Visions
You've always known your mind works differently than others, and as you trail your eyes around the bland room, you're reminded of how different you really are, because normal people aren't forced to see a specialist once a week.
The off white color of the walls attract your attention to the framed pictures hanging from them. Pushing your nerves aside, you eye the paintings warily and try to figure out what they mean.
Many of them are just black splotches of ink that mean nothing but something at the same time.
The room you're sitting in is small and stuffy. Claustrophobic is the perfect word to describe it. And as you look around, you wish you were anywhere but here. You fiddle with your fingers in your lap and knit your eyebrows together, concentrating on how you're going to get through this.
Sighing through your nose, you grip the armrest of your chair as your eyes willingly travel back to the paintings on the wall. The first one, the one all the way in the corner, kinda looks like John Cusack if you squint your eyes, tilt your head to the side and concentrate really, really hard.
The painting next to that one reminds you of Britney Spears during her meltdown phase, and with a quirked eyebrow you briefly wonder if you mistakenly stumbled into the hall of fame instead of a psychiatrist waiting room.
Tilting your head to the side, you study yet another black splotch and wonder if your interpretations have any deeper meanings.
They don't.
You close your eyes to calm your nerves, lean your head back, and breathe. Your heartbeat even begins to slow down a bit, and everything is peaceful in the small room until you hear a noise. Startled, you open your eyes and practically jump out of your seat when the door to outside opens.
The first thing you see is light brown hair and tanned skin before that familiar smile is flashed your way. You look on with a frown until you see the little boy in her arms. An adoring smile stretches across your face when he waves at you, and with a sigh of relief, you slump back into your seat.
"Sorry I'm late," Lara says with a wince, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek before placing Manny on your lap. With a weary sigh, she sits next to you and huffs, "Manny refused to put his shoes on this morning." She shakes her head, holding her hand out to Manny with a tired smile. "And he kept begging me to take him to that art store across the street." Manny's little hand wraps around her pointer finger as he shuffles around on your lap, trying to get comfortable.
Momentarily forgetting your anxiety, you chuckle softly and give Manny a pointed look. "Were you giving Mommy a hard time this morning?" you ask playfully, bopping him on his little nose before tickling his sides.
Manny squirms in your lap with high pitched giggles. "No..." he sings slyly, furiously shaking his head.
Lara reaches over and ruffles his curly brown locks; she really needs to get him a haircut soon, because his hair is almost at his shoulders. You can barely see his pretty hazel eyes because his bangs are so thick. Manny inherited all the Lopez traits; his thick hair is proof enough.
"How are you?"
Lara's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. As you turn your head away from Manny to look at her, you frown at the concern in her expression; her eyebrows are furrowed and there's a worried crease in her forehead.
"Never been better," you mutter, absentmindedly lacing your fingers through Manny's tiny ones. He giggles again and slumps into your chest. He's the only person in your life who seems to make you smile nowadays.
Lara sighs beside you, settling Manny's Batman backpack on her lap. "San..." she drawls out, cocking her head to the side as she tries to catch your eye.
You grit your teeth. "The damn meds stopped working," you whisper, shrugging a shoulder. "How do you think I am?"
She bows her head, nodding thoughtfully. "Well, you don't have to be so mean."
You purse your lips and let out a steady sigh. It's impossible to make Lara sad and not feel like a complete bitch. "I'm sorry, I'm just..." you trail off in frustration, continuing to gaze down at Manny as he plays with your fingers and inspects each one closely as if he's doing some sort of experiment. He reminds you so much of your father, and sometimes it's hard to look at him because of it.
"I know," she whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You rest your head against her and try to let her comforting touch soothe you, but it doesn't work. It never works, because the truth is, she doesn't know. No one knows what you're going through and no one can comfort you; no one other than her.
"Do I have to do this, Lara?" you ask quietly, your eyes glancing to that white door at the end of the hallway. There's no one else here in the waiting room, so you know as soon as the doctor comes out there's only one direction you can go.
Lara squeezes your shoulder. "You know I'd never force you to," she begins, brushing a strand of your hair to the side. "But you understand it's for the best, right?"
You peer up at her through your lashes and pout, because you know she can never resist your sad-face, but instead of backing down, she smiles and places a soft kiss on your temple.
You can feel her eyes on you as you continue to stare forward and it's driving you insane. It's like she can see right through you. You hate it when people can read you; that's why you built these thick walls in the first place.
"I guess," you mumble hopelessly, chipping the cheap paint off the armrest of your chair.
The corner of Lara's lip twitches up into an awkward smile; she's trying so hard to be strong for you. She's trying so hard to be supportive. "I'll be right here if you need me," she assures you before gazing down at Manny lovingly. "Both Manny and I."
Pinching your lips together, you nod solemnly. You may look calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside you feel like you're about to melt. Your heart is beating faster and faster as you think about what's on the other side of that white door at the end of the hall.
"Lara..." you whimper quietly, beginning to have second thoughts.
"Shh," Lara whispers, rubbing your back in slow, comforting circles. "Just look at it this way. If you don't do this, it'll just get worse."
You shake your head, getting more and more frustrated as the seconds tick by. "I don't think of her as a bad thing," you tell her, because it should be obvious to her how much her existence means to you. You hate it whenever Lara tries to belittle her presence and meaning in your life.
"I know," Lara says again, and you grind your teeth in annoyance, because she doesn't know. She doesn't know anything. The only thing keeping you from telling her off right now is the small, two year old in your lap, fiddling with his red race car. "But don't you want it to stop?" She questions after getting no response from you.
"Kinda." It's the best answer you can come up with.
"It'll be hard," she whispers, leaning her head against your shoulder. "But you have to face your demons."
Your body immediately stiffens, but Lara doesn't seem to notice as she rakes her fingers through Manny's tangled locks. "Don't call her that," you seethe, clenching and unclenching your jaw to relieve your anger. "She's not a demon."
Lifting her head, Lara gives you a disbelieving look before glancing toward the white door at the end of the hall. "I guess we'll just let Dr. Wright decide that then, won't we?" You follow her line of vision just in time to see the doorknob slowly turning to the left.
And you swallow thickly as a shadow of dread falls upon you.
"What brings you here?"
It's such a cliché therapist question that you can't help but roll your eyes. It's been such a long time since you've sat in one of these seats. And although the couch is soft, you sit up straight because you don't want to get too comfortable.
"She brings me here," you respond vaguely, shrugging your shoulders as you fold your arms over your chest. You can't let your guard down; these shrinks are masters at getting you to talk about shit you never even want to remember in the first place.
Dr. Wright nods. She has a notepad in her hand, and you can't help but stare at it with narrowed eyes. It bothers you what she'll have written in there by the end of this session.
"Who is she?" Dr. Wright asks softly, crossing one leg over the other.
You shrug your shoulders again. You don't mean to be difficult, but it's kind of hard to concentrate on answering stupid questions when your nerves are overpowering all of your other feelings.
"It's hard to explain," you sigh, clasping your sweaty palms together in your lap. Your leg is bouncing up and down, and no matter how hard you try, you can't get it to stop. Your lack of self-control makes you feel powerless in this room.
It makes you feel hopeless.
Dr. Wright nods in understanding; you're really starting to get annoyed by her bobbing head. "Can you try?" she questions, raising her eyebrows as she gazes at you through her thick glasses.
"It's too hard," you deadpan, looking down at your chipped nail polish.
Dr. Wright continues to study you, her eyes squinted in contemplation. "Have you ever met her?"
Her next question catches you off guard. You're not exactly sure how to answer, so the best you can come up with is, "Kinda." And you don't forget to shrug your shoulders indifferently.
You're expecting Dr. Wright to sigh in irritation or tell you to come back when you're serious about getting some real help, but instead, she uncrosses her legs, leans forward in her seat and gives you a soft smile.
Then she waits.
It's silent in the room for awhile, and you know this should make you feel uncomfortable, but instead, your heart begins to beat slower and your knee quits its bouncing after a few silent moments.
"I'm in love with her," you say unexpectedly, looking off into the corner. You don't know why you say it, but the words were right at the tip of your tongue and they seemed impossible to swallow.
Dr. Wright hums in acknowledgement as she rests her elbows on her knees. "How can you be in love with someone you've only kinda met?"
The doctor's relaxed posture is slowly making you feel relaxed as well. "If you saw her, you'd fall in love too."
Dr. Wright smirks in amusement, tapping her pen on her thigh. "Is that so?"
"Definitely," you whisper, leaning back against the soft couch. Gazing up at the ceiling, you close you eyes and sigh, "It's impossible to look into her bright blue eyes and not feel something."
It's a windy day. Most of the week it's been windy, but today is the coolest of them all. Walking home from school, you hike your bag up on your back with a sigh and shrug your jacket higher on your shoulders to hide your bare neck from the cold creeping up your skin.
The leaves have already fallen. This just makes your walk home even harder. Your feet shuffle through the leaves and some of them even get stuck to your boots. You huff in frustration because your mom just bought these for you last weekend and she'll definitely flip her shit if she found out you got stains on them already.
Bending down, you quickly wipe off the wet leaves from your shoes. You don't lift your head until you hear the sound of leaves crunching in the distance, and once you see who those footsteps belong to, your eyes widen and you hurriedly stand to your feet when you see her round the corner.
Her blonde hair flies around wildly in the wind, and you can't keep your mouth shut as you duck behind a fence and watch her cross the street.
"Have you ever seen a counselor before?"
"Yes," you respond, keeping your eyes shut.
You hear the sound of Dr. Wright shifting in her seat. "When?"
She's straighforward with her questions. The therapist you used to see always looked just as nervous as you. She was afraid of setting you off or making you actually feel something, so she made her questions easy. You're not exactly sure, but you assume it's because she probably thought you were suicidal. She didn't want to push the limits of your unstableness.
You lick your lips and breathe through your nose, your chest heaving up and down slowly. "When I was a teenager."
"How old are you now?"
"Nineteen."
Dr. Wright chuckles airily, and you crack an eye open to see what's so funny. She's shaking her head back and forth with a lopsided smile. "So, still a teenager?"
You smile as well. "I guess," you mumble self-consciously, rubbing the back of your neck. You don't know what to do with your hands anymore. You wish you still had Manny in your arms so you could hold his hand. He gives you the most comfort out of anyone. His touch reminds you of your father.
You miss your father's touch.
"Santana?"
"Hm?" You snap your head towards the doctor.
Her eyebrows are raised in question. "What was the problem?" she repeats, keeping her eyes on yours. The eye contact should make you feel uncomfortable, but the more you talk to her, the more you feel comfortable enough to share your issues with her and have a normal conversation.
"The same problem it is now," you answer honestly, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
Dr. Wright arches an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. "The girl?" she questions, perching her glasses higher on her nose.
"She's a woman now," you respond a little harsher than expected.
Dr. Wright doesn't even flinch. "May I ask what her name is?" After she asks this, you immediately shake your head. You don't want anyone to know about her.
Dr. Wright senses your reluctance and scoots to the edge of her seat. From the corner of your eye, you see her hand inching closer to yours. When her palm rests on top of your hand, you surprisingly don't pull back. This feeling is strange to you; this thing called trust.
"I promise whatever you say in here shall not be disclosed."
You believe her. You're not sure what it is, but you trust her. Maybe you've been holding this in for so long that it's actually harder to keep it deep inside than blurt it out. "Her name is..." You gulp audibly, biting your upper lip nervously before exhaling, "Her name's Brittany."
Your football team sucks, but Brittany doesn't seem to mind. She sits on the bleachers everyday and watches the football team practice while she eats her lunch all alone; sometimes you wonder why she's never with anyone else.
Maybe she's an outcast just like you, but that wouldn't make sense. Why wouldn't anyone like her? She's perfect. If there's a reason she's all alone and has no friends, it better be a damn good one.
You watch her from the other side of the field. Today she's eating a bologna sandwich. You lick your lips because you wish you could have a bite. Not because you're hungry though. You want to know what her lips taste like, but you know that can never happen so you settle for imagining the taste of her sandwich.
It's a much more realistic thought.
You don't know why you do this; watch her all the time and pray for the courage to approach her one day. You drive yourself insane because of her. She makes your head hurt sometimes because you just can't stop thinking about her no matter how hard you try and whenever you think of her, you need to see her.
It's an addiction you have. You're obsessed with her. You're not sure where she came from, you're not even sure how you know her name. All you know is that you need her to keep living and breathing.
Without Brittany, you're nothing. And that's why you watch from a distance.
That's why you see her at all.
"What's the problem from your viewpoint?"
You pull your legs up on the couch and cross them in front of you. Your heartbeat is steady. Your nerves have definitely settled since you walked in here twenty minutes ago. Dr. Wright asks the hard hitting questions, but she's doing it because she wants to help.
She cares about you more than the paycheck she'll be receiving at the end of the month. Knowing this makes it easier for you to answer her questions. "I can't get enough of her," you say quietly, wringing your fingers together. "I-I follow her without her knowledge. I used to do it a lot back in high school. Then I, um...then I stopped for two y-years when I started my meds."
You pause when your voice starts to get shaky. The only other person you ever admitted this to is sitting right outside that door. You were surprised by how well she took it when you confessed your problem to her. But you know not everyone is as understanding as Lara, and you hope Dr. Wright won't judge you about who you are or what you do.
Glancing up, you see her eyes are soft as she listens to you speak. Her assuring nod helps you continue. "But now I'm following her again and I can't stop," you murmur, side eyeing the door just in case you have to make a run for it.
But instead of laughing at you or judging you, Dr. Wright rests her hand on your knee and smiles encouragingly. "Felt good to get that out, didn't it?"
You suck in your lips and nod frantically. "Y-Yeah," you choke out, wiping away your unshed tears.
Dr. Wright gives you a minute to compose yourself. Her gentle touch is more than just encouraging. She makes you feel safe; you feel like you can tell her anything now and she'll just understand.
"Do you want to get rid of this problem, Santana?"
You sigh, because you have no idea what you want. You're about to nod, but you stop halfway and shake your head. In the end, you just shrug your shoulders; not because you're trying to be difficult, but because you have absolutely no idea. Brittany's an addiction. She's your drug. Without your fix, how are you suppose to survive?
"Yes, but no," you respond unevenly, scratching your temple in thought. "I just get this strong urge to see her sometimes and I can't hold back from searching for her and going after her." This is the most honest you've ever been with your feelings. You've never even told Lara about that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach right before seeking Brittany out.
"Has she ever caught you stalking her?" Dr. Wright asks seriously.
You squint your eyes at her choice of words. Stalk. You don't like the sound of it. That word makes your skin crawl, your bones sting. "I don't stalk her," you say calmly, but there's still a bit of an edge to your voice. You flail your nostrils, sitting up in your seat. "I follow her," you correct sternly, your eyebrows dropping in oncoming anger.
A tense silence follows your words. Dr. Wright stares at you, her green eyes still as soft and understanding as ever. You want to hate how easy it is for her to get you, but you also find it relieving. It's been so long since someone genuinely wanted to help you.
"Can you tell me about the first time you ever saw her?" Dr. Wright's question doesn't surprise you. You're finding it hard to be caught off guard by any of her inquiries anymore. Dr. Pillsbury, your old therapist, used to ask stupid questions that'd get you both nowhere.
You like Dr. Wright though. Her tactics are refreshing. You've been needing something new in your life for a long time now to get your mind off Brittany and her whereabouts.
You stare at the floor this time. It's not easy for you to make eye contact. It's awkward and uncomfortable. As you think, you stare at the ground and fold your hands in your lap. "I was a junior in high school," you begin hesitantly, settling into the couch cushions. "One night I got into an argument with my mom and ran away."
Revisiting your past is not one of the most fun things in the world. To continue, you take a steady breath and prepare yourself for your next words.
"But I had no friends," you whisper sadly, the pain of your loneliness just as striking as it was back then. "And nowhere to go..."
It's quiet for awhile. Dr. Wright lets your words settle in the room around you. You'd assume she was thinking about what to say next if you didn't know how quick her mind works. She's just giving you time to think for yourself and breathe. Having a breakdown right now would definitely not help your progress.
"Where did you run away to?" Dr. Wright questions, her voice low as not to disturb the quiet atmosphere in the room.
You smile wistfully despite yourself. "The movie theatre down the street," you chuckle softly, pointing over your shoulder as if the theatre's right behind you through these walls.
You're not sure if the exact theatre is that way or not, but Lima's not a very big town and you wouldn't be surprised if Dr. Wright's office and the movie theatre were on the same street.
"Brittany and I were the only ones in the theatre. She was sitting all the way at the top row," you recall with a content sigh, loosely folding your arms over your chest. "But instead of watching the screen, I watched her watch the movie."
Fiddling with her glasses, Dr. Wright studies your expression and asks, "And that's when it all began?"
You nod your head slowly as you think back to that time. "And it hasn't stopped since."
As you run through the streets at top speed, your tears stream down your cheeks just as fast. The coldness in the air doesn't even affect you as you turn the corner and get as far away from your house as possible.
You never want to go back there. Things have just been getting worse and worse, but you never thought it could be this bad. All you can hear is the sound of your mother's yelling. The way she curled in on herself and began to sob flashes through your mind as you keep on running.
Your breath catches in the back of your throat as you gasp for air and struggle to breathe. Your chest hurts from your over exertion, but still, you don't stop. You can't stop or you might go back. Nothing can ever make you go back to your dysfunctional household.
Nothing and no one.
Your feet don't slow down until you see bright lights fighting to be seen through the heavy fog. As you get closer, you realize the bright lights are from the sign hanging on top of the movie theatre. You must have ran farther than you thought, because the town movie threatre has to be at least a mile away from your house.
The street is empty. Darkness surrounds you and you have nowhere else to go. The only place with light seems to be the movie theatre. It's an obnoxiously cold night. You're freezing through your flannel shirt. The tears soaking your cheeks make the bitter cold even worse.
This frosty night makes the movies look even more inviting than usual; you're sure it's even heated inside, so it's not a very hard choice to make when you buy a movie ticket to see whatever's playing.
The theatre is deserted like you expected. But you're happy about this fact. All you want is to be alone. You've been by yourself a lot recently. A change in scenery would only make you anxious. Too many people around you at once makes you feel antsy, and all you want tonight is to relax and forget all your issues.
And there's a lot to forget.
You pick a seat in the middle of the theatre, and as you wait for the movie to begin, you realize you don't even know what's playing. Time quickly ticks by as you think quietly to yourself, and before you know it, the movie is starting. The movie ends up being a comedy, but you don't realize this until you hear the sound of laughter coming from the top row of the theatre.
The sound startles you at first, but it's such a comforting sound, you can't help but swiftly turn your head to find out who's hiding up there. The lights from the screen highlight her deep blue eyes. They sparkle joyfully as she continues to giggle at whatever's happening in the comedy. But you could care less about the movie, because your whole attention has been stolen by this mysterious blonde.
This overwhelming feeling to know who she is, what she likes, and where she lives floods your brain. You wonder about these things the whole night as you discreetly watch her from your seat.
You duck your head whenever she glances down at you. The darkness is your friend tonight as you watch her. The feeling is thrilling; it's only just started and you already know you're addicted to her.
Dr. Wright gazes down at her notepad with a quirked eyebrow. She glances up at you because she can always feel your eyes on her. You quickly look away; you don't want her to know you're curious about what she's writing.
Clearing her throat, the doctor taps her chin and questions, "How does this problem typically make you feel?"
Your eyelids feel heavy as you slowly look back up. "Lonely," you mumble under your breath. You've never felt more pathetic than you do right now. Dr. Wright must think you're insane after hearing your confession.
"Anything else?" Dr. Wright's eyebrows settle near her hairline.
You nod with a heavy sigh. "I feel like a creep."
"Why?"
You're not sure why you shrug your shoulders because you know why, but you don't know if she can handle the truth. You don't even know if you can handle the truth.
"I, uh...I watch her through her window," you stammer, clearing your throat. The back of your eyes sting with the urge to cry. You're not sad or hurt. You're embarrassed by your actions, because you know this isn't normal. Sucking in a breath of air, you close your eyes and exhale, "I watch her get dressed sometimes and I can never look away."
You say it once and you say it fast because you know you'll never be able to say it again even if someone gave you a million dollars.
Dr. Wright doesn't even blink an eye at your honest admission. "Do you want to look away?"
You let a few seconds drift by before you answer. The suspense must be killing Dr. Wright by now. "Sometimes," you murmur, avoiding eye contact with her at all cost. "Mostly no." Living without the image of Brittany in your subconscious sounds even worse than living this way for the rest of your life.
"How does she make you feel?"
Shifting your eyes around the room, you shrug your shoulders and whisper, "Less angry." You lean your head back against the couch and focus your eyes on the crack in the ceiling. "When I watch her, I feel warm inside...and happy."
She's unnaturally smart. You're sure this is true by the amount of books she has stacked in her arms as she walks down rows and rows of literature in the public library. She looks so studious with her hair tied back in a tight bun, these black framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
You don't think you've ever seen anything so sexy in your life.
You're peeking through the cracks in the shelves as she book hunts. You want to be closer to her. You don't want to hide from the world, but you can't risk telling someone about what's happening to you.
You're not even sure what it is. All you know is that before you find her, you always get these weird headaches that come out of nowhere, then the next thing you know, you're following her down the street, or watching her enter her home.
Your eyes trail down her lean body as she stretches her arm up to grab a book on the top shelf. Her shirt rises just enough to give you the perfect view of her pale, vanilla skin.
You swear you're drooling as you bend your head and peek through the crack. She's like a goddess and you couldn't have wished for a better sight.
"Can I tell you a secret?" You ask carefully, curling in on yourself as you reconsider taking this question back.
Dr. Wright's eyes light up. "You can tell me anything you want, Santana."
Focusing your eyes on the corner of her office where a little teddy bear sits, you wipe your sweaty palms on your thighs and mumble, "And you promise you won't judge me?"
She looks at you with a small smile, her green eyes bright. "My job is to hear you out and listen," she explains, cocking her head to the side as she tries to catch your eye. "Judging you is the last thing on my mind. I'm only here to help and guide you."
You purse your lips, but you don't look away from the corner. What you're about to say might shock her and you don't want to see the disgusted look on her face after your confession.
"I've never told anyone this before," you tell her, pinching your lips and sighing through your nose to settle your nerves. You pause, gaining the confidence you need before murmuring, "Sometimes I, um...sometimes I imagine her with me."
Dr. Wright squints her eyes in confusion, trying to understand what you mean.
Your face screws up at the twisting feeling in your gut as you begin to explain. "I imagine us touching intimately," you whispers shamefully, bowing your head to stare at your fingers.
You still can't look Dr. Wright in the eyes. You're afraid of seeing the sight of horror or mortification in her features.
"And I know it's wrong, but I just can't stop sometimes." Your nose twitches to the side as you sniffle away your tears. "She just...she just makes me feel good." You duck your head even further as you slowly shake your head, flustered.
The rain pounds against your windowsill; it just barely drowns out the sound of yelling coming from downstairs. You're stuck inside because of the storm, but you need to see Brittany more than ever. You only ever see her around town and at school. You wonder what it'd be like to have her in your room with you.
Closing your eyes, you imagine blue eyes and blonde hair. Your heartbeat picks up when she appears on your bed. She's naked, her legs are crossed; she's hiding what you want to see most. Her blonde locks flow past her shoulders and cover the swell of her breasts.
She looks so real, you swear if you reach out, you'd be able to touch her, feel her in the palm of your hand.
Clenching your eyes shut, you scoot back on your bed until your head hits your fluffy pillow. You're not in control of your own body anymore as your hand slowly drifts down your stomach and towards the hem of your pants.
Your heart rate increases as you unbutton your jeans and pull your zipper down. Brittany hovers above you, her fingers sliding in between the belt loops of your pants. She slowly pulls down your jeans, taking your panties with them.
When you open your eyes, all you can hear is the rain. Your breathing is rushed and ragged, and you don't want it to stop, so you close your eyes again. Brittany's right where she was before.
She was waiting for you the whole time.
Staring up at her, you trace the features of her face with adoring eyes. It's impossible to describe her beauty in just words.
Brittany's naked above you, so you settle for showing her how gorgeous she truly is. You run your hands down her sides and admire the way her muscles clench in reaction to your touch.
And when she touches you, your mind almost turns into jello. She strokes you softly, and you almost stop breathing as her blue eyes bore into yours. You're quickly melting underneath her and you already know you're not going to last long, especially when her lips find yours, her tongue immediately dipping into your mouth and twirling around your own tongue in exploration.
You kiss back hungrily, taking in her bottom lip and sucking, your tongue engaging in a battle with hers as you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her flush against you.
Your eyes roll back when she leans out of the kiss and boldly licks your lips. Every touch is seductive. The way her hips roll into yours, how her lips slide against your open mouth, the sound of her haggard breathing as she spreads her open legs against your thigh and rubs herself on you pleasurably.
You don't think you can get anymore turned on than you are right now, but when she hurriedly slips your shirt off and attacks your nipples with a skillful tongue, you know you were incredibly wrong.
Boy, were you wrong.
Your breathing is all over the place, but you discover that's the least of your problems when your brain short circuits after her fingers slowly spread your folds. Your hips cant up and off the bed, your back bending as you search for more friction. And her eyes stay connected to yours the entire time which makes everything more intense.
She enters you unexpectedly, two fingers pumping into your center. You soak her fingers immediately; she makes you so wet. Whenever you see her, you have to breathe steadily to control yourself because she puts you on edge with just one look.
Brittany's breasts bounce up and down, up and down as she thrusts her hips into your throbbing core, forcing her fingers deeper and deeper into you. Her thumb rubs your clit expertly, and you can feel yourself quickly becoming undone.
And before you know it, your thighs clench around her fingers and you're thrashing your head back in pleasure as you reach your high. Her fingers continue to move in you as your whole body shakes and convulses.
Your breathing is so sporadic, your throat has gone dry. To keep from moaning her name, you bite your lower lip as she dips her head to kiss your sweaty jaw, and by the time everything is over, your body is still writhing from the orgasm she held you through.
With one more deep breath, you open your eyes and everything is silent except for the storm. The rain continues to fall, but once again, you're all alone, the only other sound being the harsh yelling from downstairs.
And instead of Brittany's delicious fingers inside of you, it's only your own. It was all just a part of your imagination, and you know this is true, because her naked body is nowhere to be seen.
"There's no reason to be ashamed, Santana."
You chuckle bitterly, because you know what she's saying is a fucking lie. She's just trying to make you feel better, though it's definitely not working. "Oh, really?" you ask sarcastically, your upper lip twitching up into a smirk.
"Really," she says simply, setting her notepad on the armrest of her chair.
You follow the movement closely before pulling your eyes away. "Then why do I feel ashamed?" you question self-consciously, nervously playing with the ends of your hair. You feel small, like a raisin shrinking in the sun under her observation.
"I can't answer that question for you, but I can help you find the answer." She's so insightful; you wish you could be as knowing as her and help other people. But that's just a hopeless dream, because how can you help other people if you can barely help yourself?
Running a hand through your hair, you shrug your shoulders and whisper, "Okay..."
Answers are all you've been wanting for three years now.
Clearing her throat, Dr. Wright sits up with a contemplative hum. She taps her chin in thought, and you watch with curious eyes, awaiting her next question. "How do you feel when you imagine Brittany touching you?"
You glance up at the doctor and make eye contact for the first time in awhile. Her question makes your face burn in embarrassment, and you shift awkwardly on the couch as Dr. Wright stares at you expectantly.
"I feel..." you begin hesitantly, scratching the side of your neck uncomfortably. You feel like you've come down with the hives, because your whole body feels itchy. "I don't know, I guess I feel complete?" You blurt out the last few words as fast as possible before you lose your nerve.
"You don't sound so sure," Dr. Wright comments, licking her lips thoughtfully.
You suck in a gust of air and exhale, "Because I'm not." Your knee is bouncing up and down again anxiously, and what really scares you is that you don't even remember when it started up again. "Talking about this is awkward," you mumble, averting your eyes.
"We don't have to, you know," the doctor assures you, her kind eyes blinking slowly. Her easy going attitude helps relax you, but only a little bit, because your knee is still bouncing. "We can talk about anything you want."
"Anything?" You question a little too eagerly.
"Of course." Dr. Wright raises her eyebrows, beckoning you to ask her questions and engage in a conversation, but instead, you just cough into your fist to ease your racing heart.
You really do want to talk about it because it's been bothering you ever since the first time you touched yourself with her on your mind. Maybe talking about it will make it all go away. You just hope it doesn't make everything more real instead.
Sighing in defeat, your shoulders rise slightly as you stare at your lap. "I imagine Brittany touching me because I know it can never happen in real life," you say slowly, just above a whisper.
Dr. Wright scoots closer to the edge of her seat. It feels like she's closing in on you, but you know she's just getting closer so she can hear you better.
You take a deep breath before reluctantly continuing, "No matter how much I wish things were different, I know I'll never have her, so I don't know why I torture myself with these thoughts."
There's a substitute teaching the class today. And when you say teaching, you really mean he's just sitting in your regular teacher's chair, head bent back as he snores obnoxiously through his mouth.
Drool threatens to poor out of the corner of his mouth, and you grimace at the sight while trying to ignore your peers as they make a ruckus by throwing paper balls all over the place and jumping around the room like a bunch of untrained chimpanzees.
Class just started three minutes ago, so you have a whole hour left until you can finally break out of here, but then you'll just be stuck again when you get home.
Your house has turned into a prison where your mother drowns herself in bottles and bottles of alcohol. You have no one to confide in and nowhere to go for help, so the only thing you can do is stare forward and wish for a better world. You wish for someone, anyone to come and help you through this hell you call life.
Just as you're about to pull out your notebook to start doodling random pictures, the door to the room creaks open. Only you seem to notice; everyone else is still bouncing off the walls on some drug this dude just handed out.
When you see blonde hair, your breath hitches and you duck your head behind the fat kid who sits in front of you and always seems to obstruct your view during class. But today his largeness comes in handy as you spy on Brittany. She walks swiftly into the room, her arms full of school books.
She quietly sits down in the front of class, parallel to the slumbering substitute. You watch in wonder as she opens her textbook and begins to silently read. Forcing your eyes away from the gorgeous sight, you glance around the room and wonder if anyway else notices her presence, but you suspect they're all much too high to notice anything.
For the rest of class, you stare at her in adoration, because even the simplest things about her seem to build your curiosity. All you want to do is know her, but you're too much of a coward to do that.
When the bell rings at the end of class, you quickly gather your things to follow her out. She leaves before you and by the time you cross the threshold into the hallway, Brittany's gone, but you smile to yourself anyway, because you know you'll find her again soon.
You're not sure how long you've been in here, but time seems to be standing still as Dr. Wright flips through the pages of her notebook, humming occasionally at the words she's written down since you've entered.
You wonder if there's a cure for whatever you have. You used to take meds, but those were just for your anxiety. They helped calm you down and give you time to think before making any hasty decisions. But lately, the medication hasn't been working, no matter how much you take until your so high you can't even sit up without getting dizzy.
You still think about her. She's on the forefront of your mind all day everyday. It's like your adrenaline is overpowering your meds. Your mind tells you to go after her, and before you know it, she's right there in front of you, and you're watching her all over again.
"What would make the problem better?" Dr. Wright asks, slowly closing her book.
You rest your palm on your knee as it continues to bounce. Your nails dig into your skin through your jeans, forcing it to stop, but you know that won't help, because it's always been a nervous habit of yours.
Fluttering your eyes shut, you bite your bottom lip and mumble, "If I didn't have to see her anymore." That would make all your problems go away. Although you hate to admit it, Brittany's a huge problem. You're not even sure if you're in love with her or just in love with the sight of her.
"But you follow her..." Dr. Wright reminds you, squinting her eyes as she tries to understand.
"Sure," you murmur softly, turning your head to the door, because all you want right now is to hold Manny's little hand.
He reminds you so much of your father.
Sometimes it pains you that he'll never be able to meet his abuelo. Sometimes the realness of his absence hurts so much you don't even want to get out of bed in the morning.
The doctor pinches her lips together and nods her head. "Can't you just stop?" she inquires after a few silent moments.
"It's not that simple." You clench your jaw, trying to relieve your frustration If you could easily stop yourself from watching Brittany, you would have a long time ago. "I want to, but I can't."
You watch warily as Dr. Wright sets her notebook on the desk behind her. Her green eyes travel around the room slowly, and you can't help but follow her line of vision.
"Does anyone else know about this?"
You shake your head before turning it into an unsure nod. "Sorta," you whisper, breathing calmly through your nose.
"Have you ever thought about approaching her?" Dr. Wright's still staring off at something in the corner of the room, but your eyes immediately snap to her.
That itchy feeling crawls back up your neck, but instead of embarrassment, you're now nervous in another way. "Never," you breathe out, shaking your head furiously.
"You sound frightened," Dr. Wright says softly, her eyes narrowed on you in concern. "Does approaching her scare you?"
"More than anything."
Approaching Brittany doesn't just frighten you. It's something that's not even possible to consider, so mostly it just makes you feel hopeless.
You can already see it; your name is the headline in the newspaper. That's how it starts. Your family will shun you when they find out. The cops won't know what to do with you after handing you the restraining order. Then, people all around the country will hear about it.
You'll be known all over as the psycho who used to follow that nice girl with the blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. There's a churning in your stomach telling you to just go home now before you're caught doing something that could ruin your reputation, but before you get the chance to make a run for it, a shadow of a familiar body entering her bedroom makes you freeze in place.
Quietly, you crouch in front of the window and peer inside her room as she throws her bag on her bed and strolls into her walk-in closet. You wait patiently, your breath so warm the moisture appears on her window.
When Brittany exits her closet in just her sports bra and a pair of boxers, you don't think you can get any closer to the window without jumping inside. Your nose smushes against the glass and your eyes widen in excitement as she glides around her room.
Your brown eyes trail down her muscular abs, all the way down to her never ending legs. They look so smooth, you just want to run your palms down them and tickle her skin with your nimble fingers until she cries out your name and lets you have your way with her.
You kneel in front of her window and stare for hours. You're not sure how long you sit there until the sound of water running grabs your attention. Brittany exits her bathroom, her thumbs dipped into the hem of her boy shorts. Slowly, very slowly, she hooks her fingers around the elastic and pulls the shorts down until all you can see is her bare bottom.
You swallow thickly and cover your mouth with your hand to resist the moan threatening to bubble up your throat. Her shorts pool at her ankles and your eyes follow every single one of her movements as she steps out of them and pulls her bra off at the same time. You want her to turn around so badly it hurts. Your heart is throbbing against your ribcage, threatening to break a bone.
Even when Brittany disappears behind her bathroom door, your heart doesn't stop beating. The feeling is painful and an overload of bliss at the same time.
The emotion is hard to explain.
"If you could wave a magic wand, what positive changes would you make in your life?"
You gaze out the window for a second and think, though you already know what your answer is. Your mouth opens, but you close it again, not sure if you want to bring this discussion into suck dark territory, but eventually, you open your mouth and say, "I would apologize to my mom for making her cry."
After thinking about Brittany for a whole hour nonstop, it actually feels refreshing to move the topic on to something else, though you wish the topic was on anything else but your mom.
"Yes, your mother," Dr. Wright sighs in remembrance, nodding her head. "You had a fight the night you first saw Brittany, is that correct?"
"Yes," you respond evenly; that argument happened so long ago it barely affects you anymore. Your mother's been in and out of rehab your whole life and the only updates you ever get are from Lara.
The doctor strokes her chin. "What was the argument about?" She folds her hands politely in her lap, her whole body still as she watches you.
"My sister."
Dr. Wright's eyes widen momentarily, her mouth opening just slightly. "You have a sister?" she asks, surprised.
"Mhm," you hum, cracking your knuckles uncomfortably before pointing to the door beside you. "She's right outside." You love your sister and you don't know what you'd do without her. Just her and Manny being here for you shows how much they love you back. "She's a year older than me," you add, only because sometimes people think you're twins you look so alike.
"Why were you arguing about your sister?" she asks curiously, eyebrows furrowed in question.
"A lot of things in my life were going downhill around that time," you say dryly, shrugging a shoulder carelessly, because you don't want to get too emotional about things that are over and done with. "My dad died in a car accident. Apparently the girl who hit him was texting and didn't see the red light. She ended up crashing headlong into his car."
You barely remember what the cops told you of that night because you were so devastated. All you know is that the girl who's responsible for his death was around your sister's age at the time and went to your school, yet you were never told you who she was.
Two years later, you heard she left town because the guilt got too much for her. You were glad when you found out, though sometimes you wish you could've learned her name; not because you wanted to beat her up or anything, but because you needed closure at around that time, which you still never got.
She was lucky, though, and walked away from the accident without a scratch. Not literally, of course, but you still hold resentment that she didn't get into any trouble for her careless actions.
Swallowing your tears, you pick at your fingernails and sigh, "Because of this, because of some fucking girl, I lost my dad and my mom that night."
Dr. Wright blinks her eyes quicker than usual, battling away the tears threatening to spill. "You lost both your parents?"
You stare back out the window for a moment before shaking your head and whispering, "No, but I might as well have..." You close your eyes, willing away the tears trying to sneak their way out the corner of your eyes. "After my father's death, my mom became an alcoholic. And it just kept getting worse, because soon after, my sister was never around anymore."
Dr. Wright remains silent and gives you a moment to compose yourself. Reaching behind her, she grabs a box of tissues off her desk and hands it to you. Although you haven't exactly started crying yet, you take it gratefully with trembling hands.
"Is that what the argument was about?" The doctor questions softly, and you raise an eyebrow, silently asking her to elaborate. "Was the fight about your sister not being there for you?"
Once you process her words, you quickly shake your head, because it was nothing like that. "No, not at all," you say, settling the box of tissues beside you. "I wasn't mad at my sister. I was mad at my mom because of how she treated Lara and what she said to her once she finally came home."
Dr. Wright arches an eyebrow. "What did she say?"
You grab the box of tissues again when you feel your lip begin to tremble. First, the corner of your mouth starts to quiver, then your whole body begins to shake.
"Lara got pregnant when she was eighteen," you tell the doctor, snatching a tissue out of the box to wipe away a tear streaming down your cheek. "Mom was so pissed I thought her head was going to explode."
You chuckle humorlessly, remembering the look on her face the night Lara came home with the news; the same night you ran away.
"My sister wanted to keep the baby, but my mom kept calling it a bastard child..." The tears are coming down mercilessly now. To hide your inner turmoil, you cover your face with your hands. Sobs rack your body, and you feel like your heart is swelling up so much it's about to get stuck in your chest until you can no longer breathe.
You cry for awhile and let it all out. It feels good to cry after all these years. You've kept it all bottled up inside you for too long. You were a walking time bomb on the brink of exploding, but now that you can feel again and cry again, let yourself breathe and express your feelings, you feel lighter; like you could just float up into the sky and be. Just be, up in heaven with your father.
Lifting your head, you glance at your fisted hands before slowly unraveling them and stretching out your tense fingers.
Dr. Wright stays quiet and looks at you with glassy eyes. You used to think these psychiatrists were all just a bunch of robots, but it seems some of them actually have a heart.
Wiping your nose with the tissue, you puff up your cheeks and blow out a gust of air. "When Lara came home saying she was pregnant," you pause and wipe away your remaining tears with your sleeve. "That was the breaking point. After that, everything spiraled out of control."
Dr. Wright nods in understanding. "And that's why you ran away?"
"Mhm," you choke out, sniffling away your tears.
She looks at you with a pained expression; like she's contemplating whether to offer you comfort, or to continue watching you struggle. "What made you go back home?"
Bundling up the tissue in your hand, you stare at the carpet and whisper, "Brittany." Saying her name makes everything more real. "She made me feel like there was still hope. I'd never seen anything so beautiful before in my life. Somehow, I knew the world couldn't be all that bad if it gave me something like her."
"So..." Dr. Wright begins, tapping her fingers on the armrest of her chair. "Brittany gives you hope?"
"I guess." There's this ringing in your ear, and you wish it would stop, but you know it's just Brittany. You're seeking her out and you know that if you don't give in soon the ringing will just continue. "Watching her gives me strength," you settle on.
"And that's why you watch her? You're searching for strength?"
You nod, because your mouth is already clamped shut to resist the urge to continue crying.
You want to walk over to her. You want to sit on the swing beside her and enjoy the nice day. You want so many things and it crushes you every time you remind yourself it will never happen in a million years.
Her hair flies back and forth like a wave as she swings up into the air. You wish you could be as happy and carefree as her.
There are people around her, but she doesn't seem to notice. Brittany's in her own little world right now as she appreciates the warm breeze against her face.
The urge to join her and enter her world is so strong you almost stand up and walk over to her. But you don't. You don't get up and you don't walk to her. You'll never approach her because it'll just hurt you to discover everything you've ever wanted was just an illusion. It'd break your heart in half to find out Brittany wasn't the person you thought she was.
"Overall, how would you describe your mood?" Dr. Wright asks carefully, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
You've calmed down considerably since your last breakdown. "Dark," you tell her, resting your elbow on the armrest of the couch.
She raises her eyebrows, waiting for more. When you choose not to speak, Dr. Wright takes her glasses off and huffs a breath of air on the lenses before wiping them on her blue sweater. "Gloomy?" she questions, continuing to casually clean her glasses. "Hopeless, depressed?"
You had no idea there were so many definitions for the word dark. "All of the above," you say, scratching the back of your neck uncomfortably.
"Why is this?"
You let your eyes travel up her small frame. When you reach her face, you immediately retract your eyes, because she just caught you watching her.
"I don't know," you mumble, staring off at nothing in particular.
She purses her lips in response. "Did this all start at the same time as everything else?"
You know what she means by everything else. She's talking about the death of your father and your mother's fondness of alcohol. "Yes..." You don't elaborate because there's not much to say on the subject. You're not here to talk about your family issues. Your Brittany issues are hard enough to speak about.
"When you see Brittany, how do you feel?"
It's her job to ask you these questions, so you withhold from lashing out. Instead, you give her an honest answer after taking a calming breath. "Light," you sigh heavily, bowing your head. "I feel like I can just drift away and forget all my problems."
And there's one problem in particular that you want to forget the most. And surprisingly, it doesn't involve Brittany at all.
You once promised yourself that if you ever built up the courage to meet Brittany face to face, you wouldn't let a second go by before telling her you love her.
So, as you watch her sitting on her rooftop from across the street, you think about going up to her house and calling up to her.
You wonder if she'd recognize you; you've never been caught watching her, but that doesn't mean she's never seen you before. You attend the same high school, so it has to be possible that she's noticed you at least once or twice.
There's no doubt that you've noticed her; the way her blue eyes twinkle in the moonlight, or the way they darken when she's aroused. You've seen her at her happiest, and you've seen her when she was absolutely devastated.
You remember one time in particular when she was upset. It was on the first anniversary of your father's death. She was sitting alone, under a bridge on the outskirts of town. Her chin was tucked into her neck, her knees pulled into her chest.
She was scrunched up into a ball as she sobbed heavily and repeatedly mumbled an apology to no one in particular. It broke your heart as you listened from afar.
You teared up just as she had and cried with her, though you had no idea you were crying about the same thing but for two different reasons.
Your mouth is dry and you really wish you had something to drink. A full water bottle sits on Dr. Wright's desk and you contemplate asking her for a sip, but that thought quickly passes when the doctor looks at you with those soft green eyes and asks, "What do you expect from this counseling process?"
Her question reminds you that this is just a process.
Soon enough it will all be over and you'll be cured. You won't have to worry about the shit you're going through anymore. You won't have to feel ashamed about the visions in your mind and the overwhelming urge you get in the pit of your stomach to see Brittany.
"I want to be fixed..."
It comes out quieter than you intended but only because it's the truth. Honesty hasn't always been the easiest thing for you. The only person you can be your true self with is Lara. No one else ever understood you. Sometimes you like to imagine Brittany would understand you, too. But you know that's impossible.
"Fixed?" Dr. Wright cranes her neck to the side, the corner of her lip twitching downward in confusion.
Huffing out a breath of air, you cross your arms over your coiling stomach and admit, "I want to be normal." You bite your bottom lip to keep from whimpering. "I don't want to follow her anymore, because I will never be able to live my own life if I'm living it through her."
You're suppose to be studying. You're suppose to be doing your homework or reading a chapter in your science textbook, but instead you're sitting in your sister's car a few yards away from the track.
Through the windshield is the perfect view of Brittany as she runs yet another lap. She's been going for twenty minutes straight now.
You find her movements mesmerizing. You could watch her all day and not get bored, because every part of her body is a mystery to you. You want to solve her mystery and find out everything there is to know about her.
You want to taste her sweat, feel her tired muscles clench under your touch. You want to lick your way up her neck and digest the saltiness of her skin.
As she finishes up her last lap in a slow jog, you tilt your head to the side and watch her chest heave up and down as she inhales through her nose and exhales out her mouth. You want to feel her breath on your body.
If she wanted you in the way you want her, you'd surrender to her request in a heartbeat. All she has to do is say the word.
"What would it take to make you feel more contented, happier and more satisfied?"
"Don't ask me questions like this, doctor," you scoff, slowly shaking your head in denial.
Dr. Wright's lips settle in a straight line. "Does it make you feel uncomfortable?"
Running the tip of your tongue over your teeth, you silently consider her words before confessing, "It makes me wish I had something that I don't. Something I'll never have."
"And you want Brittany?" she asks, not missing a beat.
You pause before answering, mostly just to build the suspense. "Yes," you answer simply. Dr. Wright doesn't cut in, because you open your mouth again, ready to add something to your last words. "But that's impossible."
Manny's back in your arms, and although his presence usually makes you feel content, you can't help but feel nervous about what's going on inside Dr. Wright's office.
About three minutes ago, she ended your session, saying you made very good progress. It turns out you were only in there for an hour, though the whole experience was so numbing, it felt as if you were in there for a lifetime.
After dismissing you, Dr. Wright had followed you out and ushered your sister in. Now you find yourself sitting with your back against the door, desperately trying to hear what's going on inside.
At first all you hear is some small talk; how are you? I'm fine, thank you, and how are you? I'm good. Other than that, everything is going fine, but as soon as the doctor questions Lara about Brittany, you know you're going to be in for it.
Manny shifts on your lap as he plays with his red race car, driving it up and down your leg playfully. He's a man of very few words, just like your father was, but he shows his emotions through his eyes.
Your father was a very kind man, and whenever you were in his presence, he always made you feel special. He was good at making people feel happy with just one look into his hazel eyes, especially your mom. She was happiest when your dad was alive. You still remember the way they'd smile at each other as if they were the only two in the room.
It breaks your heart to think of where she is now. You doubt your mom has smiled ever since that fateful night you heard the news of his car accident.
"I wanted to talk to you about your sister." Dr. Wright's muffled voice snaps you out of your thoughts and brings you back into the real world. "I can't tell you anything she said to me, but I'd like to ask you a few questions."
You hold Manny tighter in your arms as he obliviously continues to play.
"Of course," Lara says, her tone laced with concern.
It's silent for awhile as you wait for Dr. Wright to speak. "Can you tell me about a girl named Brittany?"
Nibbling on your bottom lip, you narrow your eyes on the plush carpet and nuzzle your nose into Manny's curly locks.
"She's been haunting my sister for as long as I can remember," Lara whispers harshly. Her angry tone makes your heart beat faster in your chest, practically thumping against Manny's back. You wonder if he can feel it, but you doubt it when he continues to roll his car over your knee and down your shin.
You turn your head and press your ear against the door when you don't hear anything for a long minute. "Haunting?" Dr. Wright sounds confused, like she wasn't expecting this kind of response.
"Yeah," Lara responds with a sigh. You can just imagine the way she's probably shaking her head right now. "Because of Brittany, my sister's never been able to live her life since she spends all her time thinking about her."
"Have you ever met Brittany?"
You stop breathing and bury your nose deeper into Manny's sweet smelling hair, wishing you could just disappear.
"Huh?"
That's the exact response you were expecting, and you cringe painfully as you wait. All you can do is count the seconds until all of this blows up in your face.
"Brittany," the doctor repeats, trailing off unsurely as she awaits an answer from your sister. When Lara remains silent, Dr. Wright adds, "You know, the woman your sister's enamored with? The woman your sister follows..."
"Santana does not follow Brittany," Lara snaps, her voice sounding strangled as she tries to control her temper. "Brittany follows her. She's been following Santana ever since I got pregnant."
"Brittany follows Santana?"
There's another pause, and you hold your breath as you press your ear against the door. You don't start breathing again until you hear Lara speak up. "Wait, she didn't tell you?"
You can just imagine the puzzled look on Dr. Wright's face as Lara asks her this question. After everything you told her in there, after everything she thought you trusted her with, she's now about to find out it was all true but in a twisted way.
"Didn't tell me what?"
You shut your eyes and pull Manny into your chest, wishing you were anywhere but here right now. You've never told the whole truth to anyone but Lara before and now she's about to confess your secret to some random woman you just met an hour ago. You're so confused, you don't know whether to feel betrayed or offended by her decision to tell your secret.
Of course she's only doing what she thinks will help you in the long run, but as the words leave her lips, all you can do is curl into yourself as everything becomes real. "Brittany is...she..."
Lara pauses, probably to look the doctor up and down one more time, trying to decipher if she's doing the right thing by telling your secret.
Eventually she must decide it's for the best. "Brittany doesn't exist," she whispers, as if it's her own secret she's telling. "She's just a figment of Santana's imagination."
You never thought you could feel so pathetic, but as you hunch your shoulders over your ears and hug a two year old for comfort you should be able to offer yourself, that's exactly how you feel and more.
"Excuse me?" Dr. Wright asks, even more puzzled than before.
Your eyes stay shut as you listen to the silence that follows her question. Finally, Lara answers her, repeating, "Brittany doesn't exist. Santana created her as some sort of coping mechanism back in high school." A strike of pain hits your chest at the bluntness in her words. You swallow the lump in your dry throat as she adds, "Brittany's not real."
You release a sigh and shake your head back and forth slowly; it's now out in the open and there's nothing you can do about it. Once secrets are told, it's impossible to take them back. Brittany's been your deepest, darkest secret ever since you first discovered she was just a simple hallucination.
You've followed her, or according to Lara, she's followed you ever since that day you ran away, claiming you'd never return. You owe Brittany a lot, even if she's not real, because she's the one who gave you hope when everything around you was falling apart. Without her, you would have ran away, you would've been even more lost than you already are.
Clearing her throat uncomfortably, Dr. Wright hesitantly asks, "Is Santana..."
Her words trail off and Lara quickly picks up her meaning. "Schizophrenic?" she questions, and you bite your thumbnail as your whole body begins to shake. "No, she's never spoken to Brittany or communicated with her while other people were around."
You roll your eyes at her words; it's always the same excuse with her. In the past, you appreciated her denial, because it made it easier for you to lie to yourself, but now it's just getting old.
"Brittany's just..." her voice trails off as she searches for the right words to express what role Brittany plays in your life; you understand why she pauses for so long, because you're not even sure why you see her sometimes, and you suppose that's why you're here in the first place. "Brittany's like an imaginary friend who gives her comfort and hope when things fall apart."
Manny shifts in your lap; he doesn't like sitting in one place for a long time. And when he does, he starts to get antsy He must get this trait from you, because when Dr. Wright allowed you to leave, you couldn't get away fast enough.
"When I spoke to Santana," Dr. Wright begins, a hint of curiosity in her tone, "She really made me believe Brittany existed. That worries me."
At first you think the whimpering is coming from you, but when Manny continues to squirm in your lap, desperately trying to free himself to run around the empty waiting room, you put your pointer finger up to your mouth and shush him. This door definitely isn't sound proof, so if you can hear them this easily, you bet they'd be able to hear you as well.
"For the longest time, I thought Brittany was real. It worried me at first, too."
When you first told Lara about Brittany, you weren't sure if she existed or not. Your mind was playing tricks on you for the longest time. You would see her walking home from school and you'd follow her because you were just curious, but then out of nowhere, Brittany would disappear.
"What happened between you and Santana?" Dr. Wright questions.
"Before I got pregnant, I was very overprotective of Santana. We were always so close because of our age," Lara explains, her voice a little uneven. "Sometimes I blame myself for her condition. After our dad died, I kinda abandoned her. I let her deal with her feelings alone while I searched for comfort in, well...meaningless sex."
You scrunch up your nose at her words, because Lara's never told you this before. During the months after your father passed away, you barely ever saw her. You knew her absence was just a way of mourning, but you never considered Brittany's appearance in your life her fault.
If anything, you'd blame your mom. She'd be the one you'd point fingers at. She was the one who seeked comfort in gallons of alcohol a night. You'd find her in the morning slumped against the couch. And you knew she wasn't sleeping; she was just passed out from drinking too much.
"How did you discover Brittany wasn't real?"
Closing your eyes, you imagine the way Dr. Wright fiddles with her glasses as she narrows her eyes on Lara questioningly. Lara's probably bouncing her knee up and down right now, just as you did when you were under the doctor's observation.
"We went to the same high school," Lara says, as if this should explain everything. "I asked around for a girl named Brittany, but no one knew who she was, so...I searched for her."
"And what did you find?"
"Nothing...I never found this girl Santana would tell me about," Lara mumbles under her breath. "A beautiful girl with bright blue eyes and blonde hair..." She recites the same words you used when you first told Lara about Brittany. Back then, you still thought Brittany was real, but soon after is when you discovered it was all in your head. "There aren't a lot of people who look like that in Lima, so I was already skeptical. I had just thought Santana made her up because she didn't have any friends, though it turns out it was much deeper than that."
"Does Santana know Brittany doesn't exist?"
"Yes, of course." Lara's answer is rushed; she doesn't want there to be any misunderstandings. "She's known for awhile now."
Dr. Wright hums in acknowledgement. "When Santana was in here, she told me she hadn't seen Brittany in two years," the doctor begins slowly, "What usually triggers this?"
Grinding your teeth, you lean your head back and rest it against the hard door, listening closely for Lara's response. "She used to bring Brittany around whenever she felt lonely or upset..." Lara offers nonchalantly, assuming the information is useless.
"Anything traumatizing happen recently?"
"No..." Lara says, but she doesn't sound quite sure by the way she trails off. After a moment of silence, you hear her breath hitch when she's struck with a realization. "This weekend is the fifth anniversary of Emmanuel's death," she says, mostly to herself.
"Emmanuel?"
"Our father."
Glancing down at Manny in your arms, you raise your eyebrows, because you almost forgot about that. How could that possibly trigger your current state if you had no idea the day was approaching?
Lara pauses before sighing, "Sometimes I think Santana forgets Brittany's not real." You squint your eyes and stare forward as she hesitates before continuing. "Sometimes she wants to believe in her so much, she loses herself and unknowingly brings Brittany to life. That's why I believe Brittany's back," your sister explains with conviction, "Because Santana summoned her."
You don't know what to think of her words, and you don't get much time to think about it either, because the next thing you know, your nephew is squirming around on your lap again. He turns around in your arms and stares at your face. You must look really horrible by the look he's giving you. You usually try your hardest not to look too down when he's around because you don't want to mess up his mood, but it's extra hard today to change your expression.
Manny must sense what you're going through, because the next thing you know, his hazel eyes are boring into yours as he reaches forward, his tiny hands on each side of your face. He smushes your cheeks together, his eyes studying your appearance for another moment before leaning forward to peck you on the nose.
"Ready to go?"
The door to Dr. Wright's office closes softly, and you gaze up from your seat in the corner as Lara stands in front of the white door with red eyes. You uncross your legs and look her up and down quizzically. You want to feel sympathy, but you can't. Not yet at least.
"What did you say to her?" It comes out as an accusation, and immediately Lara understands what you mean. She knows you heard their conversation through the door, but she doesn't look as shocked or busted as you thought she would.
She shakes her head sadly as she walks up to you and gazes down at Manny, who's sitting in the chair next to you. Lara takes a seat next to him, and you're happy he's sitting in the middle so she doesn't try to slap some sense into you.
"I think the better question is," she begins, her eyes slowly traveling up from her son and towards your face. "What did you forget to mention?"
You didn't forget to mention anything. You hid your secrets about Brittany for a reason and it wasn't up to her to tell the doctor the truth. You weren't ready for something like that. Inwardly, you feel yourself spiraling out of control all over again and it honestly confuses you that you haven't started hallucinating about Brittany yet.
"You're in denial, Lara," you tell her, your eye contact unwavering.
Lara actually smiles at this, amused. "I'm in denial?" she scoffs disbelievingly, shaking her head.
"You told her Brittany is just my imaginary friend. We both know that's not true. Little kids have imaginary friends," you claim, gesturing to Manny as he continues to drive his race car against the armrest of the chair. "I'm not a toddler, Lara. I'm fu-" you watch your language and swallow the F bomb, "I'm nineteen years old."
"What are you trying to say?"
Rolling your eyes, you let out a disgruntled sigh and say, "It's been two years, Lara. Two years since this started." You're now begging her to understand, because you're going to need her cooperation more than ever now that Brittany's back. "When are you going to accept there's something wrong with me?"
"As soon as you get some actual help and admit to your own therapist that Brittany's not real." Her words are sharp and they hurt. You inwardly wince as she stands up without another word and tosses Manny's Batman backpack over her shoulder before bending down to pick up her son.
You watch warily as she walks toward the exit. Tears build up in your eyes but you manage to smile through them when Manny happily waves over Lara's shoulder at you with a big smile that reminds you too much of your father. You wonder how Lara can look at him everyday and not cry about your father's death.
You suppose that's the difference between you two. She's come to terms with her loss and you haven't.
Maybe Brittany's existence has nothing to do with Lara or your mother. Maybe you're to blame because you refuse to let go of the past. You never want to forget your father, but accepting his death may be the first step to curing your broken heart.
As you exit the building, you roll your eyes at the sight of Lara taking Manny into the art store across the street. No matter how hard she tries, she can never say no to him. That problem is going to come back to bite her in the ass once Manny becomes a teenager, but you can understand where she's coming from.
Being a single mother isn't easy, especially since she has no other support but you, which isn't any support at all going by your unstableness. Manny's father has never been in the picture. And if you're being completely honest, you doubt Lara even knows who the real father is.
You're not calling her a slut; that period of time was really rough for the both of you, so you don't judge her for the things she did. She's a great mother and you suppose that's all that matters now.
Rounding the corner, you pull out your phone to take it off silent as you enter the parking lot. You have ten new messages, all from your annoying boss, wondering if you can come into work later today. You end up deleting them all, because there's no way you're up for working a five hour shift. You're already exhausted; you just want to go home and sleep.
Just as you're exiting out of your messages to check your voicemail, a hard body slams into you, and if it wasn't for your quick reflexes and equally good balance, you'd be sprawled all over the ground by now. Although you don't fall, your cellphone does, and you wince as it flies to the ground and cracks against the concrete.
"Fuck," you huff under your breath, slapping your hand against your forehead, because could this day get any worse? Biting your tongue to keep from screaming, you shake your head and seethe, "You've got to be fucking kidding me." It feels good to curse again now that Manny's not around.
"Oh my god." A feminine voice catches your attention, and when you look up, you almost faint on the spot. "I'm so, so sorry. I can't believe how clumsy I am."
Blue eyes twinkle in sadness, and as you gaze into them, you almost drown they're so deep. Her pale skin is just how you imagined it'd look up close, except right now there's a streak of green paint across her left cheek.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you watch her bend down and pick up your damaged phone. Her blonde hair falls around her face as she ducks her head shyly and holds out your cellphone, but all you can do is gape in confusion and shake your head.
Opening your mouth in disbelief, you glance down at her blue hand with wide eyes; they're covered in fresh paint as well. Your eyes dart from her hand to her face multiple times, but no matter how hard you try, no words come out of your mouth.
"I'll totally pay for this, I promise. I've been out of town for a few years, but I now work at that art store across the street and if you want to bill me, you can just send it there and I'll cover the cost of the damage," the woman rambles all in one breath, pointing over her shoulder at the shop Lara and Manny just entered about five minutes ago. When all you do is stare at her in awe, the woman hesitantly places the phone in your hand. "Here," she says softly, watching you with a strange look.
You flinch when her fingertips touch yours; it all feels so real, too real. If you weren't sure of your condition, you'd definitely think this woman standing in front of you existed.
Everything about her seems believable; her sparkling blue eyes, the long blonde hair you've dreamed of touching for years now. You clench your hand into a fist, looking her up and down, perplexed, because this is the clearest you've ever seen her and the most you've ever heard her speak. You know this isn't real, but something deep inside you wishes it was.
And out of nowhere, Lara's voice rings loud in your ear; Sometimes she wants to believe in her so much, she loses herself and unknowingly brings Brittany to life.
"No," you gasp, shaking your head furiously, because this is too much for you to take. This isn't real. Your mind is just playing tricks on you again. Tears blur your vision as you continue to shake your head and whimper, "No, no, no..." You're breaking down right in the middle of the parking lot, but you don't care because nothing makes sense anymore.
"Are you okay?" she asks, her eyebrows knitted in concern, but you don't answer because you're too caught up in freaking out. The woman looks around self-consciously before glancing back at you with raised eyebrows. "Um..." she murmurs, wiping her wet hands on her paint-stained jeans. Slowly backing away from you, she furrows her brow and says, "Again, I'm really sorry. Just send the bill to my job." And before you have a chance to respond, she's walking across the street and out of sight.
Your phone starts buzzing in your hand, and your attention snaps to the broken device. A tear falls from your upper lip as it continues to quiver and lands on your phone. The screen is cracked, but you can still see your boss' name as the incoming call.
Turning it around in your hand, your breath hitches when you see blue paint on the side of it. You drop it out of your hand and it smashes to the ground yet again. You clasp your hand over your mouth, quickly backing away from it, but you can't get away; you can never get away, because from the corner of your eye, you realize your fingertips are stained blue as well.
Tears stream down your cheeks as your breathing becomes ragged. Your eyes shift frantically around the parking lot for the woman with the green paint on her face, but she's gone. She's disappeared yet again, leaving you stranded and confused.
And you stand there, quickly crumbling to pieces as you try to wipe away the blue paint on your jeans, because it's burning your flesh, but it doesn't go away, and you're left to wonder if anything is real anymore, because if it is, you must be going insane.
The End.