Keep Me Where the Light Is (part 18)
Grey ceiling on the Earth
Well, it's lasted for a while
Take my thoughts for what they're worth
I've been acting like a child
In your opinion, and what is that?
It's just a different point of view…
What else, what else can I do?
I said, I'm sorry, yeah I'm sorry
I said, I'm sorry, but what for?
If I hurt you then I hate myself.
Don't want to hate myself, don't want to hurt you.
Why do you choose your pain?
If you only knew how much I love you, love you…
I won't be your winter
I won't be anyone's excuse to cry
We can be forgiven
I will be here…
The old picture on the shelf
Well, it's been there for a while
A frozen image of ourselves
We are acting like a child
Innocent and in a trance
A dance that lasted for a while…
You read my eyes just like your diary,
Oh remember, please remember
Well, I'm not a beggar, but what's more
If I hurt you, then I hate myself,
And I don't wanna hate myself, don't wanna hurt you.
Why do you choose that pain?
If you only knew how much I love you…
I won't be your winter
I won't be anyone's excuse to cry
We can be forgiven
I will be here….
(Your Winter ~ Sister Hazel)
Sunday, October 23, 2022
3:28 PM
Grayson Knox shifted the brown paper sack in his hand so he could unlocked the apartment door in front of him. When he pushed it opened, the interior was a stark contrast to the gloomy darkness he experienced Friday night. The room was now brightly lit by the sun coming in through the large living room window, and he could immediately see Santana sitting up on the couch, legs folded under her, flipping pages in a journal-like book.
"Good afternoon," he said jovially as he entered and shut the door behind him, moving toward the kitchen to set down his paper sack. This was his third trip up to apartment 6C to check on Santana, but the two times before, he found her sound asleep.
He looked over his shoulder at the silent Latina as he moved about, removing a fresh loaf of bread from the top of the sack and placing it on the counter. He hummed softly to keep an upbeat atmosphere while he pulled out jars of peanut butter and strawberry jam along with half a dozen eggs, a block of cheddar cheese, fresh milk, a box of cereal, pasta and pasta sauce, things he knew Santana enjoyed and which seemed easy enough for her to make for herself.
As he set the cold items in the small fridge, he asked nonchalantly, "Finally get enough sleep?"
Santana looked up at him with black-framed glasses perched on her nose and responded coldly, "Why are you here?"
A small chuckle escaped before he answered, "Helping you."
"I don't need anyone's help," she said, adding with disdain, "Especially yours."
Grayson folded his muscular arms across his chest as he stood in the middle of the room, staring down at Santana and contemplating what more to say. He found it sad looking at her, knowing how impeccable she typically appeared.
Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail on top of her head. It looked unwashed and disheveled as did the rest of her appearance. The beautiful, spirited girl he knew so well sat in front of him masked as someone who looked well-beyond her twenty-eight years, a girl who was currently lethargic, pale, and grungy.
He spotted a coffee mug on the small table to the left side of the couch. When Santana reached for it to take a sip and set it back down, Grayson turned and looked at the coffee pot on the kitchen counter. There was no coffee in it.
He walked over and picked it up, sniffing the brown, potent liquid inside, then took it to the sink and poured out the whiskey.
"HEY!" Santana reacted harshly, "I was drinking that."
"I know," he said when he turned back around toward the side counter, opening a cabinet to see if there was actual coffee he could make her. Finding a small amount in a clear canister on the second shelf, he put in a filter and measured out some of the ground beans.
"Who told you to come by here and babysit me?" she yelled across the room, "Rachel? Brittany?"
"Me," he answered firmly, filling the coffee maker with water then turning it on, adding, "Believe it or not…I care about you, Santana." He turned to face her again, "I'm worried about you. We all are."
"Whatever," she mumbled, shutting her journal and setting it across from her on the coffee table.
"You are worth caring about," he confirmed sympathetically, stepping closer toward the couch and picking up the book that said Pregnancy Journal in bold letters on its front cover.
"Are you my savior, Grayson?" Santana chuckled dismissively, looking up at him, her head tilted, "Are you here to save me?"
"No," he shook his head, "No, I'm here to remind you that you still have the ability to save yourself."
Santana laughed harder even though it was a forced, fake-type laugh.
"What's funny about that?" Grayson asked.
"I'm beyond saving," she retorted, her words slurring slightly.
"Nobody is ever beyond redemption," he assured her.
"Do you have even the slightest clue what I've been through?"
"Yeah…I do," he stated confidently, "It's called 'Life', Santana. We've all had to suffer through it to one extent or another."
The brunette stared back at her dear friend, somewhat stunned at his unrelenting attitude toward her.
"Sometimes we have no control over what knocks us down," he held up the journal Santana diligently wrote in for the three months she was pregnant, "but, we do have a choice as to whether we stand back up and try again."
"You don't understand," she sighed heavily and looked down at her hands folded in her lap.
"You're right, I don't understand. I don't understand how you could do this to yourself…to your family. You've given up."
Santana stood in order to retreat into the bathroom, but Grayson stepped in front of her.
"Let me by," she said to him through gritted teeth.
"You can't escape life forever, Santana."
"I'm not escaping…I'm suffering," she raised her voice in frustration.
"You are hiding! You're avoiding and you're numbing," he insisted.
"YES I'm numbing! I'm numbing because my life is a tragedy, Grayson," she screamed at him, pushing him with all the strength in both of her arms, "Now move out of the way and let me suffer in peace."
"You think your life is a tragedy?" he asked with exasperation, "Because you were raped, right?"
"I lost my child because of it…you don't think that's tragic?" she yelled again, looking somewhat shocked that it wasn't obvious to him.
"Yes, I think your miscarriage was heartbreakingly sad…for you and for Brittany. I witnessed it, remember?" he stated loudly with the same intensity, "My heart hurts for both of you."
Santana looked off to the side, the chaos of that night flashing in her memory.
"I understand your loss, because I've suffered it too," he pushed on with insistence, forcing her attention back to him. "My son had a name, Santana. He was a real person. He had the brightest blue eyes you've ever seen…and a smile that could melt the coldest heart," Grayson recalled with a calmer tone, tears welling up in his smoky-blue eyes as he spoke of Gage, "I lost him and my wife in a heartbeat, and that was tragic. I wanted to die right along with them. So yes, I get the type of pain you are feeling, because I've felt it…and I wanted to numb it too."
The Latina shook her head in refusal to listen further, trying again to push past him, but Grayson held tightly to her smaller frame.
"I dug myself a gutter that I thought I would never crawl out of…but ultimately, I did. And I'm standing on my own two feet again. And I'm in front of you right now to remind you that you can stand again too," he declared confidently.
Santana's resistance evaporated, and she sat down on the edge of her bed. Her shoulders shook as she started crying.
Grayson took a deep breath and wiped at the corners of his eyes then kneeled on the floor in front of her, pulling her into a tight embrace.
"I have nothing left," she told him, her voice cracking under the force of her emotions.
"You have plenty left," he reassured her, comforting her with a soft stroke on the curve of her back.
"I've lost my wife, my career, my sanity. What do I have left?"
"You have a family who loves you," he stated, "Even when you make it difficult."
Santana sobbed harder into Grayson's shoulder.
"And wherever there is love, there is a reason to keep going," he told her, rocking her in his strong arms.
"I don't know what to do to make things better," she cried.
He pulled back from Santana and pushed her chin up to look directly into her chocolate-colored eyes, "Start with not taking a drink."
Monday, October 24, 2022
9:34 AM
"Alright, Ms. Fabray…if you'll go ahead and lay back," a young brunette in pink medical scrubs said, patting the back of the exam table.
Quinn Fabray looked first to her right and smiled nervously at Cate who sat in a nearby chair. Cate stood up and reached for Quinn's hand.
The tech pushed aside the cloth of Quinn's examination gown and squirted some bright blue gel on her growing bump. She then used a wand across her mid-section, watching black and white images on a screen.
"Is this your first pregnancy?" the young woman made small talk as she moved the wand back and forth.
Quinn hesitated before answering, looking again at Cate who squeezed her hand. The blonde professor turned back toward the tech and stated, "No. It's my second."
Cate Boyd smiled reassuringly and winked at her girlfriend.
"Well, were you wanting to find out the sex today?" she clarified as she watched the movements of Quinn's baby on the screen, "Because the fetus is cooperating with us today and is in pretty good position."
"You still want to?" Quinn shrugged and smiled at Cate. The couple had already discussed among themselves the pros and cons of finding out the baby's gender versus keeping it a surprise until the birth.
"It's up to you, sweetheart," Cate responded, secretly very eager to find out.
"I don't know. I knew the first time…but there's something kind of magical about not knowing," Quinn surmised.
"I could always write it down for you then you could decide later if you want to look," the girl suggested, sensing Quinn's hesitation, "A lot of parents do that."
Quinn nodded, "Okay…let's do that."
Once the exam was over and they met with Quinn's doctor who confirmed the pregnancy was progressing smoothly, the couple left excitedly with a white envelope in hand.
"Do you have time for an early lunch?" Cate asked Quinn as they walked hand-in-hand down the sidewalk.
"I thought you had a class at noon?" Quinn asked, adjusting the strap of her purse as it hung over her left shoulder.
Cate slowed her pace and stepped out of the flow of pedestrian traffic walking down 7th Avenue in lower Manhattan, pulling Quinn by the hand along with her.
"I would never miss a chance to have lunch with the prettiest girl in all of Manhattan," Cate winked, her clear blue eyes sparkling in the mid-day sun.
As the two of them stood on the busy sidewalk, there was a light autumn breeze that blew the older girl's dark hair off her face, reminding Quinn just how beautiful Cate was too.
Quinn smiled at her girlfriend and responded, "Then how can I turn down that offer."
"You can't," Cate grinned widely, looking at the choices of restaurants around them, seeing a kosher deli, "Deli sandwich?"
"Oh, I can't…remember?" Quinn frowned, patting the protrusion in her mid-section.
"No deli meat…right. I forgot," Cate looked around her again, offering up another option with a point of her right index finger, "Diner?"
Quinn saw a sign in the window of a diner that was up the walkway. It read Monday's Special: Meatloaf and Mashed Potatoes. She nodded, answering, "Sure."
"Come on then," Cate took Quinn by the right hand and moved them toward the door, "Cause with alliteration like that, the food's got to be marvelously mouth-watering!"
Quinn laughed out loud at Cate's quirky sense of humor, playfully slapping at the brunette's slender arm, "You're such a dork!"
"Yep, but I'm your dork," Cate winked again, opening the door for Quinn to walk through.
Quinn paused in front of the taller girl and kissed her sweetly on the lips, "And aren't I the lucky one."
2:42 PM
Santana pulled on the handle to open the door of the Caliente Cab Co. Monday afternoon. Her senses were immediately overwhelmed by the loud chatter from the lingering lunch crowd and the pungent smells of alcohol and Tex-Mex food.
It had taken her all of Sunday evening and most of Monday to dry out her system enough to think clearly. Even though she felt like hell, she finally talked herself through getting a shower and putting on her nicest jeans and a freshly-pressed navy polo shirt. After navigating her way down six flights of stairs then walking four blocks up Bleeker Street, she stood inside the restaurant's entry way, pondering the final seconds of her arrival at this crossroad.
She took a steadying breath and pulled back her shoulders with determination, marching with a decided pace into the back dining room where she spotted Frap standing behind the bar.
"Hi," he acknowledged the Latina as soon as he saw her standing there, "Ordering lunch to go?"
"No…actually," Santana responded, looking straight into his aged-face, "I'm here for a job."
In confusion, Frap tilted his head and laughed slightly, "A job? You? Here?"
"Yes…I'll wait tables, mix drinks, sing with the mariachi band," she listed with no pretense, "You name it, I'll do it…as long as you pay me for it."
"Whoa…slow down there, missy," Frap held up his hand, "Does your wife know you're here?"
Santana's breath caught in her chest. Being sober and hearing the mention of Brittany…her wife, her everything…and not having any clue as to where she was or what she was doing made her stomach twist into a knot.
She swallowed hard to force some moisture back into her dry throat then she responded, "I'm doing this for my wife."
4:20 PM
Dominic Serra rounded the corner along the backstage corridor at the Gershwin Theater Monday afternoon, heading toward a suite of small offices used by some of the Funny Girl production staff.
"Oh, Mr. Serra…hello," said a large, dark-skinned man dressed in a security uniform.
The head choreographer for the revival smiled pleasantly at the brute of a man in front of him. With all the time he spent backstage at the theater, Dominic knew Thaddeus Jenkins very well, and the young guard was known endearingly by the cast and crew as a gentle giant.
"Hello, Thaddeus," Dominic returned the greeting, shaking the key chain in his hand to find the key that would open the en suite entry door.
Dominic pushed in the silver key and looked back up at the large man who continued to stand nearby, nervously fidgeting. The professional dancer paused a second before turning the knob on the door, noticing a paper plate in the guard's oversized hand. The plate had half of a deli sandwich on it with a few potato chips, a pickle spear, and a brownie. In the guard's other hand was a bottle of water and a bright red apple.
"Am I interrupting your lunch?" Dominic asked with a pleasant tone, unsure why Thaddeus was not eating at the security desk as he did every other time.
"Uhh…no sir…I was uh…just…," Thaddeus stammered apprehensively, "…yes sir, my lunch…I was about to eat."
Dominic's dark eyes narrowed with suspicion at the mild-mannered guard's unusual behavior. He laughed slightly and shook his head, replying, "Okaaay. Well, enjoy."
He opened the door from the hallway and stepped inside the common area shared by the suite of offices, finding the interior already lit softly by two separate lamps, one on a side table and the other one in a back corner near the receptionist's desk.
As he stepped in further, he also found a familiar blonde sitting on the brown fabric sofa.
"Brittany?" Dominic acknowledged her curiously.
Brittany Pierce closed the novel in her hand and stood up quickly. A strange expression of being caught was on her unmade, freckled face.
Dominic chuckled awkwardly then looked from the blonde dancer to the large security guard who stood in the doorway, still holding the plate of food. He observed a knowing look that passed between the two of them.
"What's going on here?" he asked them, very confused.
"Don't get upset with Thad…this is all my doing," Brittany immediately offered to her superior, bending to gather up her sweater and shoes from near the couch.
"What exactly am I supposed to be upset about?" Dominic questioned, shifting his leather briefcase to set it on the floor near his office door, his keys jingling on the key ring that was hooked around his fingers.
Brittany slipped on her shoes and reached for her suitcase and dance bag, quietly contemplating the best response.
Surmising that there was more to this scenario than met the eye, Dominic looked back at the guard and took the plate from him, "Thank you, Thaddeus. I'll take care of Ms. Pierce now."
Thaddeus handed him the bottle of water as well, asking, "Am I in trouble, sir?"
The handsome Italian smiled. "No. We'll…uh…," he hesitated as he looked again at Brittany, seeing the same nervous expression on her attractive face, "…we'll just keep this between the three of us."
"Okay. Thank you, Mr. Serra," the guard grinned, adding softly, "Bye, Britt…."
Brittany returned the grin and waved bye to the softhearted young man, "Thanks again, Thad."
Dominic set the sandwich and water on the glass coffee table, but before he could say anything, Brittany picked up her bags and moved toward the door.
"You don't want your sandwich?" he said in an attempt to stop her.
"I should just get out of here…I'm really sorry," she apologized.
"Wait, are you…?" he threw out a quick hand to block her, looking down at her suitcase, "Is everything alright?"
Brittany stopped and started to offer an explanation of the unusual circumstances, ultimately freezing under Dominic's question.
"Brittany?" he prompted, "Are you…staying here?"
The tall blonde bit at her bottom lip then answered, "I swear it was just last night. It won't happen again, I'm really sorry, Dom."
"It's okay…no worries. I promise you are not in trouble," he assured her, motioning toward the couch, "Sit down."
He helped her put her bags back on the floor then led her to sit on the couch.
Handing her the plate, he suggested, "Here, eat."
Brittany settled against the back of the couch, crossing her legs at the knees and balancing the paper plate in her lap.
He could tell the typically muscular blonde looked like she had lost several pounds recently, and he repeated, "Go ahead…eat."
Her hands shook from hunger as she picked up the sandwich and took a bite, chewing intently while Dominic sat in a club chair across from her.
"I don't want to pry into your personal business…but why are you not sleeping at your place?" he asked cautiously.
She finished chewing then took a sip of water from the clear bottle. Before she answered, she looked down at the floor to the bags she had shuffled around town for the past two weeks. She felt warm tears collect in her blue eyes, and she fought to hold them back as she looked up again at Dominic, confessing, "Because I don't have a place…anywhere…anymore."
Dominic leaned forward in his seat, "Did something happen between you and Santana?"
"We've separated," Brittany stated, her voice soft with an edge of emotion in it, "Two weeks ago."
"Where have you been staying?"
"At first, I was staying at a hotel…then a cheaper hotel, but…," she sniffed and looked up at him, "…money sort of ran out."
"Aren't you close with some of the other dancers?"
Brittany shrugged. She still had difficulty admitting how deep her and Santana's troubles were. "I don't want to burden any of them. Besides, they all have roommates and hardly enough space for themselves."
"Well, what about Rachel? She is your sister-in-law, correct?" he offered.
"No way! I don't want her knowing anything about what's happened," the blonde was adamant in her denial, not realizing that Grayson knew everything that was going on and had already talk about it with Rachel. "I can handle it myself," she said defiantly.
Dominic grimaced out of compassion for Brittany who he'd come to respect for her immense talent, retorting, "But you're notreally."
Brittany frowned, "Not what?"
"Handling it," he stated bluntly, "Are you?"
The young girl leaned to set the plate of food on the coffee table. What little appetite she had before now had vanished.
"No, I suppose I'm not," she confirmed in defeat.
Dominic stared quietly at her, contemplating how best he could help, then said, "How long has it been since you had a home-cooked meal?"
Brittany shrugged again.
Standing up, Dominic told her, "Then it's settled. Let me grab my production notes from my desk and you'll come with me."
"To where?" she asked.
"Home. I have a spare room and all the ingredients to make my specialty…pasta pomodoro," he clarified for her, "So…you game?"
Brittany sighed heavily, her troubles feeling suddenly less onerous, and she smiled up at the older man. "Yes, I'd like that."
Author's Note: I'm glad to know everyone was happy to see an update to this story. Thank you again for your support, and thank you for understanding my need to rest my brain.
I know you guys will have more questions about Brittany's whereabouts and her reasons for processing this split from Santana the way she has. Please be patient. I can't give you every bit of info in one scene. More will be revealed.
If you have thoughts or comments you'd like to share with me then please leave a review! Kim