Nothing Lasts Forever

2 | Pink sweater

The next morning I woke up with a pretty strong headache. Squeezing my eyes, I looked around the way too bright room and brought my hand up to my head, rubbing my temples slightly to try and soothe the banging pain.

Then fractures of yesterday night came back to me. After my pretty long daydream about Santana and Quinn practically pulling me out of it, all I could remember was getting drunk as hell while partying with all of my high-school friends in my parent's house. I know I wanted to push the pain aside and even though alcohol was not really a permanent solution, it really helped me forget about Santana for a while.

I can't believe I'm still holding onto her and the memories so vividly after ten years. I was pretty sure those thoughts and the pain were part of the reason for my wrecked life.

I stretched out my arms and legs before sitting up with a groan, cracking my spine and knuckles with an exhausted sigh. I then proceeded to walk down the stairs into the kitchen to be greeted with a bunch of faces looking back at me.

"Wow look, the queen finally awakened." Noah said before the whole group started chuckling. I waved at them and let out a laugh as well, immediately walking over to the coffee machine. Mike, Rachel and Quinn were sitting on the kitchen counters while Noah, Tina and Mercedes were sitting on the bar stools, the six pairs of eyes focused on me. "Ugh, I'm tired guys.." I said groggily, letting out a breath. "No wonder why. You should have seen yourself yesterday. You were drunk as hell, twerking and dancing on the table in your bra and panties." Mercedes giggled, causing me to gasp. "Oh fuck.. I hope no one recorded that."

They all suddenly turned their heads to face Quinn, pursing their lips almost guiltily. "What?! No.. I totally didn't!" The blonde squeaked, raising her hands up in defense. She was such a bad liar. "Oh yeah she totally didn't. And she also totally didn't upload it to Instagram." Rachel said with wide eyes, shaking her head over-dramatically.

My eyes shot up to Quinn's face, punching her in the side. "You little bitch!" I gasped with a giggle following and she just looked at Rachel in disbelief. "Rach! You're so not trustworthy. There's definitely no kisses for you today, m'am." The small brunette pouted at her, definitely giving her the puppy dog face which reminded me so much of Santana. She always used to give me that face whenever she wanted something, knowing I'd always give in to her pout.

I grimaced and looked at the couple. "You guys are so disgustingly in love, ugh gross." I muttered, pouring myself a coffee and immediately taking a sip, burning my tongue but I let no one notice even though it hurt like hell. "Admit it, you're just jealous. It's not our fault you haven't gotten laid since Santana got tired of you." Rachel said, causing me to choke on the hot liquid. My face fell immediately and my heart dropped onto the floor.

Ouch.

Silence suddenly took over the group after Rachel's sudden outburst. I nodded softly, my eyes focused on my feet before they carried me back to the stairs. I felt a hand grab my wrist, my best friend's voice ringing in my ears: "Britt.." She started but I had already cut her off. "Don't." I broke away from her grasp and ran upstairs, my eyes immediately welling up with tears. That shit hurt. And it wasn't even true. I had gotten laid, I've just never felt as much for anyone as I had felt for Santana and I believed that that would never change. Opening the window, I sat down on the bed of the guest room cross-legged, looking out at the blue sky, a million thoughts running through my head.

My heart was aching so badly; I missed her. I missed Santana so much and the feeling got worse with every damn day, if that was even possible. The tears ran down my cheeks freely while I thought of her once again. It had been ten fucking years since I had last seen her, last kissed her, last smelt her strawberry shampoo, last touched her. A whole fucking decade. She could be anywhere right now, Asia, Europe, married, dead. I knew nothing about her. All I had were the memories of her 16-year-old-self but she must be 26 now. Mature. I wonder if she changed, if she still had the same snippy humor and the sassiness about her. Or if she rocked another hairstyle, maybe blonde? I remember she always wanted to dye her hair blonde but her parents never let her; at least that's what she told me in one of her letters. I wondered if she ever got that boob-job done she had desired, even though I would always tell her how perfect her breasts were in my eyes.