Hey friends, sorry so long no update. This story has reached its end and perhaps somewhere deep down I didn't want to see it go. But, as much as I may have wanted to hold on to it I'm sure we can all agree that an ending is due here. I have put a lot of work into this story, this chapter too espcially considering how long it's taken to publish, and so I just hope that it was enjoyed.
I'm not going to leave a long A/N for you but I do want to thank all of you for your support with this piece. I may do an epilogue, but I think I will leave that up to you. Let me know. Until then, it's been one hell of a ride. :)
Forever Infinity... and Beyond
"Stop it, stop it!" Santana yelled, her fists tightly clenched and beat against Brittany's chest. She wouldn't have moved, even if her back wasn't pressed up against the wall of the Latina's bedroom.
She stood there, helplessly, as Santana's cheeks became soaked with tears that left tracks from her makeup all the way down to her chin. She watched on with frustration and a heavy heart as the shorter girl's lower lip quivered, her lips parted and her throat visibly moved up and down as she gasped for air. Her hands came up with the intention of somehow comforting the girl who was slamming the sides of her hands against the front of her body, but, she couldn't. It's not that she didn't want to, because she did.
"Don't touch me!" She screamed out, her hot breath hit Brittany's face but the blonde barely flinched. "I'm disgusting." Her voice was lower but not any softer as her body racked with sobs that were out of her control. Brittany's brow furrowed, her lower lip jut out making tiny indents in her chin and her eyes dimmed a paler blue.
It didn't happen that often, but when it did it was always the same. Something, anything really, would set her off and she would push the blonde's hands away from her not wanting to be touched or she would yell at her to stop looking at her 'like that'. It was as though everything, all of the memories and nightmares would bombard her at once and would make her skin crawl that it burned to be touched.
One time, only once, it had gotten so bad that she pulled her fist back and punched a hole through the sheet rock in the hall. It shocked the both of them, eyes wide and mouths open because her fist had gone into the wall barely inches away from Brittany's head. It had only made her cry more, that moment more shameful of a feeling than anything else.
"Santana." Brittany finally found her voice, her voice was pleading with her girlfriend, needing her to at least look at her. "Please." She said the word sounding so scared and worried, letting her hands fall to her sides and digging her finger nails into her palms as she waited patiently.
She had tried, she really did, to lift her head up and find those gloriously blue eyes to bring her back. But, she couldn't. It was too hard to. So instead, she stepped back finally letting her arms drop in front of her and stared down at her fists and watched them loosen from the tightness they had been bunched up in. There were red half moon marks in the palms of her hands and she stumbled backwards lifting them up to her face. Her eyebrows scrunched together, her head shook and she gazed at them as though they were foreign and didn't belong to her.
"Santana." Brittany stepped forward to get her attention but Santana only stepped further away, continued to shake her head and turned away.
It was half of a second really, when they look back on it, but it felt like forever and kind of like slow motion. But in that half of a second Santana spun around and darted out of her room, through the door and all but sprinted down the hallway towards the bathroom. Brittany was quick to react and did her best to chase her girlfriend down but was only met with a door slamming in her face. She gripped the door knob right away and jerked it but was only met with the metal to fight her, it was locked.
Her eyes scanned the door, like she was trying to think of some way to open it without the knob or maybe to unhinge it but there was no other way in. Her palms laid flat against the wood and her eyes stared up at the top of the door where it met the molding and her chest stuttered as her vision became blurry.
"Santana!" She yelled through the door with desperation, pulling her hand back and slamming it against the door making a slapping sound. Tears had already begun to stream down her face, even before she'd reached the locked door but now they sprung like a fountain in the middle of a park. "Santana stop it!" She screamed, her voice scratching the back of her throat, it burned but she didn't stop calling out to the other girl.
The sound of the door down the hall went unnoticed by the blonde who had slid down the length of the door, sitting down in front of it with the top of her body leaning against it. The two pairs of feet shuffling quickly down the hall in her direction didn't distract her from slapping her hands against the door begging for Santana to emerge, asking her to stop and telling her 'I love you'. Her crying only became harder when two strong hands lifted her up from under her arms and pulled her away from the door. She reached out for the door, now so far away, and when she felt the warm but shivering body of Mrs. Lopez she turned her head into her chest and sobbed.
Mr. Lopez turned quickly towards the bathroom door after pulling Brittany from in front of it and kicked it open with haste. There, on the floor of the second floor bathroom at the Lopez house was Santana. She was sitting down, her pants off and thrown off into the corner and the ground beneath her were little trails of blood. The sight of the blood made Mrs. Lopez cry out and turn her head, doing her best to shield Brittany from it but it was too late. The guttural scream that came from her throat echoed throughout the otherwise quiet house.
The two women sitting on the ground in the hallway watched helplessly as Mr. Lopez lifted his daughter in his arms, just as he used to when she was a little girl, and carry her out. Her arm fell limply down to her side, her crying subsided and her gaze void of anything and everything. Her head turned towards the two women and her eyes seemed fixed on her mother huddled into Brittany's body to keep her there and calm. They were darker than usual, her eyes, and glassy but not from crying. They watched them both disappear down the steps until they could no longer see him or her, the last image of that moment was Santana's hand hanging from behind her father's back.
"My name is Santana Lopez." She says into the microphone, her hands lean on the podium as her eyes scan the crowd even though she can't really make out the faces because of the lights shining on her. She smiles and nods politely, waiting for the sound of her own voice echoing off of the auditorium walls to stop. "I am twenty five years old. I am a girl. I am a Latina. I am a lesbian." She hears a few howls from the back rows and fights the urge to roll her eyes. Shifting from one foot to the other she clears her throat and licks her lips, sucking in the lower one and biting gently on it for encouragement to continue. "I am a victim."
The room is silent, except for the sound of a chair squeaking somewhere in the far right of the room and the electrical current running through the cord connected to the microphone. She tucks a few hairs behind her ear, her eyes dart down to the podium briefly as though she has notes to consult but there are none to distract her. With a deep breath she lifts her head once again and offers the sea of students a tight lipped smile.
"Victim." She chuckles to herself as the word leaves her mouth. Her head dips down, chin to chest, and she shakes her head from side to side before looking up once more. "I used to hate that word." She tells the room of minds waiting to be molded and she remembers being one of them. "It sounded so… degrading." She lets out in a sort of disgust, the memory of her first encounter with the thought, the idea and the feeling of being a victim. "Demoralizing." She states a little louder, her hands gripping the sides of the top part of the podium. "Inferior."
Santana looks to the front row, her eyes going automatically to her right knowing that what she is searching for is in that direction. There they are, those blue eyes. She breathes easy for a few seconds, staring into those blue orbs that are low enough from the spot light above to see clearly. Brittany nods with a sad smile on her face.
"I thought if I was a victim then I was nothing." The Latina lowers her eyes to one of her hands and watches it as she forcibly loosens her grip. "It took me years to finally come to terms with what being a victim meant." She shrugs her shoulders and gives the students an honest and innocent look. "I'm still learning."
Brittany sat silently in the passenger seat and stared out the window. She hadn't so much as said a word, breathed a heavy sigh or cleared her throat since her mother picked her up. Mrs. Pierce came as soon as she got the call from Santana's mother. The woman had been hysterical on the other line and it didn't matter that she and her husband had been fast asleep. She didn't even have shoes on.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as her eyes flickered over in her daughter's direction. She didn't need to ask questions, she'd seen the blood. It wasn't a lot but, when it comes to your kid, any sight of it is enough. She swallowed hard, trying to wipe the memory of Mrs. Lopez on her hands and knees in the bathroom scrubbing the tiles and the floor mat, all the while trying to calmly sooth Brittany.
The trip from the Lopez's to the Pierce's is short, it could barely be called a 'trip'. She pulled the minivan into their driveway, their street so quiet and dim. She didn't say 'home sweet home' like she usually did whenever she parked, in fact it hadn't even occurred to her that she didn't say it. The engine stopped, she flipped the lights off and she sat back into her seat letting the keys dangle from the ignition.
Their garage door was in front of them and as she stared at it she wondered if it always looked that dull. It was a yellow color and in the sun it looked bright, or at least when they first painted it. But then, with the lamps from the street lighting it up she couldn't help but notice how plain it was. It may as well have been painted gray.
Her body didn't move, she couldn't find the energy to move it and it didn't appear to want to move on its own. But motion from the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned her head to find her husband darting out of the house and run towards them. She saw his face screw up and his body come to a complete halt as his eyes fell to their daughter in the passenger seat. Mrs. Pierce watched him take slow, small steps towards the door, sadness taking over his usually bright colored eyes.
The click of the door handle being pulled open brought the older woman back to the present and she shook her head. She pulled the keys from the ignition and forced her body to leave the confines of the driver's side seat. It felt like a silent movie. They moved, they pulled things open, shut them closed again, they walked, they breathed and yet she could hear nothing.
Brittany barely moved with knowledge. Her father's hands on her should and back are what made her walk. He directed her up the steps and to the front door and lead her into her room where he placed her to bed, much like he used to when she was a small girl. He watched her lie down and how she had the mechanics of the act down but, it was more something to do than for the comfort of what lying down usually does for a person.
She stared off as he lifted the blanket up to her chin and brought his hand to brush her hair from her face. He craned his neck and leaned his face closer to hers thinking he heard her say something. But it was a bunch of muttering and mumbled words. He frowned, pressed his lips to her forehead and told her that he loved her.
Santana steps away from the podium, taking the microphone from its holder and walks off to the side needing to walk as she speaks. She glances behind her to find Miss Pillsbury and Coach Sylvester watching her and giving her nods of approval. Fidgeting with the microphone momentarily she turns her attention back towards the kids sitting in the auditorium seats, waiting to hear her story.
"I never thought I'd be a statistic." She admits with a hint of irritation but laced with sadness. "I never thought I'd be part of that percent group but truth is the odds were against me." She stops walking, points her finger towards the audience whose faces she can't see and shakes her hand. "One out of every six women in America has been the victim of an attempted or competed rape." She shakes her head in disbelief, her hand comes down to her side and she unconsciously plays with the top hem of her skirt. "That's nearly eighteen million women who have been sexually assaulted." Her legs start moving again, letting her words hang in the air for a few moments. "One in every six." She repeats slower.
Santana makes her way back towards the podium but keeps the microphone in her hand staring out into the filled seats. She takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh.
"Twenty-nine percent of sexual assault and rape victims are between the ages of twelve and seventeen." She tells them, kind of sounding like she is reading it from a pamphlet but she's not. This information has, over time, etched itself into her brain and for that she finds a bit of comfort. "I was twelve when I was first raped." There are some gasps, throats being cleared, the sound of chairs squeaking once again bounces off of the walls and she waits for a few moments. "Ninety-three percent of juvenile sexual assault victims know their attacker. I knew the boy who raped me on my thirteenth birthday." She looks to the left, the third or fourth row at a girl with blonde hair, then to the boy in the row ahead and a little to the right with his football jersey on before looking straight ahead again. "Fifty-eight percent of those attackers were acquaintances. The boy who raped me was my older brother's best friend."
Santana sets the microphone back onto the stand and brings her hands down to the front of her skirt and smoothes it out.
"I don't want to throw numbers out at you but these are the facts, the statistics of sexual assault and rape and I am part of those percents." She explains to the crowd. "What's just as important to know, besides the sad numbers of how many of us are out there, is that… just like me being a girl, being a Latina, a lesbian and my never ending increase in age, I cannot change the fact that I am a victim." Her head shakes, as though that proves her point. "It's something I live with everyday. It's something I've had to carry around with me since I was twelve years old, even when I wasn't even sure what had really happened." She looks off to the left again but this time not at anyone or anything in particular, she doesn't want tears to come and she tries to suck them back in. With a long breath in then out she turns back to the students. "It's something my loved ones have to live with as well… something they carry around too." Briefly she glances in Brittany and Quinn's direction but does her best not to stare. "They may not have been there to save me from my attackers but they saved me from myself in the aftermath of it all." Santana nods her head a few times, being able to recall several times how just a look from the blonde helped her. "Victims of sexual assault are thirteen times more likely to abuse alcohol." She raises her hand, and then puts it down. "Victims of sexual assault are six times more likely to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder." She raises her hand again, and then puts it down. "Victims of sexual assault are four times more likely to contemplate suicide." She raises her hand a third time and then puts it back down.
Mr. Lopez came out of the room, his face sullen and eyes drooped from lack of sleep. He had his lab coat on but he didn't seem to be working considering he was not on the surgical floor where he would be. He rubbed his face, closed his eyes tight and let out a long sigh. His feet dragged under him as he walked over towards the chairs set against the wall in front of the nurse's station.
Mrs. Pierce stood up, her hand on Brittany's shoulder and she offered Mr. Lopez a kind but concerned smile. He greeted her with the best smile he could muster given the circumstances and he nodded his head. Brittany stared out into the small space between her mother's body and Mr. Lopez's. The tiles of the hospital floor were avocado green and an ugly brown color that she couldn't help but think that Santana would most definitely have something to say about the decorator. But as amusing as the thought was, she couldn't find it in her to laugh.
A hand wrapping itself on her bicep tugged her up to a standing position and soon she was on her feet. Everything looked blurry and she couldn't figure out if she was tired or still crying but luckily the hand was still on her arm leading her down the corridor. They all stopped in front of a room, number 5461, and Mr. Lopez's large body stepped in front of her view. Her eyes slowly lifted but all she could see was his mouth moving no matter how hard she tried to find his eyes.
"She's sedated, but," She sees his mustache twitch and the left side of his mouth curl up sadly. "She's been asking for you since this morning. I don't even know if she realizes it." Brittany didn't hear any more of what he was saying; she walked by him and nudged the slightly closed door open.
The room was quiet, but she was used to silence for the past few hours so she didn't mind it. Her eyes immediately fell onto the only bed in the room. It was small, white and bright. Santana looked so tiny in that small bed. Her arms thinner, her skin paler than normal and her eyes so very tired. They were closed and Brittany could see the easy rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
Her feet moved awkwardly over the smooth tiles of the room's floor. Her legs wanting to take large steps but unable to do so. Upon finally reaching the bed she reached a hand up to touch her girlfriend, but she jerked her hand back before making contact. Instead, she brought her leg next to Santana's on the bed and then hoisted the rest of her body up until she was lying beside the smaller girl.
She buried her head into Santana's neck, taking in her scent with long breathes. The place on the pillow where her cheek rested became moist with tears that just seemed to freely flow from the corners of her eyes. She draped her arm across Santana's middle, squeezing her side gently and kisses the spot on her neck her lips could reach.
"Cause you're my, you're my, my," She began to sing softly against Santana's skin. "My true love, my whole heart, please don't throw that away." Their parents stood at the door where they watched and listened. "Cause I'm here for you. Please don't walk away. And please tell me you'll stay." Mrs. Pierce sniffled and excused herself.
Mr. Lopez nodded with understanding. He grabbed the handle to the door of his daughter's hospital room, standing still for a few more minutes to hear the sweet sound of her best friend's voice.
"I will never let you fall. I'll stand up with you forever. I'll be there for you through it all. Even if saving you sends me to Heaven."
"I thought, for some reason, that I deserved all of these things, but no one does." Santana shakes her head. As a child, when something breaks, ruined or goes missing blame is automatically placed on someone else, but here the only place that seemed worthy of blame is on oneself. The Latina found it kind of ironic when her recent therapist had explained it. "It took me a long time to figure out that I was the victim. I was the one who was wronged. I was the one who was hurt and pushed. Me." She points to herself, index finger sharply pressing into her chest. "And it might sound strange, all things considered, but I am one of the lucky ones." Her voice echoes back to her and even though she cannot see them all she can feel every pair of eyes in the room on her. Most of them anyhow.
Her fist comes to her cover her mouth as she coughs to clear her throat and sniffles because of the now awkward silence emanating off of the crowd. Again, she lets her eyes scan as much of the people in front of her as she can, squinting a bit when the light gets too much in her eyes.
"Yes, lucky. I mean, there were times I thought that I wasn't going to survive, times when I wished I would just die and times when I thought that I was going to be killed. And like I admitted before, there were times, I even thought of taking me own life." It's something she has only said to her therapist, her parents and her girlfriend. She'd never actually told perfect strangers or even her best friend who she cannot bring herself to glance over at just yet. "But, like I said, I was lucky because I had people who loved me and made sure I knew it."
She glances over her shoulder to find Miss Pillsbury offering her a subtle smile and a nod of the head. Her hand reaches just below the podium and she grabs the bottle of water she had stowed away long before the assembly commenced. After a quick sip she twists the cap on and places it back underneath.
"Family is big, when dealing with sexual assault. They can be there for you, they will always be there for you no matter what." She wipes the corner of her mouth as she speaks to make sure she has no water dripping down her face. "Sure, there's that fear of judgment, I had it. Afraid that they were going to think I asked for it because I was a cheerleader and went to parties with jocks. Because I wore short skirts and tight tops or because I wore my hair a certain way and put on too much makeup." Her head shakes from side to side, her lips sucked tightly into a fine line across her face. "I'm not going to sugar coat my story for the sake of 'age appropriate' material." She explains harshly. "When I was your age, I was probably the most sexual person at this school." She states as fact. "Because of what I had gone through, I had lost all self respect, sexual morals, had no thought to the consequences of my actions because I figured it was the hand I was dealt." After a deep breath and a long sigh, she nods a little to herself.
"I was called promiscuous, although in high school the terms used are whore, slut, school bicycle and all those other terms with the same connotation." Her fingers fiddle with the top of the water bottle hidden beneath the podium. "Having been sexually assaulted over a dozen times before I even got to high school I decided to be that girl on my own terms. If I had sex with a guy and the next day people are calling names well then so what, right? At least it happened because I wanted it to." She chuckles, tossing her head back slightly for effect. "Saying it now, years later, it's amazing how foolish one can be as a teenager. Teachers, parents, even television tells us to talk to someone, that there are places to go and people to trust. But we are afraid. Because," She pauses, makes eye contact with a few of the students she can actually see and she shrugs. "Maybe we did ask for it. Maybe we did wear that short skirt for attention." Her lower lip juts out as if thinking it over and nods. "Maybe we did wear that tight top and too much makeup and those boots our mom told us not to wear for fear of giving off the wrong impression. Maybe we did do it to ourselves.
And that's our biggest fear, as a victim. That it was my fault. How could I let this happen to me?" Her finger is pointing into her chest again, her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw clenches. "And then we punish ourselves. I punished myself, in a variety of ways too." She leans her forearms onto the podium and shifts from one foot to the other. "My body no longer felt like my own and so I gave it away to whoever was willing. They took advantage of the fact that I seemed as sexually driven as them. I put myself in horrible situations, not just sexually, but emotionally. I wasn't helping myself." She shakes her head. "When I realized that didn't help suppress my shame or guilt I resorted to cutting myself. It would get too much for me to bottle it all up and I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't tell my parents and I was afraid and embarrassed to tell my brother because it was about sex." She crinkled her nose at having 'sex' and her 'brother' in the same sentence and it got a few chuckles from the crowd but half hearted ones.
"And I couldn't tell my best friend because I didn't want her to stop looking at me like I was the greatest person in the world." She admits softly and her eyes flitter in the direction of Brittany. "I didn't want her to stop loving me because I loved her back and I was so afraid to lose that. I thought if she knew, if I told her, she would see me as I felt. Gross, used, trash." Brittany shakes her head, barely noticeable, and reaches to grab Quinn's hand that is resting on the arm rest.
Brittany knocks a few times on the front door of the Lopez house only to be met with silence. She shrugged, figuring Santana was still getting ready, showering or listening to music or something that would make her unaware of the blonde's presence. Their 10:30am class at Lima Community College was in twenty minutes so there was enough time for her to be running late for Brittany's pick up. The blonde found the front door open and let herself in, carefully closing it behind her.
Automatically, she headed for the stairs but light from the kitchen caught her eyes. With a furrowed brow she headed in that direction. When she walked in she was met with the sight of glass broken and strew all over the floor, the label of Bacardi still attached to a big shard, clear liquid spilled around and Santana on her knees staring at the mess.
"Santana?" Brittany let out, the words coming out with a breath. The Latina's head snapped upon hearing a voice, her eyes glassy and red letting the blonde know that before the bottle fell to the floor, some if the alcohol had been consumed. Santana's stare was pleading and she shook her head.
"I didn't…" She mumbled, looking down at the pieces of glass. "I wasn't gonna…" She slurred and pointed to the mess between them. "I… I'm…" She sobbed and brought her hands up to cover her face. "I'm sorry baby." Santana whimpered into her hands, falling forward into her own lap. "Don't leave me, I didn't… I can't…" Brittany carefully walked around the spilled liquor and jagged pieces of broken glass to make her way over to her hysterical girlfriend.
Once she knelt down beside her, Santana clung to her and cried into her chest. Her fingers bunched up the blonde's shirt into her fists, securing contact between them.
"Oh sweetheart." Brittany breathed out, her voice shook and Santana's cries, whimpers and sobs reeked of her father's rum as she desperately pushed her body into Brittany's. "What do you need?" Brittany asked gently, her hand smoothing over the Latina's back. "What can I do?"
"Help me." Santana told her, half begging and half demanding. "I need help." She choked out through a violent rack of sobs in her chest.
"'They' say that the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem." Santana announces, using finger quotes when she says 'they'. "Well, I don't know who the hell 'they' are but 'they're' right. I do have a problem. I have been assaulted, not just sexually but physically and emotionally. Damn right there's a problem here." She points to herself and grabs the microphone from its stand once again. "But I didn't want help, I wanted to forget… Jesus, I didn't even want to admit something was wrong." Casually and calmly, with mic in hand, she glides across the stage with her eyes on the ground in front of her as she walks. Like the next words to come out are written there for her to read. "So I drank." It's honest, truthful and innocent the way it comes out. "The drinking really didn't get bad until after I had finally started going to therapy and I didn't want to live in that reality. The dimension that had me raped at twelve years old by a friend of my cousins or the world where it almost became a form of initiation for a guy on the football team to have their way with me in the back seat of their parent's car." She stops somewhere over at the left side of the stage, her free hand comes up to flip her hair from her shoulder and she grips the back of her neck in a comforting way.
"I didn't want to relive the night when I was sixteen and was raped by my brother's best friend during a family party." She spoke so softly into the microphone that, if it hadn't been in her hand she is sure no one would have heard her say a word. "I didn't want to go over these things, that night, because I didn't know how to explain it. How was this still happening to me? I have a girlfriend, I'm happy." Her direction changes until she is walking around the front of the stage to nowhere of particular interest.
"There are stages of the array of emotions." She holds up her free hand in a loose fist and pokes her thumb out. "Fear, so we don't tell anyone." Another finger. "Sadness, we blame ourselves for what happened." Another finger pokes out. "Anger, we hate ourselves because of what happened." A fourth and fifth finger joins in and she wiggles them in the air. "Shame and guilt, we punish and hurt ourselves."
The window was open that day and the sound of the city traffic below, like a hand on a clock ticking away the seconds and minutes. The blonde stood, opting not to sit, perhaps it was a form of protest or maybe she couldn't keep still. Santana, across from her, stayed seated in the uncomfortable chair at their table. They hadn't spoken much since Brittany returned from a very long walk after waking up early in the morning. Well, Santana assumed it had to have been early considering her girlfriend was gone by the time she'd woken up.
The night before was blurry at best but she remembered most of it. Shots at the bar down the block, a six pack from the deli across the way and the bottle, bottles of alcohol at home. There was yelling, things may have gotten knocked over during, before or maybe even after. Brittany's side of the bed looked untouched when she opened her eyes that morning and when she investigated she couldn't help but wonder if the girl had slept at all. It's also possible she cried, if the tracks of last night's makeup covering her cheeks were anything to go by.
Movement from ahead of her caught her attention; Brittany was shaking her head, her lips pursed and her forehead creased with worry and a hint of disappointment. Santana hated that look, from anyone, but more from Brittany. She didn't want the blonde to be disappointed in her, she'd never been before and the sight of that look on her face nearly broke her heart in half.
The blonde's mouth opened, closed and opened again. Her head stopped shaking and she ran her fingers through her hair, slowly, as though gathering her thoughts. She bit her lower lip, her forehead relaxed but only for a second. Brittany lifted her head and looked into Santana's brown, frightened eyes.
"I can't do this anymore." Brittany sighed, closed her eyes and tossed her head back in aggravation doing her best to not let it come out in her tone of voice. "I can't watch you do this any longer."
Santana opened her mouth to speak, but when nothing came out she didn't fight it, so she closed her mouth and waited.
"Santana, I am not giving you an ultimatum. It's not going to be me or this." Brittany said, her words the sternest either had ever heard before but still so very soft and caring. "That's not the choice that I am going to give you because no matter what I am not going anywhere. I don't give a shit what you throw my way." She told her, arms crossed over her chest and she looked off to the side to gather herself for a moment. "But, it's either you stop this… this way you're living or you die." Her shoulders shrugged and her head shook from side to side all the while desperately trying to keep her tears in check. "I don't want you to die Santana. I want you to live for a very, very long time. I want to grow old with you by my side but that won't happen like this." She motions towards the bottle of vodka on the middle of the table. "I'm not asking you to do this for me. Do it for yourself. You deserve a world of sunshine and happiness not a world of dreary drunken nights and foggy vision from tears."
Santana sat there, her eyes fixed on the blonde's arms still crossed over her chest. At least, she reasoned, her girlfriend had waited to have a talk with her after the hangover faded. But, hangover or not, that conversation sucked. Maybe Brittany wasn't saying 'pick me over booze Santana or I'm leaving you', but she may have well had. Truth was, Santana didn't want to even be given a choice to make because there shouldn't have been one to make.
It would be a Brittany move, to preach self love because loving oneself is the most important part of life.
Santana didn't want to live in a world Brittany did not exist. She didn't want to die either because Brittany would not be there. The Latina knew, just by the way her girlfriend's eyes were bright, that Brittany was destined to live a long, long life. If she died, she would be waiting an eternity to have those arms around her and soft words in whispered in her ear.
"I didn't realize that by punishing myself I was punishing those around me." Her hand grabs onto the side of the podium and she leans against it. "By cutting myself I frightened my family and my girlfriend. By drinking I jeopardized my own life, my relationships and school. And denying and lying go hand in hand which made me push people away." She steps away from the podium and runs her fingers through her hair. "I was fortunate enough to have one of the greatest people to ever walk the planet as my best friend. She listened to me the night I finally exploded and told her everything. She didn't judge me or look at me with the disgust I had imagined. She didn't hate me and leave me like I thought she was going to." She shakes her head, walks back over to the podium and places the microphone back into the stand.
"Brittany held me as I cried. She told me she loved me even after I told her that someone else's hands had been on my naked body while we were dating." She swallows hard, this part never got easier over time. "She held me tighter and told me she wasn't going anywhere." She half rolls her eyes because she is trying to stop the water works from coming, she's successful and she chuckles at herself but only lightly. "And she hasn't gone anywhere. Even when I was cutting and drinking every day, she didn't leave like I thought she was going to do. I was wrong about that part of what I thought were rational fears."
She grabs her water bottle once again and takes a quick sip, slowly twists the cap on and places it back. Her eyes narrow ahead of her, she remembers a clock being on the far wall and even though she can't see it tries. She wonders how long she has been talking for and if these kids are still listening. She hopes they are.
"It is still something I think about. How can it not be?" She asks the rhetorical question, leaving a gap of silence between her words for emphasis. "But it doesn't run and ruin my life like it did in the past. I still have a life to live after all."
"Hi." Brittany greeted shyly, her eyes darted from browns to the side of them where there were blue plastic chairs set out.
"Hi." Santana replied in the same way, nervous and unsure. She motioned towards the chairs, seeing the blonde glancing at them and they took seats across from one another, knees barely touching.
"I wanted to come sooner, but, they said that the first week is detox?" She explained with uncertainty. Santana nodded, letting the other girl know she used the right terminology. They stared back at one another, time nothing but something ticking away and silence the background of their current state. "I miss you." Brittany admitted, her eyes betrayed her and fall to her hands in her lap.
"I miss you too." Santana replied quickly, her hand reached over to cover the blondes and she offered her a weak but genuine smile. Brittany lifted her head to see that smile, no matter how small it was and she returned it. Her hand turned around in Santana's and she laced their fingers together. "Brittany… I am so, so sorry." The blonde nodded and she looked down at their clasped hands.
"Don't be sorry Santana." She said gently, finally looking back up into the other girl's eyes. "Just know that I love you and get better." Her shoulders shrugged, her answer spoken as if the words were written in the sky, so obvious.
"I love you too." Santana whispered, bringing her other hand to cover Brittany's.
Sue and Emma make their way from the stage and down to the front of the aisles with microphones in their hands. Slowly, students get up from their seats to form a very short line in front of both faculty members. A young girl, no older than fifteen years of age steps up to the mic in Emma's hand and fidgets in her spot.
"Is it… hard, ya know, having sex with someone after?" The girl asks, her voice shaking with nerves. Some students, mostly boys, giggle at the girl because she said 'sex' but the older women in the room choose to ignore them. Santana clears her throat and loosely grips the front of the podium. "I mean, when you want to and all."
"Well, it's different." Santana settles on after a short deliberation in her head. "When you're with someone who loves you and you love in return you feel it. It was hard to separate the two at first, my assaults and the times I wanted it. Sex is a natural thing to want to do and I would be fine but after I'd feel like I did something I wasn't supposed to do. Luckily, my girlfriend is a very patient and understanding person." She smiles politely at the girl hoping that she answered her thoroughly enough and turns towards Sue who has the next teenager at the microphone.
"How did you get over that? Doesn't like, that kind of thing stay with you?" The young brunette girl asks, her hands behind her back and her head tilts to the side letting her Cheerio's ponytail hit her shoulder.
"Like I said before, it definitely does stay with you. Things like assault, emotional and physical abuse, rape… you never forget." She begins, letting her hands slide down to the bottom of the podium top. It would be foolish to think you can forget it. You never forget, you never get over it. But, you have to move on with your life." She reminds them. "I wasn't going to let it rule me, define me. I used to think I was weak, because that's the stigma with being a victim. But I took that, being a victim and I took ownership of that. You can be the strongest person and still be a victim." She points out, the girl who asked the question nodding her head as Santana speaks. "After I finally spoke out about it and told someone, I felt… I felt like I had been imprisoned for an eternity and then suddenly, I saw light."
The Cheerio nods, smiles politely and spins around to head back to her seat and Santana turns back to Emma who has another student waiting to ask a question.
"How is she?" Mrs. Pierce asked, taking the bowl from wet hands and drying it with a dish towel. There was a sigh, soft and almost not there, but she heard it.
"Amazing." She whispered, placing her hands on edge of the sink and looking out the window to the backyard. There was a twinge of a smile on her lips and she let it take over her features. "She is really just amazing Mrs. P." Santana looked over at her girlfriend's mother who in return gave her a knowing look.
"I'm convinced that she has no idea how to be anything else." The older woman joked, setting the now dry bowl onto the counter. They stood there in silence, briefly, but it was still there.
"I'm sorry Mrs. P." Santana let out softly and hung her head. "For everything I've put her through." Mrs. Pierce gave the young girl a strange look, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape.
"Darling, that girl would walk through fire for you." She told her, bringing her hand up to rub smooth circles to her back.
"It's been so hard and… I don't want to hold her back from… everything." Santana admitted quietly, lifting her head to look over at the woman consoling her. Mrs. Pierce shook her head and offered the tiny girl a kind and knowing smile.
"You are her everything Santana." She watched on as her words sunk into Santana, the way her face fell, then how she smiled shyly and then how her eyes became a little glassy.
"I know." Santana replied easily enough, but did her best not to sound so cocky about it which earned a chuckle from the older blonde. "I guess that's what I mean." She shrugged, chewed on her lower lip and averted her eyes for a moment. Mrs. Pierce nodded once and twisted her lips.
"Well, that's up to you." Mrs. Pierce said. "You are still working on you and that's important. It's important to her for you to do that, she knows this." She explained carefully, pulling the smaller girl into her and rested her cheek to the top of Santana's head. "She knows you love her, she doesn't question that."
"Yeah, I know she doesn't but," She paused, dropped the plastic cup she'd been washing back into the sink and sighed. "I want her to be proud of me, not worry about me." Her head turned up when she heard Mrs. Pierce scoff at her statement and she looked at the woman in confusion.
"I've never seen a woman so proud of the one she loves." Mrs. Pierce exclaimed, turning her body to fully face the young Latina. "You should be able to see that of all people. The way she looks into your eyes, it radiates from her very being." The older woman chuckled to herself, shaking her head in disbelief and shooting a quick glance out the window to the backyard where the rest of the Pierce's and Lopez's were. "The way she watches you when you're oblivious. I've never seen a prouder woman." Santana half smiled and turned her head away bashfully.
They go back to doing the dishes in silence, watching their families chatting away outside. Santana washed and Mrs. Pierce dried, an assembly line of perfection. When they were done, water turned off and dishes clean they wiped their hands on dish rags before heading back out, with Santana leading the way.
"Santana," Mrs. Pierce called out and when the girl turned around she realized that the woman was not following her outside, but was still standing in front of the kitchen window. "She told me that she thinks you're the strongest person she's ever met. You're funny and goofy and that you make her feel special." She smiled, that genuine Pierce smile not that there were any other kind. "And maybe this isn't my place and I don't want to freak you out, but, she wants to marry you one day." She shrugged her shoulders, her smile now slightly lopsided and she tilted her head. "I don't know of a woman who'd wanna be on the arm of someone she ain't proud of."
"I'd like to take this time to thank you all for your good behavior today." Emma says into the microphone. "And I think we all owe a round of applause for our guest speaker once again, Santana Lopez." She motions behind her to where Santana is now sitting in her seat beside Sue. The Latina smiles politely and waves out to the kids who are clapping for her. "Thank you so much for coming forward with your story. It takes courage to speak out," She looks over her shoulder and gives Santana a nod. "You're very brave."
The clapping soon gives way and the students begin to get up and leave the auditorium. Santana finds herself still sitting beside Sue who she catches shooting annoyed faces at a few students who are lingering off to the sides of the auditorium chatting away. She smirks when she sees her old cheerleading coach walk off stage for a moment only to return with her megaphone in hand and march down the steps.
"Thank you again Santana." Miss Pillsbury's voice catches her attention and she inwardly shakes her head at herself for still referring to the woman with her maiden name. "I hope that your story not only provided the students with viable information but perhaps give strength to those who may have gone through anything similar." The woman carefully says not sure how to word herself but the Latina smiles kindly and nods as she gets up from her chair.
"Thank you." She tells the older woman, reaching out to shake her hand. They shake for a few seconds until deciding that a handshake is not enough and fall into an embrace. "Thank you for everything. Just in case I never said so before." Santana whispers for only Miss Pillsbury to hear. When they pull away the ginger haired woman smiles sweetly.
"Keep in touch." Miss Pillsbury says as she turns to walk off stage. Santana nods, smiling still, and tells her that she will without a doubt keep in touch.
Left alone on stage Santana lets out a long sigh. She scans the seats that were filled only moments ago, listening to the story she was once upon a time too afraid to even listen to herself. It's been a long journey, that's for sure. But, as her eyes move around the room she finds herself watching Brittany and Quinn speak and she grins a little wider. Maybe it's been a long journey, but something inside her says the next one is going to be amazing and worth telling over and over again.
She grabs her water bottle from under the podium and makes her way off stage towards the small staircase at the side of the room. Her steps make the steps creak but she pays no mind and turns to walk over towards the two blonde's who are there waiting for her. Her stride slows when the girl's get up from their seats and turn to face her.
"Babe." Brittany greets with open arms as she meets Santana halfway. "You did so good." She mumbles into her girlfriend's neck and hugs her tightly. Santana smiles, her eyes close and she wraps her arms around Brittany's waist. "I'm so proud of you." She whispers before placing a soft kiss to the spot just below the Latina's ear.
"Thank you." Santana replies in the same airy tone, rubbing her hands on the blonde's back and then pulls her head away to grin at the girl in her arms.
They stand there, staring at one another for a few seconds until finally, Santana's gaze shifts a little to the right and her eyes land on to a blonde right behind hers. She clears her throat and steps back a bit from Brittany, letting her hands run down the length of her girlfriend's arms till she finds her hands and grabs one of them with her own. Brittany turns her body and looks over her shoulder at Quinn who is still standing by the seats they had been in for the last hour and a half. Her hands are clasped in front of her, her bangs are slightly swooped in front of her face covering her eyes almost completely but not quite.
"I'll meet you back at your parent's house." Brittany says quietly and leans in to press a kiss to Santana's cheek. The Latina half smiles at the girl at her side, nods, then watches as she walks to Quinn and kisses her cheek as well until she is watching her walk down the aisle of the auditorium and out the door.
Santana takes a deep breath when her eyes meet hazel ones, they look so sad and she desperately hopes that her friend has no intentions of crying though it looks as though she might lose with that one. She steps forward and Quinn sniffles, shakes her head and lifting it up tossing her bangs from her vision and she blinks a few times to hold herself steady. Santana stops about two feet in front of Quinn, giving them some distance because there are still so many things swimming between them with everything considered.
"Did…" Quinn chokes out catching Santana off guard. She truly did not expect Quinn to be the first one to speak after all of this. But, she remained still and silent, patiently waiting for her friend to figure out her words. "Did you not trust me?" The blonde asks, her head tilts to the side and the glisten in her eyes tell the Latina that somewhere deep down she's trying to stay strong. Santana's brow furrows, her head jerks back and her mouth opens quickly ready to spit out 'what', but, she doesn't. She knows this feeling.
She closes her mouth, takes another breath and finally closes the gap between them, bringing her hands up to rest them on Quinn's shoulders. Her head shakes slowly and she looks deeply into those eyes that are turning greener by the second with heavy emotion.
"You know that I trust you." Santana tells her. "You've got to know that." Her thumbs rub into her friend's muscles, trying to calm her down. The twitch in Quinn's nose warns them both just how hard holding these tears in is becoming.
"Then," She sniffles, her head bobs as she does so. "Why did you…" Quinn shakes her heads, words getting hard to find in order to put her feelings verbally. Santana frowns, she's never really seen Quinn have difficulty with expressing herself, not since high school anyhow. So, she turns them towards the first row of seats and leads them over to sit down. Quinn allows herself to be led into the seat and she easily finds her hands clasped within Santana's.
"Why did I take so long to tell you?" Santana asks, trying to figure out what Quinn is trying to say. The blonde closes her mouth, muffling the sound of a sob and she nods quickly letting her free hand come up to wipe a tear away with the back of her index finger. "Don't do that." The Latina tells her, reaching up and grabbing her friend's wrist. "Don't you dare cry." Quinn shoots her a confused look. "
"In our last session, you and Brittany told me that your friend Quinn is going to be moving in with the two of you." The doctor said, reading off of a legal pad set on her lap and Santana nodded when the woman looked up from the spot her pen was pointed at. The therapist nodded as well and scribbled something short on her pad, Santana only watched on with her hands clasped in her lap. "And she's a friend from high school."
"Yes." Santana spoke up, shifting in her seat and crossed her legs. "The three of us were… are best friends ever since freshman year." She explained in more detail knowing that the woman in front of her liked when she offered description.
"Brittany and I shared some of the same questions and concerns, if I recall correctly." The doctor glanced at Santana over the rim of her glasses, taking them off and sitting back in her chair comfortably while she waited for the Latina to reply. Santana's lips twisted and her hands started to fidget in her lap as she nodded slowly. "You have to understand that although nothing will change with the presence of your friend, it will be different. Instead of coming home to one person asking how your day was and where you've been off to, you're going to have two. And one of them isn't exactly privy to your schedule."
"I know this." Santana immediately responded, but bit her tongue knowing how snappy she'd sounded. "I mean, I know that she's probably going to question the nights I have AA, therapy and other things but, I just…" Her shoulders shrugged and her gaze off to the side.
"You just what, Santana?" The doctor leaned forward, tucked her fist under her chin and waited for Santana to answer. The young woman let her body sink into the leather couch in her therapists office and sighed a long breathe.
"Quinn's… she's like, the only one I know, who knows me without knowing." Santana tried to explain. "You know?" The doctor chuckled and set her back into her chair once again, nodding. "I guess I kind of want to keep her from that, this crap, for now." Her hand came up and she tucked some hair behind her ear. "Everyone that I love, they've all been pained because of…" She trailed off, shook her head at herself and leaned her elbow on the arm of the couch.
"Because of your pain?" The doctor asked in wonderment and almost incredulously. The air between them is silent for a few moments, a stare off between the two women in the room. "How dare they, right?" She spit out with a fire that Santana knew meant she was about to make a point somewhere in this session. "The people who hurt you, how dare they continue to do so by hurting those you hold dear. To have to watch the pained look on the faces of loved ones upon hearing what you've been through, what you're going through still." Her pen tapped on her note pad with some of the words she spoke. "It's understandable to want to keep them from getting that look in their eye, that knot in their gut and their ignorant happiness intact. You've hurt so many already." She sarcastically explained, getting an eye roll from her patient. "But answer me this, can you ever have someone truly and fully in your life, someone who is apparently so important to you, when they only know what you tell them and only see what you allow them to see?"
The silence washes over them, hands clasped on Santana's lap, brown eyes trying to find hazel ones. Quinn is breathing evening and with her chin to her chest she begins to nod slowly and subtlely.
"You know that no matter what, I still love you." The blonde finally speaks, lifting her head and looks into Santana's eyes. The Latina smiles, lets out a tiny laugh through her nose and nods.
"Yeah," She says. "I know."
"I'm sorry, I… I don't really know what to say." Quinn lets out, chuckling at herself and wipes her eyes a few more times. "I had so many things planned on the way here but, now, I have nothing." Santana's smile widens and she leans in to rest her head against her friends.
"You don't need to say anything." She assures the blonde, switches her right hand with her left hand to hold Quinn's and takes her right to drape her arm around her shoulders.
"I don't even know what to do." She admits quietly, letting her body fall into Santana's comfortably. The Latina turns her head and presses a kiss to the blonde's temple.
"You're doing it." Santana whispers, kisses her temple again and rubs her hand up and down Quinn's arm. "Perfectly."
Brittany walked up to the tiny, wooden podium. The room was pretty silence, save for the few coughs and throats being cleared, but for the most part it was dead quiet. It was bright, the lights lit everything up and she was certain that the strangers in the room could see her chest thumping and bumping away. She wasn't a shy person but there was something frightening about having to speak in front of a group, especially people she didn't know. But, she reasoned, it was for Santana and what was good for Santana was good for her in the long run.
When Santana had told her on the phone about family and friend night she was excited. She figured they'd stand around and eat cookies and drink coffee or something that groups like AA did on television. But then Santana explained that it was part of their recovery and sobriety that family and friends were invited to share their side of the story. She wasn't sure what that meant, she'd heard Santana's story, several times and it never got better. The blonde wondered what her girlfriend meant by telling 'her side'.
The folded pieces of paper in her hand crinkled as she placed it on top of the podium. It had taken her days to write it and took up front and back of almost two pages. She had thought about going into the gathering and winging it, but, she was never much with off the cuff verbalization. So, she settled for a letter.
Her eyes scanned the group who sat in rows in front of her, until she found Santana's dark brown eyes looking back at her. The Latina gave her an encouraging smile and nod. Her fingers played with the edges of the papers, opening them slowly until they lay flat to the wooden desk top. She cleared her throat as she read in her mind the first two words. Then with a quick breath and a tiny gulp she decided to just read.
"Dear Santana," She started, her eyes glanced up momentarily, a habit from having to do oral reports in school. "I am afraid." Saying those words out loud for the first time felt so foreign, but at the same time so freeing. "I wish you could understand why, because, sometimes it's hard for me to say exactly what I mean. I love you, and that scares me because I think that you don't get just how much I do."
Her feet shifted from side to side and she flattened the papers out a little more to distract herself from getting self conscious. She blinked a few times because she didn't want to start crying in the middle of the room, especially with the attention solely on her.
"Sometimes, at night, I wish on stars to make things better for you, to take away your pain and your tears and your scars. I have even made promises to whoever it is up there, to do whatever just to make you smile today." She smiled sadly at the words she was reading. When she was writing this letter, she just kept remembering feelings from days past and how hard it was to stand there and see the one she loved hurting so much. "It hurts my heart when I see you so broken. When you've been drinking and when you hurt yourself. After a bottle of whatever it is you're drinking, you look so lost and I don't know how to help you find your way back." Brittany wiped a tear she'd felt creep out just before it fell from her chin and onto the paper in front of her. She sniffled and shook her head to get her bearings back.
"I don't like it when you drink." She stated factually. "I know you drink to hide, get away or just to numb the pain. But, what about my pain?" It was so quiet around her, she couldn't even hear anyone breathing so she dared to look up to make sure she wasn't alone in the room. Everyone was looking back at her and when she found Santana, her girlfriend was crying, eyes fixed on the bottom of the podium. "I am in pain too and sometimes I don't think you get it. The bad things that happened, they kill me. Not only because they happened to you but because I couldn't stop them from happening."
Someone came up to her and handed her a tissue and it wasn't until she brought her fingers to her cheek did she realize she was crying more than she thought. She dabbed her face, under eyes and her nose before she lifted the paper once again.
"I remember that night your parents went out and you were drunk by the time I came over. I had to carry you to bed at 7:30 at night and I sat up watching you sleep to make sure you didn't choke on your vomit. I remember that time you drank so much you slapped my hands away from you, telling me not to touch you. You were so drunk you didn't even know it was me." She glanced up to see Santana rubbing her eyes with her fingers, desperately trying to conceal her tears. "What sucks is that you don't remember these nights. The nights or days I sat there and made sure you were okay. I was there. I'm still here, because I love you. Sometimes I can't help but think that you're punishing me."
Her admission was nearly inaudible. It was a whisper of a breath but the room was so freaking quiet that even a pin being dropped was possible to be heard.
"Watching you drink until you pass out or become belligerent is the worst kind of torture, because I know why you do it. But the thing is, is I'm not in that numb world Santana. I need you here with me. Your life is not at the bottom of that drink in your hand…" She took in a slow, calming breath. Eyes focused on the words she already knew by heart. "Your life is here, waiting for you to live it. Your life is my hand in your hand. Maybe sometimes you just forget." Brittany shrugged her shoulders, bit on her lower lip and desperately tried not to look up at Santana. But she could see, out of the corner of her eye, that her girlfriend was lifting her hand to her own eyes, wiping them dry.
"So, is this my punishment? Is this what I get for not seeing it, for not knowing just by looking at you, for not being there to stop it?" Her head tilted to the side as her voice cracked with the words she spoke. "To watch the love of my life slowly disintegrate into a world of nothing but misery? To watch my one and only fade away and her light dim?" She shook her head and sniffled, the back of her hand coming up to wipe her nose. "Because, if it is I'm sorry. I'm so sorry baby. As yours, I should have protected you and kept you safe and held you close to me all of the time. I love you. I just…" She spared a quick glance to her girlfriend, an utter mess of tears. "I just don't know how to fix it. If I could I would, you've got to know that. I would do anything for you. I love you Santana Lopez, maybe sometimes you just forget what that means. Love always, Brittany."
The room stayed silent for a few moments and she gathered her papers together, doing her best to regain her composure before looking back up to them. The clapping started before she found her courage to lift her head, but it helped speed the process along. A warm hand on her arm was felt before she made any kind of eye contact, but she knew who it was. Her body turned immediately into Santana's, her face burying itself into the crook of the shorter girl's neck.
"I'm sorry Britt." Santana breathed against Brittany's cheek, letting her lips graze the skin there before placing a kiss to the spot. Her arms wrapped around the blonde's middle, her hands caressing her back soothingly. "I'm so fucking sorry." She murmured, trying to pull their joined bodies away from the front of the room and off to the side as the counselor took over the podium. "Jesus." She shook her head at herself, her arms tightened around her girlfriend's body keeping her as close as possible.
"How'd it go?" Brittany asks, leans against the door frame of her girlfriend's childhood bedroom and crosses her arms over her chest. Santana looks up from her girlfriend's bag she's been unpacking and smiles with a shrug.
"You know, it's weird." Santana decides on with a sigh and stands up straight, dropping the sweater in her hands back down into the bag. "I feel like, almost like there's a weight that's been lifted off my shoulders." She muses, studying her girlfriend's face as she speaks.
"Me too." Brittany says after a few moments of silence, making Santana's head drop and she nods into her chest.
"Yeah." Her voice is soft and she lowers herself to the bed, patting the spot beside her for Brittany to sit. The blonde does as requested and takes a seat next to her girlfriend and that had that is offered. "You're so strong." Santana tells her, rubbing her thumb on the back of Brittany's hand and resting her head against the blonde's.
"Santana." Brittany whines but there is amusement laced in her tone.
"What? You are." The Latina affirms with a smile, leaning her shoulder into her girlfriends. "I saw you moving the furniture around in the living room before." Brittany giggles and turns her head to kiss Santana's cheek.
"I'm beginning to think your mom uses me for my muscles." She flexes her arm getting a laugh from the girl beside her.
"Probably." Santana sighs, resting her chin on Brittany's shoulder and ghosting her lips against her cheek. "You know what I mean though." She says this so quietly, only meant for the blonde to hear, and she does.
"I know." Brittany replies, her voice so low it comes out crackly.
Brittany pulls the curtains from the bay window of her parent's house and leans forward to look out the window. It's dark out now but she can see her girlfriend perfectly from the porch light and the full moon shining down. She grins to herself, watching Santana shove her hands into the pockets of her winter coat, her head tilted up to the sky and no worry on her face.
The blonde walks towards the front door, grabs her coat and glances over her shoulder to find their families still sitting in the dining room talking. The door squeaks but the Latina doesn't flinch at the noise, just keeps her focus on the stars and moon. Brittany slowly walks beside her, hooks her arm through Santana's and leans her head onto her shoulder.
"Nice night." Brittany hums out, cuddling closer into the other girl's body. She can feel Santana nod and the way her body buzzes against her own as she sighs in agreement.
"You know what my favorite moment is, well, one of them anyway." Santana breaks the comfortable silence between them, shrugging her shoulder.
"What?" Brittany asks, her smile growing as she waits for the answer.
"That Fourth of July, when you kissed me." The Latina admits, her voice shy but sincere. "I'll never forget the way I felt when your lips touched mine." She whispers, turning her head to the side to press a kiss to Brittany's.
"What's your favorite?" The blonde asks after a few short minutes of silence.
"Hmm?" Santana hums in response, smiling back at Brittany curiously.
"Well, you said that Fourth of July was one of your favorites. So, do you have a number one?" She inquires.
Santana is quiet for a little while. Breathing in slowly, watching the mist puff from her mouth and then clears her throat. She turns her body to face Brittany's which causes the blonde to lift her head up from Santana's shoulder. The Latina smiles, getting the same from the blonde and she leans in to press a chaste kiss to her girlfriend's lips.
"My favorite moment is this one." She says in a low, soft voice. A voice that is only meant for them to hear. Brittany's eyebrows furrow a bit and her head tilts a little to the side with curiosity. "And all of the other moments that happen between us after this." Her arm slips from Brittany's and her hand trails down the sleeve of Brittany's jacket until she grabs her hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. "When I was broken, you didn't run away. You stayed, picked up the pieces and you fixed me. You've loved me even when I didn't love myself. And I know I've said it before, but, thank you so much for loving me." Brittany's lips tighten, covering her teeth and she playfully rolls her eyes, a trick she does to ward away tears. "I love you." Santana leans in and up to press a kiss to the blonde's lips, letting it last a little longer than a peck.
"I love you."
"I'm gonna do my best to make it up to you, to love you as hard as you've loved me and to make you as happy as you make me." Santana grins, letting her arms wrap around Brittany's waist, swinging their bodies back and forth.
"I know a good place to start." Brittany whispers, her hands reaching behind her to grab Santana's hands from her back, separating their bodies a few inches.
"Oh yeah?" The Latina giggles, watching one of her hands be dropped from Brittany's. The blonde nods with a mischievous smirk on her face, dipping her free hand into the pocket of her jacket only to lift it out in a loose fist.
"Agree to marry me and we can call it even." She raises her closed hand up between them and turns her hand around to reveal a black box in her palm. Santana's eyes widen, her lips part and she breathes out a tiny cloud of air that dances between them.
"Brittany." Santana whispers, eyes flickering from blue eyes to the black box.
"When…" She starts, swallows hard and clears her throat. "When things were dark and… there were times I was afraid I was going to lose you." Brittany admits, her voice shaky and her eyes blink rapidly to fight the little prickles of tears daring to form. "And I just couldn't imagine this place, my life, without you in it. Even before, I… when I looked into the future I saw 'us'." She explains, her eyes lock into Santana's. "We say 'I love you' and 'forever' and 'always'." She brings her other hand up to lift the top of the box to reveal the diamond ring hidden inside and she smiles wide when she hears the gasp escape her girlfriend's mouth. "Marry me Santana. Marry me because I will forever love you, always."
Santana's head is nodding, her mouth moving but words escape her. Brittany giggles as she watches Santana's reaction and pulls the ring out of the box to slide onto a tanned finger. She holds the hand in her own, admiring the way the diamond glistens against the moon light.
"Yes." Santana finally lets out in a soft, barely there whisper. "A thousand times yes." She adds, her eyes looking down at the new piece of jewelry on her body. When she looks up to meet blue eyes she is greeted with sparkling blue eyes that seem to have speckles of glitter in them from the night's sky. Her breath hitches in her throat and she brings her hands to rest on Brittany's cheeks. "I love you so much." She tells the blonde, as she caresses the soft skin beneath her thumbs.
"I love you forever infinity sweetheart." Brittany reminds her before leaning forward to press her lips to Santana's.
The End