Hello gorgeous. I'm proud to say that I wrote this in a single day because I was totally feeling it. So... applause for me. It's a Santana chapter because I can. And also, I think the next few chapters are probably gonna be either Santana or Shelby because I just feel like there's so much going on in their minds right now that needs to be addressed. Of course, I won't forget Rachel, though:) There's a huge blizzard going on where I live right now and we've got like 40 or 50 cms snow (15 to 20 inches) and it seriously feels as if I lived in my personal winter wonderland. We haven't had that much snow in years.
Anyway thanks for all your lovely reviews, they always make me smile so much and every time I get a notification, I act like I'm on crack. Not that I know how people act when they're on crack, I have no experience whatsoever lol but it's the way I'd expect them to act.
Okay, I'm rambling. Sorry. Here's chapter 31 for you.
Please enjoy.
Stay safe and healthy and leave a review:)

(chapter title is the same-titled song by Amy Winehouse.)

Started writing: 08.02.2021

Finished writing: 08.02.2021


Chapter 31
Love Is A Losing Game

Santana.

iMessage

Tuesday, 26th January

2:38 p.m.

Britts: hey, so u up 2 another movie night?

6:05 p.m.

Britts: helloooo?

Wednesday, 27th January

4:13 p.m.

Britts: San, why r u ignoring my texts?

With a sigh, Santana turns off her phone. Her eyes clamp tightly shut -almost as if in pain.

Okay, so maybe she's not exactly heading Ms. Jackson's advice but hey, she's a teenager. Call it rebellious, serve it with a bow on top and no one's gonna think twice about it. But the thing is this is Santana and when Santana's being rebellious you just have to think twice about it. Just like you know that there's more to it when Rachel's getting all bitchy and defensive. No one that knows her a little more closely would pass it for a 'teenager thing'.

"Do not run away from your problems," Ms. Jackson said in their last session.

She was fumbling with the colored ends of her hair -she just recently got curtain bangs and Santana thought, biting hard on the inside of her cheek, that without the round pair of glasses, she'd probably look pretty hot for a woman in her mid-thirties. (She's been noticing these sorts of things more often lately. The beautiful, sparkling eyes of the chick on the other side of the bus, the gorgeous smile of the waitress at Breadstix, the way Helen Carter's legs looked fucking long and hot in those yoga pants.)

"That's the worst trait us humans have; we always run away from our problems and issues, we avoid personal conflict," at that, she suddenly puffed out a dry chuckle that didn't sound that amused. "But then we keep fighting wars, how ironic."

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and leaned back. "Anyway, you shouldn't try to avoid it. Because if you do, it's just going to pile up and then one day it'll come crashing down on you."

At the time, Santana was actually thinking about not running away. So, she lowered her eyes to her fingers, rubbing up and down her right thigh and asked, "What if someone confronts me, though, and I don't feel ready to, like, come out? Do I have to, anyway?"

Ms. Jackson shook her head, fingers grabbing at her glasses so they wouldn't slip right away. "No, no. That's not what I'm talking about. You come out when you feel ready and not a single second earlier, okay? You're a teenager and teenagers, in my personal and professional experience, are emotional messes. Puberty brings mood swings, depression, anxiety… you name it. And you're already emotionally unstable enough as it is, we don't need anything adding to that."

She shifted in her seat. "But the point is, Santana, running away doesn't help. We all know what happens when you run away from your problems or start looking the other way because you can't emotionally deal with the consequences of facing them."

Santana raised an eyebrow. She wasn't sure what her therapist was talking about.

The woman folded her hands on one of the armrests.

"I'm talking about your mother, Santana," Ms. Jackson said after a second. "When you first came to be my patient I, of course, talked at length to both your parents. We had multiple emergency sessions so that they could both get everything off their chests. But I talked especially to your mother because I found -and she found so too- that she had a much harder time accepting your illness and dealing with it. You see, your mother missed a whole lot back then. But not only because she was busy or oblivious or because she hadn't even thought of the possibility of something like that happening to you. But also, because she looked away. She ran away from the thought of her baby having such a severe mental illness. She more than once looked the other way, avoided direct confrontation. And that's one of the reasons the anorexia was able to take over to the extant it did. My point is, Santana, as you can see, running away does not help fixing your problems. Most of the time, it just serves to worsen the entire situation."

Santana had never heard a professional's observation on her parents' behavior regarding that issue before, so she was surprised to hear her mother -her mother of all people- being this harshly criticized. Okay, she hadn't done the most perfect job back then, but Santana had never thought of it as a reason for her to sit in the therapist's chair like she had to. She had never thought it possible that her mother might've -albeit subconsciously- intentionally downplayed the signs. For the sake of upholding the pretense that her family couldn't have been dealt such awful cards—not her family.

"You think it was her fault?" Santana asked after a while and Ms. Jackson sighed deeply.

"Oh, well, I guess I've just opened a whole new can of worms, there, haven't I?" She leaned back. "No, Santana, I don't think it was her fault. I don't think it was anyone's fault, actually. A single person or a single person's action can't be the trigger for an illness this complex. But everything that's happening around us has an impact on us, everything influences us in some way. So, you could say when the ball was already rolling, mistakes, misbehavior, sidesteps and all that, they actuated it."

She captured her lower lip between her teeth for a second, deep in thought. "Anyone who'd noticed what was up could've stopped the ball in its tracks. But by ignoring the issue it's like this person just steps aside and lets it pass. And it's the same with avoiding it, Santana, because that doesn't make it go away."

She leaned forward, placing both elbows on the tabletop. "In the end, you only give your problems the chance to grow by looking away. And then when you're forced to face them, they've become massive."

"But the thing is, I kind of can't not avoid this because if I face it, I have to tell… people."

Ms. Jackson shook her head. "There's a difference there. You can avoid the issue, pretend it's not there, pretend it's not that bad. You can avoid thinking and talking about it. Or you can talk to the people who know. Like you do now, to me. You can talk to your sister or your mother or your godmother. The point is, Santana, confrontation is never easy, nor is it comfortable. But you have to do it, so you won't suffer through it alone."

But Santana thinks she's always been rather good at suffering through her shit alone. And the way she's perfectly fine with locking herself in her room to cry, she's perfectly fine with dealing with this… issue by herself. Also, none of her options to talk to seem that great. Rachel is too young, Cassie's too busy and Mom has enough of a burden to carry around as it is. And really, Ms. Jackson has a point: Santana doesn't need anything adding to the pile of emotional chaos in her mind which is the exact reason as to why she isn't answering any of Brittany's texts. And doesn't plan on doing so either. At least not in the next few days (meaning weeks).

Even if her heart practically bursts every time her screen flares up to announce another text from Brittany. Even in school she's been doing a pretty good job at avoiding the girl, professing unfinished homework, important talks with teachers… so on and so forth. It's just… easier this way. Because if she doesn't have to talk to Brittany, then she doesn't have to think about her either. Although she has to admit, she still thinks about her almost every night and wonders why her life just can't be easy for once. Why it always has to be so fucking difficult.

Again, her screen flares up.

m starting 2 worry here san. did sth happen?

Santana's heart twists painfully in her chest. Shit, now she feels even more guilty.

"…with you," sounds Mom's voice just as she pushes open the front door. "Finally, all warm and dry."

She pulls Rachel inside with a tug at her arm and closes the door behind them. To their great surprise (and excitement), it's been snowing a little for the last two days and today, Mom decided it would be worth clearing snow. And Rachel took the opportunity to build a mini-snowman while Santana took the opportunity to go on a -in her opinion- much-needed online shopping spree.

"Wait, don't move," says Mom and Santana cranes her neck to watch her wipe some snow off Rachel's hood that probably would've slipped down the girl's sweatshirt had she taken off her jacket just like that. She plucks the pom-pom hat off Rachel's head and turns to take off her gloves and shove them into the closet.

"God, look at you," she says when she resurfaces from the depths of the wardrobe. "Your fingers are going to fall off. I told you to wear gloves for a reason."

Her head tilts back with a dramatic sigh and she makes to unbutton her coat. "Go and sit down in the kitchen."

"Sweetie?" She calls into the hallway and Santana waves a hand at her. "Can you please make some hot chocolate? We need to warm up a little and I wanted to talk to the two of you anyway."

Santana raises an eyebrow. Talk to them? That doesn't sound good at all.

"'Course, Mom," she says and stands up.

"I think I'm gonna take a bath later on," says Rachel as she slips onto her seat.

Santana turns to look at her. Her nose is red, the ends of her hair a little wet and her fingers…

"Jesus, what did you do?"

Rachel frowns. "What d'you mean?"

"Your fingers, duh," Santana fastens her movements a little. God knows her little sister needs a warm cup of cocoa to heat her fingers up. "They're blue, in case you didn't notice."

"Yeah, I know," Rachel shrugs. "I built a snowman."

"No gloves on?"

"Nu-huh."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well, that's just stupid."

"And I'm just going to ignore that comment or," Mom snaps a finger against Santana's shoulder almost in passing. "You'll have to pay for that massive ASOS order yourself."

The girl looks up from the cups she's been preparing to microwave and turns. "That's no massive order, Mom, it's only-"

"210 bucks, sweetie," Mom raises her phone to show her the mail receipt.

Beside her, Rachel can't seem to stop gaping.

"Oops," she smirks. "I can still cancel the order and take some stuff off."

She carefully puts the cups on the table and sinks into her seat, drawing one knee up to her chest.

But her mother waves a hand. "No, no, leave it. We'll make it a holiday-cheat-and-treat-day generous Shelby Corcoran edition."

She turns to Santana's sister. "Honey, if you want anything, we can take some time later today to shop a little, alright?"

Rachel's face lights up immediately. "I'd be nuts if I said no."

She wraps her fingers around the cup and seems to melt into her chair. "Thanks for the cocoa, San, by the way."

"No worries," Santana grins.

She dips a finger into the brown liquid to see if it's already cooled down enough that it won't burn her tongue when she drinks it. It's not and Santana tilts her head forward to blow into the cup.

"So, girls," beside her, her mother shifts to tuck her phone into the pocket of her jeans and then takes her cup between her hands. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

Serious business. Thinks Santana. She means fucking serious business.

To her opposite, Rachel looks at least twice as scared as Santana feels. "What is it?"

Of course -of course- Mom reached to take a sip of her cocoa first.

"You both know I'm filing for a divorce, girls. And while I was… very certain of my motives before," she takes a deep breath, finally looking up from where her fingers had traced the rim of her cup. "now, I'm not so much, anymore. Because… some things happened that made me realize I didn't take you into consideration. At least not as much as I should've. Because the fact is, girls, merely three months ago, we were a family. We were four people who…" she swallows hard. "love each other, trust each other, respect each other. And just like that, everything changed. I was angry and bitter and hurt—beyond repair, I felt at times -I still am. But what happened here, girls, is that I pulled you into it. And it was wrong of me to do that. Because your father's still your father, no matter what, and I have no right to take him away from you. I-I have no right to take the chance of a family from you."

Across the table, Rachel frowns heavily. "You're not the one taking the chance of a family from us, Mom, that's all on Dad."

Santana bites her lips. "I don't get why you're telling us this."

"I'm getting there, don't be so impatient," Mom leans back. "I've made a mistake, girls. I've regarded this whole issue as one of the relationship between me and your father. But there's a whole family clinging to it. And that's where things get complicated."

She takes a sip from her cocoa, probably to calm herself. "What your father did is unacceptable and immoral, and it hurt me in a way I didn't think possible. But I've dealt with this as if he'd done this to you too. Which, in a way, he did but not to the same extant that he did it to me. And it wasn't fair of me, neither to you nor to him, to pretend he did. Because I practically forced you to take my side-"

"There's no other side," grits Santana.

Her mother fixes stern eyes on her, daring her to interrupt her again. "What I'm trying to say is: Your father cheated on me, not on you."

"But," Rachel wrings her hands on the tabletop. "Then, why didn't he try to contact us? We wouldn't have seen him for weeks or months if he hadn't caught me at that party. He doesn't even make an effort to see us."

"That's not entirely true," Mom looks almost guilty as she shakes her head.

Santana's brows knit together tightly. "Mom… what do you mean?"

"Well," the woman sighs. "The night he brought you, Rachel, home from the party, I told him to leave you alone. And that he'd speak to my lawyer if he tried to contact you again. So, you could say that I forbid him from reaching out to you."

"So- so you think he might've contacted us if you hadn't…?"

Mom turns to face Santana. "I think so, yes."

She raises a hand to her forehead, sighing deeply. "I'm so sorry, girls."

"What did he want to talk to you about on Sunday?" Rachel asks quietly.

She's staring at her steaming cup as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Again, Mom sighs. "He asked me not to fight for full custody."

For a moment, it's completely silent in the room. Then, Santana shifts.

"That'd mean he legally wouldn't be our father anymore, right?"

Her mother tilts her head to one side. "I'd be the only legal parent, yes. He wouldn't have a single say about any kind of decision regarding either one of you, he wouldn't have to give his consent to anything."

Silence again.

"I don't want that," whispers Rachel quietly. Her eyes seem to be welling with tears. "I don't want Dad to not be my dad anymore."

"That's okay, honey," Mom reaches out to place a hand on top of hers. Then, she looks at Santana. "What about you?"

The girl purses her lips. "Does he care?"

"Of course, he does. He doesn't want to lose you, girls, he's your father."

She takes another sip of her cocoa. "There's another thing I wanted to talk to you about, though. Because… I haven't really taken into consideration what you want for this family, for our future. I've wanted you to want what I thought best for you, for us. But I want -I need to know what you want, what you think best."

She squeezes Rachel's hand and runs her fingers over Santana's shoulder as she leans back and nips at her cocoa. She's not-so-subtly trying to give them time to think. Though it seems that Rachel doesn't even need to think about it much.

"I just wish it could be the way it was before," she says after a moment. "I-I just want to be a real family again and not- not be so confused and sad all the times. But that's kind of not an option because… I mean, this is irreversible. No matter what we do, nothing's gonna change the fact that Dad cheated on you. It's never gonna be the same again. So, I- I really don't know."

"And if it's not the same as before," Santana's lips dip between her teeth for a second. "then I don't want it. Because we'd always look for the same, I don't know, energy that we had before, but that's never gonna come back."

Beside her, her mother's brows have knit together in an almost exasperated frown.

"I still miss him," Rachel's voice is small and trembling. "I- He did some terrible things and he hurt all of us, but I still really, really miss him."

Santana nods -albeit reluctantly. "Yeah, me too."

"Sometimes I just have to think about how he'd sometimes tell us some of his weird criminal stories on the couch in the evening and how he totally went overboard every time, like, we all knew that he was making that stuff up, but- but I just loved that. A-And I loved watching Funny Girl with him. And cooking with him on Saturdays from time to time. We're never going to do that again," Rachel wipes the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her eyes. "Or at least it's not gonna be the same."

Somehow, Santana's heart aches in a very strange way.

"But I don't think I could, like, visit him every other day, right now," she says after a beat of silence. "I miss him too, but he hasn't shown any remorse -at least not that I know of- and he's probably still with that other… woman, so it just wouldn't feel right anyway."

Mom has her brows knit into a frown. "I think we might have to sit down together and talk about all of this, the four of us. Get it of our minds and then think about how we'll go on. Especially after the divorce."

Santana clenches her jaw. "If he doesn't bring that woman with him."

Mom seems about to roll her eyes. "You think I'd let her into my house or near my children, Santana? Really, I thought you'd know me better by now."

She leans back, something like a smile on her lips and takes a sip from her cocoa. "How about we get takeout tonight? I don't really feel like cooking."

"A one-hundred-degree turn on the subject," says Santana, eyebrows raised. "But I'm in for it. And I vote Indian, by the way."


"We need to talk."

She totally takes Santana by surprise and it absolutely one hundred percent works in Brittany's favor.

Santana wasn't expecting her to be here at all. Because she intentionally stayed longer after Coach ended practice and normally, Brittany has to take the bus home at four on Thursdays, so there is no way that Santana could run into her. At least that's what Santana thought when she stayed behind. Which is the only reason she stayed. It's freezing cold out and usually, she's not a fan of freezing her ass off.

"Uh, I have to-," Santana stammers but Brittany cuts her off with a firm shake of her head.

"You have to nothing," she says and her grip on Santana's arm tightens a little. "The bus leaves in half an hour and there's no teacher around anymore that you can ask anything. In fact, I believe we are the only ones left in this entire school apart from Principal Figgins because he has no life and the janitor because he's the one closing up. There's no excuse."

The word cuts Santana like a knife. And maybe, she deserves it. She hasn't been that subtle about avoiding Brittany after all.

"Here, I brought your stuff," she dangles her bag in front of Santana and hands her the hoodie and sneaker. "Let's go to the bleachers."
The bleachers. A perfect place, really, to have the conversation she's sure they're going to have. On the bleachers Noah kissed her the first time. They kind of made out on the bleachers for the first time.

And now, here she is, following Brittany like a beaten puppy while she pulls her hoodie on and tries to keep up with her.

"Okay," says Brittany as she plops down on one of the benches. "What's going on?"

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Santana sits down beside her, placing her shoes between them. Her lips part to answer but Brittany beats her to it.

"And don't say nothing because that's just nonsense," she purses her lips, something like pain flaring up in her eyes. "If nothing was going on, you would've told Quinn and me that you and Puck broke up."

Santana's mouth snaps shut. "I-I- Brittany, I-"

"No," Brittany shakes her head. "We're your best friends, Quinn and I, and we care about you. You know that. And still, in almost seven days, you didn't think to tell us? That's just shitty, Santana. If this were me, I'd have told you right away, if only so that you and Quinn could glare that asshole dead every single day."

She averts her eyes to stare at the tips of her sneakers. "I'm sorry, Britts, I just had… a lot on my mind."

Brittany huffs. "Yeah, I noticed."

In the corners of her eyes, Santana watches her fists clench and unclench. She's really angry, damnit.

"But that doesn't explain or excuse why you're not answering any of my texts. Or pick up your phone."

Santana bites down on her lip. "Brittany, I'm really sorry."

"Oh, miss me with the excuses," the blonde waves an angry hand. "I want an explanation. You've been, I don't know, drifting off for weeks now and, frankly, we're worried."

Suddenly, she's much closer to Santana and Santana can feel her breath hitch.

"Did something happen?" Brittany asks forcefully. "Are you sick? Did someone die? Or did Puck hurt you or something, is that the reason you two broke up?"

Santana recoils, eyes widened. "What?! No, Brittany, no, no. Noah has nothing to do with this. I mean… he kind of has but- but not like that. He'd never hurt me. Never."

Brittany's eyes narrow into small slits.

"Did he cheat on you?" Santana vehemently shakes her head. "Then why did he break up with you?"

"B-Because it just, ugh, I don't know, Brittany," she raises a hand to her forehead to stroke at her hair. "It was just not working anymore and we- we were fighting all the time… and all that."

"It wasn't working?" Brittany raises her eyebrows. "For how long, though, San, you seemed perfectly fine before Christmas break."

She's suspicious. She knows there's more to it, knows her long and well enough to know that this couldn't be the sole reason.

"Yeah, but it… things changed."

She buries her hands in her palms and sighs heavily. Beside her, Brittany's fixed her eyes sternly on her friend, almost as if trying to x-ray her with her look.

"When I asked Rachel, she said you didn't really feel comfortable anymore because of what happened with your dad…"

Shit. Fucking shit. Why did her sister have to be such a damn genius coming up with that perfect excuse that now ruined Santana's every professed reason?

"Yeah, that… that changed too."

Brittany sighs heavily. "San, I- I've known you for years now and you- you are a pretty bad liar."

"I know," her voice is small, her words almost inaudible.

"So," Brittany shifts beside her. "You gonna tell me what's going on with you?"

Santana lets her head drop between her elbows. "It's complicated."

"Complicated, how?"

"I don't know," Santana runs a hand through her hair. "Just, complicated. Everything's been kinda like piling up on me for weeks now."

Brittany frowns. "But what's everything? Seriously, San, you're not making any sense."

"I—don't—know," now she's getting frustrated. And loud. Awesome. "Everything, okay? Things are just complicated, I can't explain. Can't you be satisfied with that answer?"

"Huh?" Anger makes Brittany's eyes gleam. "Don't be angry at me, Santana, I didn't do anything wrong. I'm just worried, okay? You're avoiding me, you're avoiding Quinn. You don't text, you don't call, nothing. And when I ask you what's going on? 'It's complicated'. That's not a legit answer!"

Somehow, Santana's jumped to her feet. She feels as if she's gonna explode. "Yeah, but it is complicated, okay?! Deal with it. Fucking deal with it, Brittany. That's the least you could do."

"The least I could do?" Brittany laughs an unamused laugh. "Are you kidding? The least you could do is telling me what's going on with you. Like, what the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?! I'm a lesbian, okay?!" Her words echo across the football pitch. "I'm a lesbian, there you have it."

"Huh?!" Brittany's risen to her feet too. "What has that got to do with any of this?!"

"It's got everything to do with it!" Santana rakes her fingers through her hair. "It's the whole fucking issue, OKAY?!"

"Issue?" She sinks back onto the bench, a little out of breath. "San, that's not an issue, God damn."

Like Santana, she's panting a little, chest heaving with the effort to calm down. Santana plops down on the bench beside her. All strength and energy have left her body with a swoosh. She's drained -both physically and emotionally.

"Joe's gay and I'm bi, so what? So, you're a lesbian, why would that be an issue, San?"

Santana gapes. "W-wait, you're bi?"

"Yeah, 'course, didn't you know?" When she shakes her head, Brittany shrugs. "Oh well, I thought it was obvious."

Then, she turns to take both Santana's hands. "But, San, really, why'd you distance yourself like that? Were you scared of how we'd react or what?"

"No," Santana swiftly shakes her head. "No, I wasn't. I just- it's hard on me, okay? If you're bi, that's- well, I feel like people can accept that more easily than they accept full on lesbians or gays, you know? And also, everything's been piling up and- ugh, I don't know."

For a moment, the two of them sit there in silence and Santana stares at their joined hands on her knees. Brittany's fingers are long and thin, her skin quite a few shades brighter than hers. Somehow, they look incredibly fragile.

"I'm sorry if I pressured you into telling, San," Brittany says quietly after a while. "I didn't mean to and I should've known that you weren't telling us for a reason. I should've respected that."

"No, no," Santana shakes her head. "It's alright."

She glances up at Brittany almost shyly. "Everything okay again?"

Brittany smiles. She holds out her pinky to link it with Santana's. "Everything perfect again."

The feeling of Brittany's pinky linked with hers is such a familiar and comforting one that Santana can't help a smile.

"Hey, did you hear about that smear campaign Coach Sylvester is launching against Kurt's father?"

Santana blinks. "What smear campaign?"

A grin. "It's crazy. Like, total, full-on Sue-Sylvester-gone-mad crazy."

She raises an eyebrow. "The whole campaign is fucking crazy. Whoever had the idea of Sue Sylvester becoming our next president is either out of their mind or has a death wish for the entire country."

Brittany's head goes far back when she laughs, and Santana relaxes.

So maybe she didn't solve the problem, but she at least took a step closer to taking control over the situation.