So this is story is from a prompt by catbast that I liked and couldn't say no to writing. It's just a three-shot, nothing long. The prompt is below, hope you like the story.
...brittana hate each other when they are younger (say Santana bullies brit in kindergarten or something) and one moves away and they don't remember each other until like 20 years later where one is famous? then they meet and are like, 'bitch' 'back at you' and have really hot anger sex?
brittany writing an article or something like 'the truth about Santana Lopez' and Santana turns up at her house like 'what is this bullcrap' and bam super hot angry sexy times...
PS:I twisted it and added a bit of my own stuff because of reasons ;-p
Title not associated with the movie.
If someone asked me, 'what it's like being Brittany S. Pierce?' I'd say it sucks. It's not all bad but there are definitely some undesirable side effects.
Not everybody can claim to have millions of fans, plenty of love and adoration, five bestselling novels and a ton of money. That's the good part of being a famous author.
The other side is not so glamorous. My personal life is essentially nonexistent. Travelling from place to place promoting my books and doing book signing events is tiring. I'm sick of seeing my face on the internet; I can't even walk next to anybody without appearing on the tabloids. Actually, I don't even want to talk about my love life; I can't even call it that. It's mostly just a sex life. I'm not a bed hopper don't get me wrong, it's usually other woman in and out of my bed and of course there's never breakfast.
I, Brittany S. Pierce made a vow at the age of 19 to never fall in love again. That vow has remained intact for 10 years now. I've guarded what remains of my heart with viciousness because I fell in love once and it scarred me for life.
Horrible right? Well, having your heart stabbed too many times and shoved into sinking mud would cause anybody enough heartache for a lifetime. Every time I think about my heart at the bottom of some god-forsaken ditch I feel rage. I'll never forgive myself for being so stupid and blind to let some girl ruin my life. I'll never live down the humiliation of putting my heart in the hands of the one girl who would look at it like a piece of rubbish. Believe me, I'm not a harsh person but if you ever went through the hell I went through, no one would blame you for harboring murderous feelings.
The only semi-cure for my hate is writing, and that's what I've been doing all of my adult life. As long as I have that hate, I can churn out those New York Times best sellers on the regular.
But sometimes I just want a break from it all. If I could hit the reset button and start all over again from the beginning, I would. But that isn't possible. I would have asked God to put me in a world where I would never have to meet her.
Writing was my lifesaver, I just need some time to breathe! And now after my fifth successful novel my publishers want me to write a new one. Honestly, I don't have any idea what it should be about. Zero. Nada.
"You'll think of something, I'm sure." There she goes again, Ms. Asian money pocket, Tina, pushing me to get started on a new project. Newsflash, I'm not just an investment to make you more money.
"Tina, I'm really tired." I tell her. It's the end of November and a Christmas break sounds heavenly right now.
"You're never tired Brittany. Wait, no! Does this mean you're thinking of taking a break for an undetermined amount of time? The fans will be so disappointed."
I really wish she didn't play the fan card. I absolutely love my fans. They're super sweet. They write me letters and buy me stuffed animals. But I want to be selfish for once – I really need a break. I have a whole season of two broke girls to catch up on. Yeah, its Tubb's and my favorite show sue us.
"I can't write when I'm not inspired! What am I going to write about?"
"Are you seriously asking me that?" Small observation, shocked doesn't really look shocking on Tina's face. I mean her eyes get wider but barely and her mouth is open most of the time already so, yeah, she's not achieving much success with that look. I must really be going bonkers if I actually found something interesting about Tina.
"I already wrote about the homeless man that lives on my street. He's practically a celebrity now that people know he inspired the character of Mr. Zigger, New York City's hero in disguise. I just can't think of anything write now!"
"Maybe you should get back to your roots Brittany. Write about something you care about."
"My cat? I have big plans for a Lord Tubbington comic book but I don't think I know his dark side well enough yet and I've never done a comic before. It's certainly in the works though."
"Brittany, who was your first love?" Weird question but Santana Lopez. What? Did I just allow her to occupy my thoughts for two milliseconds? Damn, you Asian trickster.
"Umm, some high-school girl." No way am I talking about her to Tina gossip mouth. I know Tina's been the source for some stuff magazines have written about me.
"Okay, who makes you happy?" No one, except, Santana Lopez could have made me happy if she just…Stop right there Brittany.
"Tubbs makes me happy." I totally saw that eye roll Tina.
"Who makes you want to wake up and breathe another day?" Santana Lopez. If only for the satisfaction of knowing 99.99% that I'm better off than she is. That last 0.1% is because I'm still not sure if she's the royal princess of Spain or not. She sure acted like royalty in high-school.
"My fans," I give Tina a lame answer.
"Fine, why don't you write about the person you hate the most? There's got to be someone that Brittany S. Pierce wants to get revenge on even if it's just for accidently thinking her cat was a female."
"You've said enough Tina, you just got you're wish." The smirk she's giving me is saying 'mission complete.' She really did hit the nail on the head. My mind is already swirling with the things I would love to say to Santana if I ever met her again. And even if I never do meet her, I hope she reads the book and realizes how shitty she made my life.
Little does Tina know that Santana Lopez did more than insult my cat on several occasions. It's time I exposed that bitch for who she really is.
It's always a hazard getting back to my skyscraper apartment being famous and all. That's why I don't like to come out to 'the office'. I don't mind the traffic though unlike a lot of people. I like observing people living their everyday lives from the window of my car. It makes me feel normal, like the rest of them; just another person in the sea of people going about their day. But today I can't wait to get home.
There's so much I need to remember about Santana Lopez, memories I wish I didn't have to dig up. I already know that this book is going to be mentally strenuous. I've tried so hard to bury most of the details. I only remember them as separate events. I remember how she made me feel in those times. I try not to remember her face, or the way she said or did those hurtful things. It's too painful. She's the only person who has the ability to bring out the extreme emotions in me.
I don't even know how that's possible.
She was so beautiful, that's the first thing I would tell anybody if they asked me. I think God was extra careful when he made her, she was perfect and mesmerizing. Her lips, I could write a book about them. I've never met anybody like her who could capture my entire being and send me spiraling into a world of dreams and hopeless possibilities with one look. She didn't even have to say anything. I was in love with her before I even knew humans were meant to fall in love.
The one other thing I'm sure of is that I hate her. The way she looked at me melted my insides and burned them into scalding molten lava. I hate her so much. I thought she was an angel but she turned into my own personal devil, either way she was something out of this world that had me trapped in her beauty and pure evilness. The more in love I fell with her, the more I hated her. I hated her because she was my everything and I was her nothing. I hated her for using me and I hated that I let her because I couldn't resist. I hated that she occupied my every thought and that to her I was just an after-thought. I hated that the only time she looked at me was so she could destroy any hopes I had for us. I hated that hope most of all, the falseness of it; she strung me along and finally shred me. I hate what she made me into; a girl with no self-confidence, despising the notion of love.
Just thinking about her is exhausting but I know I have to do this. I have to get her out of my system once and for all. I've been living with the past for 10 years. Maybe I'll feel better after writing this novel.
I only know it's something I have to do.
Armed with a cup of hot cocoa, a stack of newspapers and my trusty laptop, I sit down in my thinking chair. It's nothing special – a stainless steel, wire chair coupled with a glass desk at the window. The view of New York City bustling about unawares of my observation has a calming effect on me. I think best when I'm sitting at this window. Braving myself for the task at hand, I take my time sipping the scolding concoction. On a blank document file I begin to type.
Two years old
I don't know how I remember this. People can't usually remember details from when they are so young. I'm like everybody else in that way, but I do remember the first time I met her. She had an instant impact on me. It was in kindergarten and it was our first day there. I can't remember how many kids there were but I do know that she was the only one who caught my eye.
Our first activity was getting to know each other. We sat in a circle and the teacher sang a song, at the end everyone had to say their names. I tried to remember which name went with which face but I wasn't so good at remembering the names, only the faces. Then it was her turn. I didn't catch her full name because it was long, longer than mine and I couldn't even say my own name that well. I managed to retain the last two syllables and that made me really happy. I finally knew a little bit about the girl, even if it was half of her name.
I spent the whole song just looking at her. She was the only girl with dark skin and curly, black hair in the class. I also noticed that she didn't smile at all. I bet she would look so much prettier if she did.
We moved on to coloring. The teacher told us to get into pairs so we could share color pencils. My little heart jumped at the chance to be next to her. I was really afraid someone else might steal the girl I had already claimed as mine so I ran as fast as I could past the other kids. I was hugely satisfied with myself for being first in line to ask her to be my buddy.
Hi. I told her. I didn't expect her to smile at me right away but was hoping she would. She didn't, her frown remained permanent as she looked me up and down. So I tried again.
Tana, color? She held my gaze for a few seconds but shook her bush of a head. No.
That shocked me. I started to think of what I had done to make her not like me. I didn't know what to say next, I didn't know the words to ask her why she didn't like me. I didn't know how to tell her that I liked her. I just wanted to draw a sun for her so she would smile at me.
Another kid came up to us and just like that Santana was sharing her colors with him. I got really jealous that it was so easy for him.
So I went to color with somebody else thinking maybe she didn't like my pink panda shirt because I couldn't think of any other reason Santana didn't want to be my buddy.
I think I kept trying throughout kindergarten, but I never got to color with her.
Six years old
This I remember with clarity. It was the first birthday that all my friends from school had been invited to my house for an afternoon of fun and games. Mom and dad had even gotten a bouncing castle. I was officially turning six years old.
I had made some nice friends; at least fifteen of them came to celebrate with me. I even had a best friend – Rachel Berry. Sadly, I still hadn't gotten Santana to play with me or even talk to me.
It was a sunny afternoon and I was happily playing on the bouncing castle. From on top, I spied Santana and her permanent frown coming up the driveway of my home. She was being coaxed by her mother. I gave a squeal that pierced all the noise and she looked up at me. Santana didn't smile for me but she didn't look sad either, that was better than anything she'd ever given me.
At first I was happy that Santana had come to my birthday party until she thought it would be fun to lead some boys in a charge through my beloved flower garden. My geraniums were just beginning to bloom and then she galloped through them and sliced their heads off. I was ready to cry.
But then I got distracted by the birthday cake. Mom had made it a beautiful white and red with strawberries stuck in whipped cream all along the rim. Everybody gathered around and sang 'happy birthday' to me. Santana sang too when she thought I wasn't looking. I blew out the candles without catching fire and then the adults cut the cake. My piece looked delicious and it had the biggest strawberry on top of it. Out of nowhere my strawberry disappeared. I only saw a brown little hand snatch it, I turned around and there was Santana chewing away without the tiniest hint of shame or guilt. I really wanted to eat that strawberry but somehow I was okay with Santana taking it. I guess she wanted to have a strawberry and maybe her piece didn't have one.
After I devoured the rest of the delicious chocolate cake, I must have looked like one of Annie's poor orphan friends. My mom ordered me to get cleaned up. After doing so, I was walking by myself back towards the activities and games when Santana came out of nowhere.
For the first time she gave me a smile. It wasn't one of the beautiful ones I'd seen her do when she was happily playing with the other kids, but she was actually smiling at me! That smile must have put me into a trance because the next thing I knew I was falling backwards away from that precious smile and suddenly I was wet.
I started to scream at the top of my lungs when I realized I was in the pool and I didn't know how to swim. Santana Lopez just skipped off once her mission was complete. I seriously thought that was going to be my last birthday ever until one of Rachel's daddies fished me out of the water. I was lucky I fell into the shallow end of the pool where the water only reached my belly. I knew I should have been mad at Santana for pushing me in, but she had given me a smile and that, to me, made up for getting wet and having to watch the fun from my window the rest of the afternoon while I got dry.
That year I got so many presents; doll's, a toy fire truck, a princess tiara, a pack of twelve balloons to name a few. But my favorite was Santana's. I don't think she intended me to like her present but I got a huge kick out of it. I opened her messily wrapped box, knowing she had hand wrapped it especially for me, and pulled out a hard plastic poop; the kind with a gross green and brown color. All the other kids jumped away at the sight and started screaming. Santana's mommy was red in the face, but I just laughed. It was my favorite present and Santana had given it to me. I'd have endless opportunities to play pranks on my friends and Ms. Fellah, the cat.
When all my friends had gone home and I was wrapped up snuggly in my bed, I decided that my sixth birthday was my best yet. And even though Santana was mean to me, I still liked her and wanted her to be my friend.
Twelve years old
By the time I started high-school I knew I wasn't the smartest girl. My lack of intelligence and occasional word vomit turned people off. I didn't get bullied, thankfully, people just ignored me. Rachel Berry was the exception. Maybe she was able to look past my airhead ways and like me for the funny jokes I sometimes thought up, or she liked that I did everything with her. She was my best friend, sometimes my only friend. Rachel talked a lot, but I liked it. I liked the way I felt important to her. She told me everything and I told her everything. We were a bad duo though, like a double pack bait. Sometimes I would feel guilty that I was the reason Rachel didn't have many friends.
There was one time Rachel tried to change that. She had been super excited all day and giving out hand written invitations to her house for a sleepover. I honestly didn't think it'd work. I helped her put the invitations into pretty pink envelopes anyways and stood by her side as she passed them out to the kids in our class. She even dared giving one to Santana. I was kind of mad because Rachel made me do it. I told her once how I thought I might like Santana, I didn't think she'd remember but obviously she did cause she made it sound like the opportunity of a lifetime to hand Santana that invitation.
It was really scary. My hands were sweaty before I even got to her. Things with Santana hadn't changed much. We went to the same school, we didn't talk. She'd look at me sometimes and I'd look at her all the time. The biggest difference was that now Santana barely recognized my existence. I don't blame her. Our paths barely was the complete opposite of me. Where I had no friends, she was miss popular and always had guys and girls keeping her company. When I talked, people ignored me. When she said something, her people and a lot of other kids listened with intent. Her wish was everybody's command.
Sooner than I expected I was standing in front of her, eyes fixed to my shoes. I hadn't even planned what to say. I held the sweat stained invitation out to her making sure that the 'Rachel Berry' inscription was on top. I really should have said something then, but I realized I might make the exchange even more awkward. Santana reached out and held the flimsy material. Our fingers nearly touched and even though they didn't, I could feel the pressure of her hand on the envelope travel to the place where I was holding it. That was the most intimate gesture I'd ever shared with her up till that day.
Once I was sure her fingers steadily supported the thin pink envelope I let go and ran away. I heard the word 'mute' chasing me all the way to home Ec., but I don't know who said it. It was probably her.
Rachel was pretty excited that I'd successfully given Santana the invitation. She couldn't wait for the slumber party. I felt the complete opposite. I even thought of an excuse not to go. Going from no Santana to so much Santana in one day was too much for me; even if it was actually only a little bit of interaction, it still felt like a lot. Apparently, having dengue fever didn't give me a sick pass especially since my mom wouldn't vouch for me.
There were only two other girls at Rachel's sleep over, Sugar Motta whose self-diagnosed asperger's allowed her to move freely within every social circle, and Lucy who was the new girl and didn't have any other friends. We didn't think anyone else was coming until half-way through Hairspray there was a loud banging on the door.
Seeing Santana there almost gave me a heart attack. I suddenly wanted to go home, I didn't think I could handle being in the same vicinity as her for more than fifteen minutes. Santana hadn't come alone; she had her best friend Mack with her. Rachel greeted them and pointed to the sofa where I was sitting. It was big enough for all three of us, but I didn't think the house was big enough for me and her.
I cleared my throat and excused myself to get some fresh air, avoiding her gaze. I don't know how long I was out there on Rachel's porch but it was long enough for Lucy to come get me. The other's were starting on another movie and they were wondering where I'd disappeared to. I sort of thought it was strange that Rachel, my friend, hadn't come to find me herself but I brushed it off.
I sat down on the single couch where Rachel had been sitting; Lucy sat across from me on the opposite side of the coffee table with Sugar. Santana, Mack and Rachel shared the long couch.
The movie was interesting enough for me to tune out the presence of the two odd girls out and Rachel. Every now and then, I'd look and see Santana talking to Rachel – making her laugh. I got the weirdest sensation, like I didn't exist in that room and I was watching everybody else having fun.
Rachel barely talked to me for the rest of the night. Suddenly she was in Santana's little clique while I wasn't and she had forgotten me.
This happened so often, Santana would choose to be friends with someone else who wasn't me and I'd learned to live with it. Except Rachel wasn't just another girl who got to be friends with Santana, Rachel was my best friend who Santana had stolen.
I was angry at Santana and I was jealous of Rachel.
The only other thing I remember about that sleepover was the way Lucy hugged me and held my hand while we slept, even though she didn't know I was in love with Santana and that Santana had taken away my only friend.
My eyes were ready to close by the time the bright lights of New York City pulsated with life. I felt drained and a trail of tears had dried down both my cheeks. I didn't know I'd been crying, the bad kind of crying where it's all sadness and no anger - just real sadness. I didn't even tear any newspapers or crumple them.
Too tired to eat, I collapsed into bed still thinking about Santana and still trying to answer the same old questions – what had I done wrong and why after all these years of hating her could I not let her go?
Too angsty? I had to explain what Brittany was feeling but next chapter unexpected things are going to happen.
Tell me what you think.