Keep Me Where the Light Is (part 4)
...And that's alright, I found a martyr in my bed tonight.
She stops my bones from wondering just who I am,
Who I am, who I am
Oh, who am I? mmm…mmm…
Some nights, I wish that this all would end,
Cause I could use some friends for a change.
And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again.
Some nights, I always win (I always win)...
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost.
Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for…ohhh
What do I stand for? What do I stand for?
Most nights, I don't know…
So this is it? I sold my soul for this?
Washed my hands of that for this?
I miss my mom and dad for this?
No. When I see stars, when I see stars, that's all they are.
When I hear songs, they sound like this one,
So come on.
Oh, come on. Oh, come on...
That is it, guys, that is all –
five minutes in and I'm bored again.
Ten years of this, I'm not sure if anybody understands.
This one is not for the folks at home,
I'm sorry to leave, Mom, I had to go.
Who the fuck wants to die alone
All dried up in the desert sun?
My heart is breaking for my sister
and the con that she called "love",
Then I look into my nephew's eyes…
Man, you wouldn't believe,
The most amazing things
that can come from…
Some terrible lies...
(Some Nights ~ fun.)
Thursday, July 14, 2022
4:02 pm
Quinn Fabray was sitting at her standard-issued, university-staff desk on Thursday afternoon, recording test grades into the Yale online grade book, when she heard a knock on her office door.
She looked up and said loudly enough to be heard, "Come in."
"Dr. Fabray?" a young sandy-blonde poked in her head and smiled, "Am I interrupting?"
"Chloe, hi…," Quinn returned the smile, motioning toward the two empty chairs across from her desk, "It's fine…have a seat. And remember, outside the classroom, it's Quinn, ok?"
Chloe Sullivan smiled widely as she stepped inside the cozy office where Quinn sat, thumbing through papers askew in front of her. Most everything in the small space was boring brown wood except for shelves of colorful books that lined the wall opposite the desk and the purple and white Orchid plant that sat on top of an adjacent metal file cabinet.
"I wanted to talk over the idea I had for my one act play assignment. Here's an outline of my research," the twenty-four-year-old graduate student told Quinn, pushing several white sheets toward her, "I was hoping you could look at it and give me some feedback before I start writing it out."
"Wow, Chloe…you've put a lot of effort into this project," Quinn commented, her eyes scanning the typed words on the pages, "I'm impressed."
The younger girl smiled at her advisor, her fair skin blushing slightly, "Thank you, Dr….Quinn."
The older blonde chuckled, asking with a raised eyebrow, "Swans?"
"I've just always been fascinated with the subject of swans. They're revered in historical folklore for their beauty and grace," Chloe explained, adding sheepishly, "Adjectives I'm sure you're familiar with…."
Quinn looked up from her desk as awkward silence filled the air around the two of them, clearing her throat and saying quickly, "So what is your theme?"
"Sacred love…and the spiritual and emotional death associated with losing that one true love," Chloe answered, shuffling her copy of her outline.
Quinn internally pondered that statement, her mind instantly filling with images of Cate Boyd and regret over breaking things off with the older musician whom she fell in love with the summer before her senior year at McKinley High. The two had dated a little over five years, most of that time being long distance with Quinn in Lima, Ohio then at Yale in New Haven, Connecticut while Cate attended Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts.
The young professor physically shook her head to rid it of the intense emotions overwhelming her senses, feeling blue eyes staring across at her.
"Sacred love?" Quinn repeated to return her mind to the topic her student raised.
"Yeah, swans are known to mate for life…if one of them is untimely ripped from the other," Chloe described dramatically with the exaggerated flair Quinn saw in most thespians, "The other one has been heard to sing a mournful song…one that mimics their own death in a sense."
"Well, love is complex, Chloe…," Quinn explained, casting her gaze to the side as she spoke thoughtfully, "It can take many forms. There is romantic love, sure…but there is also love between family members…love of a parent for a child…." The older blonde trailed off with her thought, and she drew in a steadying breath of air, looking back up at the watchful eyes of her student.
"I know, but there is only that one true sacred love…one of souls connecting," Chloe persisted, "That's the most powerful connection there is…right?"
The professor nodded her agreement, a strained look on her beautiful face. "Sounds like a rich topic," Quinn replied as she handed back the pages, "You see this play as a tragedy, I take it?"
"No, it's a satirical comedy…like all love stories," a deep feminine voice retorted from the open doorway.
Quinn turned her neck to see a very attractive woman who was dressed in a navy suit with the tight skirt sitting just above her knee, revealing her long, shapely legs. Her thick, dark hair was pulled up on top of her head with wavy strands cascading down, and her brown eyes peeked out from behind a stylish pair of light brown glasses.
The blonde grimaced noticeably at the unexpected intrusion and asked with a biting edge to her otherwise sweet-sounding voice, "Did you need something?"
"Oh, just a few moments of your time…Professor," the older woman asked, giving a tight-lipped smile.
"I can come back, Quinn…um, Dr. Fabray," Chloe shifted nervously under the palpable tension, gathering her sheets of papers and stuffing them back into her zipped, canvas notebook.
"Let me think more about your proposal, Chloe," Quinn smiled at the student to offset the disruption, "We'll chat at the Cabaret tomorrow night, ok?"
"No problem…see you there," Chloe smiled too and gave a small wave as she looked back over her shoulder. When she moved toward the doorway, the taller woman stepped aside to let the young girl pass before she stepped inside purposefully and sat down, crossing her legs at the knees.
Quinn rolled her green eyes and sighed heavily, busying herself with slight organization of the many papers on her undersized desk, not saying anything to her most recent guest.
"Had I known you were 'mentoring' a student, I would have called ahead for an appointment," the brunette said with a snarky tone.
Quinn stared blankly across at the attractive woman, "What did you need, Alison?"
"She's flirting with you," the brunette said bluntly with a smirk and raised eye brows.
"Please…," Quinn dismissed the comment, shifting uncomfortably in her fabric-covered chair.
"Don't act so surprised, Quinn," Alison Momas sneered behind a fake smile, "Humility is not your strong suit."
"And what makes you so sure she was flirting?"
"Because you were flirting back," the brunette said matter-of-factly with a shrug.
Quinn ran a hand through her shoulder-length, light honey-colored hair, leaning back in her chair. "Here we go…the same old argument," she said with a slow, exasperated sigh, "One would think you'd tire of it after nearly a year."
"One would think that you…," Alison told her ex-girlfriend, "…would tire of sleeping with your students."
"For the 500th time, I'm not sleeping with any of my students," she assured the older woman, "But I stopped having to defend myself to you once you packed and left."
"Oh, right…I forgot, again…everything is my fault," Alison folded her arms across her chest.
"Alison, as much as I enjoy rehashing all the inherent flaws in my personality and behavior that you like to point out…did you have a reason for being here?" Quinn asked.
"Your mail," Alison leaned across the desk and placed two envelopes she'd been holding in front of Quinn.
"These are addressed to you," Quinn observed flatly.
"Yes…but they are bills we agreed you would pay off."
Quinn looked a moment at her ex, reestablishing in her mind that Alison really was a beautiful woman…when she wasn't running her mouth incessantly or being overly critical. Quinn had been drawn to the fact Alison was seven years older and established in her career as a buyer for a local art museum. The young blonde found Alison Momas to be poised and assertive with impeccable style and etiquette.
She instantly caught Quinn's attention when the blonde met her through mutual friends at an art gallery opening a year earlier. Their romance had been fast and furious with Alison wining and dining the younger girl all over the state of Connecticut. After four months, Alison moved into Quinn's loft, almost instantly taking over and changing things to her particular tastes. Five months into the relationship, according to Alison, Quinn was sleeping around with every attractive, female drama student who looked twice at the young professor. After eight months together, Quinn tired of defending herself against the insane accusations and started spending more and more time at the Cabaret, carving out her niche in the New Haven theatre scene.
"Fine," Quinn picked up the envelopes, opening then closing the top drawer of her desk once she set them inside, "Anything else?"
Alison chuckled and shook her head, "That's it? Thirteen months together, and we can't even sit in the same room for more than ten minutes?"
Quinn looked down at her watch, "I have a class in a few minutes."
"No you don't…You forget I know your schedule, Quinn," the brunette smiled victoriously, "Do you lie about everything now?"
"Being in your presence exhausts me, Ali," Quinn admitted without any expression.
"Is that my cue to leave?"
Quinn didn't respond, and she cast her gaze down at the papers on her desk again.
The older woman stood with a huff and walked toward the still-open office door, saying over her shoulder, "Goodbye, Quinn…call me when you grow up."
Quinn bit at her lower lip as warm tears filled her eyes. She felt like she'd aged ten years in the past ten minutes, growing increasingly tired of her selections within the lesbian dating scene. She wanted desperately to go back in time and make different choices, specifically the choice where she broke the heart of Cate Boyd.
The blonde reached up and wiped at her cheek as a tear escaped and rolled its way down her beautiful face.
Friday, July 15, 2022
6:20 PM
Santana Lopez walked down a flight of stairs to apartment #5C and knocked on the door.
The door opened, revealing an attractive blond in khaki cargo shorts, the muscles in his exposed chest and broad shoulders subtly flexing as he stood there in the doorway. His face instantly lit up, and he greeted the brunette, "Santana…hey!"
"Hello," the Latina smiled widely, "Am I interrupting?"
"Oh, no…come in," Grayson Knox looked down at his bare chest, remembering he was sans shirt, "Sorry! Let me grab a shirt."
"No problem," Santana stepped inside the apartment, closing the door behind her and saying jovially, "I may not have dated men for years, but I can still appreciate a nice chest, Gray."
The older guy walked back out of the one bedroom in his very orderly apartment, pulling a t-shirt over his head, responding, "Well, if you ever want to participate in topless nights here at Chez Knox then I'm game."
Santana laughed loudly, knowing her good friend was teasing, "Yeah sure…in this heat…we've got topless day and night up at Chez Lopez-Pierce."
"Now that's something I would not mind seeing," Grayson winked at her.
"You know…you intrigue me, Grayson," Santana told him.
"How's that?" he asked with a tilt of his head.
The brunette shrugged, "You're successful…you're sweet and charming…gorgeous…built..."
He gave her a genuine smile and looked down at the floor, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment.
"How are you single?" Santana asked with an air of wonderment.
He shifted his stance and looked back up at her, "What? I date."
"Are you referring to Kristen?" she smirked, "She was an insane bitch."
Grayson laughed, never tiring of the Latina's bluntness, "She was entertaining though…right?"
"Yeah, no," Santana shook her head, grimacing, "Not that Britt and I didn't enjoy her drunken outbursts in the stairwell at 4am…but we enjoy sleep more."
"Sorry about that," the blond blushed slightly and grinned, "That was definitely a long three months…I make bad choices, clearly."
Santana laughed, "Before Kristen though…I seriously thought you were gay."
"You did?" he chuckled good-naturedly, "Hmm…I prefer 'loner'."
"Well, Loner...you will be at Brittany's premiere…right?" she reminded him.
"Of course! Next Thursday night, yes?"
"The 21st…she's reserved some seats. Just claim your ticket at Will Call by seven fifteen, ok?"
"The Gershwin Will Call window…seven fifteen. Got it," he smiled.
"Ok, I should head back up…I didn't even bring my keys," she told him as she patted her pocketless yellow shorts for emphasis.
"Oh, did you still want that fan?" Grayson referred to the oscillating room fan he told the girls he had if they decided they needed it.
"Yes, I nearly forgot," she ran a hand through her dark hair, replying, "You're sure you aren't going to be using it?"
"No, let me grab it from my closet…just a second," he said as he walked back inside his small bedroom.
Santana looked around at the nicely-decorated apartment. It was clear a guy lived within its walls. Grayson had a sleek but comfy dark brown sectional which segmented his entertainment area perfectly, allowing a small space over by the bedroom wall for a rectangle dining area…though Santana had never known her neighbor to host any friend or family dinners. Grayson worked hard to make the space his own by painting the walls a light slate blue and hanging some framed artwork.
She walked over toward the far wall and picked up a silver-framed picture from the built-in bookshelf, looking at the smiling faces of a young woman and little boy who posed with Grayson. The brunette was just about to set it down when he returned, holding a medium-sized black fan.
"Here ya go…," he said, looking over toward the door and not seeing her.
"Sorry, I was just looking…,"Santana said from the opposite side of the room, holding up the framed photograph.
Grayson smiled, noticing his friendly neighbor suddenly seemed a bit nervous, "It's ok…I promise I don't lead a secret life. I'm not Batman or like…a serial killer or something."
"Who are they?" Santana asked curiously, knowing Grayson rarely, if ever, made any mention of family.
"My wife and son…," the handsome blond stated candidly with a strained tone to his voice.
Santana looked up quickly, uncertain as to the proper response. She'd known Grayson for two years, been in his apartment many times, albeit relatively briefly each time, but had never seen this picture nor heard him speak of a wife and son. "You are married?"
"Was married, yes," he said softly.
Santana swallowed hard and set the frame back on the shelf, turning toward Grayson, "How often do you get to see your son?"
"Never."
"Would you if you could?"
"Absolutely," Grayson looked up and nodded.
"Then why not make it happen, Gray?" Santana said encouragingly.
"Because he's gone," the blond bit at his lower lip before adding, "My wife and son were killed in a car crash three years ago this past April. Gage would have been two the following week."
The revelation instantly pulled at Santana's heart, fresh tears forming in her eyes as she steadied herself, "I didn't know, Grayson…I'm so sorry."
"How could you know? I don't mention them," he confessed as he sniffed and swallowed back his pent up emotion, "It's just too hard most of the time, but I found that picture recently…in a box down in storage, so I decided what the hell…and I set it out."
Santana looked back at the picture on the shelf, noting this time how much Gage looked just like his father with his wavy blond hair and big blue eyes. Not knowing anything more to say and never being one to handle emotional moments well, the Latina turned back toward Grayson, telling him, "You work too hard, my friend. You need to socialize more."
The handsome guy laughed, equally grateful for the change in topic, "I do, huh?"
"On Sunday, a group of us are having brunch at Caliente…at ten thirty," Santana referenced Frap's well-known Mexican restaurant where Brittany waitressed off and on, walking toward her tall neighbor and grabbing him by the upper arm to pat it affectionately, "My sister will be there…she's a sight to behold and must be experienced at least once in this lifetime."
"Anything like Kristen?" the blond joked.
Santana laughed, picturing the tiny diva she eventually grew to love immensely, "Yeah, sort of…but only slightly insane…and way less drunk."
Grayson laughed heartily at that.
"It'll be fun…some of mine and Britt's friends will be there too," Santana assured him, "…so you are joining us…no excuses!"
9: 48 PM
Santana was stretched out on the bed in her pajama shorts and tank top, watching an old movie on television and relishing the direct air-flow provided by the fan Grayson loaned her, when she heard the locks on the front door turn. Seconds later, Brittany walked through the door, locking it behind her and setting her dance bags on the floor.
The brunette sat up and called to her wife, "Hey! You're home early."
"Alton dismissed the chorus to work with Rachel on her solo numbers, sooo…," Brittany turned and smiled, "I thought I'd surprise you."
"It's an awesome surprise!" Santana exclaimed, pushing an extra pillow behind her back so she was more upright.
Brittany circled through the kitchen and opened the utensil drawer, pulling out a spoon then moving toward the bed. She stopped briefly near the chest of drawers to kick off her sneakers.
"I brought you a treat," she told Santana as she climbed on top of the bed, pushing up next to her and presenting her the spoon, "For you." The blonde unrolled the brown paper sack in her hands and pulled out a small, white carton, removing the top.
"Ice cream?" Santana asked excitedly.
"Your favorite," Brittany beamed, pleased that she thought of the gesture as she walked past the bright lights of Rainbow Sprinkles on her path from the subway to their building.
Santana stuck her spoon into the middle of the chocolaty-concoction, savoring the cool bite for a moment, "Mmmm…chocolate brownie chunk!"
Brittany's blue eyes sparkled as she watched Santana enjoy the dessert. It always gave her great pleasure to bring little surprises now and then for her sweetheart to remind Santana that she was thinking of her. "I know you're avoiding caffeine…but I thought a little bit couldn't hurt, right?"
The tall dancer smiled and leaned into the Latina, accepting a kiss of gratitude from Santana before she took another then another bite, telling Brittany, "Oh my god…this is almost as good as sex."
"That good, huh?" Brittany laughed, squeezing her arms around Santana's body.
"Almost…," the brunette stressed with a wink, scooping out a bite and lowering the spoon to Brittany's mouth, "Taste it."
"Heavenly," Brittany admitted, pulling Santana's head down for a kiss, her tongue lingering to lick at the chocolate residue from her wife's cold lips.
"Thank you, babe…," Santana said, taking the last couple of bites then replacing the top and reaching over Brittany's body to set the container and spoon on the bedside table.
"You are very welcome."
Santana pulled Brittany close once the Latina settled back against the pillows, laying her head over on top of the blonde's head, saying tenderly, "It's great to have a little extra time with you tonight."
Brittany moved further down Santana's body. She put her cheek against her wife's lower abdomen, telling their growing embryo, "Just remember that I'm the mom who brings home ice cream."
"You're already talking to it?" Santana giggled, caressing Brittany's long, silky hair that was pulled back into a tight ponytail, "It doesn't even have ears yet."
"No, but it has a heartbeat…," Brittany clarified, still overwhelmed from their ultrasound earlier in the week that confirmed the progression and that Santana was medically six weeks pregnant. She kissed on top of the cotton fabric then rubbed her long fingers under the waistband of Santana's shorts, "I know it senses my presence."
Santana was sure of it too which made her feel a special type of warmth pass through her entire body, "I'm sure it does, love."
Brittany rested with her face pressed tightly against Santana's lower portion for a few quiet minutes, closing her eyes and trying to mentally picture what form their child might be taking as its tiny cells continued to rapidly divide. She had never really given much thought to human biology and life science before she and Santana started this fertility process.
Quite honestly, the topics always sort of bored her in school, never being a very strong student, but now that Brittany had a personal stake in the matter and a first-hand account of what all went into the phenomenon of conception and its reliance on perfect timing, she realized how truly amazing the idea of human life could be.
"That fan feels good, doesn't it?" the Latina asked, feeling it against her exposed legs and arms, seeing it blow strands of Brittany's golden hair.
"Yes! Is that the one from Grayson?"
"Yeah…speaking of…he is going with us to brunch on Sunday if that's okay with you," Santana told her wife as Brittany cuddle against her, "We're still going, right?"
"Definitely," Brittany lifted her head and shifted back up on the pillows, her long arm still draped protectively across Santana's mid-section with her hand down over the brunette's lower portion, savoring that connection, "I just have to be to the theatre by two o'clock."
"Britt, did you know he had been married?" the Latina asked rhetorically, knowing Brittany would have surely told her had she found out.
"Really?" the shock in her voice was obvious.
"He lost his wife…and their son…in a car accident a few years ago," Santana recounted sadly.
"Oh wow…that's horrible," Brittany grimaced at that revelation, "Poor Grayson…no wonder he works all the time."
"Yeah, he could hardly talk about them, so I didn't ask any details."
Brittany shook her head, the news affecting her deeply, especially on a personal level, and she confessed to her wife, "That would destroy me, Tan…if I lost you and our child."
"Gage was his son. He was two," Santana repeated what she knew.
"It's just so tragic," Brittany added, heartbroken for their friend.
"How do you ever get over something like that?" Santana pondered with a deep sigh, squeezing Brittany tightly and pushing away the sensation of ultimate loss that hung over them.
"I'm not sure you do," Brittany told her honestly, "That sort of loss affects you forever, but…you just have to find a way to carry on."
Santana took a deep breath and put her hand over Brittany's which still rested on her lower abdomen, interlocking her fingers with her wife's, then she slowly closed her eyes.
Author's Note: I'm always delighted to read your comments and your private messages to me here and on tumblr. Your enthusiasm for this new story keeps me motivated, and I adore each one of you for it. Thank you!
A special thank you to Catherine, as always, for your steady pulse of support in my everyday…and an extra-special thank you to Sarah for breathing new life into my world recently and providing some of the inspiration for this particular chapter.