"I've Imagined It All"
Part 12
With contracts signed, studio dates booked, and a fresh influx of cash, Santana felt nearly on top of the world. In the mornings, she fine-tuned a few of her better songs, readying them for recording. In the afternoons, she relished her free time, listening to new music, watching television, and surfing the internet for the perfect abode to acquire with her newfound wealth. In the evenings, she would move to Brittany's dancing rhythm or inner pulse - often both in the same night. Brittany proved to be an excellent dance trainer and often by the end of each session, Santana found herself enraptured with Brittany's movements.
While she'd taken to calling Brittany her best friend again, the excitement of dreams fulfilled coursed through her each night until she captured Brittany's lips between her own and buried her face in between Brittany's legs. Late at night, more often than not, she'd awaken with a sharp stab of guilt. She'd unfurl herself from Brittany and hug the edge of the bed, seeking solitude and a moment's rest from her shame.
Though Santana could have lived in that way day in and day out - in fact, much of her life she had - Brittany could not.
One morning as the sun peered through the blinds and onto Santana's face, she heard Brittany's voice, sharp. "What's going on, Santana?"
She had jumped, startled at the tone in Brittany's voice. Her movement betrayed her and she knew she could feign sleep no longer.
"Huh?" She rolled over to find Brittany sitting up in bed, eyes red and puffy.
"What's going on with us? Why are things different?"
"What do you mean, Britt?" Santana's voice was groggy from sleep. Her eyes just now beginning to focus.
"Don't do that. Why are things different?"
Santana lay silent for a moment. She and Brittany had shared everything from the single-digits, through adolescence and now through the moderate successes of adulthood. She couldn't pretend.
"Britt," Santana sat up to look into Brittany's eyes, then sighed and cast them down to the bed. She decided she couldn't look her in the eyes. "It's the label. They know about us. They just think it's best if you and I...well, if I'm not...you know..."
"If you're not what, Santana? If you're not dating a girl? That you love? Who loves you?" Despite her strained and swollen eyes, Brittany's mouth spouted venom.
"I do love you, Brittany. I always will. It's just...it's my dream to have this." Tears again surfaced in Brittany's eyes. "Britt, I need you to achieve this dream. I don't want to break up. We can be together for real...eventually."
Santana tried to grasp Brittany's hand, but could only link pinkies as Brittany pulled her hand away.
"Right now, you'll be by my side. You're my best friend."
"Your best friend who fucks you?"
Anger washed over Brittany's face. Santana's mouth hung open. Brittany's faded eyes looked from their linked fingers to Santana's eyes and back. Santana could feel tears spring forth as she considered the consequences.
Finally, after a few deep breaths, Brittany relented. "Santana, I love you more than anything. I want you to achieve your dream."
"Please, Britt. I promise we can be together eventually. Just be by my side for this. It's so close, I can almost touch it."
"I'll help you. I'll be there for you. I just want you to realize that in order for me to help you achieve your dream, I'm giving mine up. You just took my dream away from me."
Santana's heart dropped. She couldn't believe how selfish she'd become. And how selfless Brittany was. But her dream felt so close. The dream she'd wished for her entire life. The dream she'd shared with Brittany the first night she'd truly looked into the ocean of her eyes and spoken her love aloud. In response, Brittany had confessed that Santana's love was her own dream come true.
"Britt," Santana whispered hoarsely, looking on to Brittany's face only to find her eyes staring across the room. "Britt, I'll get it back. Your dream, I'll get it back in time. I promise I will."
...
When Santana had spoken to Brittany on the phone a week earlier, she sensed just the slightest bit of excitement in her voice. While Santana was still dismayed that Brittany had not communicated with her since her brazen (yet muffled) announcement on international television, she was not near giving up the hope of winning Brittany back. Shortly after her latest meeting with the label and her manager, she had set up an indefinite hiatus to sort out the mess she'd made of her life.
The only thing standing in the way of the work stoppage and cleaning things up was her manager's convoluted plan to set things right. Santana had to admit that she'd never been good at planning things out or winning over people's hearts and minds - at least not on purpose. In the past, when she'd won Brittany's heart over and over again, something inside her had just burst forth and carried through to Brittany. She supposed that her Grammy performance was meant to do that - however little it had been thought out - but Brittany had not responded. Maybe she'd lost her touch. Maybe Brittany had finally had enough.
Now, she was sitting on a bench looking out over the Pacific Ocean. Deep blue waves crashed and echoed against the cliffs below. Santana had arrived thirty minutes before Brittany had agreed to meet her. In that time, she ran through her script over and over again. Words she'd been practicing in the week since their phone conversation. She knew that she couldn't beg Brittany to come back. She couldn't just whip out her guitar and sing her another song. Those opportunities had come and gone.
Frankly, she was surprised that Brittany had agreed to meet her at all. The only communication she'd received from Brittany in weeks was the singular text message after she'd won her Grammy. When she typed out a cryptic response about having dreams left to fulfill, Brittany had let the conversation fizzle instead.
Following her on-stage confession, Santana was absolute in her belief that Brittany would seek her out within twenty-four hours. As the twenty-fifth hour passed, and on to the twenty-sixth, Santana felt herself fall further and further into the warmth and familiarity of her white-down comforter.
The interview was pre-recorded. It had to be. Once Santana was aware of the magnitude of it all - the statement she would be making - she resolved to get in touch with Brittany. Brittany had not been prepared for the performance (and in all honesty, Santana had not been prepared for it either). But they would both be prepared for the interview.
"Hi," Santana heard a familiar whisper at her back and stood awkwardly, turning to catch Brittany rounding the weathered bench.
"Hi, how are you?" Santana hands were stuffed in her pockets, fumbling with loose change and lint. Brittany smiled and took a seat.
"I'm alright. How are you?"
Santana could only muster a forced smile in response. "Britt, thanks for..."
"I just," she interrupted, "before you say what you want to say...that performance was...it was...breathtaking."
"You saw it?" Santana couldn't hide the shock from her face. She had held onto a small hope that perhaps Brittany hadn't seen the performance and didn't know about her confession.
"Of course I saw it. After all that we've been through, I wouldn't miss the chance to see you have your dreams come true."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Santana could feel tears coming to her eyes.
"Tell you what?"
"That you saw it? That saw me break down on television? That you saw me confess my love in front of this huge audience?" Her voice broke as tears fell from her eyes in a steady stream.
"What was I supposed to say, Santana?" Brittany seemed to be on the defensive. "Was I supposed to just take you back. Look at where that's gotten me each time. You come wailing to me with a song, I take you back, and weeks later, things go back to the way they were. For all I know, you and your label are denying everything or telling everyone that 'Brittany' is your boyfriend."
"The sound was drowned out by the audience. No one heard it."
"I heard it."
"Look," Santana's voice raised in anger, "I don't care if no one heard it or everyone heard it, you're the only person who I wanted to hear it. And I wanted you to care. Obviously you don't if you couldn't even call me."
Brittany tugged at her hand until she uncurled it from a fist. Brittany's fingers weaved through her own. "I care."
Santana looked down at their fingers clasped together, a familiar sight. She then raised her eyes to look into Brittany's.
"I don't know if anything I say or do will be enough to undo the mess I've made of us." She sighed deeply. "To achieve my dream, I took yours away. And now, neither or us have what we really want." Tears now welled in Brittany's eyes as Santana continued. "I hope I'm taking some steps in the right direction and one day you and I can be together again."
"I do, too, Santana. I really do. I just don't know how I can trust you with my heart again."
"Can we try to start over? Will you go out on a date with me?" Santana's eyes pleaded.
Brittany broke eye contact and looked at the ground. "I'm not ready for that. I can't throw myself into this only to be hurt again."
"I understand. Well, there's something I want you to see. Can you just make sure you're home and in front of a TV on Thursday night next week?" Santana stroked her thumb over the back of Brittany's hand.
"Yeah..."
"There's something I need you to see."