Chapter 2: In Your Static, Your Mess

-Five years ago-

I flip open the phone again, staring down at the keypad. Santana's cell number is the first in my speed dial. I would only have to press one button, hit call, and then I'd be able to talk with her. We would be able to talk this out.

Because this needs to be talked out.

It was a stupid argument that got out of hand.

A stupid argument that ended with Santana storming out, leaving me to wallow around the apartment for hours and hours trying to figure out what to do. And that was two days ago. Santana had left and gone on the business trip, despite my insistence that no she should not go on the damn trip.

The two of us needed to talk this out. I didn't like the guilt building up inside because of the argument. And Santana leaving and not speaking to me for two days was not the proper way to deal with this. Maybe chasing after her wasn't exactly the best way to deal with this either, seeing as how Santana still got her way and I was just going after her to apologize. But apologies led to talking things out properly, like the adults we were. We could work through this, just like we'd worked through all the bumps in the road the last few months. The two of us would get through it.

The phone is still here in my hand, its weight familiar. I've been holding on to it a lot the past two days, hoping Santana would call back.

She hasn't, but I can't really blame her for that. When I get angry I want to talk things out and fix the problem so I'm not angry anymore. When Santana gets angry she likes to snap at people and punch walls – not the smartest when the walls of our apartment are super thin – and avoid the issue until she cools off. She was probably avoiding calling me back to make sure that she wouldn't say something she didn't mean, she was stepping back and letting herself calm down.

But somehow the idea of going after Santana to try and work through this, or at least keep her company while she had to stay in a lousy hotel for a week, seemed like a good idea a few hours ago.

Plus, even if Santana is still mad at me when I get there, the idea that I came after her because I didn't like the way we'd left things was sure to mean something.

I was not going after Santana to cave and say the she had been right and I'd been wrong. No, I was going after her because I didn't like that our last words together ended with a door slamming and no 'I love you' called beforehand. Even when we're arguing, 'I love you' is still a common phrase.

Santana likes it, it's her way of apologizing but not quite apologizing.

In the end, it comes down to it all being some stupid argument that left a bitter feeling inside my belly.

I'm on the sidewalk, leaning against a lamp-post and waiting for the light to turn green. I can see a coffee place across and a little ways down the street. I just want to go inside, sit down, and order something warm while trying to figure out what to do.

I cave, fingers moving on auto-pilot to dial Santana's number. The phone is lifted up to my ear while I glance up, watching the cars slosh by on the wet road. The light is still red.

"Come on, San, pick up."

Santana doesn't pick up. The phone rings and rings before changing to Santana's voicemail. Quickly, I snap the phone shut and drop it back in my bag before Santana's voice recording telling me to leave a message is finished. This isn't something to leave on a voice mail. This is something to talk about.

Preferably in person, but that part of the plan isn't going so well.

I'm damp, cold, in a city I don't know, and my head is swirling with thoughts of guilt, anger and regret. It was a stupid fight. Stupid.

The light is still red. The 'do not cross' sign still illuminated. I've pressed the button three times by now, impatient that the light was so long despite the fact that there is hardly any traffic out.

I turn abruptly, pushing up from the light-post to watch the traffic light for the few cars moving back and forth in front of me. Their light finally flickers to amber.

Someone drives through the red, skidding through a puddle close to the curb. The water splashes, rising up over my shoes and drenching my already damp clothes from the knees down. Awesome. That is just awesome. Because I wasn't wet and miserable enough as it was.

My light is green, the pedestrian sigh changing to a bright 'walk.'

Huffing, I cross the road, heels clicking on the damp pavement. It isn't raining at the moment, but it has been raining off and on the whole time I've been on the road. The air is damp right now though, it feels like I'm walking through mist. My hair is pulled up with a hair-tie, keeping it from plastering against my face. But I don't wear my hair up often these days like I used to in high school; my ears are cold, used to having a layer of hair covering them. And now my legs are damp, making it seem like the cold air is pressing stronger against me, trying to chill me right down to my bones.

I grip my coat tighter around the collar, wishing I'd worn something better suited for the weather. But I'd been in a hurry. A hurry to catch Santana, to apologize.

It really was just a stupid fight.

"Santana, you can't go."

"I have to, Britt. You know I have to go. They're counting on me to be there."

"But San-"

"I don't have time to argue with you, B. A week. I'll be gone a week. I'll be fine."

"I don't want you to go. It isn't good for you."

"It also isn't good for me to not show up when my boss expects me to."

"He'll understand if you just tell him that you aren't up-"

"He's an arrogant jackass who won't understand a thing."

"San, just-"

"Stop unpacking everything I put in the bag!"

"Why?"

"Because I have to go, Brittany! This thing is a big deal. This is a big client and if he signs with us-"

"But why do you have to be there? You aren't the only one going, right? Can't James and Kait handle it without you?"

"Brittany."

"And why do you have to be gone a whole week just so some guy signs a piece of paper? Is it made of gold or something?"

"It's not made of gold, Brittany. Grow up."

"Then why is this so important?"

"You know why this is important. This guy could mean big things for us. If we get his signature everyone at the whole firm will get a pay raise. And I'm the best one on the team, I have to be there."

"So it's about money then."

"Stop acting all self-righteous. Of course it's about money. You think that I want to go?"

"You're sure acting like it."

"I'm doing this for us, for you."

"You're going away for a week, for me. That makes me feel wonderful inside, San. You know just how to win a girl's heart."

"God, just listen to me for a second! This is about me, wanting the money to take you out to dinner once in a while. This is about me, wanting to make sure you have the best life I can give you."

"We have money San, we're doing just fine."

"These hospital bills are eating us up B, and it's only going to get worse."

"Worse?"

"Damn it, no, no, that's not what I mean. You know that's not what I-"

"Fine, go. If this is so important to you, if having money is so important to you, if ignoring your health is so important to you, then go."

"Britt."

"You shouldn't be going. Right now, you are physically not up to taking a three hour drive for a week-long stay in a hotel."

"You know I don't want this."

"You're standing in front of me with a bag packed, keys in your hand. Looks to me like you want this."

"Fuck, whatever, I can't deal with you arguing with me about this. I'll see you in a week. Don't burn the damn place down while I'm gone."

I had been right, we were doing just fine. Sure, our life was changing, and it was becoming more and more expensive, but it wasn't like we couldn't afford to buy food or pay the bills. Things were just a little tight at the moment, but it would get better. And Santana wasn't the only one supporting us. I worked too. I pulled plenty-a-shift at the hospital, proud of my appointed title of sweetest nurse on staff. I was good at taking care of people. After high school, while Santana had attacked her studies with a vengeance, I had studied and memorized and committed to doing this. I was good at this.

Reading massive and really old books for English, or solving for x's and y's in math hadn't been so awesome. But memorizing what all the steps in mitosis looked like – the chromosomes go Poof Middle Apart Together; Prophase Metaphase Anaphase Telophase– or sketching little wigglies I saw under a microscope or making up silly rhymes to remember all the steps in DNA transcription and translation? That was fun. I could do that.

And studying for my anatomy tests had been wicked. Making Santana let me use her body as a model for memorizing all the muscles and bones had led to some mind-blowing sex.

I had worked hard and it had paid off. I supported the two of us just as much as Santana did.

But Santana didn't see it like that. Santana always had to be the strong one. Even now, she was convinced she had to be strong, when she should be letting me take care of her. Not just because that's what my job made me good at, but because Santana needed to take a break before she ran herself into the ground and things got even worse. The doctor had already told her to take it easy. On multiple occasions.

But Santana is stubborn. Which is exactly why she went on the stupid work trip.

I had lasted two days at home before deciding to go after Santana. During those two days I'd left a total of seven voice mails for Santana, in various emotional states, saying how sorry I was and how much I missed her. Santana hadn't picked up the phone once.

So I'd bought myself a bus ticket, and decided to go after Santana, to apologize to her in person. I still didn't think Santana was physically up for her trip, but also I didn't like the guilt building up inside. It didn't matter who was right and who was wrong, whose fault the argument was. All that mattered was that Santana knew I still loved her.

So I hopped on the bus to Bakersfield, California intent on telling her as much. 'Sorry' and 'I love you,' those were going to be the first words out of my mouth.

And then halfway through the three hour drive the bus had broken down.

Perfect.

So here I was, the middle of January, almost sun-down, wandering around in a city I wasn't familiar with trying to find somewhere to eat, and then somewhere to stay for the night until the bus was fixed and could leave again.

It wasn't freezing out; it doesn't get freezing anywhere near where I lived. But it got cold, and it had been raining all day so it was extra cold. I could see the coffee shop; everything warm and soothing inside was calling my name. Welcoming me to come inside, sit down, and calm my fraying nerves. I just needed a minute to think, and I'd figure this out.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

I reach the coffee shop. It's closed; a yellow sign on the door, something about health and safety inspections. Closed until further notice.

This day couldn't possibly get any worse.

I sigh heavily, closing my eyes momentarily and pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the shop's window. I was trying to apologize here. It didn't matter if it was my fault or not, that's what happened when you loved someone. You apologize anyway. Why was the universe out to get me?

Walking a few steps I stop to stand under a street light, pulling out my phone once again. This time I was going to leave a message. As needy as I didn't want to sound, I had to let some of the frustrations building inside out.

And maybe Santana would pick up this time.

She doesn't. I get the voice mail again.

"Hey," I sigh into the phone, "It… it's me. I'm sorry. This isn't working the way I planned. This isn't… this just isn't working. I'm trying but… Nothing seems to be going right. I'm sorry. I…" My words trail off. This isn't how I want to do this. I want to talk to Santana in person, not leave her message after message on her phone.

I close the cell and let it fall back into my purse. The straps dangle down from my fingers as I look up at the sky. The sun is about to drop below the buildings, painting the sky an ugly brown colour; it should be orange, the sky at sunset. But the rainy weather is mucking up the colours.

"I wish-"

My whole body is bumped sideways and a sudden jolt of pain bursts into my fingers as someone runs past me, yanking my purse from my grasp and taking it with them.

It takes me a few seconds to realize what just happened. I'd been standing there, minding my own business… that man had just stolen my bag.

"Hey!" I yell, taking chase. "Come back!"

He's already a good ways ahead of me, running hard and fast. I can see his bald head; the hood of his dark jacket has fallen back. I call out for someone to stop him, that he' stolen my bag, but there's no one outside to hear, only a few cars on the road, trying to get home before it begins raining again. No one is outside to help me.

He pushes around a corner and I follow, my breath growing deeper. I'm fast, but he's faster. He rounds another turn, and when I reach it and follow, I see that he's already made it across the street, having darting through cars and leapt over a large puddle. My purse is still tightly clutched in his arms.

My momentum dies; I'm not going to catch him. He's too fast.

I brace one hand against the corner of the building to catch my breath, head hanging in shame. My wallet, phone, and music player: all inside the stolen bag. Plus my bus ticket. Now the thief can go visit Santana but I can't. I can't even get back home now.

Tapping my pockets, I try to find some spare coins. If I can find a pay phone, maybe someone from work could come and pick me up.

I don't find any coins. I find something worse.

My fingers are bare.

My ring is gone.

My ring. The one Santana gave me. The ring, the one that means the two of us are going to spend the rest of our lives together.

It must have fallen off when the man had grabbed my purse, forcing it from my fingers. I had been too distracted with chasing him to notice.

Knowing there is no possible way this day could get any worse I run back along my path, finding my way back to the closed-down coffee shop. My eyes stay on the ground the whole time. Once I get there I glance frantically up and down the damp pavement. Thunder rolls in the distance, but I ignore it. All of my attention is focused on the ground, hoping to catch a glimpse of a shimmer in the dying light.

I pace back and forth until the first few drops of rain start falling. My head is tilted down though, so I hardly notice. My eyes are still flying this way and that.

It doesn't even matter about my stolen purse, all I want now is my ring. If I find that ring I know everything will be okay. Santana and me and everything else will be okay, I just need that ring back. I need it. Everything will work out once I get it back, I can feel it.

The ground is slightly sloped; if my ring fell it might have rolled. I step onto the road and crouch at the curb, looking into the grate. Water draining from the road has washed chunks of damp leaves inside, along with the glimmer of an aluminum can or two. It is hard to see anything inside, it's dark behind the bars on the curb, and the light outside is growing fainter by the minute.

I rock back and forth on my heels, begging to see something. "Please, please just let me find this."

There; if I lean to the right I can see something reflecting back at me, catching the sun's last rays before they die and the dark rain clouds take over the sky. Hands on my knees I glace up and look around, looking for something that will help. There is no way my arm is going to fit between the bars. I need something long and skinny to get inside and retrieve my ring.

I can see a Laundromat further down the street. Maybe they'll have a spare coat hanger.

I stand, taking a step back from the curb and deciding that no one would turn down a frantic girl needing a piece of wire to retrieve her lost wedding ring.

Then the car hits me.