Readers, thank you for your kind words. I'm pleased to tell that you that I've been looking forward to writing this particular update for a long, long time. I know the overall tone might seem kind of dark and intense (perhaps to a degree even overwrought and twisted), but I promise it won't be that way forever.
I am dedicating this chapter to two fascinating characters whose insanity reflects perfectly in each other: the Batman and the Joker.
My Heart Is Torn Up
"Someone filled up my heart with nothing.
Someone told me not to cry.
But now that I'm older,
My hear is colder, and I can see that it's a lie."
Wake Up, Arcade Fire
When Santana was a child, she wanted to become a superhero.
"What about a doctor?" Her mother had asked her when she first admitted it, in the sanctuary of her darkened bedroom. Santana can remember the way she was crushed tightly to her mother's chest, two arms wrapped protectively around her small frame while she rose and fell to the even beat of her mother's breathing, a chin pressing lightly against her hair. "You can save lives, hija."
Santana had shaken her head. No.
"Lawyer? You can fight for justice." No.
Athlete? Astronaut? Archeologist? Artist? Explorer? No, Mami. Stubborn head shake. Superhero.
Her mother had chuckled dryly. There was only silence for a long moment, and Santana had begun to wonder if her mother had fallen asleep. She had settled her head against her mother's heart, listening to it beat steadily on. Just as her own eyes had begun to a close, her mother had asked softly, "Can you tell me why?"
Santana hadn't replied then. She was sleepy, and her mother was so warm. Because of you, she had answered in her mind, just as sleep dragged her into the safe world of oblivion. I want to save you.
She never did.
Santana Lopez, you are so fucking stupid!
Fuck this whole retarded situation. Why the hell couldn't she just back the hell off? Dammit, why couldn't she just stay away? For Christ's sake, the fucking plan was avoidance. She'd already broken her own damn rules once this week, why the hell was she so eager to repeat the same mistake twice?
"Hey! You! Escaped zoo bear!"
Great. Now she was in sinking deep in the quickshit of her own making. Stupid! She yelled in her mind as her feet carried her as quickly as they could to where Karofsky and Azimio were standing, with green slushie dripping from the crown of Brittany's head to the floor between them. Anger she shouldn't have been feeling in the first place snapped into being, taking over her entire body like an inch she couldn't quite scratch. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The small crowd that had gathered to watch when Brittany had first gotten slushied cleared out when they saw Santana approaching. Even Azimio had stepped away. It was Karofsky who turned to face her, frowning menacingly. "What's it to you, Lopez? You've always been the best at slushie welcomes for newbies, anyway." He sneered at her. "Don't tell me the rumors are true? Has McKinley's resident head bitch really gone soft this time around?"
Santana felt her face warming as her eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into fists automatically. Keeping her voice low so no one else would hear them, she said evenly, "I don't know where you've been getting your info, closet-case," his nostrils flared and his eyes widened briefly, before narrowing back into angry slits, "but I can tell you…" she took a slow step forward until they were barely a foot apart, her face inches away from his face, "that you're wrong."
The bell rang loudly in the hallways, and students began to rush around them. Santana glanced for the briefest of seconds to Brittany, who was watching with shocked, wide eyes. Karofsky took a tiny step forward, closing the gap. "Fuck you, Lopez." He spat in a subdued voice, too soft for even Azimio to hear. "If there's anyone here displaying latent homosexual tendencies, it isn't me."
Santana raised an eyebrow, keeping her face unnervingly cool. It was an empty insult and they both knew it. A nasty smile spread over her face as her eyes darted slowly to Ladyface Hummel as he ran by with the Bowtie Kid at his heels, obviously headed to a class together. Karofsky followed her gaze and tensed automatically, looking away as the two disappeared around a corner.
"Keep telling yourself that." Santana whispered, her smile transformed into something quite sickeningly sweet. "But don't drag any of us into your closet world, darling." She looked over her shoulder to look at Azimio, eyeing the slushie still full in his bear claw hand. "Was that for anyone? Because I, for one, think you should fucking drink that yourself."
The other boy stared at her uneasily for a long moment, before glancing warily at Karofsky. "God, you're both just a bunch of scared pussies, aren't you? It's no wonder that you lead the worst football team in the country. There's not enough testosterone to go between the two of you." Santana began to move around the two jocks to get to the other girl, but before she could, Karofsky made a sudden lunge for the slushie, making an incredible toss that Santana barely had time to dodge.
In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have.
Brittany gasped out loud as the cold hit her already stinging flesh, the red color combining rather horribly with the green, making her look like a Christmas decoration gone wrong. "Shit," the blonde hissed, her fingers automatically moving towards her eyes.
"Don't." Santana instructed quickly, grabbing hold of the fingers. "Don't rub it in, it'll sting worse. Dab it and keep blinking." The other girl squirmed and followed the instructions, though she said nothing. When the other girl was able to open her eyes just a tiny bit, Santana spun around to face Karofsky, vicious words already on the tip of her tongue. But she barely registered the blend of blind rage and hostility on his face before his fist came swinging to meet sharply with her nose.
"Man, what the hell?" Azimio yelled, just as Santana's "Jesus – FUCK!" rang out in the corridors, the sounds like a siren call, prompting several teachers to poke their heads out of their classes to see what the swearing was all about. Santana clutched her nose in her left hand, warm blood gushing into her mouth and seeping into the spaces between her fingers. Her eyes lifted to Karofsky, who was staring at her with a mixture of defiance and shock on his face, almost as though he couldn't quite believe that he'd hit a girl. When she glared at him, his lips thinned into an angry straight line.
"Santana! Dave! What's going on here?"
Santana almost rolled her eyes, because, seriously. What was it with Schuester and his trouble-radar?
"Brittany! Are you alright?" Santana did roll her eyes at that one. Leave it to a teacher to ask all the stupid questions.
"You better go now." Karofsky said coolly to her, moving slowly away as Schuester approached. "Go and hide behind big man Schuester like the scared, insecure girl you are. And take your fucking retard friend with you."
There was no time to think. Her foot rose in the air and executed a perfectly aimed kick towards his groin, knocking the wind out of him, leaving him howling, "shiiiitt…"
"Santana!" Schuester cried out, the disappointment dripping wretchedly from three syllables.
She probably was going to get detention for that, but she couldn't give a rat's ass, hell, she would do it all over again if she could, because the motherfucker deserved it, the slimy little douche had it coming to him, the stupid bastard… What the fuck?
Santana turned around to look at Brittany with wide, uncertain eyes. Brittany, who was clutching her stomach with both hands, bent towards the ground, laughing like she had just heard the world's greatest joke. Laughing as though her life depended on it, the sound painfully mirthless and tortured, ringing in the quiet hallways and bouncing off the walls.
Santana just stared in alarm, her own blood dripping past her fingers to the floor while Karofsky continued to moan. And Brittany laughed on, falling to her knees. Santana came closer slowly, before crouching low before the other girl. She was at a fucking terrifying loss at what to do. Schuester arrived at her shoulder, looking down at Brittany with worried eyes.
"Brittany," he said, "Brittany, calm down." He turned to Santana and muttered, "I'm going to go and call Emma, okay? I need you to stay here with her," to which the smaller girl nodded brusquely. He took off for the guidance counselor's office quickly.
"Oh… oh God," the blonde croaked, sudden tears mixing with the remaining stains on her face. She gasped as the tears began to overpower her laughter, until there was nothing but broken sobs resounding in the hallways, harsh and desperate. "Oh God."
Santana reached forward with her free hand, reaching for the other girl. She had no idea what it was she was doing, but it made more sense than sitting around and doing nothing. Except –
"No." Brittany blurted out, avoiding her touch, shaking her head adamantly even as their eyes met. Santana felt a shiver sweep across her. "Don't." Brittany's face twisted. "Don't. You don't get to help. You don't get to comfort me. You can't."
The words stung like fresh punctures on her face. Santana didn't know what to say.
"I…I'm angry at you." The other girl confessed, looking away. She let out a dry laugh that sounded like a million sighs. "Sometimes I hate you so much."
Santana swallowed, the combination of blood and saliva in her mouth making her feel faintly nauseous. Dropping her gaze, she whispered, "I know."
It was stunning to watch Brittany explode. Caught off guard, Santana found herself being pushed back fiercely when Brittany snapped, "NO! No, you don't. You don't know. None of you know. You don't know, okay? Not one bit." Her voice broke and she began to cry some more, her mouth still moving as though she were desperately trying to get words out. When she finally did, the words were shaking, her voice strained and tiny. "I lost everything."
Santana felt the swell of tears in her own eyes, just as Schuester arrived with Pilsbury. Santana watched as they helped the blonde get on her feet, preparing to lead her away.
There were so many things Santana felt she could have said then. She could have admitted I once lost everything, too. I know how that feels. I can't even remember what it means to really have anything, or maybe even confessed It's my fucking fault. You should lock me away. But in the end, she settled for touching Brittany's arm gently as Schuester began to pull her away. Forcing the words through the lump in her throat, she murmured with surprising sincerity, "I'm sorry, Brittany."
She didn't expect any kind of acknowledgement of her half-assed apology. She thought the blonde was going to shake her off, ignore her and walk away. She thought that maybe the blonde would even return to hit her, or something equally hostile and violent.
What she didn't expect was for the blonde to turn around and look at her, her teary eyes dark blue and piercing. They stared at each other unblinkingly for what felt like an eternity, even the blonde moved farther and farther away. Just as she was about to disappear around a corner, Brittany opened her mouth and said in a hoarse voice, "I know, Santana."
She was sitting on the football field bleachers when Schuester suddenly appeared out of nowhere, sitting in the bleacher behind her.
"Hello, Santana."
She didn't bother verbally greeting him in return, nodding once instead.
He sighed. "I'm sorry about what happened earlier. Brittany's… in a difficult place right now." He waited for her to reply, but she kept her mouth shut. "And I hate to have to do this, but…"
"So what's my punishment?" She interrupted brashly, not interested in hearing his ridiculous voice for much longer. "My punishment for standing up for someone who couldn't really stand up for herself? For taking down one of the biggest fucking bullies in McKinley history?" She turned to face him, her eyes furious. He swallowed once.
"I talked Figgins out of suspending you." He responded, his eyes boring into hers. "That's the standard response for violence on campus. It's what Karofsky's getting. Three days. And Azimio's going to be receiving detention for the next week."
Santana shook her head. "I don't care what they got, Schuester. Whatever it is, it isn't enough to change anything around here."
"I know that." Schuester admitted softly. "But that's the best we can do, Santana. Look. I managed to ask Principal Figgins not to give you the same treatment, but you've got to meet me halfway here."
"Fine." She rolled her eyes, looking away pointedly. "What is it this time? Detention for six weeks? Mandatory anger management sessions? Janitor hours?"
"Principal Figgins thinks that detention is way too good for you."
Santana snorted. "No kidding."
"And we can't require you to take anger management sessions. Though I don't think that's such a bad idea. It might help fix whatever..." He paused, struggling for the proper word, "issues you have going on."
"Whatever."
"And janitor hours–"
"Look," Santana snapped, turning to look at him, "can you just get on with it?"
He sighed again. "Tutoring." When she gaped at him, he added, "In Spanish, where you're more than a natural."
"You've got to be shitting–"
"I'm not finished."
Santana gritted her teeth together, reminding herself it was way better than having to explain a suspension to her Abuela. "What more is there?"
He hesitated. "Figgins also agreed it might help for you to engage in some sort of… uh, extra-curricular activity." Her eyes widened in horror. Fucking no. "We both thought giving you something to spend your time and effort in might help you release all your pent-up aggression. So, effective tomorrow, you're going to have to start… attending the Glee club."
She stared at him disbelievingly, while he rose to his feet.
"Here." He handed her a sheet of tissue paper. "You better wipe that blood off your face."
The fucking Glee club. What the hell was wrong with the world? Did they really think putting her with those bunch of weirdoes was going to make her a better person? Christ.
It was afternoon. Santana was leaning on the hood of Puck's beat-up car, digging her foot into the ground just to watch the dust rise and fly. When she saw him approaching, sweating from his football practice, she straightened automatically.
"Puckerman." She acknowledged icily, folding her arms across her chest
He stared at her, his eyes unsure. "What do you want?"
Right. Straight to business then. "I'm sure you've heard about your two dumb jocks friends this morning."
Puck's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, so? I had nothing to do with that."
Santana sneered. "If you did, I'd have gotten to you, too." His jaw tightened at the thinly-veiled threat. "Whatever. I have a message for the rest of the jock block, Puckerman, and I need you to spread the word: back the fuck off."
He frowned, confusion in his eyes. "What?"
She rolled her eyes. "Your little dumb jock friends. Tell them to back off the new blondie, alright?"
Puck looked at with cool disbelief. "What's it to you, Lopez? You don't care about anyone but yourself, remember?" She could hear the biting resentment in his voice, and she tried to ignore the way it managed to hurt somehow. After all, before all this shit, he was the one person she faintly considered a friend.
"Puck," He flinched at the startling softness in her voice. He's never heard her sound so tired before. "Puck, it's her."
"What?" He stared at her blankly.
"Jeez, Puck. The shit with Jesse. It's her."
Comprehension dawned on his face. "You sure?"
"I'm always sure." She snapped, annoyed again. "So tell your stupid teammates to drop it, alright? She's not fucking dumb."
She didn't bother to wait for a response. Pushing herself off the hood of his car, she began to walk away. A few feet away, however, she turned to say once, "And, Puck?" She inhaled deeply. "Don't tell Jesse."
She waited for him to nod once. When he did, she began to move away again, but he stopped her with a call of, "Hey, Lopez, are we good?"
She turned to look at him silently, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, we…we're good. But if anyone on the team does anything stupid to her, its fucking war, you got that?"
He pushed his hands into his pockets, hesitating. "Why do you care so much?"
We should care, we're the reason she's so fucked up.
"Lopez?"
She shrugged, feeling suddenly heavy as she turned away. "I don't know."