Chapter 2: WELCOME, GHOSTS
(Santana, Lima, June 2012)
I wasn't even 18 when it happened.
17- 10+7.
17- 12+5.
17- 14+3
Either way you added it up, it was a fucking low number. I hated this number. 17. The way it felt in my mouth, all sharp and jagged with its three straight lines piercing my tongue straight through.
I had a late birthday, September. We'd all graduated in May and everyone but me and Brittany had gone on with their 18 year-old selves, off to jobs or summer courses. But here I was, still 17 and still in Lima. Still singing. That's all I had.
I wanted to grow up. I hated being 17. If I could just finish it, hurry up and finish it already, then all of those 17 year-old memories might finish themselves off too.
I smeared her eye makeup, black and cold, around my deep brown eyes. They stared back at me through the mirror and they didn't seem like me and that's the way I wanted it. Her makeup on my face, her nail polish on my hands. In some small way she could save me. Save me from being me.
I heard them cheering throughout the Lima Community Concert Hall. The familiar coils of vomit twisted in my stomach, lurching upwards. They lodged themselves like lead behind my ribcage.
God, every fucking night.
The stars were in my eyes again. I was a baby. Seventeen. Two weeks into this and I still puked before every show, rushing for the toilet to hold me like it was Brittany. She'd be here tonight, to say goodbye. But I didn't wanna see her. Not now. Not ever.
The world was shaking- my hands, my feet, my chest- thinking of her.
I didn't wanna see her. Not her face. Not her smile. Not her body, coming in so naturally next to mine.
I coughed at a sharpness in my throat, the taste of bitter vomit in my mouth. I spit in the sink and rinsed my tongue with a handful of tap water. "Come on, Santana, you can do this."
Santana? Santana? She had gone away so long ago.
"You know, you're the hottest fucking lesbian," he'd uttered, his steamy breath at my neck and his face pressed so close to mine.
I saw that face now whenever I closed my eyes. His short, dark hair. Those thin lips and that glint in his hazel eyes. I choked, the taste of him all over. From the counter I grabbed two sticks of Doublemint and wadded them up, shoving the glittery square into my mouth.
Brittany, I love you so much. Why did you have to be there? Why did you have to be there?
I didn't wanna see her. Not now. Not ever again.