Trigger warnings for implied/discussions of abuse. Nothing graphic.
Chapter 14 - The Past and Pending
Santana P.O.V.
From the top of a Ferris Wheel, it is possible to stare out into the sky and pretend that you are anywhere else on the planet.
I find that with Brittany's hand in mine, it is possible to do that once I am back on the ground, too.
I hadn't been aware of this bizarre phenomenon until tonight. Now that I have learned it, I can't get enough. I feel like I need it as I need oxygen.
It is November in the Midwest, meaning as the night progresses, the chill of the air starts to grow intolerable. I shiver, and Brittany links her arm inside of mine and pulls me in close. Our body heat swelters and combines, warming me from the inside out. Dehydration? Hypothermia? Exposure? None of that seems relevant now that she is holding onto me.
"Come home with me?" I am in the passenger seat of Brittany's Explorer when she surprises me with the request. My eyes flicker instinctively towards the dashboard clock. It is barely 8:00. On the rare occasion that my mother is actually home to enforce it, I have a lenient 10 pm curfew on weeknights. All of my homework is done. Rachel is sleeping over at Kurt's. What's stopping me?
"My curfew is at ten," I inform her. She turns to me with a smile. When I look into her eyes, I see a depth inside of them that I cannot even imagine. Swimming there are the hopes of the entire world. I wonder what Brittany sees when she looks inside of my own mud-brown eyes. Probably nothing.
"Then I'll have you home at 9:59." She winks at me and presses her foot down harder against the gas pedal, determined not to waste any more precious minutes that we may have left to share with each other.
Within ten minutes, Brittany pulls her car into her driveway and kills the engine. She only lives a couple of blocks away from Quinn. Her house is nice, although it is not nearly on the same scale as the Fabray mansion. Either way, it is much more extravagant than my tiny, one-story Lima Heights home.
"Come on," she interrupts my insecurities about not being enough for her as she waves me through the garage entrance. The door spits us out into the Pierce kitchen where Brittany tosses her car keys down against the dining room table before guiding me into the hall.
"Mom! Dad! I'm home!" she calls into the dark house as she starts to slowly peel off her warming layers. I float behind her, following like a loyal puppy.
"Oh good, you're home. I was starting to get worried about you Brit Brit." A blonde woman that could pass for Brittany's twin if Brittany were a couple years older appears suddenly in the stairwell. I have met Mrs. Pierce a couple of times before at our football games, but now that I am actively dating her daughter, I feel just a little bit awkward in her presence.
"Santana," the woman nods her head towards me with a soft smile. "It's good to see you again."
"It's nice to see you too, Mrs. Pierce," I blush politely at the woman who is wearing a white bathrobe and holding a steaming mug of tea gently inside of her hands.
Mrs. Pierce is the mother that I quietly wished that my mother could be. She worked hard and while Brittany's father made good money as an economics professor at the University of Northwestern Ohio, it was Mrs. Pierce who was the true breadwinner of the family. From my understanding, she was self-employed. She sold life insurance policies to young couples and made a killing off it.
Despite what a busy woman she is, at the same time Mrs. Pierce manages to exemplify the perfect stay-at-home-mom persona as well. She is the type of mother who doesn't pose the risk of burning the house to the ground every time she tries to cook. She is the mother who remembers that her daughter hates the yolk in hard boiled eggs and as an irrational fear of clowns. She is the mother who would know when a Cold War was slowly transitioning into a full-blown World War III right under her nose…
"Please honey, how many times do I have to tell you, it's Sheryl. Mrs. Pierce makes me sound way too much like my mother-in-law and between you and me, I am not quite ready for that." She reaches out, her fingers dancing lightly against my shoulder. "Now, it wasn't too cold for you girls out there tonight, was it? I tell them every year at the committee meeting that a harvest fair should be done in October during the actual harvest when people can enjoy it without freezing to death, but they never seem to listen to me."
"It was fine, mom." Brittany attempts to rush her mother along. "Me and Santana were just gonna go upstairs to watch a movie in my room."
She grabs onto my wrist and pulls me up the stairs towards her bedroom.
"Brittany?" Before we can completely disappear, her mother calls her back. Brittany pauses halfway up the stairs and glances back down towards her mother.
"Yeah?"
"Not too late, okay?" the woman warns with a gentle smile. "It's a school night, you know."
"Sure thing mom. Santana's mom wants her home by ten anyway." Brittany beams at her mother convincingly before she resumes to drag me by the hand up the stairs. I follow with a series of quick, choppy steps in an effort to keep up with her as she steers me inside of her bedroom.
Her ceiling is lined with the same tacky, glow-in-the-dark plastic stars that adorn my own except tonight instead of viewing them as an immature nuisance, I practically feel them prickling against my face. Inside of this room it is almost possible for me to believe that whatever life has in store for me, it will be okay now.
I throw myself down against her mattress, falling spread eagle onto my back. Brittany's queen-sized tempurpedic is much more agreeable than my own lumpy twin.
I hear Brittany giggle at me as she closes her door and flips the lock to ensure our privacy but all I can see are those stars.
"So," she asks me as I feel the mattress dip with her weight. I can feel her hot breath against my neck and I shudder. "What movie do you wanna watch?"
I push myself up into a sitting position, propped up on my forearms. "I don't know," I shrug. "I was kind of thinking that maybe we could create our own happy ending."
She smiles at me broadly, silently informing me that this is the answer that she had been hoping for. She leans forward, burying her face into the crook of my neck. Her lips attack the pulse point at my carotid artery and my body leans deeper into the mattress, giving Brittany the opportunity to crawl on top of me.
My eyes close, half-lidded as Brittany begins to plant a series of short, staccato kisses down the side of my throat towards my collarbone. I feel her hands start to dance at the hem of my t-shirt, playing with the taut skin of my abdomen.
"Brittany…" I groan, my voice low and raspy. I call out to her not because I want her to stop but because I want her to keep going so, so badly.
The thing about this is that I like Brittany, no, I love her so, so much. With her, I feel any semblance of self-control fly out the window. I have been waiting for so long for this moment and now that I finally have it, I know that I have to stop it. At least for now.
"Wait…" I mutter, and it takes every ounce of my willpower to squirm out from underneath her.
"What's wrong San?" she asks, her voice dripping with concern. When she looks up at me I notice that her eyes are slanted with the fear that she has done something wrong when in fact, she was doing everything right. Too right if there were even such a thing.
I frown at her. I don't know how to put into words that the reason that I need her to stop is because of how badly I want her to keep going.
How do I tell her that I want us to move slowly because I am afraid of messing up this relationship before it can even begin by not giving it the proper care and affection that it deserves? What if she doesn't feel the same way? What if she is just looking for a one-time thing from me?
Am I overthinking this? I don't know. What I do know is that the second that her body pulls away from mine, her absence leaves me with a lightness inside of my chest that makes me feel empty. I feel like I will die if she doesn't come back into me soon. How have I managed to survive this long without her?
"Nothing is wrong, Britt," I finally tell her. "This is perfect. You're perfect. I just… I guess that I'm just afraid that this is all moving a little bit too quickly."
"I'm sorry," she sinks.
"Don't be," I insist. "I just don't want to ruin this by moving too fast. You mean so much to me, Brit. I don't want to do anything that might make me risk losing you."
Brittany frowns at me before looking down into her lap. "It's just… I'm so used to being with guys who want this sort of thing. All the relationships that I have ever been in have really only been about sex. I don't know what girls want. I know that that sounds weird considering I am one but I just… I've never really done this before, Santana."
"Well, what do you want?" I ask. Her head darts up to look to look at me. She stares with those deep, beautiful eyes and I sense a look of confusion as though she has never been asked this question in her entire life.
"I never really thought about that."
"But that's the most important part, Brittany," I breathe. I feel immediate anger towards all the boys who have been with Brittany before this. How is it possible that they had taken advantage of her like that? How could they not see what a special person they had? How could they ever mistreat a girl as beautiful, as special, as perfect as Brittany Susan Pierce?
"You're sweet," she smiles at me.
"I just… I've wanted this for so long," I breathe.
"I have too," she nods sincerely. Her voice is low and seductive. It sounds like it is coming out of a dream. I smile at her, but it is sad. The thing is, I am having a hard time believing that it is possible that Brittany could love me as much as I love her.
I wonder if her heart stops inside of her chest every time she sees me as mine does when I see her. I wonder if she has ever felt like the air has been struck out of her lungs when our paths crossed. I wonder if she, like me, has spent her entire life struggling with her sexuality and now felt a strange sense of freedom with me.
"Brittany, have you… have you ever told anybody that you… you know, like girls?" I ask curiously. I have to know that this is not a fluke, a spontaneous exploit from a notoriously adventurous girl. I have to know if she, like me, is only experiencing pure, unadulterated love.
"No," she shakes her head. "To be honest Santana, I have never really felt this way before about a girl. I mean yeah, I've had a couple of lady crushes in the past like Beyoncé and Michelle Obama, but it has never been anything more serious than that."
I swallow heavily. Instinctively, I feel my body start to shift away from hers. This is going all wrong.
I close my eyes tight, terrified that if I don't, then I will start crying and then my embarrassment will be complete. I feel Brittany lean in closer to me before I even feel her delicate fingers wrap underneath my chin. She guides my face towards hers and when I open my eyes, hers are right there in front of me.
"You didn't let me finish," she breathes softly. "It was never anything more serious than that, but then I met you."
I blush furiously and turn my head away as Brittany releases her grip on my chin.
"How about you?" she asks. "Have you ever told anybody?"
"Only Noah," I admit to her and she gives me a look as to tell me that this is a bizarre first choice. "It was sort of spontaneous. He was going through some things and we had just broken up and he sounded like he needed it."
"Well, you don't have to hide it anymore," Brittany assures me.
"Thanks," I smile at her but then look away again. "But between you and me, Brit, I don't think that I'm ready for the whole world to know just yet."
"That's okay," Brittany assures me. "We'll take our time. Whenever you're ready we can tell people. Together."
I nod in appreciation as Brittany's face contorts in careful thought. It is clear that her initial intention of inviting me upstairs to her bedroom to make out was not going the way she had hoped. Luckily, Brittany seems to have a Plan B.
"So," she breathes. "How about that movie?"
My heart melts with the idea that she is able to read me so thoroughly.
"Sure," I smile at her. "I think that I'd like that."
I watch her the entire time as she reaches for the remote control on her night stand and flicks the television on. I curl into her side, my head finding the perfect solace inside of the crevice of her shoulder where it fits better than any pillow ever could.
I watch the Netflix banner scroll across the television and immediately, the waves of my exhaustion return.
Previously stayed by the adrenaline of being together with Brittany, the comfort that I have found pressed against her body reminds me once again that I am running on barely a handful of hours of sleep. My eyelids grow heavy underneath the pressure. I attempt to conceal a yawn but find that I fail terribly.
"Are you tired, San?" Brittany giggles. "I haven't even found a movie yet."
"I'm sorry, Brittany," I just manage to speak through my yawn. "I just haven't really been getting a lot of sleep lately."
"Then sleep," she tells me. She laughs as though this is an obvious solution to my problem, but after so many nights lying awake with Rachel, the permission that she has just offered me feels like a gift. There is no way that I can tell her this without actually telling her why so silently, I tuck my head against her chest and listen to the rhythm of her heart.
I feel as though time is standing perfectly still, like I could lay here forever and not grow any older. I register that Brittany has selected something to watch, but after that, my eyes slide closed and I don't register much of anything anymore except for how safe I feel lying here with her.
When I finally do open my eyes again, everything is foggy for a long time.
My surroundings are blurry and unfamiliar. When I blink a couple of times to clear away the final remnants of my sleep, I find Brittany smiling down at me.
Just when I was starting to think that the whole thing was all a dream.
"You missed the movie," she tells me. I sit up inside of her bed, rubbing her eyes.
"From where I'm sitting, I caught the entire thing," I tell her and Brittany beams at me. "How long was I asleep for?"
"Just over an hour. I was going to wake you up in a couple of minutes so that you could make it home before curfew anyway."
"What did you watch?" I yawn, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
"World War II in Color."
I raise an eyebrow at her. "That's a weird choice, Brittany."
"What can I say, I'm a history buff," she laughs, rolling off her bed. "I wasn't really watching it anyway. Mostly, I was watching you."
I look up at her with a broad smile. She in turn, smiles back. For a long time, neither of us say anything, we just stare at each other. The silence is comfortable. We are communicating in a language all of our own.
"San?"
The silence lasts seconds or who knows, maybe hours. Either way, Brittany is the one to break it.
"Yeah?"
"I have to pee."
"Ugh, really?" I ask her, groaning and laughing all at the same time. I had been expecting something romantic. I had been anticipating Brittany saying something that would sweep me off my feet.
"It's just… I don't want to leave you," she pouts, jutting her lip out as she stares at me with those giant puppy dog eyes that makes me melt. I can already tell that she knows how to play me like a fiddle. Lord help me.
"It takes two minutes to pee," I laugh at her and try to pretend like she hadn't just melted my heart.
"Well, two minutes is a long time to be without you."
"Well then you'll just have to be very, very brave," I tell her, leaning in close like I am about to kiss her but stopping just short, teasing. "Do you think you can handle that?"
"I might be able to manage," she smiles, showing off a dazzling row of white teeth before she leans forward and sneaks a quick pluck against my lips. "I'll be right back."
Brittany strides out of her bedroom, moving swiftly. I roll over against her bed onto my stomach with a feeling like I am on Cloud Nine. It is hard to believe how lucky I am. I never thought that happiness could exist like this.
With a satisfied expression on my face, I close my eyes and try to concentrate on my breathing. I can feel the dopey grin plastered on my face.
I wish that I could stay here forever but know that I have to leave, and not only because my curfew is rapidly approaching. No, the real reason that I know I have to leave is because I am afraid that if I stay, I will not be able to control myself with Brittany any longer and I was the one who had claimed that I want to take things slowly in the first place.
I don't give myself the opportunity to think about it. Instead, I force myself to stand up despite how comfortable this bed is. I know that if I do not move now, I never will.
I am just tying my shoes when Brittany comes back inside.
"What are you doing?" she asks, worry lines wrinkling against her forehead.
"I have to go, Brit," I tell her with as much remorse inside of my voice as I can manage.
"But why?" she whines, grabbing me by the hands and staring at me with that deep blue stare of longing. I can feel my heart start to race all over again.
"Ugh, because of that!" I laugh. "I told you Brit, this means too much to me not to take things slow. I care about you way too much to screw it up and to be completely honest, I'm not sure that I am able to control myself when I'm around you."
She grins at me slyly. "Oh really?"
"Yes, really," I nod.
"Fine then," she tells me, turning away. I notice that she is placing a little extra swing inside of the motion of her hips just to torture me. "Let me just tell my mom where I'm going and then you can spend the entire car ride telling me how irresistible I am."
Brittany extends a normally ten-minute ride back to my house to fifteen by driving at a snail's pace.
"I'm not ready to have to go all night without you," she claims and even when she finally does pull her Explorer to the front of my house, I realize that I am not ready to go all night without her either.
"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," I breath, struggling to mask my disappointment.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she confirms and flashes me that brilliant smile one last time before leaning across the center console to kiss me goodnight.
I already have one hand on the door handle, but I can't help but to lean in and deepen the kiss. I feel Brittany use her teeth to reel in my lower lip and behind closed eyes, all I see is stars.
Then, with a loud pop, she releases me suddenly. With a suffocating air of emptiness, I fall backwards.
"Goodnight, San." Now she is just playing with me. I can tell by that mysterious glint inside of her eyes. I have to practically force myself to get out of the car.
"Goodnight, Brittany." I step into the street despite the fact that my head is spinning with desire. I feel invincible. Sure, I may be William McKinley's latest social pariah and yes, I hardly feel safe inside of my own home anymore but tonight, even my deepest fears fall deaf within the space between my ears and I allow myself to relax and to forget, if only for a little while.
I open the front door as quietly as possible, trying not to call attention to myself. Andrew is fast asleep in one of the large lounge chairs. The remote control is clutched inside of his hands, television blaring its usual nonsense. As I flip the lock on the front door closed, I can't help but to feel a semblance of irony towards the idea that we lock our door every night, but instead of keeping the bad guys out, we are only keeping him in.
I linger briefly in the foyer and glare. The bubbling in the pit of my stomach is starting to drown out the easiness that had only just occupied my heart now that it is Andrew in front of me instead of Brittany. This happens every time that I see him now. It just seems so incredible to me how swiftly and easily he has managed to seep inside of our lives like osmosis. It has been less than a month and already, his toothbrush is in our bathroom, his truck in our garage, his hands on my sister…
"Santana is that you?"
My mother calls to me softly from inside of the kitchen. I swallow and blink my way back to reality.
"Yeah mom." With one final glance over my shoulder, I turn my back on Andrew and walk towards the sound of my mother's voice.
In the kitchen, I find my mother clearing dishes from what looks like Chinese take-out. She has never been much of a cook. It was our father who had been the chef of the family. But, to give my mother a modicum of credit, while she may not be able to so much as make toast without burning it, she could proudly recite from memory, the phone number of every single restaurant in Lima that offered free delivery, all within a week of moving here.
I wonder what her and Andrew had discussed over dinner. Had he worked his charm on her with a terrifying ease? Had he lied to her and told her that he was really starting to come to his own in Lima? In this house? Had he ensured her that Rachel and I were really starting to warm up to him?
I wonder if he continued to sway her with that faux, optimistic outlook of the four of us becoming a true, honest-to-god family, the kind that she has been craving with such a blind desperation ever since my father's death. He seemed the type to excel at finding people's weaknesses and exploiting them. He knew how to control not only my mother, but me and Rachel as well and that terrified me.
"You're home late," my mother comments.
"Yeah," I nod vaguely. I am standing five feet away from her, but we might as well be on two separate continents.
"Try to stay out of the living room, okay?" she asks. "Andrew had a long day at work. He's exhausted. He could barely make it through dinner without falling asleep."
I roll my eyes, but my mother is too busy wiping down the kitchen counter to notice. All I can think about is how restlessly Rachel had slept last night and how I hadn't slept at all and I realize that I am all out of reasons to feel sorry for Andrew Richardson.
"I will," I mutter. My mother does not seem to notice the disdain in my voice. She does not seem to notice anything. She may act all concerned and worried when it is convenient for her, but the way I am starting to see things, if she cannot even catch on to the worst of what is right under her nose, then there is no reason to even bother trying anymore.
I wonder what might happen if she were to lose us. If you lose your children, would you even be able to call yourself a mother anymore? Surely if it had been an accident or an unpreventable tragedy, you could, but what if you had just been stupid enough to let them slip right out from under your nose?
"So," she asks me, tossing the sponge back into the sink. "Are you gonna tell me where you've been all night?"
I'm thrown off by her curiosity. When I do not answer right away, my mother seems to interpret this in her own right. I watch as a gentle smirk emerges against the corners of her mouth.
"Do I even get to know his name?" she asks, and I freeze.
"I… I was with Brittany," I stammer, but my faltering only seems to confirm her suspicions and her smile only broadens.
"Right," she winks at me. "And how are things with what's his name? Noah?"
"How do you know about Noah?" I swallow. My mother only laughs.
"Your sister has a big mouth," she tells me and then sighs dreamily, her eyes glossing over fondly. "Oh, to be young and in love again. There is nothing like those first couple of weeks in a new relationship, Santana, when the only thing that you can think about is one another. Falling in love, it's just… magical."
She is not looking at me but through me. I try to respond but my stomach seems to be churning, struggling not to regurgitate the fair food that I had eaten only a few hours ago. I wonder who she is referring to, my father or Andrew. The mere fact that I don't know for sure makes me want to run away and cry.
"Are you okay, Santana?" I watch her face fall, concerned when she sees that I am unimpressed with her professions on love.
"I'm fine," I manage. Despite everything that I want to say, I somehow manage to look my mother dead in the eye without giving a single one of my feelings away. It is an expression, I realize, that I have learned from her.
"Rachel was in a mood when I got home from work today, too. She was already locked away in her bedroom when I got home and barely said a word to me." My mother breathes as though disappointed that a foul aura seems to be circulating in the air around here like a contagious disease. She is eyeing me like she is hoping that voicing her suspicions might inspire me to tell her the cause. I am too distracted by the content of her words to even consider giving it.
"Rachel is home?" I ask, my voice tight. "I thought that she was sleeping over at Kurt's."
That is what she was supposed to be doing. It is what she told me that she would be doing. The fact that she would not be home tonight was the only reason that I had just stolen half the night away with Brittany. Did she lie to me just so I wouldn't go out of my way to change my plans? Had something changed last minute? Had she been alone with Andrew, and if so for how long?
My heart is pounding with all of the answers that I don't have. The worst part is that I can't very well ask my mother them. Instead, I would have to cut straight to the source. Rachel.
"She told me that she went over to the Hummel's after school and was supposed to stay the night, but she came home earlier than expected." My mother shrugs, she doesn't seem to think anything of it. "Something about his step-brother's grandmother coming to town for a surprise visit… I don't know the details, but something has been going on with that girl lately, I swear. I know that she is turning fifteen soon, but you were at least sixteen before I had to start putting up with your moody teenage years."
She laughs at her own joke but when she finds that I cannot reciprocate, her face falls again; another failure to communicate with me for her record book.
"I should probably get to bed," she sighs. "My director apparently hates my arrangement for Regionals. We start storyboarding for an entire new setlist tomorrow. It is going to be a long couple of weeks, I'm afraid. Make sure you get some sleep tonight too, Santana. You look absolutely exhausted."
"I will," I tell her blankly as she walks out from behind the counter and pushes past me towards her bedroom.
"And Santana?" she calls back from the doorway of her room. I glance up at her. When I do, I notice that she is looking at me with deep, sympathetic eyes. "I won't be home until late tomorrow so do me a favor and take care of your sister please."
"I promise," I manage although my throat seems to have closed into the size of a pinhole. I wonder if she can possibly understand the scope of the punch that her words pack.
No, she can't, I remind myself. That's the whole point.
"You're a good sister, Santana," she smiles at me and I swallow against an airway which seems to have suddenly closed. "Goodnight."
"Yeah," I manage as she turns inside of her bedroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "Goodnight."
I have every intention of cornering Rachel the next morning to ask why she had come home last night when I made it clear that I did not want her home alone with Andrew ever. The thing is, when I wake up the next morning, she is already gone.
"Where's Rachel?" I ask my mother, breathless in my panic as I round into the kitchen. Usually, the sound of Rachel's elliptical routine woke me up in the morning and that is what I had been counting on, but I had been so tired last night that I must have slept straight through it.
My mother looks up from the coffee pot, alarmed by my distress.
"She went to school early this morning," she answers. "Finn picked her up with Kurt. She said something about a group biology project that her and Kurt have due this week. She sure was in a rush to get out of here this morning. She didn't even use her elliptical or eat breakfast even though I reminded her a thousand times."
That would explain why I hadn't heard it. I swallow. I am suddenly in as much of a rush to get to school as Rachel had been earlier.
I excuse myself from the kitchen and hurry to put an outfit together for school as I send Brittany a quick text asking if she could pick me up a little earlier than usual. After that, I text Rachel. Much to my relief, my sister responds almost immediately, but her response is vague, and it is hard to read her tone via text. She tells me the same thing that my mother had told me, that she was with Kurt working on a project. I don't believe her but I cannot very well tell her this through a text, so I keep it to myself for now.
Something happened last light. I can't confirm it, but I can feel it in my gut. Rachel had come home early from Kurt's and had been stuck in this house with Andrew before either me or my mother had gotten home. I do not know the details aside from what my own mind can speculate, but I know that something is wrong. I can feel it.
Brittany picks me up a little bit early as promised but seeing how she is still on the Cheerios, she still has a reputation to uphold and cannot very well show up to school looking like she just rolled out of bed like I do, so she is only early by a couple of minutes.
When she pulls up to the front of my house, she does so under the pretense that I would be in the same playful mood as I had been when she dropped me off the night before, but a lot has happened between then and now. I am so worried about what happened to Rachel that I can't even entertain the notion of being romantic and when Brittany frowns and asks me what's wrong, the only thing that I can tell her is that I think that there's something up with Rachel and that I can't go into any more detail than that. Not yet.
I get to school fifteen minutes earlier than I normally would thanks to Brittany. I find Rachel in the library, sitting with Kurt where the two of them are indeed pouring over research about the circulatory system.
I feel myself sink. When I look at Rachel, trying to make a mental evaluation from afar, she looks okay. I cannot see any physical markings that might indicate that Andrew had hurt her. She looks well-rested and like she is actually concentrating on her school work which is a good sign. I feel like I had panicked over nothing and wonder whether or not this is what my life is going to be like from now on. Still, for some reason, I cannot seem to shake the feeling in my gut that something is very, very wrong.
I don't want to give her the impression that I spent the entire morning assuming the worst when she seems so obviously fine, so I don't say anything. Yet. Besides, she would kill me if I tried to say something with Kurt right in front of her. Who knows, maybe my mother was right when she had said that Rachel's mood might just be stemming from the fact that she is a fifteen-year-old girl with a lot on her shoulders. Maybe it is just the stress of Regionals, or this upcoming project. Maybe her sulkiness had nothing to do with Andrew at all.
I know that I will have to talk to her eventually but force myself to step away from the over-protective bubble that I want to wrap her for the rest of time. For now, at least.
I make it a point to corner her in the hallway a little bit later but as the day progresses I find that our paths never seem to cross at the right time.
I had caught glimpses of her in the hallway in the morning and expect to see her in glee during lunch, but she had rushed into the choir room citing a need to miss rehearsal due to an advising appointment with the guidance counselor and then left without so much as another word, much to the disappointment of our teammates who had a lot of words regarding the fact that our lead was skipping a rehearsal so close to Regionals.
I don't see her once after lunch and by the time the final bell rings, I am tired of tip-toeing around her and concoct a plan to wait for her at her locker, ending this ridiculousness once and for all.
My plan goes sour before it can even begin.
I get to Rachel's locker later than I had intended thanks to a group project in my American History class that I have due at the end of the week. I have known about this assignment for over a month but finally, with the due date rapidly approaching, my over-bearing partner has had enough of my excuses.
"I have to babysit my little sister today," I tell the girl quickly, throwing my books into my backpack.
"Isn't your sister like fourteen years old?" she asks me. Her eyebrows shoot up, curious. She is weirded out by me, I can tell.
"My mom is… protective." I think of the lie quickly and slam my locker door shut.
"The project is due on Friday, Santana!" she insists. I can hear the frustration rising inside of her voice as she complains about my work ethic only to have me stand fidgety in front of her, barely paying attention.
"Are you even listening to me?"
My eyes snap back to meet hers as she finally realizes that the entire time she has been talking, I have not been paying the slightest bit of attention.
"Honestly?" I ask and then shake my head. "No."
"God, you are so frustrating!" she moans. "You are honestly the worst partner that I have ever had to work with. You do realize that I am trying to go Ivy League next year Santana, right? What do you think that Harvard or Princeton or Cornell is going to say when they look at my transcript and see a big, fat zero as my history grade?"
"I don't know, Hannah," I sigh, unable to hide how truly little I care about this problem.
"Fine, whatever," she waves her hands at me, defeated. "I'll just do it myself. Don't expect me to put your name on it though."
"No problem," I tell her and waste no more time before taking off down the hallway. Sure, taking a zero on a project that is worth a quarter of my history grade would be a hard blow, but it seems like a low price to pay compared to the alternative; to have to wonder if Rachel is planning on avoiding me forever.
I run to her locker, hoping that she is still there. Thanks to Hannah, the final bell had already rung five minutes ago. The hallways are starting to empty now as people stream from the school. With a fierce disappointment, I turn the corner towards Rachel's locker and notice immediately that she is already gone.
A panic rests high inside of my throat. I know that there are a million rational explanations as to why Rachel isn't here, or why I haven't seen her all afternoon, or even why she is avoiding me, but these days, my mind is programmed to assume the worst.
I take deep breaths, begging myself to just relax and wait. I lean up against Rachel's locker, attempting to act naturally, but as seconds pass that turn into minutes and finally, into half an hour, a dread fills me that I simply can't ignore any longer.
I push myself away from Rachel's locker with the understanding that I have to find her. My first instinct tells me to look in the choir room but when I go there, the room is dark and abandoned. There is nobody in the auditorium either.
I make a full lap around the school and text and call her with no answer before making my way back to her locker to see if maybe, just maybe she has shown up.
The hallways are completely empty by now. I am not expecting Rachel to be at her locker, but it still feels like a punch to the gut when she isn't there.
I turn away from the locker. I think about heading home to meet Rachel there. It doesn't seem likely that she would leave the school on her own without even telling me, but it is the last thing that I can think of and I know that she will have to show up to the house eventually. When she did, I would rather already be there waiting than risk her being alone with Andrew again.
What had Andrew done to her last night?
I feel my feet start to pick up speed in my panic. I don't even realize that I am running at a near sprint until I turn a corner and collide head-on with another person. Hard.
I stumble backwards, only just managing to retain my footing. Thankfully, the person that I had run into does as well although the distinct sound of scattering papers tells me that my actions are not without total consequence.
I look up from the plethora of paperwork scattered at my feet, prepared to apologize but I am silenced when I look up and am met with the wide, surprised eyes of Emma Pillsbury, the school guidance counselor.
"Santana!" she gasps, shocked by my rush and the apparent distress on my face. "Are you okay?"
"I… I'm fine, Ms. Pillsbury," I tell her quickly, trying to mask the fear in my voice.
"What are you still doing here?"
"I'm just… I'm looking for my sister. Have you seen her?" I ask. I do not particularly want to bring the school guidance counselor anywhere even close to this but I am desperate and have to try something.
"Oh!" A dawn of realization spreads across her face like she knows something that I do not. "You know, I called your house earlier when Rachel didn't return to any of her classes after lunch. Your father answered. He said something about a dentist appointment that Rachel had forgotten all about. He signed her out of school for the afternoon."
My blood freezes with a fear that is so genuine that I am surprised that I do not drop right here. I almost even miss the little quip that Ms. Pillsbury had made, accidentally mistaking Andrew as being my father.
I knew that he had something to do with this. I should have stopped pretending that I didn't from the beginning.
"T-thank you, Ms. Pillsbury." I attempt to keep calm but my body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. Muscles stiff, I push away from her, walking as casually as possible as to not incite alarm. The second that I turn the corner out of her site, I pick up speed, sprinting to the other side of the school towards the senior parking lot, praying that Brittany was out of Cheerios practice by now and available to give me a ride because I need to get home and I need to get home fast.
"Santana!"
I hear my name and the familiar command behind the voice has me skidding instinctively to a halt. I turn, cringing, yet unsurprised to see a very angry looking Sue Sylvester approaching me.
"You are aware that I can have you suspended for running in the hallway, correct?" she asks. I swallow but remain silent. I am almost positive that running is not a suspend-able offence, but then again, you never know with Sue Sylvester. "Aside from that, you run like a three-legged antelope. Do you know what happens to three-legged antelopes in the wild safaris of Western Africa, Santana? They get killed first."
"I'm sorry Coach," I pant as I press a palm into my side, attempting to rub out the stitch that is rapidly forming there from just having sprinted for the first time since quitting the Cheerios.
"Look at you," the coach shakes her head, clicking her tongue with disappointment. "You have really let yourself go ever since leaving the Cheerios, Santana. Such a shame."
"I don't mean to cut you off, Coach but I need to find Brittany. I need a ride home. Now."
The Coach retreats with a slight raise of her eyebrows. She is not used to being spoken to so boldly. Her eyes narrow, suspicious but instead of letting me go, she pulls me in a little bit closer.
"Brittany cannot drive you home right now," she settles, placing her hands on the hips of her dark blue tracksuit. "I am fitting her for the cannon that we plan on shooting her out of for the opening of our Nationals routine. I have to do something drastic now that I have lost my two best cheerleaders. Keep in mind, I have big plans for you too should you chose to return, although I don't think that we can find a cannon big enough to get around your enormous chest."
My face falls. It is not Coach Sylvester's continuous insults that get to me, it is the fact that Brittany is not available and Rachel can be home alone with Andrew as we speak and the only way that I have to get to her now is by my own two feet, which would take a half hour at best. I do not want to cry in front of Coach Sylvester of all people, but the tears spring up despite what I want and immediately, the menacing coach's face falls, embarrassed for me.
"I… I really need Brittany, Coach," I beg. "Please. I need to get home."
The coach pauses and looks both ways down the hallway like she is trying to make sure that nobody can see us, can see this. Finally, she grabs me by the arm and drags me towards her office. Her grip is strong and I have no choice but to follow as she pulls me into the room and closes the door behind her.
"What happened, Santana?" the woman asks me. Her voice is quiet and calm and it clashes horribly with her stony features. I swallow. I realize, too late, that I have just caught myself in a trap and like a snared animal, I have no way out.
"My sister… I… I don't know where she is. I just need to get home. I have to make sure that she's there, that she's okay."
I explain as much as I can without actually having to explain. The way that Coach Sylvester is staring at me, wondering if there is a reason why I should think that Rachel would not be okay, I am afraid that she is going to press me for details but the only thing that she does is nod stiffly before grabbing a set of car keys off of her desk.
"Come on then," she insists, guiding me back out of her office. "I'm driving."
I burst through the front door like a tornado.
"Rachel!" I call through the house. My voice is high-pitched and frantic. I try my hardest to control it but for all of my efforts, I am unsuccessful.
I run straight for her bedroom. The door is closed but I push through it anyway, demanding access without even knocking. The door opens only a couple of inches before it comes to a halt, so sudden that I run right into it.
After we moved in, Rachel discovered that if she opened the closet that sat adjacent to her bedroom door, the two doorknobs would interlock in a way that could effectively lock her inside of her room. If she has been home alone since after lunch, at least she had been smart enough to do this.
"Rachel, are you in there?" I call to her, banging my fist against the door. I don't even bother trying to mask my concern.
"You're going to break my door down, Santana."
It is as though she doesn't even notice my panic and after the relief of Rachel finally acknowledging me and proving that she is not dead in a ditch somewhere dies down, I feel the weight of my fear translate into anger.
"Let me in," I demand forcefully. I hear her groan like she is not in the mood for this sort of intrusion but I don't care anymore.
"Let me in, Rachel!" I demand more forcefully, banging on the door with my fist.
"I'm doing homework," I hear her call to me although the both of us know that she is doing no such thing.
"Bullshit," I call her out. "We need to talk, let me in."
A silence reigns supreme for a moment. Rachel is out of excuses and we both know it.
I hear a reluctant scuffle as Rachel walks towards me. She moves the door that is locking me out slowly and I barely give her time to back away before bursting inside of her room. She has to jump out of the way just to avoid being hit by the door.
"Where the hell have you been all day?" I ask. My face is a mask of rage. I know that I am more afraid than I am angry but right now, I am too focused on Rachel to discern between the two. "First I find out that you lied to me about staying at Kurt's house last night and then you skip school all afternoon? Do you have any idea how worried I've been about you?"
"It's not that big of a deal, Santana," Rachel insists. Her voice is foreign. Using this tone, she sounds nothing like the sister that I know and I can't help but wonder whether or not this will be a permanent consequence of what Andrew has done to her. Whatever that may be. "I had to come home to get some homework that I left home at lunch. I accidentally fell asleep. I didn't mean to miss class."
"You told everyone that you had to miss glee to go to a guidance appointment."
"Because I knew that you would ask a million questions about me having to go home!" My anger is seeping into her. I hear it in the way that she is starting to yell back at me now and I struggle to pretend that it doesn't bite. "I didn't answer your text or your phone call because I thought you would freak when you found out I missed class."
"This isn't about you missing class, Rachel!" I am struggling to control my volume. "I know that Andrew answered the phone when Ms. Pillsbury called the house looking for you. I know that he was here. What did he do to you?"
"He didn't do anything to me!" she insists, but the way that her voice tapers at the end and her eyes turn away from me when she says it tells me that she is lying. "I didn't even realize that Andrew was home until I woke up and when I did realize it, I locked my bedroom door. I don't think even he knew that I was home. He probably just thought I was ditching. Nothing happened."
"And yesterday?" I ask. We both know that Rachel is lying but neither of us say anything. I am afraid that if I continue to press too directly, it will only push her away so I have to try a different approach.
I watch Rachel take her time answering me. She lowers herself slowly down onto the bed. I notice that her arm is draped protectively across her ribs when she does this. For a moment, she slips up in her carefully orchestrated front. Her face becomes a sheet of pain and I realize that Rachel hadn't looked injured this morning when I checked in on her in the library because Andrew was now being careful to only hit her where nobody could see it.
My heart speeds up. This has a whole new implication of danger. Andrew is now being more meticulous, more thoughtful, and more manipulative judging by the way that Rachel is acting right now. I know that I want to believe all of the assurances that she is telling me but I just don't anymore. I realize now that Rachel has been so busy protecting me and my mother from the truth that nobody seemed to bother to think about who would be protecting her.
"I saw Ms. Pillsbury Rachel," I tell her when she continues in her silence. "She told me that she called the house. She told me that Andrew answered the phone. He said that he had to take you to a dentist appointment. He lied for you Rachel. What was that all about?"
"Do you really think that we would even be in this situation if I knew the reason why Andrew does half the things he does?" Rachel hisses through clenched teeth and it cuts like a knife.
I have a carefully planned retort but the sheer venom behind Rachel's tone makes me hesitate and by the time I recover, I am cut off by the sound of two separate voices coming into the house from outside on the front lawn; voices which seem to be elevating.
"Is that… Coach Sylvester?"
I have never heard Rachel sound so afraid before. When I turn to look at her, I find that her face is a perfect combination of both terrified and confused.
"She offered me a ride home," I insist. The truth is that I had been so determined to find Rachel that I had flown out of the coach's car when she had dropped me off in front of the house and had all but forgotten that she was even here.
"You brought Sue Sylvester to this house?" Rachel gawks at me, her eyes wide in disbelief, mouth dangling wide open at its hinges. "Are you insane?"
"Brittany wasn't around to drive me home, Rachel," I explain. My voice sounds desperate. I wish that she could understand the panic that had been pulsing through my veins at the time that I had agreed to have Coach Sylvester drive me home. I wish that she could understand how much this situation is killing me and worse, how the fact that I have no idea what to do about it is killing me even faster. "I didn't know where you were. I have been trying to talk to you all day and you kept avoiding me and then when Ms. Pillsbury told me that Andrew answered the phone when she called home I… I panicked. I thought that something happened to you!"
"Well, it didn't and now you ruined everything!" she shouts. "Coach Sylvester is like a freaking vampire, Santana. As long as you don't invite her in, she can't hurt us. And what do you do? You invite her in."
"Coach Sylvester isn't the one who is going to hurt us," I retort. I can't even believe that she can actually stand here and accuse Coach Sylvester of coming into this house with devious intent when we both know who the real threat is.
What had Andrew done to her to make her like this? What had he said to her? I don't know and that terrifies me.
"You didn't tell her, did you Santana?" Rachel gulps. She sounds terrified by the mere idea.
"I'm not an idiot, Rachel," I roll my eyes. Aren't I, though? If I wasn't, wouldn't I have said something by now? To Sue Sylvester? To my mother? To anybody?
"I'm leaving," Rachel exclaims suddenly, pushing herself up from her bed and I am so distracted by the look of pain that washes through her eyes as she clutches onto her ribs again that I don't even register that she is walking out of her room until she has already shouldered past me.
"Where are you going?" I call after her.
"To see how screwed I am after Coach Sylvester leaves!" she shouts after me before rounding into the living room.
I think that I should follow her. I want to follow her but the truth is, I don't know what to think or what to believe anymore so I don't. Instead, I stand in the center of her bedroom stupidly, wondering what the hell had happened to my little sister while I had not been looking and more importantly, whether or not I would ever be able to get her back again.
I can tell that Andrew's explosive interaction with Coach Sylvester is over when the screaming suddenly stops.
I am listening from my bedroom because it is closer to the street than Rachel's bedroom, but even with my window open, I can't make out the words through the sheer volume.
Rachel scurries into her bedroom from the living room like a flea a moment before Andrew comes barricading back into the house, slamming the door behind him. I step into the hallway. I don't know exactly what I plan on doing should Andrew come searching for Rachel, but I know that I have to at least be there, ready to do something.
"Where is your sister?" he barks at me the moment he notices me standing there.
"She's not here," I lie, folding my arms across my chest in defiance.
"Well, where did she go?"
As if I would tell you, I think, but I don't want to risk Rachel suffering for my sarcasm so I swallow the thought.
"I don't know," I say instead. I have to force myself to keep my eyes focused on Andrew and not dart them towards Rachel's bedroom where I know that she is hiding because I don't want to give her away.
My voice is sharp. I am testing Andrew and his anger. I am testing whether or not his temper will run as short with me as it does with Rachel. Would he hit me if I made him angry enough? If he does, it might be possible to use myself to take some of the burden of Andrew's rage off of my sister, at least until we can think of a more permanent solution.
I am expecting violence but much to my surprise, he doesn't feed into me. Instead, his face softens. He stumbles uncomfortably over his words and fumbles with his fingers. It makes it incredibly difficult to see the man that I know Andrew can be, the man that has managed to worm his way into our family. I know the truth but also know with how manipulative Andrew can be, this will have to be done more carefully than I'd initially thought.
His eyes are a deep, emerald green. More profoundly, they are sympathetic as they look at me. His mouth is contorted into a frown that emphasizes his strong jaw. He wrings his hands together nervously. The motions are so gentle that it takes effort to remind myself that these are the same hands that have done so much harm to Rachel.
"Was that your cheerleading coach?" he finally asks me. There is a lingering anger still inside of his voice but it is softening even as he speaks. It is softer than when he had been yelling at Coach Sylvester and it is certainly softer than it would have been had he been talking to Rachel right now instead of me.
"Not anymore," I tell him. "I quit."
"Good. That woman is a psycho." He laughs at his own joke and doesn't even register the irony in his words. "Just let your sister know that I'm looking for her."
I don't answer him. I have no intention of telling Rachel anything or letting him anywhere near her ever again.
I raise my chin and broaden my shoulders, trying to create the illusion that I have control over this situation when the truth is, I know I have none.
"Fine," I lie. I just want this conversation to end. It has been going on long enough and I am starting to feel trapped by Andrew.
"I was thinking about ordering a pizza for dinner," he calls after me. With my back turned, I don't even bother trying to hide the way that I roll my eyes at his attempt at bribing my forgiveness.
"Do whatever you want," I mutter but I do not linger. Instead, I slink into my bedroom before Andrew finds an excuse to call me back again.
I close my door with a heavy sigh that compliments my heavy heart. Pressing my back up against the wall, I finally give myself the freedom to relax, breathing carefully as I press my open palms into my face and attempt to rub this fog out of my brain.
I count slowly to five but allow no more than that allotted amount of time to feel sorry for myself. When I reach the end of the countdown, I snap my eyes open again and step away from the door. My feelings cannot be my priority anymore. Instead, it is Rachel who I have to focus on. It is Rachel who I have to convince is safe with me again.
Or at least as safe as she can ever be as long as Andrew is living in this house.
My mother comes home early from work. I don't even realize how desperately we need her to be here tonight until she walks through the front door and I wish that I could tell her that.
It had been a burst pipe in the auditorium of Carmel High School that had done the trick. I couldn't have planned the timing better if I tried.
We eat dinner together, all four of us. My eyes remain glued on Rachel the entire time.
I still have yet to notice a single blemish that might indicate what Andrew had done to her during the moments that they were alone together but it is the stiffness in her body, the care that she has to put into every movement before she commits to it that lets me know that it is something.
I sit inside of my seat at the dining room table next to Rachel, shoveling spaghetti mindlessly into my mouth. My peripheral vision is focused on Rachel the entire time, watching as my mother serves her a generous pile of food, insisting that she is growing far too thin lately. I hadn't noticed it before, but in the almost three weeks since Andrew had moved into our house, everything about Rachel seems to have changed including the way that her body seems to be quite literally fading away.
It is when my mother moves to place the dish in front of Rachel that her elbow accidentally comes into contact with Rachel's ribs. I remember the way that Rachel had been nursing her torso earlier and if I had wondered if they were injured before, the fact that they are is confirmed when I hear a yelp escape from the back of Rachel's throat like a wounded puppy dog.
"Oh!" my mother jumps backwards, more surprised by Rachel's reaction than anything. "I'm so sorry, Rachel. Are you okay?"
I watch Rachel's face flush a deep shade of red out of both fear and embarrassment. Andrew is staring at her hard, threatening her even with silence while our mother's back is turned.
"I… I'm fine…" Rachel stutters. If I thought the sound of her pain had been bad, it is even worse to have to listen to her insist that it is nothing. "We… we played dodgeball in gym today. I'm just a little sore. That's the last time I ever pretend like I am even marginally athletic. I think that I will just stick to glee from here on out."
She laughs feebly but the panic inside of her features is obvious. I can literally see the pulse throbbing against her temple like it only does when she is in distress. The fake laugh fades from her lips the moment she realizes that she is the only one laughing.
"You got hurt like this at school?" my mother asks, narrowing her eyes as she lowers herself into her own seat. "First the Slushees and now this? That school is absolutely ridiculous. Let me tell you, stuff like that, it would never fly at Carmel. I should give that school a call."
"No!" Rachel shouts and then shrinks, realizing that her reaction was sharper than she had originally intended.
My mother's eyes snap up to meet Rachel's, surprised by her once more. The room grows very quiet.
"It's fine, mom," Rachel finally says, her voice barely above a whisper this time.
"It most certainly is not fine," my mother insists. "You're supposed to feel safe at school, Rachel. You're not supposed to have to worry about being abused!"
I hear the word mid-bite and can't help the gasp that is produced at the center of my throat. Some of the spaghetti that I had been sucking down only moments before lodges itself deep against the back of my throat. I feel my entire body seize up, my throat closing around the food as I begin to choke and gasp in an effort to clear my airway.
"Chew your food like a human Santana, please." My mother scolds me even as I am choking but at least thinks to reach over from the head of the table in order to give me a couple of hard swats on the back.
"S-sorry," I manage after a moment, eyes tearing and hands trembling as I reach to take a shaky sip of water. I use the distraction to sneak a glance towards Rachel, but she is staring absently at absolutely nothing. It looks like she hadn't even noticed the commotion in front of her.
"You know, speaking of Rachel's school did you know that they called the house earlier?"
Sensing a desperate need to change the subject, Andrew makes mention of Emma Pillsbury's earlier phone call. The room grows, if possible, even more silent. It is so quiet that I can hear the hum of the refrigerator. We are all sitting and waiting for somebody else to make the next move. Slowly, all eyes turn towards my mother, watching as her lips tighten into a single, thin line.
"Oh?" she asks carefully, prompting Andrew to continue. Her tone is dangerous like she is daring Andrew to tell her something that she does not want to hear despite the fact that Rachel has never before given her any reason not to trust her. I wonder what Andrew is trying to get at by mentioning the phone call. Whatever it is, I am certain that I don't like it.
"Yup, Rachel's guidance counselor called this afternoon," he continues with a strange tone. "She mentioned how impressed she is with Rachel's progress in a new school."
My eyebrows furrow suspiciously but on the other side of the table, my mother's only soften.
"Rachel has always been a wonderful student," she gushes. "I'm very proud of you honey."
"Thanks mom…" Rachel mutters before sinking further inside of her chair. She looks like she wishes that she could drop dead right here.
The four of us pick at the remainder of our meal in relative silence that quickly grows uncomfortable. My mother attempts to initiate small talk every couple of minutes but each one of her attempts falls flat and, in the end, we are always back to square one.
"Are you okay, Rachel?" she finally asks and my sister's eyes shoot up. She looks like she hadn't even noticed that she has been picking at her food much more than she has actually been eating it.
"Actually, may I be excused?"
"You hardly touched your dinner," our mother points out, her eyes sinking with a combined look of both disappointment and concern as she glances down at Rachel's dinner plate.
"I have a stomach ache," Rachel insists and I can tell that this is not a complete lie.
My mother doesn't say anything right away. For a moment, I think that she is actually going to tell Rachel no for a change but then, before a single word can escape from her mouth, her cell phone starts to ring.
"It's work," she sighs to nobody in particular as she looks down at the screen of her cell. "They must have gotten the auditorium fixed. I'll probably have to go back in."
Rachel utilizes my mother's distraction to her advantage and takes it as an opportunity to leave. As my mother slips out of her chair to answer her phone, Rachel slips out of hers to go back to her bedroom. I let her get a couple of steps ahead of me but do not bother saying anything before following.
Rachel is walking surprisingly quickly but I still catch up to her easily. She tries to pretend that she doesn't notice me and even attempts to slam her bedroom door in my face, but I intercept it and shove inside before she can lock me out. I am determined to make her talk to me but then, I catch the look inside of Rachel's eyes and force myself to take a step back. There is so much pain inside of her face that suddenly, I forgot what I was going to say in the first place.
"You wanna talk about it?" I hear myself ask as Rachel throws herself face-down against her mattress.
"No," I hear her muffled response as she thrusts a pillow over her head in an attempt to block out the world around her.
I reach over and snatch the pillow away from her, tossing it to the side. I take a seat on the corner of her mattress and make myself comfortable. Recognizing my intention to stay until I force her to talk to me, Rachel rolls over and glares.
"Try," I insist. My sister pauses. The desperation inside of her eyes is laced with a hint of conflict as she debates just how much she wants to share with me. I continue to encourage her with a gentle expression but every time I think she is going to say something, her words swallow into silence once more.
I sigh and look down into my lap.
"One to ten?" I finally ask her. It is a game that we used to play when we were younger. Whenever something bad would happen, whenever Rachel got bullied or rejected or hurt, I would offer her a pain scale and she would show me how brave she was.
She sneaks me a tiny smile.
"Zero," she says with a soft voice that feels like a punch.
"Look at me Rachel," I tell her. She does but her eyes are red-rimmed and water logged. They are so sad that they make my heart cleave into two distinct pieces. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. There is no shame in telling somebody. You're stronger than him. You can beat him."
"It doesn't feel that way sometimes, Santana…" Rachel breathes. Her voice is quivering. I know that she needs so much more from me than these bullshit assurances right now. She deserves so much more from me. She deserves so much more than any of this.
"You know, sometimes I'm afraid of facing him too, you know," I admit to her, laying down next to her.
"Why?" Rachel asks, glancing up at me from where her face is blurred inside of the mattress. "Santana, he doesn't… he doesn't do anything to you, does he?"
"No," I shake my head quickly to ease her fears. It breaks my heart because he doesn't do anything to me. Even when I had tried to instigate him earlier he had only asked for Rachel and I can't for the life of me understand why it has to be her. Why it can't be me. "I'm afraid of what he will do to you."
Her eyes fall away from mine again. I can tell that she is thinking very hard about what I have just told her.
"Did you know that when you were little the only way that mom could get you to stop crying was to move your crib into my room?" I ask her, cutting through the painful quiet.
"Really?" she asks me quietly. "Why didn't you ever tell me that before?"
"I don't know," I shrug. "Because after a while, you would stop being a pain in the butt and mom and dad would move you back into their room and I… well I started to have a hard time falling asleep on the night's that you weren'tthere. I'm the oldest. I'm supposed to be the tough one. I guess that when I was younger, I had this idea in my head that if you were out of my sight then I would lose you forever. I'm starting to get that feeling again, Rachel."
Rachel's brows furrow in the center.
"I think that I might be afraid of losing me too," she finally admits.
"Then why won't you talk to me?" I ask. "Why did you lie to me when you told me that you were sleeping over Kurt's house last night? Why won't you tell me what happened while you were home today? What does he have on you, Rachel?"
"I didn't lie to you," she insists. "I was going to sleep over Kurt's house last night, really, but Finn's grandmother came over unexpectedly and they went out to dinner. Kurt invited me to go with them but I… I didn't want to interfere."
"What did he do to you?"
"He threw a glass at me. It caught me in the ribs." I can't tell if she is lying to me or not which means one of two things; either she is telling the truth or she is getting better at lying. I do not like the implications of either.
"We have to tell mom, Rachel," I sigh. I think about earlier, how I had confronted Andrew only to have him put a show face on for me. Andrew is after Rachel and Rachel only. I may be present enough to notice, but our mother is so far removed at this point that unless we say something, she will never be able to figure it out on her own.
"Maybe not," Rachel breathes. She still sounds terrified.
"Rachel…"
"Okay, maybe we do, but it has to wait until after Regionals." She is compromising with me and when I continue to stare at her uncertainly, she stiffens. "Think about it, Santana. If mom loses Regionals because she is too distracted then she will lose her job. What will happen to us then? We can tell her, but it has to be done carefully. This will destroy her if we bombard her and at this point, that wouldn't be any better than if we just never told her at all."
"Rachel…" I project my uncertainty but Rachel seems determined.
"I'm fine," she insists. My face falls. She is not fine. I know that deep down, she has to know that but how are you supposed to tell somebody that? "It's not that bad, Santana. I've made it this far. I can make it a couple more days. We will wait until after Regionals and then we will tell mom. Then we'll be fine."
I open my mouth, prepared to press her. There are so many things that she is not telling me.
"Fine." I agree even though my instincts are screaming at me not to. I realize however that despite my instincts, Rachel is right. This is not a crossroads, it's a dead end and it is our job to dig the tunnel out.
I stand up to round out of Rachel's bedroom. I need a moment to myself. I need a moment to think about all of this, to breathe.
When I leave, I hear Rachel close the door firmly behind me and open her closet, locking herself inside and me out.
The sound of music coming from the kitchen begins suddenly. I cringe at the noise; some old-time country tune that cracks every couple of seconds as though it were being played on an old, broken record player. I peer down the hallway towards the source of the noise and watch my mother come into view with Andrew following right behind her.
They step melodically in time with the music. One of Andrew's hands is on my mother's waist. The other is clasped firmly inside of her hers, their fingers intertwined tight.
My mother has the ghost of a laugh inside of her face but it still looks pasted on like an old black-and-white movie.
She spins whimsically, making a half circle before Andrew grabs her and pulls her back into him so that her back is pressed up against his chest. Her arms are crossed in front of her, hips swaying gently in time with the music.
I know exactly what she is doing. Scenes like this used to be commonplace in our old home. My father had a ridiculous collection of old records in our apartment spanning across ever genre. He loved to dance and even though he was terrible at it, I know that my mother loved to dance with him.
With her eyes closed, she is pretending that it is not Andrew who is holding her, but my father and I realize now just how deep our Andrew problem really runs. Rachel is right. We do have to tell our mother, but we have to do so carefully. Anything less than that would end in disaster.
The sight alone makes me want to vomit all over the place. All of the food that I had just eaten boils angrily inside of my stomach as emotions that I cannot even place spread like fire.
When my mother opens her eyes again she catches me staring right away. Her cheeks flush, embarrassed to have been caught trying to pretend and she steps away from Andrew immediately.
"Santana, can you finish the dishes for me please?" she coughs uncomfortably, rushing to grab her jacket off of the back of the couch before draping it around her shoulders. "I'll be working late tonight. I have to make up for all of the time that we missed."
"I have homework to finish," I mutter before turning back into my bedroom, moving quickly so that she will not see the tears that have started to fall down my cheeks.
Despite them, my voice is strong. It doesn't falter and I use the last of my strength to step inside of my room. When I do, I slam the door extra hard just so I can at least pretend that I do not hear my mother when she tries to call me back to her to ask what is wrong.