The Lopez family is religious. Fact.
They go to church every Sunday. Fact.
Alma Lopez and Maribel Lopez go to confession every Sunday after Mass. Fact.
Santana Lopez does this, as well. Lie.
Santana hasn't gone to confession in about a year, ever since her Abuela has stopped bothering her about it. It wasn't that she didn't think she had anything to confess - she had a lot, and she knew it - but that she could never find the courage to. But now, listening to Quinn ramble on and on about how uplifting it feels to confess, how oh-so-cleansing it is, she thinks maybe it's time to. She glances over at Brittany, who's devouring a cupcake while doodling Lord Tubbington in her notebook and nodding distractedly at Quinn every now and then, and she thinks that yeah, she definitely needs to go.
She goes the Saturday of that week.
Partly because she needs to talk to someone before she explodes, but mostly because she doesn't want her Abuela and mother there with her - she knows that if they were, her Abuela would give her an approving look and say "You finally followed me advice, eh, Santanita?", and she doesn't want anyone to think she's doing this for her grandmother. She's doing this for herself.
Santana enters the confessional the moment a middle-aged woman steps out of it. She kneels down, the Notes app with all of her sins and all she needs to say to the priest open on her phone, and as she stares at the screen blocking her from the priest's sight in front of her, the weight of what she's doing sort of suddenly crashes down on her. Everything she's been hiding - everything that's been plaguing her for the past few months - is going to be told to this priest. She stares at one of the numbers on her list of sins and prays to God and all things holy that this priest she's kneeling in front of and can't see isn't homophobic.
She takes a huge, shaky breath. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she starts slowly, as if she's testing out each word, making sure it's right before she says it. "My last confession was - uh, last year. My sins are..." Here it goes.
She looks down at her list of sins, but the screen of her phone's gone blank, and she realizes that she had forgotten to charge her phone before leaving. Instead of turning her phone back on and wasting the last 3% of battery she has, she squeezes her eyes shut and takes another deep breath. "I lie," she says. "I lie to my family, and my friends, and to myself."
The priest doesn't say anything. He isn't supposed to. She continues.
"I say bad words. I drink. I smoke. I bully others, and I'm insensitive to their feelings. I care more for myself than I care for them sometimes, and sometimes this gets us all in danger. I stole my, uh, friend Rachel's lunch money so I could buy food for another friend. I broke into my other, um, friend Finn's locker and placed a dead frog in it."
She's almost done. Just one more left. "And I - I - I," She can't do it. She can't. It's too hard. She can't say it out loud. Not here, not now. Maybe never. She squeezes her eyes shut harder. She's a coward. A weak, weak, weak coward. She tries to speak again, but she can't. It's too hard. She can't do it. "I... that's it," she says softly, and a tear slips down her cheek. "I'm sorry for all of these sins, Father, and for all sins I have forgotten."
She hasn't forgotten one. But she's ignored it.
"Well," the priest speaks up, his deep, gravelly voice filling the confessional and resonating all around them, "Thank you for confessing all of that to me. Now, about the curse words, first. I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do, obviously - but here's a word of advice. You care about your appearance, don't you?"
"Y - yeah." Santana's voice is barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I do."
"Well, cursing reflects poorly on your image, both in this world and the eternal one above. It makes you seem uncultured, unrefined, immature but trying not to be. Have you ever tried a swear jar?" he chuckles, and she joins in.
Coward, her mind tells her. Coward coward coward you're a coward you're worthless you're weak coward coward coward coward.
"As for your issues with your family, your friends, and yourself - it's not bad to care about yourself, it truly isn't. But sometimes we have to take into account what others feel as well," the priest says gently. "This world we live in is a harsh one, and we won't make it anywhere without people to hold us up. The world is cold, and what better than friends and family to keep you warm? We need to hold each other up, my child. How is anyone going to survive selfishly?"
I don't know, Santana thinks. I don't know. I don't know. I shouldn't have skipped that last sin. Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it. Now or never. I have to do it. God help me.
"Now, for your penance -" the priest starts, but the words tumble out of Santana's mouth before she can stop them. "Wait!" She can almost see the priest's eyebrow lifting. "Yes?"
A few more tears slip out of Santana's closed eyes. "I - I have one more sin to confess."
She takes the priest's silence as a cue to go on. She heaves a huge breath. Cold starts to seep in her feet, but a trickle of sweat makes its way down her forehead. Her mind teases her relentlessly - coward, a voice in her head taunts her. How are you ever gonna face the real world when you can't even face yourself?
"I'm a lesbian."
There. She's said it. The final sin - a weight feels like it's been lifted from her shoulder.
The priest remains silent, as if telling her to go on.
"It's not a - a phase or anything. I'm sure it's not. I've known for ages, but I hated it, I hated myself for it, so I pushed it away and slept with as many guys as I could to prove to the word and myself that I was straight. And I'm -" she gulps, "I'm in love with my best friend Brittany." Tears start streaming freely down her cheeks. "And - and I can't tell her, because she has a boyfriend, and she says she loves him, and I'm so, so, so scared that she might leave me if she finds out."
"But I want to be with her. I love her more - more than anyone else I've ever loved in my entire life. She makes my entire life better, she's like this rock I can hold on to when I feel myself starting to slip, and I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if I hurt her or if I told her I love her and she doesn't say it back. I want to take care of her the way she takes care of me, to pour all the love and adoration I feel for her into everything I do. How Abuela describes Heaven - I feel like I'm in it whenever I'm with Brittany. When I'm with her, I finally know what people talk about when they talk about love. She's like - she's the sun in human form, her eyes the stars, and even the moon can't top how beautiful she is. Except that the moon is only pretty during nighttime, and she's beautiful any time of the day. The colors fade from the world when she's not with me, but when she is, the world bursts into them." Santana laughs, but her laugh has no humor in it, instead laced with sadness and bitterness. The tears make it hard to laugh at all. "I just - I love her so much. But I'm too scared to tell anyone, even to acknowledge it. I'm scared of the talks, and the looks, and I - I'm just so scared of it all, you know?"
Then she breaks down.
Sobs wrack her body as the hurt, the world's cruelty, the unfairness of it all bears down on her. Flashes of the past pass through her mind - the first time she kissed Brittany, the first time she held Brittany's hand, the day Brittany was home sick and it had seemed like the whole world had turned grey, the first time the thought that she might be gay had crossed her mind when she was 14. She cries for Brittany, for herself, for what she feels, and for everything she wants to say but can't for the fear of what the world will respond with.
It's only when her sobbing has leveled back down to soft crying and hiccuping that the priest speaks again.
"Do you know what language God speaks in, my child?"
Santana hiccups, surprised. "N - no. Hebrew, I guess? Or, like, whatever language the person He's talking to is using." Her tears have lessened slightly now, and she wipes her nose on the neck of her shirt.
"No," he answers her, and she can imagine a gentle smile on his face. "The language God speaks in is love. From how you described the way you feel for this Brittany, I think God would understand you very well. God loves all creatures because He's created us all in His image - do you think that he'd love you any less than any of your friends who love the opposite gender?"
Santana starts crying again, because she's thought about this before, hated herself for the fact that God might not love her anymore for her sins against him, for loving Brittany.
"Your love for Brittany is beautiful, and I don't doubt that God will love you with every bit of Him just as He does everyone else. As long as you stay faithful to the Lord and not let what you feel for Brittany come in the way of your sprititual relationship with Him, then I think you deserve every ounce of happiness you get in this life. Now, pray for your loved ones and for this world, and I will pray with you that the Lord grants you courage to face telling Brittany and the rest of the world what you feel for her. Your penance is one Our Father, three Hail Marys, and one Glory Be, then the Act of Contrition afterwards. Go in peace, and spread the word of the Lord as you do."
Santana wipes her tears away with her shirt sleeve, thanks the priest profusely, and leaves the confessional to do her penance, feeling considerably lighter than she was when she first entered.
Later that night, when Santana's lying down on her bed, she receives a text from Brittany.
How was your day? Q told me you went to went to confession :)
My day was good, Britt, she quickly replies. Missed u, tho. And yeah, I did. How was your day?
Good. I went to Lima Bean to eat and study, but Rachel was there so I just got my food and left right away. Was confession good?
She smiles. Yeah, Britt-Britt, it was. A reply comes not more than a few seconds later.
That's nice :) Goodnight, San. I love you x
She doesn't hesitate before replying.
Goodnight, Britt-Britt. I love you, too.