Dancing With the Devil (Demi Lovato)
Santana's POV
He'd lied.
I'd had a speedball before. What I hadn't had was the type of high he'd given me.
He pulled my sweatshirt over my head but didn't pull it off my arms. Instead, he did some sort of twist that had my arms bent behind me unnaturally. I was floating while he immobilized me, but the drug had been so potent in my sober body that he was wasting his time.
"Your wife lets you walk around in these short little skirts knowing how much of a slut you are?" I bit down on my lips and nodded.
I was naked in seconds, except for my sweatshirt. He was staring at me, then he tsked when he saw the scar that cut down between my tits. He seemed disappointed that I wasn't perfect anymore.
He didn't bother talking to me after that.
Instead, he kicked my legs apart and then used my body just like he always had.
He took out his knife and sat cocaine on the blade, I want to say that I resisted, but that'd be a lie.
The fresh powder went up my nose faster than it should have.
When he forced himself inside of me, he didn't try to get me off; instead, he spoke evil things into my ears just so the tears would come.
The more that I cried, the more excited he got.
And then the hallucinations started.
First, it was Isaac, "I see, Mami...I see." His little face floated in front of my eyes while my body jerked. I was smiling now; I could see HIS reflection in the mirror that I faced...the more I smiled, the more HE looked uncomfortable. Then there was my baby girl, reaching for me first thing in the morning and kissing my face. Tears blurred my eyes, but I could still see my babies.
Was this my life flashing before my eyes?
Would they have to grow up without me?
I couldn't stomach the idea of them seeing the tragedy of my story on the news.
Maybe that was what fueled me.
He hesitated, and I struck.
I wiped the blood off on my sweatshirt once it was back over my head, my skirt was missing, and my thong was ripped, so the oversized Columbia (go-figure) sweater would have to do. Knowing that I was already fucked, I snorted one last line before stumbling out onto the steps.
My name was being called over and over as I sat still, trying to make my mind work, but all I could see was my babies running on the sidewalk, dancing in the bubbles.
Time stood still until I was looking into angelic hazel eyes.
Once she was there, everything went faster and got louder.
I'd chosen the wrong blonde, Britt...Britt...Britt...where was Britt?
Quinn was asking me questions, and my toughest sister was crying as she screamed into a phone.
Everyone was falling apart, but my babies were having a blast; I blew more bubbles at them, and they shrieked.
But those shrieks turned to sirens, and then they were gone.
She moved quickly, making me stand and wrapping a towel around me before helping me into the ambulance.
I felt like I was leaking all over. My face and legs were soaked through as darkness finally came for me.
And then the sweet bliss that I had yearned for greeted me like an old friend.
I didn't wake up in a hospital; that would have been too fucking nice, I guess.
No, I was a woman of color who just slashed a white man's throat in his home...so I woke up in an interrogation room with my wrists shackled to the table.
"No...please...no!" I screamed until someone heard me, and even then, I continued to scream until they unhooked me. "I wasn't read my rights!" I was indignant as I rattled the cuffs. "Please? I want my lawyer! Please? Please?" I was pleading and sobbing.
My head was throbbing. My skin felt like it was preparing to crawl from my sinew. I felt raw and sore...and needy.
A fix...that's what I needed.
Just a little more.
A taste.
Fuck.
Here we go again.
The door opened, and a sharp voice spoke, but it wasn't to me.
"Take her out of those cuffs. NOW."
A familiar face greeted me from the door, and I was never happier to see a cop.
Then I remembered just how fortunate I was...she'd first picked me up a few blocks from Dr. Cray's...so I had committed a crime in her jurisdiction.
Maybe that would be good.
I looked at her, but I couldn't stop rolling my head or clicking my tongue on the roof of my mouth.
A cop came in and took the cuffs off of me, and I blew her a kiss.
"Capitan!" I called to her, and she nodded.
"Whenever you come down, we can talk."
"Lawyer."
"She's on her way."
"Who?" I was confused. "She who?" I asked again, and she nodded.
"Your mother."
"Fuck."
When she left me, I pushed up from the table and stumbled back against the cold wall.
The moment that my body touched the wall, pain seared through me, and I screamed again.
I closed my eyes for a split second and woke up to dark eyes that only ever looked at me with love...even when I was locked up.
"Pa." I whispered from where I was curled up on the floor...since it was the only comfortable way to be.
"Sit up. Drink this."
"What?"
I sat up slowly, feeling itchy in sweats I had never seen before.
Were they Quinn's?
He was handing me a bottle of water but I couldn't...the last person that had given me a drink...Dr. Cray.
I was gagging then as I thought of it.
Fuck.
Who's pants were these?
"Pa?"
"Anita, it's imperative that you tell me what happened!"
"I can't. I can't. Where's B? I need B...please? Get B."
"She's on her way, just...you need to talk to me."
"No. No. I can't. I can't!"
I backed up until I was sitting in the corner of the room with my arms wrapped around my knees, careful not to touch the wall.
He was badgering me with questions, but all I could do was look straight ahead.
I kept blinking, trying to make my babies appear, but they wouldn't show up in here.
Did that mean I wouldn't see them again?
Had I fucked up too badly this time?
"Fuck!" I slapped my hands against my head, trying to make my babies appear, I knew they weren't real, but I didn't care.
I needed them.
"Stop it, mi'ja...ay Dios." He pulled my hands from me and looked me straight in the eye as I tried to pull away. "If you keep hitting yourself, they will put you back in the cuffs. Is that what you want?"
"No!"
"Cálmate, mi'ja. Just tell me what happened. I'm here to help you."
What had I done?
How would this affect my kids?
My marriage?
My music career?
Why couldn't I just let Quinn fucking care about me?
"I can't."
"What do you mean that you can't? Do you realize how much trouble you are in?"
"Is he dead?"
I looked up at Padrino and could see the worry in his eyes.
His hair was grayer than the last time I saw him. He was getting too old to deal with my bullshit.
I am just poison in everyone's lives.
Maybe they should lock me away!
"Tell me what happened, Anita!"
"Is he dead? Did I fucking kill him? Just tell me!"
I had begun to rock while my body felt like it was going to zoom across the floor.
Every time I felt tempted to rock forward, I would dig my nails deeper into my legs just to hold myself steady.
Maybe he didn't know that I was high?
If he did...why was he trying to make me talk?
He had seen thousands of criminals...he should know not to question a person in this state.
I just wanted to be home.
Just wanted to be in bed, wrapped in bed with Britt Britt and our kids.
This is not what I wanted.
"Is that what your intent was?"
"Why does that matter?" I snapped.
"Because...there is a difference between first-degree murder and self-defense!" I was pushing his patience but fuck him for thinking I was ready to talk.
"Where's Mami? Off to make another deal and fuck me over? Why are you asking me stuff? You're retired!"
"Glady is on your side. She's doing everything she can to get you out of here despite the circumstances."
"So he's dead, then?"
"No. He's alive."
"Fuck! "
I slammed my bloody hands against my forehead.
The blood was drying, but the smell was still strong.
"Tell me...what happened...please."
When he leaned over and touched my face, it should have calmed me, but it didn't. I looked at this man who had protected me as much as he was able for most of my life; he was watching me break. He was frustrated that I wasn't talking but couldn't he see how much I'd been defiled.
Blood was everywhere...some of it mine...most of it HIS.
The tears streamed down my face as I tried to be sober for Pa, but I couldn't.
My body hurt so much, all I wanted was him to hold me like he did when I was a little girl, but I was afraid to be touched by anyone but Britt. So, I just tried to swallow my need to be held like a baby.
I had to be strong.
For him and for everyone.
"That doesn't matter anymore, Pa."
He was on his knees now, so he could look at me in my eyes better, but it didn't matter because I wasn't seeing him.
I just kept seeing what I had done.
Nobody could save me now...why couldn't he see that?
"Of course it matters...you are covered in blood, and you put a man into the ICU."
He deserved worse than I had given him.
Why did it feel like Pa was on that asshole's side?
I couldn't be a baby.
Be strong, Lopez.
"But he's alive...right? He's going to live?"
I wanted him to see my point.
"Yes."
See!
"Then it doesn't matter what happened, Pa."
He was on his feet again...angrier than before.
Angry at me for what I had done and for holding back.
But I had no other choice.
"They are going to come in here and tear you apart...you know that, right?" He hissed at me, and I glared at him; never before had he reminded me of Papi until that moment.
Fuck them!
"Then let them come!"
And come they did.
"Come sit in this chair, Santana." Captain Dominguez was back; I stood to my feet and felt the distance between my seat against the wall, and that chair was way too far.
It hurt just getting up, but for her, I had tried. She saw my effort, so she came over to me, smelling like my mother's perfume, which oddly comforted me.
Mami and I had been at odds for a while at that point, especially after she dropped the charges without consulting me; it was no wonder that she wasn't there.
But the smell of her still made me feel a little safer.
She took my hand and let me lean on her as we walked towards the chair.
I hissed as I lowered into the chair.
"I'm sorry." I whispered as she helped me down into the chair.
She shook her head and then walked to the doorway.
"Just talk to the agents; they want your statement."
She left me there in that cold chair.
My ass was hurting, but I didn't move; I just leaned forwards, so my back didn't touch the chair. The high was coming down, which made my body hurt even more.
Two big dumb guys came into the room and stood across from me.
"You tried to kill him?"
I looked at them, and even through my haze...I knew not to say a word.
Not without Mami...or Sal...or some other lawyer.
I dropped my chin to my chest and tried to lean forward more.
My ass was burning, but that didn't mean that my back had to.
How could these people not see that this was not something that I left unscathed from?
They kept throwing questions at me.
I didn't answer any of them.
After a while, all I heard was the whip cutting through the air before landing across my back and ass.
All I could feel was the drugs racing through my system.
Cocaine.
Heroin.
Fentanyl.
An unholy cocktail that should have killed me.
But here I was.
Alive.
Suffering.
I would die in here, but no one cared; I must not have looked rough enough.
Had I gotten way too good at hiding my addiction?
My high.
My symptoms.
Britt would know.
She would stop this.
But she wasn't here.
She had left me.
Again.
"Are you ready to talk about what you did?"
I was tired.
Still covered in blood, and I felt like I was going to blackout.
This was a never-ending high.
Every time that I thought it was over, it would linger even longer.
All while time kept zooming by.
I just wanted out.
"No."
"This doesn't look good, TT."
TT...I looked up at Puck and rolled my eyes; we were too old for him to use that nickname to butter me up.
I had been through too much.
"Seriously, Noah? Do you realize that I was at the top of our graduating class while battling drug addiction with a new baby in the hospital? Don't you think that I fucking know how fucked up this is?"
I was leaning on my side against the wall now because I could no longer sit.
The pain was just too blinding by that point; as my high came down a bit, the pain was becoming more real.
And hearing Noah tell me that I was in trouble...was just not what I needed.
Give a badass a badge, and suddenly they are the fucking authority on how bad things are.
Thank you, Captain Obvious!
"They came in here, and you didn't say anything...why won't you talk?"
Because I don't have a lawyer.
My mother hasn't shown up.
She's probably pissed at me.
There were several reasons.
"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"
"Fuck, Santana...this is not going to just go away! You can't just space out. You have friends here, don't just throw that away."
Was he serious?
There was a buzzing and popping in my ears.
I felt like I was going to get violent.
Didn't he realize I'd already put down one man today?
But I knew he wanted to help, I couldn't take this out on him.
He was just making this worse.
"Leave."
"What?"
"I want you to fucking leave me alone, Noah!"
"Fine...but-"
"Go, Puckerman! Leave me the fuck alone, now!"
I held a shaky finger towards the door as I turned my back to him.
He was just pissing me off.
I had to just work through this high.
In peace.
I just needed to think!
Why couldn't they see that?
I was pacing the interrogation room like a trapped animal.
My high was trailing off, and my skin felt like it would detach itself from my body.
This wasn't how shit was supposed to be.
I slammed my palms against the wall over and over again.
Why were they keeping me?
It had been way too long now.
My mind was really cloudy...but I just knew...that at some point...
Fuck!
Think!
I had some semblance plan at some point. At least I did when I was fully high.
Higher than now.
What had happened in that house was something that broke apart all my progress.
But I had won...at least that's how I felt when I walked out of there.
Now though...I was grasping at straws, trying to see what kind of deal I could strike up with the Captain.
I had compromised her case with the FBI, surely.
She had tried to be calm in front of me...but what if she wasn't really calm.
I mean...why couldn't she have stayed to talk to me, herself?
The stupid agents she sent in here didn't know me.
They thought I was some crazy bimbo who had lost my mind.
How could she leave me with them?
Fuck them...they didn't know me.
She didn't know me.
I didn't walk into that house for shits and giggles.
He forced my hand.
And she had to know that.
But...
For all, I knew she wanted my head on a platter.
What if she was going to take me down with him?
There were so many bad things that could happen.
This wasn't good...but at least for my sake, it wasn't murder.
I didn't want to go that route again.
No...this was clearly self-defense.
I had the bruises and cuts to prove it...some of this blood was mine, after all.
"What happened, Ana?"
That was the first thing that she said before the door even closed.
Her nose was stuffy...she had been crying.
Again.
At least she was showing some emotion.
Better than the way she had left me...
Cold and unfeeling.
"Ahh...so Santana won't talk to anyone, so they sent in the big guns! Welcome back, Britt Britt...how was your flight?"
"Don't play games with me...tell me what happened in that house. Please?!"
She sounded pissed, and she had every right to be but only for the right reasons.
What did they tell her?
I stood near the far wall and stared into those eyes that I loved so much.
"Why do you want to know? Why the fuck do you care all of a sudden?"
I couldn't help the bitterness that was seeping through, even though I wasn't mad at her.
Hell, I was happy to see her.
She was all I wanted...all that I needed, but they had gotten to her.
"I left because I had to."
"You fucking left me...for no fucking reason! Don't make me feel sorry for you, Brittany!"
My heart was hurting me; it felt like my soul was trying to rip itself from my body and so that it could go comfort the sad look in her eyes.
I was a mess.
I needed a shower.
There were countless fluids on me.
Of course, no one would notice.
Blood just stood out better.
How could she even want to be next to me?
Or in the same room?
She sighed and sat at the metal table.
"Come sit with me."
"No."
"Please sit with me."
I heard the growl in her throat, but I had been dominated enough for one day; there was no way I was going to give in to that tone, even though I really wanted to.
"No."
I didn't need her fucking control issues at that moment; I needed soft Brittany, the one who loved ducks and that fat cat.
"Ana...come sit with me." She demanded, and it hurt more than that whip.
"I fucking said no!"
I said, turning too quickly and feeling the onset of a migraine which made me nearly topple over. Still, I pitched myself backward instead of against the concrete wall.
The pain was blinding; my back throbbed from the contact. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't.
Everything ached.
My brain hurt.
I hissed as my hands flew to my head.
The pounding intensified, and I felt the sick feeling; I gagged on the bile that tried to come up, but I hadn't eaten since that morning; there was nothing left.
More blood, this time trickling from my nose, just like always.
I'd snorted multiple times with his knife to my throat, but that last time, I'd done it on my own.
How long ago was that?
I wiped the blood with my sleeve and tried to take deep breaths. That water that Pa had offered me wasn't anywhere in the room.
Britt watched me, and I tried like hell to smile at her, but I couldn't.
How could I?
She'd left for just a few hours, and I had gone and nearly killed a man.
What would be said about me?
This would not be my legacy!
I began sobbing, loud and ugly.
"Can I come to you?" And there she was, my Britt Britt, looking sweater.
No more dominance...this wasn't the time.
"Please?" I squeaked, and she was on her feet in an instant.
The softness disappeared as she pressed me back against the wall.
Pain and pleasure.
Fucking hormones.
I moaned when I felt her body against mine, but I sobbed when the pain intensified.
Even at that moment, I wanted her.
That's what HE had been trying to push me to.
He wanted me to break down. He tried to take my credibility, get me hooked again, and submit to him.
My high had always brought out the nymphomaniac in me.
He knew that.
But Britt had broken that hold that HE and Marco had put on me.
She was my home ruler.
Britt was the only one that owned every inch of my body.
Not Marco, not Ian, and definitely not HIM.
I wouldn't go down without a fight.
HE tried everything that HE could to break me.
But each pain just made me stronger.
And when I was sober, I would tell her so.
But for now...I needed her to not be here.
She had to be around for the kids.
Be for them...what I could never properly be.
A mother.
She hovered over me and ran her hands up my sides.
I shivered, and she gave me a small smile, but I still couldn't return it.
Even though I smelled, she kissed my forehead before brushing my hair out of my face, and I crumbled a bit.
Like she'd done countless times, she'd taken a hair tie off her wrist and bunched my hair up into a top knot which made some of the itching stop.
She was so sweet, and it overwhelmed me.
My back was pressed to the wall, and I could feel that my sweatshirt was stuck to my bloody back.
The pain was too much.
I saw white spots in my vision.
"You're hurting me, Britt." I said in a colder voice than I intended. "My back hurts...please...stop. Please?" I said a little softer.
She nodded and stepped back just enough for me to not be touching the wall.
The pressure eased as I stepped forward so that I was still pressed against her.
Even though I didn't want her to see me like this, since she was already here, I planned to take advantage of her touch while I still could.
When she saw that I was stable, Britt raised my chin and looked directly into my eyes.
I knew they were glassy.
There was coke and heroin, among other things, in my system.
She bit down on her lip as she used her sleeve to wipe at my bloody nose.
This hurt her.
And it hurt me to know that it hurt her.
"How much did you take?" She whispered calmly.
"I don't know."
"Powder or liquid."
I felt my mind draw a blank.
Who knew what was in that glass...but that wasn't all that I had...right?
There was the syringe.
I lifted my hand and touched the sore spot on my neck. She tilted her head to look closer.
Her finger traced the sore spot. "A needle, baby. Did he do that?"
"Yes." I hissed when she leaned and kissed it.
"What else did you take? Try to remember for me. Other than this needle, was it powder or liquid?"
I had to close my eyes and think hard.
My nose was still gushing, and the harder I thought...the more it gushed.
She had never asked that question before; I hadn't been prepared for it.
I wracked my brain for an answer for what seemed like an eternity.
My mouth was stuck open.
I took deep breaths as I tried to breathe since she still had her sleeve blocking my nose.
Then finally, I opened my eyes and looked up at her.
I couldn't back down.
This wasn't my fault.
"Both." I said as I turned my face from her and used my palms to push her back more.
The touch I had craved moments before was becoming too much to handle.
I stepped to the side and leaned against the wall again.
She stood there and looked at me with her sweater sleeve all bloody...her favorite fucking sweater, but she didn't seem to care...instead, she kept trying to read me.
What did she see when she looked at me?
Could she see what had happened?
What had I been through?
Could she see that I needed medical attention?
"Did he hurt you?"
Of course, she did.
Britt sees things about me that no one else does.
I felt the tears clog my throat.
Everything was blurry.
I wiped at my eyes and then nodded.
"Yes, so much."
"You have to let me see...please? Let me help you, please, baby?"
I dropped my head and brought my hands up to block my ears.
She was too nice.
I didn't deserve to be touched by her.
Not like this.
She hadn't witnessed me just after...and I didn't want her to see just how bad things were.
So I had to ignore what she was saying.
Had to ignore the sweetness.
This wasn't what I wanted to hear.
"Stop...stop...stop...please? Stop!" I whispered.
She was breaking down my will.
I wanted to explain everything to her.
This was about self-preservation.
She needed to be saved from me.
This was about more than us.
It was about escape from everything that had brought me to the brink of destruction.
The less she knew...the better.
Britt helped me lay on my side, which felt way better. Then she brushed her fingers over my face until I stopped crying.
I was lying flat on my stomach because it was the only way to have some relief, so she sat with me.
She said nice things to me, told me how she believed in me.
How we were going to spend as much of this summer as we could traveling with our babies.
I wanted to believe her.
But I couldn't think about the happy things.
Not while I was like this.
So I didn't.
I wouldn't talk to her or even look at her, and when she tried to touch me to see the state of my back, I started screaming.
She couldn't have the control back right now.
It was the only thing holding me together.
I needed it.
Like air.
I closed my eyes to shut her out until she left me there alone.
And I wanted to be glad about it, I wanted to be glad that she finally knew to stand down, but it hurt.
I'd pushed her away, but I wanted her to stay.
Whatever I had taken had me feeling like I was sober, coherent, but I started to think that I wasn't.
I felt like I was losing my mind.
The voices were back, and I could hear them louder than the sound of my breathing.
It's over.
It's over.
It's over.
It's over.
Junkie...junkie...junkie...junkie...junkie...junkie.
"No!"
I kept screaming as my face rested against the floor.
I probably looked crazy.
But I wasn't.
I was scared.
And lonely as I curled up into a fetal position.
I needed help, but I didn't fucking want it.
But Britt knew me better...and I could tell she was watching.
She still was in control...even though I'd tried to run her away.
I don't know when I blacked out, but when I did, they finally moved me.
That must have been what they were waiting for; moving me while I was enraged and erratic was dangerous.
No one knew the extent of my injuries; as I began to come to, I realized that was Britt's purpose.
She'd been sent in to calm me down and get me to give in to the darkness.
I'm not sure when they moved me from that room or how long it took, but when I woke up...I was plugged into machines, laying flat on my stomach in a hospital.
When I went to brush my hair from my face, I couldn't.
I was in restraints.
Whoever heard of putting a person in restraints upside down?
Why was I even in them?
They thought I was crazy.
But I wasn't.
My headache was dull, probably because of the IV.
How can this be life?
And now...after what had felt like hours or days or weeks...I was finally sober.
They were medicating me still...the buzzing of my body told me so.
But I was sober.
That was a fact.
I hissed as a draft hit my exposed back.
My palms itched, and my throat was on fire.
I was stuck; I heard shuffling and was suddenly desperate.
"Britt?"
It was so dark, and my breaths were coming up short.
There was no response, so I kept calling for her.
Why wouldn't she answer me?
I was screaming again.
But this time, my screams weren't as loud.
I sounded weak.
Crazy but weak.
I had to stop.
But the tears coming from me...were the product of the morning that I had.
I had been holding it in, but now it was rushing towards me.
All at once.
"San...please...San...stop! You're scaring him."
And that's when I heard it.
My son.
He was crying.
I opened my eyes and turned my head in the opposite direction.
Towards the noise.
I wiped my eyes on the bed in the process.
When I lifted my head, I was met with the most beautiful eyes.
Isaac's eyes in his red glasses meant he could see me very clearly, and then I realized how I must look to him. He was at an age where memories were formed.
This was not how I wanted him to see me.
"Take him away." I begged.
"San..." Quinn said as she held him to her chest.
But I wouldn't waiver on this.
My first memory was when I was three...it was fuzzy, but it was a memory.
I didn't want him to have this be his first memory.
"Please...just freaking do it...take him away and don't bring him back here...not while I'm like this." I whispered.
There were tears in her eyes, but she just nodded.
I watched silently as she walked away.
"I want Mami, Dama, please?" Isaac begged her, but Quinn knew I was serious. I could trust her to honor my request, for both me and him.
I may not have been able to spare him the burden of having me as his mother, but I damn sure could spare him from being traumatized.
This was too much for him...shit...it was too much for me.
I wanted to keep him in his Elmo world forever...or at least until I was finally going long stretches of time without the drama.
At least I could do that much...right?
My chest hurt as I sobbed into the bed.
How did things get so screwed up?
Where was Mami?
Where was Britt?
This crash from the drugs was making me feel sick.
I was at the end of my rope with staying quiet; I would talk and do whatever they wanted if they could stop leaving me alone.
My will to live had finally kicked in after days of feeling like I just wanted to die. This couldn't happen again...no No more surprise psychos coming from the woodwork were attacking me again.
I'd call in every fucking hitman that I could, whatever it took, as long as I could assure myself and Britt that our kids wouldn't grow up like this.
The games were over.
Now I just had to prove it.
I needed to live it.
The attitudes and sarcasm weren't doing me any good.
Being in this city was just screwing me up.
I had just bought a really great house...but it was too close to the madness.
I knew I wasn't screaming anymore, but my cries were pretty loud.
Could anyone hear me?
Had this turned the tables on my life?
Would I be cut off longer?
Was Britt still in this?
Had I pushed too hard?
The doctors came in and talked to me, but I couldn't hear them.
When they asked questions, I nodded until they undid my restraints and put a burning liquid in my IV.
After that, I went black again.
This time for longer.
When I woke up again, I was wrapped in a tight cast and was plugged into another IV in the triage unit.
I was back in rehab, and this time, I was grateful.
Better here than jail...or dead.
I felt the heaviness on my ankle...so maybe this was like the first time I had nearly killed a man.
Was this what Mami could do when she was on my side or was this Britt turning her dominance on my family?
I had more questions than answers. All I could figure out was that it seemed I was getting a chance to heal in a safe place.
When I tried reaching for the nurse call button, the tight pull of my back stopped me.
My skin was taut...which told me that I had stitches crisscrossing my back underneath the cast.
When I looked at my hands, they were free of blood or dirt; the only evidence of what had happened was my chipped manicure.
Everything hurt so very bad.
But my back...had been the worst out of everything that I had gone through.
I knew that this was rehab and that pain medication was out of the question.
So I had to deal with it.
Hopefully, though...it would dull more as the day went on.
I was feeling hungover and would just suffer through it.
Frankly, after what I went through...I was just glad to be alive.
A nurse came in to check my vitals, then she fluffed my pillows and put a warm blanket over the one I already had. It was then that I realized that I was wearing just panties and the cast.
She put a new bag on the IV pole and then put the call button closer to my hand.
"Aren't you going to say anything to me?" I asked her, and she smiled.
"Your doctor will be in soon to talk to you; if you need anything, page me."
"Thank you." I said and then rested back against the freshly fluffed pillows.
My body was itching, even my eyeballs, but I just bit down on my lips and tried to ignore it.
Which seemed impossible.
I tried to sleep, but with sobriety came memories of everything that had happened.
The way I wouldn't scream, so he brought out a whip because my smile was creeping him out.
And how I pounced on him, digging in and dragging the shard of broken glass across his neck.
He wasn't dead, even though that was my intention as I carved into his flesh and tried to slit his throat.
I remember the gurgling of him choking on blood, which jerked me into reality. I had panicked and tried to cover his wound...which was insane but even coked out of my gourd; I knew murder wasn't my goal, freedom was.
Somewhere in my head, I must have known not to go too deep.
Because who survives having their throat cut?
He had survived, something that my sober mind was very grateful for because death was too easy for him, that motherfucker needed to pay for everything he had done but not by my hand.
I had to trust the justice system.
What I knew for a fact was that he would never touch my children.
I just had to worry about the consequences of my actions.
Hopefully, this hadn't screwed me up.
I had an ace up my sleeve...and I would use it if I had to.
Now seemed like that chance.
It felt good to finally strike back at him...but at what cost?
I heard the door open, but I didn't bother to open my eyes; I was mid-prayer, my lips moving and my fingers tracing invisible rosary beads.
The tears felt cool on my skin as I tried to remain still, not trusting myself to move and trigger pain.
I just needed something...a taste.
Anything to dull the ache.
My stomach felt hollowed out and my mouth dry; all I needed was a taste.
A sweet, bitter sniff would do.
"Santana?" When the nurse had referred to my doctor, I hadn't thought she meant my psychiatrist.
But I was grateful.
I opened my eyes, and there stood Amy, with a single rose.
"Romantic." I said, feeling happy that my sarcasm was still intact.
"This is from Brittany."
"Thank God, I didn't want to have to break up with you so soon."
She faked heartbreak as she put a hand at her chest like she was wounded.
"Thank heavens."
I laughed, and then I hissed because laughing hurt.
"Fuck, that hurt. Um...Amy...can you bring it closer? I can't lift my arms too much." She put it to my nose, and I inhaled, so much sweeter than coke. It wasn't enough, but it was something. I sighed as she put it down in my water cup. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Why you?" I asked, not bothering to mince words.
"I'm here to assess. Dr. Clover will be taking on your care while you're here but with my guidance."
"Oh...because you outrank her?"
"Because I'm your primary."
"Right."
"Do you have any questions for me?"
"Am I under arrest?"
"Technically, no."
"Then why the anklet."
"An abundance of caution is being enacted due to the severity and sensitivity surrounding this case."
"I'm a millionaire flight risk, you mean?"
"Potentially. How does that make you feel?"
"It's fine. Rather here than jail."
"That's exactly what your wife said."
"Is she the reason that I'm here?"
Amy nodded, and then she sat beside my bed, folded her hands on her lap, and smiled.
"My turn?" She asked.
"Shoot." I said back.
"How are you feeling?"
"Empowered and determined."
Usually, when I speak to Amy or Dr. Clover, I'm used to the sound of scribbling after I speak...but there was no writing.
She was actually listening to me.
My voice was extra raspy, but I wouldn't clear my throat.
It hurt too much, and my chest hurt from him kicking me.
Something was probably broken.
It was kind of hard to breathe.
But I was still here.
"I brought your pills...do you want to take them for me?"
I nodded and held out my hand.
She dropped five pills into my palm.
I looked down at them and then up at her.
"There are two extra pills...what are they?"
"Methadone...it's going to help with the withdrawal symptoms that you are going to feel."
I nodded and threw all the pills into my mouth.
My mouth was dry, and I smiled when I saw her hand out.
She handed me a bottle of water, and I quickly chugged the whole thing down, pushing past the pain of moving my neck.
I cringed and handed the bottle to her.
"Thank you, Amy."
"You're welcome, Santana."
"Thanks for bringing me to rehab; I...at the end, when he wasn't a threat...I took some without being provoked. Just so you know."
"You were brought here after the hospital was able to identify the number of drugs in your system as a precaution; given your medical history, this was the safest place for you to withdrawal."
"Thank you...how did you get people to agree?"
"You mean the cops? From what your mother tells me, you will be granted full immunity in exchange for your testimony."
"That bitch finally came through?"
"We've discussed your references to your mother, Santana."
"Right, I know...I'm sorry."
"Is being here okay with you?"
I nodded and then flinched as the pain shot through me.
"So, how long am I here?"
"Fourteen days, and if after that you don't feel strong enough to withstand the cravings that you will undoubtedly feel, then you can request to stay longer."
"Good."
"I'm glad you approve."
"Thank you, Amy."
"This was all Brittany's idea...she convinced me that you didn't take those drugs on purpose. I think she pretty much convinced everyone; we'll chalk that one for the road that you took as a side effect of already being high."
"Yea?"
I could tell that I was looking at her in shock as she spoke, but she didn't show that she noticed.
She just looked ahead out of the window.
"Santana...a lot of people want to talk to you about what happened two days ago...including me...but only when you feel ready to talk about it. Just know...that you can't push this down, not like you did as a child. This is bigger than Marco Vega or anything else."
I nodded, shocked that two days had passed. I flexed my fingers and then gave her as much of a smile as I could muster.
"Amy?"
"Yes, Santana?"
"Could you just hold my hand...please?"
She looked hesitant, but after a moment, she took my hand in hers. She didn't say anything about crossing professional lines.
I so obviously needed human contact, and she was the only one there to give it.
She hummed, and I joined in as we sat quietly while I waited for the pills to kick in and for my brain to stop being foggy.
"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" She asked when I finally let go of her hand.
"When can I see Brittany?"
"As soon as we are done here. She's waiting for you."
"She is?" I whimpered.
"When I got to the police station, she was there making sure you were put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital, and from what I know, she hasn't left your side since."
"Really?"
"Really."
