"Colors." She says.
"Gay flag." I answer.
She writes my answer down on her perfect-looking notebook on her expensive-looking desk andthen looks at me again. "Sun."
"Fire." I answer, sliding against the couch.
Her actions are repeated. "Time."
"Backwards." I say.
The pattern continues. "Santana."
I smirk. "Sexy."
"Sexy."
"Santana."
She snickers. "Love."
I smile. "Santana."
"You can't repeat answers." She says.
I roll my eyes. "Her."
"Fair enough." She keeps writing everything down while giving me some random words. "Death."
"End."
She sighs and keeps writing. "Therapy."
"Stupid." I cross my arms on top of my chest.
"Forward."
I think for a second, until I give her my answer. "Moving on."
After writing her answer down, she takes off her glasses and with her soft, delicate voice asks me another question. "What IS moving on for you?"
"Um..." Honestly, I'm trying to cooperate here but I feel like I'm going nowhere. She keeps looking at me and treating me like a child, something that has not happened to me for years now, and yet she expects me to be polite and answer. "I guess it's leaving behind old experiences to make space for new ones. It's letting go of something to be able to have something better."
She writes everything I say down, in some sort of monotonous and energy less way. "Have you been able to move on since you were born three days ago?"
This is really getting irritating. "How many times do I have to repeat myself?! I was not born three days ago! I was born on July 2nd, 1994 in a hospital in Lima, Ohio! I was born 57 years ago! Why am I the only person in this messed up world that knows that!"
After my little encounter with this new Santana, I got a panic attack. Nothing happened to me, I mean I'm used to getting panic attacks, but I still got one, making the doctor and Santana very 'worried'. They kept saying that this is the real world, that everything will be ok, that I just have to listen to them, that is normal for people to be born stressed out, bla bla bla. That didn't make anything any better because I am still stuck in an alternate universe in which time goes backwards. That's right, it's going backwards. As in the sun sets in the morning, as in everyday people are younger, as in everyday I'm closer to what everything used to be. After freaking out for two straight days, they decided it was best to get me an appointment with the local therapist that takes care of cases of "born & stressed". And here I am.
"Let's say that what you say is true-" My therapist says.
"Let's say it is and get straight to the question." I answer coldly.
She nods and continues. "What happened the day before you woke up and found a parallel universe with time going backwards and everybody acting strange?"
I sigh and think about everything that happened the day before. It was a very usual yet unusual day, I remember. "Should I tell you everything?"
"Yes, please." She says.
"Well..." I start. "I woke up that morning at 9 AM and I did everything I always do; I brushed my teeth, changed, combed my hair, I took my pills.. Oh, wait! No I didn't that was the next morning! Anyways I did all of that and other common activities."
"Why did you take your pills the next morning and not that one?" The therapist asked.
"I take pills to prevent panic attacks and to control them since I sometimes suffer from them. I haven't had one since I heard that my daughter's boyfriend died in a car accident, so I had not taken any since then."
"What caused you the panic attack a few days ago?" She asks.
"Let me get there. After I did everything I usually do, I left to the hospital, where I spent my day with Santana. The doctors told me that she had a few days left, that I should spend it wisely. He also told me that I should call family members so they could say their goodbyes and I was planning on doing it once I got home. On my way to our house, I hit a young man with my car. He looked at me with startled eyes, I think he was high because he looked like it, and then he left. That was around five minutes before I got to my house. Once I got to my house, I felt a panic attack coming up from all the stress of the day, so I decided to relax and go to sleep since I was so exhausted and I didn't want to suffer from a panic attack without Santana. Then the next day, I woke up and this messed up universe appears."
"I see." She says taking notes. "How many pills did you take?"
"One."
"Hm.." She keeps writing everything down. All I can hear are words being written on a piece of paper and the ticking of the counterclockwise clock in her office. This is just fantastic. "Are you sure it was just one?"
"Yes, I'm positive. Why?" Please tell me this is not going where I think it is.
"Have you taken any more pills?" She asks ignoring my question.
"Yes, since I constantly feel like I'm about to have a panic attack. Why?" I ask again.
"It is not recommendable for newborns to take pills, unless strictly necessary, since it has side effect. Some of those side effects can include dizziness, headaches, confusion, hallucinations..."
"So, you think some pills have me crazy?" I ask with a sarcastic smirk.
"I think that the pills explain a lot of your behavior and thoughts."
"That's great." I say, annoyed as fuck and standing up as quickly as possible. "You can keep thinking that, I honestly don't give a fuck. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go see my dying wife in the hospital now." I quickly grab my purse and head for the door.
"Wait, Mrs. Pierce we have not-"
I shut the door before she even finishes. So, this is fantastic. The first few days I was in denial of all of this; I was accusing everybody of everything and I kept pinching myself so I could wake up. But eventually I had to face the facts: I'm stuck in a messed up world where everybody is talking crazy, even my wife, and nobody believes a thing I say. I don't even know who to talk to anymore! My wife has cancer so I can't stress her, my kids made a conference call to "meet" me but apparently I scared them with my weird thoughts, my mom was the one who suggested this little meeting, and everybody else seems to be living happily under these fucked up circumstances. This is fucking fantastic!

I head for the counter, where the secretary asks me if I want another appointment. After I say "no way in hell", I turn around and head for the door but I am stopped on my tracks when I see him. The same young man that I hit with my car that night was sitting a few feet away from me with his drunken expression. He doesn't look high because his eyes aren't red, but he does look like if he has his head out of this planet. He's looking at me, you know? He's staring at me straight in the eyes, with a confused expression on his face. I think that I probably look like that, too. But this doesn't make sense. Why is HE here? I get this is an alternative universe, but why am I running into him again? And why is he still staring at me?

I look through his face for bruises or something, but I don't find anything. Luckily, he won't sue.
"Oh, thank God." I whisper out. Oh, wait... That day never happened here. Fuck. I'm so stupid.

He keeps staring at me with bewildered eyes, almost as if he just saw a ghost. This is getting too awkward. I stare away and notice that some people are staring, so I decide to leave. It's not like he remembers me or he can help me, so it's no use. I softly open the door, so I don't disturb the other patients behind me. And then I hear his voice.
"Wait. You know who I am?"
What.. Did.. He..Just.. Say?
"Do you?" He repeats again after a few seconds of silence.
He's crazy. He looks crazy. There's no way he knows who I am. So I decide to leave, since I just want to see my wife. I may think about going back there on my way to my car several times. Seventeen times to be precise. But truth is, he won't know anything. He's just messing with me... Right? Isn't everyone?

"Favorite color?" Santana asks with the sweetest smile in the world.
"Umm.. Pink, I think? What about you?" I ask her.
"I barely see colors here since it's all white and pale and boring, but I'm going to have to go with purple since it looks good with pink."
After I left the clinic, I quickly came over here. I was greeted by my beautiful girl, who naturally wanted to know how it went. I told her that I didn't want to talk about it, but that later I would. I told her I just wanted to spend time with her. One thing lead to the other and here we are; talking about our favorite colors. This is something that I would have never expected from Santana. My real Santana would ask me how was my day and after my usual "good" she would just talk to me carefully, scared that I might fall apart in any second. This Santana was better. My old Santana gave up, while this one just fights through everything; even having a crazy wife. I'm trying to find the Santana I knew a few days ago in her but I can't; it's almost like if she's not there anymore. Instead, I have the old Santana. No, the Old old oldd Santana. Like my 4-year old Santana. She used to look at me this way, she used to ask me random questions like what's my favorite color, in fact that was the first thing she ever asked me. She used to be so calm and sweet and collected. Not that she wasn't anymore, she was just different after first grade. She lost her innocence at a young age, way before I did, and that is something I never could have prevented, mainly because I never thought she would change. Since she was forced into growing up before many other kids, I gave up on trying to get back this Santana. Don't get me wrong, I love Santana no matter what, but that Santana was always my favorite. And here she is... An innocent, yet mature Santana. This Santana is filled with wisdom and innocence and I love it. I just wish all of this made sense so I could enjoy everything.
"Oh come on, San, that's not your favorite color."
"Well, how do you know that?" She asks laughing.
"Because I've lived the last 53 years of my life with you by my side and this is something that every wife should know." I say and quickly regret it.
Her smile fades into something a little bit more serious. It's not a frown, but it's getting there. So much for not worrying her with my crazy problem anymore.
"Then what is my favorite color?" She asks, trying to regain her cool. That was something I did not expect. I thought she was going to fight me on this, but she hasn't. At all.
"Your favorite color is red because it's the color of a fighter. It's the color of strength...The color of power.. The color of determination, passion, and desire.. But most importantly, it's the color of love. Red defines you, the woman of my dreams. That's why red is and always will be your favorite color."
Her smile came back halfway along my little monologue. God, she looks so perfect, so full of life.
"You're right." She said smiling. "Red is way better than purple."
I laugh a little, letting my inner tension ease up a bit.
"You're so cute when you laugh." She says.
"And you're so cute when you smile." I answer.
"No wonder we ended up together. We are the best couple. I mean, have you seen us?"
"Hey!" I say, trying to stay serious. "That was always my line, don't steal it!"
She laughs a little in confusion. "What are you talking about, you've never said that before?"
"Yeah I have! I used to say all the time before-" I stop mid-sentence, remembering that she doesn't remember anything we've gone through. Nothing at all... "Never mind..." Her smile softly turns into a worried frown, which stresses me out. I hate to see her upset, but it's hard to not upset her, especially since right now it feels like if we're in two different worlds. I honestly don't know how to make things any better. As much as I try to pretend that nothing is wrong, something IS wrong; but she doesn't get it.
"How was everything before?" She asks carefully.
"How was what?" I ask confuse.
"Life before you woke up in this messed up world. How was it?" She asks again.
I look at her, trying to find the catch or the trick about her question, but all I find is honesty in her eyes. "Do you believe me?"
"I believe... That my wife doesn't lie." She says, with the same sincere expression as before.
"But you just met me." I say. "How can you know I don't lie?"
"Because just like you, I feel like I've known you my whole life. Because even though I was born three days ago, when I first saw you, I thought 'that's her. That's Brittany.' and I didn't even know it was you. Because whenever I'm with you I feel that somewhere else, in some other time, I spent the best times of my life with you. Sure, maybe it's just a feeling for me and it's something more real for you, but the feeling is the same."
I look at Santana adoringly. Sometimes I underestimate the power of our love. Sometimes I underestimate our strong connection. We've always understood each other, even when we don't understand ourselves, so what would make this any different? I swear, I'm the stupidest person in the world. I head to her bed and I place a chaste kiss on her lips. "It was awesome." I whisper to her mouth.
"How awesome?" She asks grinding.
"Like, the definition of awesome." I say sitting right next to her on her hospital bed. "Want me to tell you about it?"
"Of course, honey, BUT not today." She says while gently poking my nose.
"Aww, why? I want to tell you." I say whimpering.
"Because it's late, sweetie. You have to head back home and sleep before it gets too late." She says.
"Can't I stay here?" I ask, pitching an idea.
"No, you can't. You're going to wake up with a sore back. You're not 16, you can't sleep wherever you want and not expect consequences." She says playfully.
"So you want me to leave?" I say, pouting.
"No! Of course not! But I'm kind of worn out and I know that so are you, so it's best if you go home and sleep." She says.
I nod my head. "Fine." I place a soft kiss on her lips. "Goodnight. Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
I head for the door and I look back at her. I see her smiling at me like an idiot, so I smile at her like a teenage lover. How does she do that? Whenever she was as sweet and as romantic as this, she would always bring the teenager in me. She would always make me smile wide and she would make me feel like if I'm on a cloud. Like right now! Santana brings the best in me, especially this new Santana. This Santana doesn't just make me feel in love again; she makes me feel young. She makes me feel innocent. She makes me feel unstoppable. That's the effect of the Santana Lopez on me. "I love you."
"I love you, too." She says, still smiling. And that was all I needed to have a good night.
On my way down to my car, my usual bitterness comes back. This is something that always happens when I'm not with her. It used to be the other way around, but we kind of switched roles in the end. When I start to open my car, I hear something behind me. Like if someone was breathing and trying to walk silently all at the same time.
"Hello?" I say to the empty parking lot. No answer. My heart starts to beat and I start sweating. The security of this hospital was never the best; this proves it. I quickly open my car door and I go inside. I close the door, lock the doors, turn on the car, and I start heading out. While in reverse, I hit something. I think it was a person. "Crap." I say under my breath. I don't dare to get out of the car and check if the person is ok. What if I hit a burglar? Then what? I just turn my head to check if there's someone there or if I can see something, but nothing appears to be there. I let myself look for a few more seconds. Still nothing. I look around the parking lot, but there's no signs of life, so I just turn to the front again and I start reversing again. When I look back to see where I was reversing to, I see someone standing there. I quickly and violently hit the brakes, making me move back and forth a lot. Once I stop moving, I concentrate on looking at the person behind my car. And then I see that drunken expression again.
"Not again..."