Author's Note: Angst is bad for you, but, sometimes, you really want things that are bad for you.

"I can't leave."

"Why?"

"I just can't."

It's funny. I couldn't wait to get out of this shithole high school, and, yet, here I am. Back in the very building, weeks after I graduated. I guess there are a lot of things that can't be foreseen. Like how I would have a disgusting attachment to this school, or like how Brittany would be stuck here for another year.

Brittany.

I think, when I gave my heart to her, she never gave it back. Now that she's staying at McKinley, so is my heart. I don't think she even knows.

And sometimes I wonder; I wonder when my heart became hers.

"Santana, please."

I keep my eyes on the stars overhead because I can't look at Brittany and let her break me. Break me in every sense of the word. "It's kind of gross how much I miss this place already," I say. I get up and stroll around the roof. It's all cement and tiles, too much grey for sure. But then I look up, and it's like another universe crashing down onto me, all twinkling stars and smoky clouds, as fucking cliché as that sounds.

Brittany's quiet. She probably knows I'm just avoiding her question. She always knows. "I just want the best for you," she says.

"Well, stop worrying about me, Britt." I keep my tone light and carefree, and it's definitely pissing her off.

"You need to go, Santana."

"C'mon, Brittany. Can we stop talking about this already?" I finally look her in the eyes. They're empty but the heaviest I've ever seen them.

"No, we can't. You have to leave."

I turn away. "No, I don't." The storm brewing in me has broken through the clouds. I feel dark and damp.

"Please. Just go."

Thunder strikes. I whip my head back to face Brittany, and I'm in anguish when I ask, "Why are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I'm not trying to get rid of you; I would never want you away from me. I love you, Santana. I love you, and I want the best for you."

"Don't you see, Brittany?" I whisper. "You don't want me anymore."

"Stop it, Santana. That's not it."

"Fine, then let me stay."

"I can't."

Slowly, I approach her and sit down. A foot of empty space is still between us. I have too much pride to sit any closer as I prepare my next words. "Please, Brittany," I beg. "Take me back, please." I look up at her, and I know tears are in my eyes. My heart's beating quickly in a mixture of fear and pain, and it feels like it's never going to slow down. I feel pathetic. But I still swallow my pride because I would do anything to stay with Brittany. I don't know where else I would find someone who loves me as much as she does, and, even if I did, I know myself that I wouldn't be able to love anyone else. I can't love anyone else.

"Santana, don't." Brittany's eyes begin to glaze over now, and it's the only thing proving to me that Brittany still cares. She scoots over to me, cradles my face in her hands, and kisses me. With her forehead against mine, she says, softly, "Tell me, what are you afraid of?"

I squirm out of her hold, and I stare ahead again. It's the only place I can look at tonight without feeling my throat closing up on me. "That you'll stop loving me."

"Oh, Santana." Brittany pulls me into her arms. She tucks my head under her chin and strokes my hair. It always makes me forget. But not tonight. Tonight, I remember. I remember that Brittany didn't deny anything.

"Every day."

"Every day," she repeats.

I glance from my suitcase to the train and then to the love of my life. I'm finally leaving, but the pain feels subdued. Like I'm only experiencing a memory but not the actual thing. My heart doesn't throb like it used to at the beginning of the summer. After months of anticipation, parting hurts less than I expected.

Brittany gazes at me, teary-eyed. "I love you, Santana," she tells me.

"I love you, too." Always. I tiptoe, and I kiss her, and I kiss her.

She keeps her promise. Every day, at exactly 10 p.m., Brittany comes on Skype.

And, every day, at exactly 10:01, my heart crumbles a little bit more as Brittany's beaming face appears on my laptop.

Mr. Schue comes up with this ridiculous idea to take the Glee club camping, so they can sing around a fire or something lame like that. When Brittany first told me there would be no Wi-Fi, I freaked out. I couldn't handle not seeing her face for four days.

But I did. We had a super long Skype session the night before her camping trip, and I got by without seeing her for four whole days.

I got by so well. For the strangest reason, I was even happy.

By the fifth day, I clambered to my laptop at 10 p.m. and waited for her. She came online, I saw her beautiful face, and my heart sank. The sight of her only reminds me of what I can't have.

I start avoiding our Skype dates. I tell her I'm busy with work, with classes, with something. Every day turns into every other day, and that turns into every two, every three days. And in those intervals when I don't see her, I almost forget she exists, and, when I forget she exists, I forget that I'm missing her, terribly, painfully so.

"Where were you last night?" Brittany doesn't even look pissed like she sometimes does. Just tired.

"I'm sorry, Britt. I had so much studying to do for midterms."

"Oh. We don't Skype every day anymore."

"Yeah, I know. It sucks."

We're both quiet for a moment. Then Brittany asks, "How are you?"

"I'm good," I tell her.

"Yeah? You look happy." She smiles mildly at this.

"I am. I've been getting used to things. I'm a lot happier now than I was." I laugh a little.

"Good." Brittany reaches for the webcam with her hand, and, for a second, it feels like she's touching me. "I miss you," she says.

"I miss you, too," I whisper.

It's been a week since I last Skyped Brittany. When I see her on my computer screen, all blue eyes and charming smile, it hurts, again. She looks happy, though, and, for that, I'm glad.

"What have you been up to, Britt?"

"Nothing much." She shrugs, then her eyes widen as something comes to mind. "I got my first B+ in Spanish, though!" she tells me. She digs through her backpack and pulls out a test. A big B+ is written in red at the top of the page.

I smile at her, so proud. "I'm really proud of you, Brittany. I always knew you could do it."

She smiles sheepishly back at me, then nervously. "Well, I got some help. José's been helping me with my Spanish."

"Oh?" I can't tell if I'm smiling anymore, or glaring at her, or whatever. But I'm trying to keep my tone casual even if this burning jealously is consuming me.

"Yeah, he's new."

"Is he…a senior?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, okay."

"He's a nice guy, but I barely know him."

"But he's been helping you with your homework?" I can't help but ask.

"Well, I mean, I do know him. We're just not, like, best friends."

I nod a few times. More to myself, I think. "Okay."

I've been getting worse with the Skype dates. The next time, it's over a week before I pick up Brittany's call.

"I miss you so much," she says right away.

I feel my body soften, lose some of its strength that it's built in the past ten days or so. "I miss you, too."

"Can you…start picking up on Skype?"

"I'll try," I tell her. "I've just been busy. As always."

"Okay." Brittany looks disappointed. I want to kiss her.

"You know I love you, right?"

Brittany tries her best to smile at me. "Yeah." Then her phone vibrates with a new message, and a real smile crosses her face this time.

"Who is it?" I ask.

She shrugs. "No one."

"Who's no one?"

Brittany sighs and tosses her phone on the bed. "It was José."

"Oh. You guys been getting close?"

"Sorta."

"I see."

"It just...makes me feel better to have him around. Sometimes, he speaks Spanish to me, and I like to pretend it's you."

"Oh." I don't even know how to be mad about that.

"Anyway, forget about José. Just…try your best to find time to Skype me, okay?"

"Okay, I will." I know I have to stop making promises I can't keep. But I don't know how.

It seems like Brittany has been calling me more than usual, and I finally Skype her in two weeks.

"Britt, I'm sorry—"

"I can't anymore, Santana."

"What?"

"I've just been missing you so much, and José's starting to make a better you than you, and-and I'm sorry."

"Did you…cheat on me, Brittany?"

"No! Never." Brittany's eyes are red, I notice for the first time. "But I've been tempted to."

"Oh."

"And that's why I can't do this anymore. I'm not supposed to feel that way, Santana."

"Um." What am I supposed to say? Ask her to stay with me but ignore her on Skype for another two weeks? So I nod. "Okay," I say hoarsely.

"What?" Brittany is shocked, angry even.

"You've stopped loving me, Britt. I told you it was going to happen."

"S-Santana! You're the one who's been…God knows where, and now you're putting this all on me?"

"No." I shake my head, and that's when the tears come. "Not at all, Brittany. But you've stopped loving me. And I don't love you one heartbeat less."

It's a month and a half later when I see Brittany again. I've returned to Lima to visit for Christmas break. I stop by McKinley to see how Glee club's doing, and that's when I see her, walking through the choir room doors like it was yesterday.

She has bangs again. It's adorable. But next to her is a taller boy, with tanned skin and dark hair. Handsome. He must be José.

"Santana!" Mr. Schue says. "Welcome back to Glee club!"

But I barely hear him. I just keep my eyes on Brittany. She's looking at me, too. And that pain is gone, if only for this moment that I get to see her face to face. That pain I've been nursing for months is finally goddamn gone. Now it's just how much I miss her, how much I love her, her and only her.

She stops walking when she's right in front of me, just a foot away. "Santana?" she says warily.

"Brittany." I smile, and those must be happy tears in my eyes.

"I miss you," she says quietly.

"I love you."

The corner of her mouth quirks up. She shakes her head, disbelieving and…elated? "Still," she says.

"Always."

She looks at me for a moment, then steps a little closer, and I wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her as if I had been suffocating for months without her lips on mine.

I don't think I'll ever get my heart back, but it's not like I'll have anyone else to give it to.