somewhere a bit nicer after the wedding, although realistically even with both of your salaries combined, you don't think you can buy somewhere decent in New York with today's economy and rising house prices. Living in the city ain't cheap. For some reason you are relieved, part of you doesn't want to leave this crummy little apartment. It would mean the end of your youth, your current life and the beginning of your new one with Sam. Something you should be happy about, and are it's just…

"I need a smoke," you grumble as you make your way back into the empty living room, sometimes you really wish you had a cat or something to talk to when Sam isn't here. Christ, you're wishing for a cat to talk to instead of another friend, that thought alone proves how much of a bitch you really are.

You don't have many friends, as Quinn so often reminds you it's because you can be antisocial and have a tendency to mock people. You don't mean to be it's just who you are, and people in general annoy you. In fact most of your friends are really just Sam's friends, and all male, Quinn is practically the only female friend you have, and even then the basis of your friendship is based on common hatred and bitterness of the world around you.

After opening all the windows in the room, you slide off your work shoes, kick your feet up on the coffee table and light up a cigar.

You make a sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a hum as you exhale, the thick smoke protruding from your mouth and making shapes in the air above you. You have no idea why you are keeping this a secret from Sam, you're pretty sure he wouldn't break up with you or call off the wedding if he found out you liked the occasional cigar but for some reason this is just your thing…only yours…

By the time Sam get's home from work you've already sprayed the place with Fabreze and brushed your teeth.

"Hey baby" he smiles that dopey grin as he comes in and plants a kiss on your forehead.

Still slumped on the sofa you merely smile back up at him. "I was going to make us dinner but there's nothing there, you want to just order in?"

Sam unzips his hoody and clears his throat, and you just know one of his many dorky impressions is coming.

"Women have the right to work wherever they want, as long as they have the dinner ready when you get home," Sam says in an exaggerated southern accent, pointing both fingers at you like cowboy guns.

"John Wayne" you say needlessly, rolling your eyes. "Very funny," you sigh "I would have had the freakin' dinner ready if there was anything actually there that could be digested by a human being"

"It's OK" Sam says, his large lips forming a grin and his floppy golden hair falling about his forehead as he walks toward and slumps down beside you on the sofa. "We'll just order"

Chinese food is a favorite of yours, even if you never quite got the hang of using chopsticks.

After dinner Sam is lying across the sofa, his feet on your lap as you both watch television in the otherwise dark room.

"How was work?" he asks with a yawn.

"Same as usual" you shrug. "Get this though, I was having lunch with Quinn today and she reckons I should see a shrink friend of hers tomorrow, can you believe that?"

"Why? Are you feeling OK? Is something wrong? Did I do something?" Sam asks hurriedly, his blonde eyebrows shot up in worry.

You chuckle a little and pat hit feet. "No, it's not you" you shake your head. "I guess it's just…me?" you say uncertainly. "I don't know maybe it's this job, I've just been feeling really down lately and haven't been having much sleep"

"Yeah," Sam mumbles in thought. "If that's the case you should totally go"

"Huh?" you scoff at him indignantly. "You cannot be serious"

"Huh? There's nothing wrong with seeing a shrink Santana, besides what harm can it do?"

"I…well it could burn a hole in my purse for a start"

Sam simply scratches his nose and shrugs indifferently. "You have been kinda distant lately babe and if seeing a shrink makes you feel better then I don't see the problem"

Finding no real argument to that you simply shrug and focus your attention back to the television.

Once again you get little sleep that night, sometimes Sam snores and you tell yourself it's because of that, but you really know deep down it's because you're restless.

The next day you tell yourself at lunchtime you'll just go meet Quinn in Starbucks as usual and just find a way to tune out the tone of her nagging voice. You don't need a shrink. You're fine. It's totally normal to lose sleep now and then, and be worried about a wedding; I mean you're supposed to get nervous right? You throw on your jacket over your cream shirt and pencil skirt. You look fine. Anybody walking down the street would be envious of you. You have a loving family, a great fiancé; a relatively OK paying job and you're hot as hell. Seriously, this is the life; you just need to stop being such an ungrateful, moody bitch.

For some reason though, you find yourself walking across the street, in the opposite direction from Starbucks and to the building adjacent from your own. You're muttering thoughts out loud to yourself, having absolutely no idea why you're even doing this.

You enter the building, it's white everywhere and eerily empty. Your shoes click clock against the marble floor as you make your way to the only other person in this large room, a female African American woman sitting behind a desk.

"Uh," you hesitate, and for some reason you feel nervous. "I'm not sure where to go, I'm supposed to meet a Brittany here?"

"Oh, those services are on the seventh floor, take the lift behind me" she says with disinterest not even bothering to look away from her computer screen.

You look around as you nod and walk toward the elevator. This place is weird. It's empty and what did that woman mean by "those services"? Seriously, just looking at this place, it's so blank and monotonous it could literally be a building for anything; there's no posters on the wall or signs or directions anywhere. It could be a hospital, a bank or a movie set for all you know.

You take the elevator to the seventh floor and the doors part with a soft binging noise. It's a little less scary up here. You walk down a narrow hallway and you see that the place is just as empty up here, but at least there's a nice cream carpet and pictures of plants on the wall. You walk forward and you notice the receptionist up here is a man. He's dressed in a rather camp style, a brown blazer with a plastic looking rhino face attached to it and you are oh so close to instantly insulting him. You really want to say something but you still your tongue when he see's you.

"Good afternoon, my name's Kurt Hummel, how may I help you today?" he smiles politely, his voice soft and effeminate.

You're kind of glad you didn't insult him now because his smile and presence almost instantly calms your nerves.

"Yeah uh hi…I have an appointment with a Brittany Pierce?"

"Oh," he says looking surprised for a second. "Very good, just go down the corridor, she's in room 47" he says motioning with his hand.

You nod again and make your way there, for some reason stopping half way down the hall. You have a strong urge to just turn around and forget all about this. You find yourself turning your head and Kurt's watching you from his desk, he gives you a small smile and a little wave. It's encouraging and you wonder if he knows you're nervous. You do your best to smile back and press on.

Room 45….room 46….

Room 47. It's a white door with a golden number plate and handle and is not even remotely significant, yet you find yourself just staring at it. The way Quinn was going on about this woman like she was freakin' Jesus Christ and could turn water into wine and fix all your problems. Whatever. You wonder if you should knock but Kurt said she was in here so she's probably expecting you, right?

You grab the handle and open the door. Normally you'd scan the room, you'd take notice of the nice desk and great window view, the coffee table in the middle of the room, the long leather mocha colored sofa that has an adjacent leather chair opposite and the whole set up is very much cliché. But your brain only processes so much of this, because the woman sitting on the lone leather chair, across from the long one, has all of your attention.

"Uh…hi?" you say shakily and feel the nerves run through your veins all over again.

You're kind of stunned. She wasn't what you were expecting, like at all. You were expecting some blandly dressed middle-aged woman and instead you're met with a young woman, perhaps about the same age as you, dressed fashionably. The woman is slouching on the chair; feet hung over the armrest, her long blonde hair up in a lazy bun. She's wearing blue tight jeans, a shirt and black pumps. She flashes a smile at you and pops out a bright pink bubble from her mouth. She's sitting chewing gum and slouching like a damn teenager.

"Sup" her smile widens as she inclines her head for you to enter the room more.

Apparently talks like one too.

"Uh," you stumble for words as you close the door behind you. You expected someone more professional, wasn't this woman supposed to have a good reputation in her job? Maybe this woman isn't even Brittany; maybe it's her daughter or something.

She stops chewing, takes out her gum and shoots it across the room, the piece landing perfectly in the trashcan by the door.

"Hiya," she says cheerily, standing up from the chair and coming toward you. "I'm Brittany, pleased to meet you"

OK, so this is Brittany.

You're staring at her and for all the words you know you're struggling to find any of them.

She smiles and giggles at your silence and you feel your stomach flutter and a smile twitch your lips. Her eyes are bright blue and beaming positivity, they are catlike and looking right into yours with curiosity. OK, so if this woman's job is to make people feel better? You can already tell she's good at it because her personality is already infectious. Normally you hate bubbly people like this but for some reason she isn't already annoying you.

She doesn't hold out a hand, but she gestures for you to sit down on the couch opposite her chair.

You slump down not knowing what to say and still not knowing why you're even here. This whole thing is stupid.

"Wow, you're gorgeous" Brittany breathes as she sits down and looks at you in awe, like she's just seen a celebrity or something.

"Oh…uhm…thanks" you stutter and everything is weird right now, because that's something you've heard a million times, albeit you don't get it often from other woman but still it's different coming from her and you find your cheeks are getting warm. It seemed so sincere and you're flattered. You don't know if she's just doing her job or something though.

"My names Santana, I take it Quinn told you about me?"

"Oh no," Brittany says shaking her hand away in a dismissive manner. "I don't like to know anything about my clients beforehand, all I know about you is that your name's Santana Lopez and, well, Quinn may have said something about you being unsociable or stubborn but I didn't take much notice because it's was coming from Quinn of all people"

You snort feeling your nerves seep away into this incredibly comfy sofa.

Her smile widens once she sees she made you laugh and again your stomach flutters and you clench it to make it stop. You have no idea why you're feeling all weird. Maybe you are still nervous. You need to be straight with her.

"Look, I've got to be honest, I really shouldn't be here. I don't even know why I am here, this was Quinn's idea, not mine," you say as frankly as possible.

Brittany's face is unreadable as she crosses her legs, leans back and clasps her hands together in front of her mouth, it's like she's studying you and you already feel uncomfortable under her gaze.

"It was Quinn's suggestion," she corrects you. "You however came here of your own freewill which implies that you feel the need to be here, right?" she says like it's the simplest logic in the world.

You swallow as she pretty much just called out how dumb you sound. You don't think you've ever felt this out of your depth in all your life.

"I guess," you say, your voice suddenly smaller. "But I don't know the reason why"

"Mhmm," Brittany hums and tilts her head to the side in a way that seems like she pities you. "It's not nice when you feel unfulfilled and unhappy with your life, it's even worse when you don't really know the reason for it or why you're feeling that way" she says softly.

Fuck. Those words hit home as she just says exactly how you've been feeling recently and you clench your stomach more because you can't cry, she'll think you're a weirdo. You really have nothing to cry about anyway.

The natural, confrontational part of you seems to kick in, "What makes you think I'm unhappy?" you ask, frowning.

The blonde shrugs and looks at you. "You wouldn't be here otherwise, right? Would you like some coffee, tea?"

"Uh," you hesitate, a little thrown by her change in direction of conversation. "No, no thank you"

"Mmrph" Brittany chuckles a little and you raise an eyebrow at her. "Quinn gave me the impression you were totally rude but you've been lovely so far"

She's still looking at you like that and it makes you happy, nervous and uncomfortable all at the same time. You wish she'd stop.

"Yeah well," you roll your eyes "I figure I shouldn't piss off my counselor right?"

She laughs softly and again a smile tugs your lips. "Believe me Santana, I'll be the one pissing you off in no time. Most people find counseling hard, especially at first, so the fact that you're here is a good sign, that's one of the hardest parts."

"I gotta admit, this looks like one of those offices you see in the movies, you know where the patient lies down on the sofa and I guess you sit behind them and ask them a bunch of shitty questions"

"You can lie down if you want" Brittany says, apparently missing the point entirely.

"Uh no, it's fine" you say but are distracted by a picture hanging on the wall behind Brittany's desk on the other side of the room. "I-Is…is…is that you and Robert freakin' De Niro?" you ask, stunned at the picture of the old actor and Brittany smiling side by side.

Brittany looks over to where you're eyes are but quickly turns back to you. "Yeah," she smiles softly. "He was a client of mine once, nice guy," she says nonchalantly.

"A client? He's rich and famous! What the hell would he be unhappy for?" you scoff.

You instantly regret it, as Brittany's face turns a little more serious.

"I don't discus other clients business," she says resolutely and you absolutely believe every single word.

"Oh I know, I wasn't asking you too I just…" you trail and you can't believe this. You're a bad ass, you are good at confrontation, and yet here this woman is just sitting there, sweet as Mary fucking Poppins and you're intimidated as hell. This is Quinn's fault. She hyped this woman up so much your reaction is just physiological or something. That's it.

"Why do you think you're here Santana?" Brittany suddenly asks, laying her hands down on her lap.

You open your mouth to say something but you don't know the answer to that question. A long silence settles in and she's still looking at you patiently for an answer.

You don't have an answer for her.


This is one big long ass silence.

Brittany doesn't move, doesn't even blink and just looks at you calmly.

"I…I don't know" you mumble, embarrassed. "Maybe I should just leave now?"

Brittany giggles again, it's soft and childlike and yet again your stomach flutters a little. God. What is wrong? You feel like you're going to throw up and a part of you just wants to get the hell out of here.

"No, you shouldn't leave Santana," she sighs in amusement. "I'd miss you"

Your eyes are darting all over the room as you give a nervous laugh. "Believe me you won't, you don't even know me"

Brittany leans forward and again clasps her fingers together in front of her thin pursed lips, almost like she's staring right into you and taking mental notes, then reading some sort of book no one else is privy too.

You realize that's a lot to judge a look on, but it's how you feel.

"What do you do for a living, Santana?" she asks, her eyes narrowing almost like she's trying to guess anyway.

"I uh…" you stutter yet again and you can't seem to form fucking sentences in this room. You clear your throat and try again, "I actually work across the street"

She nods like she already knew. Quinn must've told her.

"I work in a technical support department, I take phone calls, maintain servers, sort though the payroll, trust me it's all very boring" you say rolling your eyes playfully.

"So, what is it you'd rather be doing?"

You blink at her because you never said anything about not liking your job, sure you said it was boring but most people find their work boring to some extent, right?

"Actually since I was little I've always wanted to sing," you say before you can stop yourself. You feel a blush on your cheeks and pinch the bridge of your nose. "Sorry, that probably sounds really lame" you laugh out nervously.

"It's not lame, it's admirable" Brittany says simply and she's smiling at you again.

You swallow thickly and just nod. Again you feel a little teary because no one has ever told you that. Quinn, Sam and all your friends and family think it's an unrealistic pipe-dream, but you've always thought it was possible. Deep, deep down you really have.

"Anything's possible" Brittany adds wistfully.

Your heart stops because this crazy woman is starting to freak you out, it's like she's reading your mind.

"What do you hope to get out of your time here, Santana?" Brittany asks before you can crumble into tears for unknown reasons.

What's with all the vague questions?

"I…I don't know" you shrug honestly. You're voice is so feeble and you feel so out of your comfort zone in this room.

"Welllll," Brittany drawls out another smile plying her lips but there's something else mixed in with her tone, "How long would you like us to see each other then?"

You stare at her and realize her smile is in fact a smirk, and you really need to get out of here, this woman is scaring you in the subtlest way and you don't even know why.

"Well, I'm uh…getting married in 3 months" you say.

"Ah," Brittany says like something has just clicked in her brain. "I see, so your relationship is attributing to how you're feeling lately?"

"I…I never said that" you argue.

"You didn't have to" she says right back. "I asked how long would you like us to see each other and you answered with a completely unrelated answer, except that it is related, because you think your problems, whatever they might be has to be fixed within 3 months. Before your wedding I assume? I bet it feels like a timer ticking down and you're just sitting watching it, dreading what happens when the last grain of sand falls"

You're gaping at her as the back of your throat has gone completely dry.

"Don't worry Santana" she adds serenely and stands up from her chair. "I'm a counselor but I'm also a relationship counselor and sex therapist so if you're having trouble with your relationship-"

"It's not like that" you say loudly cutting her off and standing up too. "OK you're right," you admit exhaling. "But it's not just my relationship, it's my job and…other things…OK? Sam's a great guy, really the problem lies with me, not him."

"I think we've made good progress for an introductory session, don't you?" she smiles like you didn't just yell at her.

You don't know what to say to that so you just stare at her and hope she doesn't think you're crazy or rude or both. You sense the meeting coming to an end.

"This meeting was free but if you want to organize further appointments talk to Kurt, my secretary outside"

You're curious. "What would further appointments mean?" you ask still feeling embarrassed. "I mean, what would we do?"

She cocks her head to the side like she thinks your naive. You frown back at her.

"Wellll," she drawls out slowly and motions for you to follow her to the door. You both start walking and stop at the door. "We'd focus on different area's of your life, your thought process, how you see your self and how to change the things and situations in your life that is making you feel negatively," she says like it's the simplest thing to do in the world.

"Oh," you breathe and she steps closer to you.

She's very close and you feel uncomfortable. You see the cerulean blue of her eyes and the faint smell of cinnamon from her body, there's also another smell, something like freshly baked bread or something. You internally scold yourself, who gives a fuck what this crazy woman smells like?

"C-can I touch you?" Brittany asks quietly and she's looking down like she wants to touch your hand for some reason. Her breath ghosts over your skin briefly and you smell the cherry bubblegum she was popping earlier.

"I…" you breathe back and don't know what to say.

Your whole body is acting weird, you feel like your lungs aren't working. Here's the thing, you aren't a touchy feely person, not even with Sam. You're not a hugger or a holding hands type person, you like your personal space.

This woman is invading that space though and instead of telling her to fuck off you're nodding your head meekly.

She grabs your right hand, but then quickly drops it. "No," she smiles shaking her head bashfully. "That isn't quite right is it?"

You have no fucking idea what she's talking about, you're just rooted there to the spot as she takes your left hand. She brings it up to her face and you want to jerk your hand away and ask her what the fuck she's doing but you're just standing here staring dumbly at her. She brings your fingers below her nose and she inhales, her lips ever so slightly tickle your fingers and you have no idea what's happening. You feel like running out the room but your legs don't seem to want to move.

Why the fuck is this woman smelling your fingers?

"Mhmm," Brittany hums and all too quickly she's brought your hand down and let go. "You know Santana," she says conspiratorially and her bright blue eyes are sparkling at you "you really shouldn't smoke cigars, it's most unbefitting of you"

You just nod again.

"OK," she giggles a little "Well If you want to make our meetings regular we could meet up every Tuesday and Thursday lunchtime, however if you feel this isn't for you then just say so. Whatever your decision tell my secretary, Kurt, outside. Thank you for coming" she smiles politely.

Before you know it you're standing back out in the hall and the white door of room 47 is shut behind you. You would consider the quick dismissal rude if you actually thought Brittany was capable of being rude. You don't think she is.

You smell your fingers and hands and can't smell anything in particular. You frown back at the door. So, she got that you smoked and were left-handed by what, just looking at you?

You didn't believe in magic but if anyone were going to be magical it would be that bubbly blonde woman, even if she did make you feel uncomfortable and weird.

You walk forward toward Kurt's desk in a trance, not really knowing how you feel or what the hell just happened. How long were you even in there?

"So, will you be requesting Brittany's services for longer?" Kurt asks.

You just nod silently again. You feel like all you've been doing is nodding.

"How long for?"

You clear your throat just to make sure it's still there and functional. "3 months I guess"

"OK, that's fine. You know its 150 dollars per hour, right?"

That brings you right back down to earth.

"What?" you snarl. "My friend Quinn told me she'd get a discount!"

"Miss, that is the discount," Kurt says looking at you pointedly. "Brittany's usual rate is between 350 and 400 dollars an hour"

You stare at him in disbelief.

"It's a pretty good offer if you ask me, she's one of the best" Kurt adds with a smile and you feel like its genuine advice and he's not just pimping his boss.

"Fine" you mumble and get out your credit card.

You are crazy.

You came here hoping you'd realize you're sane, but instead you leave feeling rather insane. With a lot less money in the bank too, you think grimly.

Fuck. This is all Quinn's fault and you're going to tell her as much tomorrow.

"Something spontaneous" you grumble again as you push rudely by New Yorkers crossing the street back to your work. As pissed off and confused as you are, your heart doesn't feel nearly as heavy though.

Oh well, if this doesn't work at least this woman would entertain you if nothing else for a lunchtime and that's a lot more than Quinn does.