Warning; suicidal thoughts.
"I'm going through withdrawals. You don't even have to do too much. You can turn me on with just a touch, baby.."
She couldn't stop herself.
Aside from the flush of her cheeks and the clouds that swarmed into her consciousness whenever she saw her, there was something else. Listening to the way the woman spoke, the gentle caresses of each word on a sharp tongue, dark eyes that would fixated on the blonde and kept her frozen in place. The woman's stories that first frustrated her in a bad way, seemingly self-indulgent, had Brittany on the edge of her seat for the next piece of information, anything that could draw her closer. Anything Santana said, a look from those dark eyes, losing herself in that delicious gaze. But it wasn't enough, whatever it was.
It was carnal, refusing to be satisfied by looks or words. It needed. It craved.
It wasn't enough gazing at her tan, scarred back, the way Santana moved in her rest, her luscious hazel tresses falling away from her face, eyelids so soft. All those times Brittany had been heading towards the maximum-security area after work, to see the woman like an animal in a cage, her breath caught in her throat. A monster sleeping behind a wall of glass couldn't satisfy her.
In her dreams she did.
I know you see me, watching you. I know you.
Brittany couldn't resist; every night she fought beneath the silky wrinkled sheets, lost in the feverish dreams, the memory of the barrel against her face, from the time they first met in the streets. Santana's crazes smile, sharp teeth, and something brittany thought she could scrape away from right underneath the surface. The memory of adrenaline made her head pound. Her heart race. She was flying, not here nor anywhere else, as the world turned to blank white.
An entire lifetime of her choices and memories, failures and success. All were about to be for nothing, for no fucking reason, by a push of the dark woman's trigger.
"How does one go about killing their attachments?"
Brittany whined against her pillow, hips rolling against the mattress beneath her weight, pale hand restlessly moving between her thighs. Dipping into her center, with her cool fingers curled up inside of her, pushing hard. And harder. And harder. Feeling herself drip all over her hand, she moaned and headed straight down, seeking the only mental picture that could push her over the edge. Pale hips were trembling by the time she found it, convulsing violently against her hand. Santana wouldn't step out of her dreams, and it was a way of coping with the goddamn fear.
Santana's locked away bullet-proof glass, stupid! She can't hurt me. I could just fucking walk away. I'm in control, goddamnit!
The blonde was burning up from the inside out, eyes dull and puffy at daytime. Staring at herself in the mirror in the morning, sweeping golden hair away from her face, biting down on her bruised lip, swaying her hips, she wondered if that was why Santana let her live.
Of course not. Santana was not that kind of person.
Santana was the only person who didn't fill Brittany with that kind of lack of interest and disgust, like everyone had in the past, all those assholes she'd have had to put up with.
As weeks passed by, her dreams had switched ruthlessly between sweet and sinister, having her lying on her back atop of slippery silk sheets, gasping for breath, head thrown back into the pillow, moving her hand faster, harder against herself, desperate for relief, feeling herself clench and it felt hollow. Santana was always there every time she reached the edge, urging her on with a dark grin, taking her hand and leading her on. The brunettes full lips would ghost over hers with a deep chuckle, amused at her state of disarray.
