Keep Me Where the Light Is (part 13)
If I kiss you where it's sore
If I kiss you where it's sore
Will you feel better, better, better
Will you feel anything at all
Will you feel better, better, better
Will you feel anything at all…
Born like sisters to this world
In a town where blood ties are only blood
If you never say your name out loud to anyone
They can never ever call you by it…
If I kiss you where it's sore
If I kiss you where it's sore
Will you feel better, better, better
Will you feel anything at all
Will you feel better, better, better
Will you feel anything at all…
You're getting sadder, getting sadder, getting sadder,
getting sadder
And I don't understand, and I don't understand
But if I kiss you where it's sore
If I kiss you where it's sore
If I kiss you where it's sore
Will you feel better, better, better
Will you feel anything at all….
(Better ~ Regina Spektor)
Tuesday, September 6, 2022
2:53 AM
Brittany's eyelids fluttered open then shut back tight when she saw darkness. She easily drifted back to sleep until she heard it again. There was an odd noise in the apartment, coming from somewhere, and it was preventing deep sleep from reclaiming her.
Her eyelids fluttered open again. It was still dark, only a few minutes having passed, so they automatically shut back tight.
The noise though was persistent in the background, and Brittany could no longer ignore it. The more awake she became, the louder the noise got until Brittany rolled over, seeing green digital numbers on the bedside alarm clock. It was three o'clock in the morning, and Santana was missing.
Brittany ran her hand over her wife's section of their bed, feeling that it was cold to the touch. Ever since Santana returned home from the hospital after the miscarriage, neither of them had slept soundly, so waking up and finding her side empty was not particularly alarming to Brittany.
She yawned and stretched, her body trying to force itself into full consciousness. She sat up slowly and rubbed at the severe fatigue behind her stinging eyes. The blonde had struggled with mental and physical exhaustion since she returned to the chorus of dancers for Funny Girl last week, and everyone around her was starting to whisper in the wings that her typically-sharp dance steps were getting sloppier.
Brittany looked over toward the bathroom, realizing the sound she heard was coming from inside. It sounded like water running, and the blonde saw the interior light shining from underneath its closed door.
After she slid across the bed, she padded over and knocked on the wooden barrier. "Santana?"
There was no answer, so she turned the knob and pushed on it slowly, immediately engulfed in warm steam from the shower and an intense smell of bleach cleaner.
"Tan?" Brittany called louder as she knocked on the privacy glass of the shower stall, opening it with a pop of the seal.
Brittany looked in, her gaze immediately moving downward to see that her wife was on her hands and knees, scrubbing at the tile on the floor of the shower. Santana's choice of cleaning time was not the strangest part of this scene for Brittany. The fact that Santana still had on her pajama shorts and tank was what stood out to her, especially since the hot water was turned on full blast, spraying down, completely soaking her.
"Santana," Brittany repeated, reaching out to touch her wife on her wet shoulder.
The Latina did not turn around or even flinch at the blonde's touch.
Brittany stood there, watching Santana scrub at the same spot over and over and over, her long, wet strands of dark hair hanging over her face.
The longer Brittany watched, the harder Santana scrubbed at the grout with her green scrub pad until Brittany saw red liquid run out and mix with the clear, hot water.
"Santana! Stop!" Brittany yelled at her wife, reaching in again and pulling her by her upper arm, "What are you doing?"
The brunette sat up, pushed back on her heels, looking up at Brittany with a blank expression as water rolled down her hair and body, her wet clothes clinging to her slender form.
Brittany turned the silver handle to shut off the water until it slowed to a drip. "Your fingers are bleeding," the blonde informed her, equal parts of concern and exasperation mixed in her voice, as she turned to pull the hand towel off of the metal ring affixed to the wall.
Kneeling to the floor on the outer portion of the shower stall, Brittany reached in and took Santana's left hand, wrapping the yellow towel around it and squeezing at her fingers to control the bleeding.
Tears filled Brittany's eyes as she sat on the floor, silently monitoring her wife. She searched Santana's face for any connection to the reality around her, but the brunette stared past her into the distance, something less about her dark brown eyes.
Brittany was at a loss as to what to do at this point, of how to relate to Santana, of how to alleviate some of the grief eating at her, overtaking her each night.
For the past week, Santana seemed relatively normal during the day, though moody and slightly irrational at times, but that was not unlike Santana's usual personality. At night though, in the silent stillness of the dark, things were progressively getting worse. Nightmares, insomnia, crying, all pushing them both to the point of near insanity. Yet, every night, Brittany clung to hope that if they could just hang on until daylight again, they'd be alright.
"Come on, honey," Brittany stood back up, pulling Santana with her and helping her step out onto the bathmat.
Brittany closed the lid of the toilet and sat her down, removing the wet tank over the brunette's head. She turned and got a fluffy, dry towel to wrap around Santana's shoulders before she pulled off her wife's wet shorts and underwear, hanging them on the towel rack to dry out.
She removed a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide from a plastic crate under the exposed sink, dabbing at Santana's index and middle fingers with a cotton ball to clean them, seeing that she had worn down her fingernails and ripped the skin around them with the intensity of her scrubbing. Next, Brittany wrapped a beige bandage around each of Santana's fingers, kneeling down in front of her.
"Hey," she said softly, caressing Santana's jawline then drying off her dark hair which always had a bit of curl to it when it was wet, "Sweetheart, will you look at me? Please?"
Santana closed her eyes then reopened them, looking into Brittany's eyes.
The blonde was relieved to see instant recognition in her wife, telling her, "Hi."
Santana's brow furrowed with confusion, and she looked down to see she was wet and naked. "What happened?"
"Well…we now have the cleanest shower on the block," Brittany joked, trying to lighten the moment, holding up Santana's left hand for her to see, "We could probably even eat in there if we had to."
Santana turned toward the shower stall, and Brittany could tell she remembered none of it.
"I'm sorry I woke you," the Latina responded, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"It's okay…don't cry, honey," Brittany pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing the side of her face, "It'll all be okay."
9:12 AM
Brittany sat across the small round table from Santana on Tuesday morning as they each silently ate a bowl of cereal. Brittany was really the only one chewing though while Santana looked down at her bowl, apathetically dunking her Cheerios under the milk with the tip of her spoon.
"Aren't you hungry?" Brittany asked between crunchy bites, her foot pulled casually up in her chair.
Santana shrugged.
"You better eat before it gets cold," Brittany suggested with a goofy smile.
Santana looked up at her wife, confusion on her pretty face, "It's cold cereal, Britt."
"I know…it was a joke," Brittany forced another smile but received only awkward silence in return.
Brittany quietly finished her bowl then stood and walked to the sink, washing it and setting it into the drainboard on the counter. Turning around and leaning back against the counter with her long legs crossed at the ankles, a thought came to her, "Hey…why don't you come see the show tonight after your doctor's appointment?"
Santana grimaced unknowingly, saying, "Umm…I don't know, Britt."
She was searching for anything at this point, just wanting to see Santana do something other than mope around the house. "It would be good for you to be out of the apartment for a while," Brittany said, trying to encourage her, "You'll already be dressed and sort of near there."
"It just seems like a lot to hang around the theatre district, waiting on the show to start," Santana responded indifferently.
"We could call Rachel and go get some dinner with her before the show," Brittany pushed, "Come on…we always have fun when we're all together."
"I'm not really looking to have fun...besides, there's some more cleaning and organizing that I need to do here," Santana looked over her shoulder toward the open part of the apartment, adding, "Look at this place…we can hardly breathe in here, we've got so much stuff…just piled around."
Brittany looked past Santana, surveying the living room and bedroom areas of the apartment, seeing a neat, orderly home and wrinkling her nose, not knowing what it was that Santana saw.
"Okay," the blonde said with extreme disappointment before moving toward the bathroom, "I'm going to get a shower then."
"Britt…wait," Santana reached out and caught her by the arm as she passed, pulling Brittany toward her and wrapping herself around the blonde's torso, "If it's important to you then I'll go."
1:33 PM
"The doctor will be in shortly," the nurse said with little intonation, closing the door behind her and leaving Santana and Brittany alone in the exam room.
Brittany sat in a side chair along the wall, watching the expression on her wife's face as she sat on the end of the exam table, her legs dangling over the edge. She knew Santana felt the same thing she felt at the moment.
The last time they were in this room, they heard the heartbeat of their baby. Baby…Brittany sighed. She wasn't sure if that was even the correct word. It wasn't technically a baby, she thought. The doctors and nurses could call it a fetus or whatever medically was appropriate, but in her head…and in her heart…it had been their child.
She leaned forward and rubbed the lower portion of Santana's leg, affirming, "I love you."
Santana looked back at Brittany, forcing a small smile, "I love you too."
There was a quick knock on the door before it opened, and Dr. Yates entered with a smile, "Good afternoon."
Brittany and Santana both said a soft hello.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Yates asked, sitting down on her rolling stool and propping her left leg on her right knee to create a little table for Santana's medical chart.
"Fine," Santana reported, her eyes cast downward.
There was a small pause, and Dr. Yates looked up from the chart, assessing Santana's body language. She then turned to look at Brittany, making eye contact before the blonde looked down too.
"Is everything really 'fine' with you guys?" the doctor inquired.
Neither girl answered, avoiding eye contact with each other.
"Santana?" Dr. Yates prompted her patient.
The brunette shrugged, "It's hard, yes…adjusting back to…not being pregnant."
Dr. Yates nodded in recognition, "It takes some time…both physically and emotionally. Go easy on yourself, because your hormone levels are resetting which affects every aspect of your body."
Santana felt some relief that she was not entirely losing her mind.
"So what else is going on at home?" the doctor pushed, "I feel tension between the two of you."
"I don't feel tension. Do you feel tension, Brittany?" Santana asked her wife, seemingly oblivious to any.
Brittany shook her head, a tight-lipped smile crossing her face.
"Is everything really okay, Brittany?" Dr. Yates asked her directly.
Brittany nodded and swallowed hard, "Yes."
"I think we're just ready to start again," Santana offered with determination in her voice.
Brittany looked up at her then over at Dr. Yates, unaware of Santana's desire to try again so quickly, not even sure she personally was ready for everything that went with it.
"Santana…," Dr. Yates paused, looking down at the pages in the Latina's chart, "I must advise you to wait, and I'm certain Dr. Le would agree. In fact, I would be quite surprised if he allowed another insemination for several months under the circumstances."
Santana looked completely deflated, as though the hope of trying again was the only thing moving her forward since leaving the hospital. "But…I…I umm…," she stammered to respond, "I am strong enough now to try again, Dr. Yates."
"Your body is not, Santana," Dr. Yates frowned out of sympathy, "I'm looking at the results of your tests from last week. I think you're setting yourself up for more struggle…and I'm not sure mentally and emotionally you are in a position to handle that."
The doctor looked over at Brittany, and the blonde could see in her eyes that she was trying hard to be gentle with her words while pressing her point.
"Santana…it's okay if we wait a while," Brittany spoke up, "We'll just take a break from it. Clear our minds from everything."
"But I don't want to wait," Santana had tears in her eyes, "I want a baby. I want a baby so very much."
Seeing her wife so upset ripped at Brittany's heart, and she was willing to do anything possible to make Santana's hurt stop. "Then I'll carry for us…," she proposed, assuring her, "We can make an appointment tomorrow with Dr. Le. If that's what you really want then I'm totally ready."
The suggestion was one Brittany had made before, many times. In fact, she actually wanted to carry a child for Santana and her, and even though the timing wasn't perfect with the show and all, Brittany was willing to sacrifice anything and everything to have a family with Santana.
"That's probably your best option right now," Dr. Yates interjected with positive encouragement, "Give your body time to rest, Santana. You've pumped it full of lots medication and hormone supplements. Give yourself time to cleanse out. If Brittany is successful with getting pregnant and then the two of you decide to have another one, you could try again then."
The more Dr. Yates spoke, the more tears poured down Santana's face.
Brittany reached up to take her wife's hand in her own, but Santana pulled away, wiping at the wetness on her cheeks.
Dr. Yates rolled toward the sink counter in the corner of the exam room, picking up a box of tissues and rolling back to offer them to Santana who pulled two out of the box.
"Santana, I know this is not easy for you to accept," Dr. Yates tried to console her patient, patting at the Latina's knee, "You are in a fortunate situation though that there are two females in this marriage."
"But…I…I…want to…," Santana struggled to speak, her voice catching in the back of her throat, "I want to give birth to a child. This is something that is just really important to me."
Brittany sighed heavily, having heard Santana voice this desire many times.
"When you hold your baby for the first time, Santana…," Dr. Yates spoke very tenderly, "…and you look into your baby's eyes…I promise you, it won't matter then. That child will be just as much your child as if you carried it yourself."
Santana broke into a soft sob, and Dr. Yates looked over at Brittany who looked down at her hands in her lap.
"I would like to see you again in six months," the doctor said, closing Santana's chart and standing to pat her on the shoulder, then turned to smile at Brittany, adding, "Let me know if I can be of any further assistance to you two."
Once the door closed behind the doctor, Brittany stood and put her arms around her wife, squeezing her tightly and kissing her on the forehead.
"Don't," Santana pushed her away, sliding off the exam table and stepping back into her sandals.
5:00 PM
"You sure are hanging around here early," Dominic Serra said as he walked down the middle aisle of the orchestra section in the auditorium of the Gershwin Theatre.
Brittany did not hear his exact words, because she had her headphones in, entertaining herself with music from her cell phone, but she turned around in her seat at the sound of a deep voice behind her.
She smiled with recognition, pulling out her earphones by the long cord. "Hi," she responded, "I was early so I thought I'd sort of meditate in here awhile."
Dominic passed up Brittany and took a seat on the row in front of her, turning around to face her. "There is definitely something spiritual about silence in an empty theatre," he smiled as he spoke, his voice hushed with soft respect, "It can be very comforting…healing even. Don't tell my mother, but I come here for prayer and strength more than I light candles at church."
Brittany smiled sweetly and nodded, looking up at the vastness of the theatre's high ceilings, "There's a lot of history in these walls for sure."
"Did you ever see Wicked here?" Dominic asked her.
"A couple of times before the end of its run," Brittany told him, remembering back at how she and Santana saved for months for tickets when they first moved to New York then twice more when it was reported last year that the show was closing, "The audience seemed full each time, I'm still not sure why it closed."
"It was epic, wasn't it? I remember seeing it with the original cast. Nothing compares. Ticket sales are everything though," Dominic explain, having spent most of his forty-eight years on earth in the theatre and ten of those choreographing shows on Broadway, "When those start weaning, producers start sweating. A lot of them would rather close and revamp then open again once the demand swells."
"God, I would give anything to dance that chorus," Brittany shared with Dominic, her feet propped up on the seat in front of her.
"You could dance your choice of shows," the older man said encouragingly, "You are a rare talent, Brittany."
The blonde beamed. It was the first uplifting thing she had heard said to her in weeks, "You really think so?"
Dominic laughed, a smirk crossing his handsome face, "Well…not so much recently…but yeah, you are amazing on stage."
Brittany's face fell. She knew she had not had her mind fully on her performances lately, but to have it pointed out by someone she highly-respected was embarrassing. "I'm sorry, Dom…I know I've been lacking focus."
"Hey, it happens sometimes…but you're so much better than the Brittany I've seen up there this past week," he pointed toward the empty stage.
"I know," Brittany looked down at her lap.
Dominic grimaced and asked, "How is everything at home?"
Brittany was surprised he asked about her personal life. "Fine…everything is fine," she lied.
"Your wife is doing better?" he inquired, reading her body language.
Brittany shrugged. "She was supposed to come tonight to see the show, but…," she answered sadly, "…she decided she needed to go home instead."
Dominic reached up and patted Brittany on her knee as she was leaned back in her chair, "You've got a powerful gift, and you can use it to your advantage. Whenever life is overwhelming, you can take all that negative energy and put it into your dancing."
Brittany looked up at him with a small smile.
"Dance it all out of you each night, Brittany…leave it up on that stage then go home and start fresh," he suggested enthusiastically.
She nodded, grateful for the reminder of what dance truly meant to her. "Thanks, Dom."
Friday, September 9, 2022
5:31 PM
Pulling keys from the side pocket of her blazer, Quinn Fabray rearranged the bags in her hands, shifting the brown grocery sack to her left arm, balancing it with her briefcase and purse in order to open the front door to her apartment. She shoved the silver key into the deadbolt, but before she could twist the knob, the door opened.
"Hello," she was greeted with a smile.
"Hello to you," Quinn radiated in returned.
"Here, let me take that," Cate reached for the paper sack then slipped the brown leather strap of the briefcase off Quinn's shoulder.
"I could get used to this sort of greeting," Quinn said when Cate lean in to kiss her.
The taller girl walked the grocery bag to the nearby kitchen and set it on the granite countertop, laughing over her shoulder, "Well, move to Manhattan, and I'll do my best to spoil you."
"Hmm…the pressure between you and Ellen is mounting!" Quinn sighed good-naturedly.
Cate turned back around and pulled Quinn into an embrace as she set her purse on a side table near the couch, telling her, "I'm sorry, forgive me. That is not what this weekend is about."
Quinn hugged Cate then pulled back, sliding her hands down the sides of the brunette's trim torso and onto her waist, "So what is this weekend about?"
Cate looked around at Quinn's spacious New Haven loft and smiled. She kissed the younger blonde on the neck, knowing Quinn was unable to contain herself when she had the crook of her neck kissed, offering, "Reuniting?"
Feeling Cate's lips moving ever-so-tenderly up the side of her neck toward that one place behind her right ear which Quinn knew Cate remembered, made the Yale professor heady, unable to think clearly. "So then…why exactly did you sleep on the couch last night," Quinn asked, tilting her head and arching her shoulder into Cate's kisses, "If we're reuniting, that is."
The taller girl chuckled without removing her lips from Quinn's skin, "To take things slowly."
"Is this taking things slowly, Catherine?" Quinn teased, feeling a tingling heat generating in her core.
"You're right," Cate stopped her assault abruptly, stepping back some to create a safe distance, "It's been six years…we're different people now. Like I told you before I came here, we have to start again."
"Uhuh," Quinn bit at her lower lip, taking a steadying breath as her internal temperature started to return to normal, "We seem to keep forgetting that."
"I'm serious though. We need to get to know one another again," Cate stuck out her right hand, "Hi, I'm Cate Boyd."
Quinn giggled, her green eyes sparkling in the setting sun that was shining through the living room window, "Hi, Cate…nice to meet you. I'm Quinn."
Cate immediately pulled Quinn by the hand into another deep kiss then confessed, "Ok, I feel as though we know each other pretty well now…how about you?"
The blonde laughed and slapped playfully at Cate's shoulder, "You are terrible at following your own advice!"
"True," Cate gave up, pulling Quinn by the hand over to the table, "I am not terrible at romantic dinners though."
"It smells delicious," Quinn sniffed the air and ran her index finger along the cloth napkin that was folded neatly at one of the two plates on the table top, "Did you make pasta?"
"My specialty," the brunette replied, stepping back into the kitchen.
"I remember well."
Cate returned from the kitchen after a couple of minutes with an open bottle of red wine and two wine glasses from Quinn's cabinet, setting them at both places and pouring them half-full.
"It'll be ready in a little bit," she told Quinn, pulling her close again and pushing the blonde's blazer off her shoulders, "Why don't you get comfortable."
Quinn took her jacket off and stepped back again from Cate with a slight giggle, draping it over the back of the armchair.
"What time do you have to be over to the Cabaret?"
"I have a couple of my students handling set up," Quinn answered, "So I just need to check backstage before it starts at eight."
Cate looked at her watch, seeing that it wasn't even six o'clock yet, then she moved behind Quinn, wrapping her long arms around her waist and kissing an exposed patch of skin on her shoulder. "That's plenty of time for eating…and for perhaps," she kissed the drama professor again, moving her long blonde hair over to expose more skin, "some extracurricular activities with Dr. Fabray."
"Cate…stop," Quinn turned to face the older girl. This time there was a serious edge to her tone.
"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll keep my hands to myself…promise," Cate winked, holding both of her hands in the air for emphasis.
"It's not that," Quinn paused, taking Cate's hands in hers, "I love your hands. I love your hands on me…all over me in fact."
"What is it then?"
Quinn blew out a long breath of air, trying to collect her thoughts.
"Oh…is this complicated? Am I pushing too hard?" the attractive brunette pulled away, "Should I not have come here?"
"No…no, seriously. Besides, I invited you," Quinn stated adamantly, following Cate as she circled the table and walked toward the front door of the apartment.
Cate took her leather jacket from a hook on the wall, "Perhaps I should go. We can try this another time."
"Cate Boyd…stop!" Quinn insisted, taking the jacket from her hands and hanging it back on the hook then pulling Cate toward the brown leather couch, "Sit…please. We need to talk about something."
Cate sat in the center of the sofa, and Quinn sat on the coffee table, directly across from her. They both leaned in, creating an intimate exchange.
"You have no idea how elated I am to have you back in my life," Quinn stated firmly, her hands on both of Cate's knees.
"Okay," Cate breathed a sigh of relief.
"I love you, Cate," Quinn rubbed the older girl's thigh, "Like I told you, I've never stopped loving you.But…I need you to know something before we go any further."
"Okay," Cate repeated, sounding more confused now.
Quinn took a deep breath, her voice catching in her throat, causing her to pause hesitantly, "I'm nervous to tell you this, because it will probably change your mind about wanting to be with me."
Cate's eyes narrowed, her brow furrowing as she tried to read Quinn's facial expression. She knew before this moment that she made the right decision to leave Jess. What they had wasn't love, at least with Cate it wasn't, and even though she'd spent the past week sleeping on various couches, trying to locate a new place to live before the fall semester was in full swing, she was happy with her choice.
She was also extremely happy with reconciling with the one woman she had truly loved in her life, but the look on Quinn's face was the only thing that scared her at this moment.
Cate swallowed hard and asked, "What is it, Quinn?"
"Cate…," the Yale professor looked down then back up, locking her gaze with the crystal blue of Cate's eyes, before revealing with extreme trepidation, "I'm pregnant."
Author's Note: If you have thoughts or comments then please take a moment to leave a review so I know what you all are thinking as you're reading this story. Thanks!