Oh my god...another chapter. Yes! Also, the reviews I recieved from the last chapter...don't worry, a smackdown will happen in a chapter. Just can't tell you which one. Also the bold...is lyrics.
Slowly making her way to the kitchen, Santana rolled her eyes at herself.
'Of course, they don't have to work today. Fuck. Hopefully they don't see that I'm nursing a hangover.'
"Morning, Mami," she murmured as she sat down at the island.
"Morning Santana Pepita." her mother said. 'Oh shit. I'm in trouble.' "You don't look so good mija. You okay?"
"Uh, yeah I just went to bed pretty late last night, that's all," she lied.
"Oh, okay," her mother said easily. "Would you like some brunch?"
"Brunch?"
"Yes, brunch Santi," Santos said turning from the stove. "It's 11 in the morning, to late for breakfast, but too soon for lunch," he stated putting some fruit salad with limoncello and then some crepes on three plates. "The crepes should help with your hangover if you don't douse them in syrup."
"Than-wait what?"
"Your hangover Santi," Emelina stated from her seat. "I went in your room this morning to get your dirty clothes, since you never seem to be able to bring them down on your own, when low and behold you're room is a mess," she said taking a bite of her crepe. Taking the time to make Santana sweat, she chews slowly and swallows. "So, anyways, I decided that I would pick up some of the stuff on the floor, since if it's on the floor it must be dirty. Then I noticed something in your room that shouldn't be in there. Can you guess what it was?"
"Uhm, uh, a bottle?" Santana stammered lamely.
"Uhm, uh, yes a bottle. It was a bottle of vodka. Half gone, now I know it shouldn't have been half gone because your father just bought it last week," her mother said getting angry. "Santana, why? Why on earth would you be drinking? Don't you know that you can get alcohol poisoning if you drink too much? I honestly don't even understand why you would think it's okay for you to drink."
"Mami, I'm sorry, I just, I had a long day and it's not like I drank the whole thing, and I went outside of the house," Santana said looking down at her plate.
"That's not the point Santana," her father cut in. "You're not old enough to drink. Maybe if you took one drink, it wouldn't be that big of a deal, but you drank half the bottle," he continued, less angry than his wife, more concerned. "What happened? I mean I thought you had a date with Rachel?"
Letting out a frustrated groan, Santana looked to her father. "I did, Papi. It just, it didn't turn out how I wanted it to and I just, I couldn't shake it off."
"What happened Santi?"
"I think that ad was aired or something. Cause someone gave me dirty looks," she told them, obviously lying. 'I can't tell them about the bill, they'd go crazy. I just want to forget it happened.'
"Someone gave you dirty looks? Where was this at mija?" Emelina asked wrapping an arm around her daughter.
"Breadstix," Santana mumbled. "But it's whatever, I'm over it."
"Santi, if you drink every time somebody gives you dirty looks or a judging look, it won't give you a good outcome. It'll just cause you more problems than you need. Alcohol is very addictive, sweetheart," her mother said rubbing her arm. "And if you do that, one day you could decide that you're not drunk or that you can still make conscious decisions and go to the store. You know what could happen if you did that."
"I know alright," Santana snapped. She was done with this conversation. "I'm not hungry. If you want to punish me don't worry, I'll be in my room," she said shoving her stool away from the island and shrugging her mother's arm off her. "I'll even sit my phone and laptop out in the hall for you," she finished venom lacing her voice. Storming out of the room she didn't even listen to her father telling her to come back. Hearing the sound of her door slam shut, only to open a few moments later and slam again, Santos sighed.
"Maybe you shouldn't have gone that far," Santos said to his wife.
"You can't be serious Santos," Emelina said with disbelief. "I'm concerned for our daughter and I don't want her to make mistakes that could give another family the same tragedy that we've gone through."
"I know that. I'm concerned as well," he said looking to the ceiling. Hearing something shatter he winced. "I'm going to go talk to her before she destroys her entire room. I'll be right back," he said kissing his wife's cheek.
Making his way up the stairs he winced again. 'Definitely a lamp.' Coming to a stop at his heated daughter's room he saw the cell phone and laptop sitting on the floor. Rolling his eyes, he picked both up and tucked them under his arm. Knocking on the door, he spoke. "Santi, can I come in?"
"Obviously you can do whatever you want," Santana yelled from the other side. "It's your house."
Turning the knob and pushing the door open a crack he surveyed the surroundings. 1 broken lamp, 1 little coffee table flipped over,1 broken picture frame and multiple little things thrown around the room. Pushing the door open the rest of the way he waved the laptop and phone as a white flag.
Scoffing Santana threw herself on the bed. "If you're using those as bargaining chips, it won't work," she said shoving her balled up hand under her pillow. 'No need for him to see that paper.'
"I'm not using them as bargaining chips mija," he said standing by the bed. "Can I sit?"
"Sure," she said with an eye roll.
"You can have your phone and your laptop," he said sitting them down at the foot of the bed. "And you're not grounded, even though you probably should be."
"Why not?" she asked with a raised brow. "Under normal circumstances, parents would ground their child for drinking, especially drinking half a bottle of Grey Goose."
"Yes, well we don't have normal circumstances Santi," he said looking at the side of his daughter's face. "We haven't had normal circumstances for eight years and I know your mother and I haven't exactly been around. I apologize for that, you should have your parents here for you, especially when you're going through such terrible things."
"Like being outed to the entire state of Ohio?" Santana sarcastically replied.
"Watch your attitude, Santana Pepita," he warned. "And yes, like being outed to the entire state of Ohio, but more importantly, dealing with losing your brother."
"I don't want to talk about it," she said standing from the bed. "It's been eight years, I'm over it."
"Obviously you're not, not when you're up here throwing things, breaking things and then shutting me out when I even mention your brother."
"I said I don't want to talk about," she snapped.
"I also told you to watch the attitude," he said calmly. "Obviously you didn't listen to that. Santi, you can't keep everything locked up inside of you. It's not a healthy way of dealing with your past, even your present."
Flipping on her iHome, she sat down at her desk. "I'm fine."
"Santana, turn it off."
"No," she said defiantly, turning it up.
"Santana! Turn it off," Santos said. Now he was just annoyed.
"Why should I? I said I was fine and I said I didn't want to talk about it, but you aren't listening to me, so why should I listen to you?"
Used to worry for each other, no one's bothered like before. We sleep with each others friends. Sneak around, fall apart, and come back for more. We sit around drinking tables, stabilized and keeping score, but my mind is somewhere out the door.
"That's because you're acting like a child, I just want to have a civilized conversation with my 18 year old daughter," he said standing from the bed.
Oh we have grown, maybe I've overstayed awhile. In my time in exile and oh time has flown. And the only thing I've learned, I want a life now of my own. We go to clubs, the songs are old, the evenings blown. Go our ways and take taxis home. Talk of Sunday outings and medicate to fight the doubting, but know we'll always be alone.
"The only reason I'm being like this is because I don't want to talk to you," she sneered. "Are you like this with your patients?"
We have grown, I've overstayed awhile in my time in exile and oh time has flown. And the only thing I've learned, I want a life now of my own, of my own.
"No, Santana I'm not. This is the last time I'm going to say this and this time you better listen to me. Watch your attitude. I am your father and you shouldn't talk to me like that. It's rude and it's disrespectful," he said turning her chair around to face him.
That's my year spent in exile, second guessed and dressed up in tatters. My both feet didn't take this path and I'm still looking for a life that matters. More than chit-chat, we listen to the streets. We're all deadbeats and these old habits are starting to show through. Sorry I didn't get to know you.
Bending her head down, she looked to the floor.
Oh, time has flown, I've overstayed awhile, in my time in exile and oh we have grown. The only thing I've learned, I want a life now of my own. Bye bye, to the friends I've known. In my time in exile.
Kneeling on the floor, Santos bent his head until he could see his daughter's face. Trying to turn away, he gently cupped her chin so she couldn't. "Santi, don't you see that this is eating you up? You're crying mija," he softly spoke. "It's just me. I'm not going to judge you, I just want you to be happy," he said gently wiping some tears.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I just don't want to deal with it."
"Why?" he asked with unshed tears. He hated seeing his family so fragile.
"Because then it's real," she whispered. "Because then I have to accept it and I don't want to, Papi, I don't want to accept the fact that my brother died and I didn't."
"Mija, I understand. I pushed it to the back of my mind for the longest time, but eventually I had to deal with it," he said pulling her over to the bed. "It started to take it's toll on my marriage, I had to make a decision, deal with it or lose my family. Your mother and I have already lost one child, we don't want to lose another," he said sitting down by the head of the bed, Santana leaning into his side. "Your mother and I are here for you, if you want to talk about your brother or the fact that another student was being a pendejo, that's what we're here for."
"So you're not mad?"
"Mad about what mija?"
"That I drank your vodka, made my room a battlefield and was disrespectful to you and mami?"
"We weren't mad that you drank, we were concerned. We still are," he said pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "As for your room, whatever you broke is replaceable. Being disrespectful though, that's a whole other story. While you shouldn't talk to your parents the way you have this morning, I'm not mad, I'm annoyed, your mother isn't mad either. Like I said, she's concerned. You're a teenager Santana, yes you are 18, but you're still a teenager, you're allowed to have your moments."
"I'm sorry."
"It's alright, as long as you don't do it again," he said standing, pulling his daughter with him. "I think you should apologize to your mother."
"I will, can we go downstairs? I'm actually hungry," Santana said sheepishly.
Chuckling, Santos took a look at his daughter and shook his head. "Sure mija," he said wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her up over his shoulder. "But you're going like this."
Laughing, Santana didn't fight it, just patted her father's back repositioned herself so her stomach was smushed on his shoulder. "Let's go Papi, we needs to get our eats on."
What Santana didn't see was her father pull the paper out from under her pillow. What he's her father he noticed. He just didn't know what was so private about it that she would hide it. Boy was he in for a treat.
R&R. Did I give you a cliffy? I'm sorry. Let me know how this goes, alright? Also...the lyrics are in there because when she turned the ihome on that's what came on...it's background music...also the song is called..."My time in exile" it's by third eye blind...awesome song. awesome band. awesome title for this story!
