Revisited and revised.
07
When Brittany wakes up, she opens her eyes quickly, taking in her surroundings as the night before rushes back to her mind. She closes her eyes in pain, internally hating herself. She thinks of her own stupidity, her own recklessness, and mentally punishes herself. She's stupid, stupid, stupid and inadequate. John would now assume they were back together, and why wouldn't he? They were to have a crucial meeting that very day, and she managed to ruin it at the last minute.
She doesn't feel as dirty anymore, because Santana's touch has re-claimed her. She doesn't feel John's hands anymore; all she feels is the brunette's perfume lingering on her skin. It's a soothing sensation that almost lulls her back to sleep.
How could Brittany break the awful news to Santana? She pictures the look on Santana's face, the hurt and the anger, and feels like going back to sleep for a week or two and postpone the moment. That's how Santana reacts, or at least used to react: screaming, throwing things, being passive-aggressive. This time, she would be entitled to act that way.
"Don't you dare." Santana voice makes itself heard, far away. She sounds harsh. Brittany holds her breath and goes quiet, but she can only hear the end of the next sentence. "... and she needs me." It shouldn't be like this, she shouldn't feel this good when she realizes Santana is defending her, but it is happening and she smiles.
"This is my house too!" There's Alexander voice, deep and annoyed, followed by a long silence. Then there are footsteps, the door opens, and Santana is there.
"Good morning," she says and she smiles, as if her argument with Alexander never happened. Her hand touches Brittany's cheek softly as she sits on the couch. "Did you sleep well?" She has her concerned voice on. Brittany nods, eyes closing to the feeling of Santana skin, familiar fingers shaping her features again and again. "Good, good. I made you breakfast. There's toast, jam, eggs, chocolate cake, and orange juice." Brittany nods again excitedly. Confusing or not, Brittany loves breakfast.
They get up and Brittany's heartbeat goes crazy when Santana holds her by the waist. Santana is possessive, concerned, holding Brittany within arm's length, like Brittany belongs to her. There's a familiarity in it, a vague feeling of being protected, of finding her safe haven.
Santana had known her husband wouldn't love Brittany's presence in their household. She can see his jealousy, the reconnaissance that Brittany shared something meaningful with his wife. Some damage control had to be done in such a situation to avoid that their probable argument ever reached Brittany's ears. The blonde didn't need to feel like a burden right now. So Santana wakes up earlier than usual, buys enough food to feed a king, and sets the table for three. The clock seems to be hovering over her, a permanent reminder that there is probably going to be no third person eating with them.
Her prediction proved itself to be true when Alexander, true to his habits, shows up in the kitchen with a confused frown. "Did you not sleep in our bed?" He asks, not used to waking up to the cold feeling of the sheets on her side of the bed. She sighs and tries to explain the call, the fragile state the blonde was in, but she sees it's a lost battle when she does as little as mention Brittany's name. "Really, Santana? And then you make her breakfast, like I've never seen you do before?" He pauses. "Maybe you should-"
She interrupts him. "Don't you dare." They are not going to fall into these patterns again. She will not have him tell her unrequested how to live her life. She is getting tired of such arguments, tired of having to explain herself over and over again. "We are not going to have this argument where you tell me how to live my life and I get angry. We have a guest. And she needs me."
"This is my house too!" Alexander says, leaving the kitchen.
She takes a moment to gather herself before facing Brittany. When she gets to the couch, there's a blonde hidden by the sheets, blinking up at her. "Good morning," Santana says softly and smiles, because Brittany is adorable. Her hand goes to Brittany's cheek in a soft caress as she sits on the couch. "Did you sleep well?" Brittany nods, eyes closing, and Santana can't help but draw her features with her fingers again and again. "Good, good. I made you breakfast. There's toast, jam, eggs, chocolate cake, and orange juice." Brittany nods excitedly.
She barely even registers her own arm encircling Brittany's waist when they get up and she leads her into the living room. The blonde's eyes widen at the sight of the table, because Santana remembered how much the blonde loves breakfast. Santana pulls her chair closer to Brittany's when they sit down, placing a lock of sunny hair behind Brittany's ear before serving them both a cup of coffee. It earns her a grin, promptly mirrored by her own.
It's almost unfair how Alexander never managed to take her breath away like Brittany does just by sitting there with that early morning light; or make her heart race as touching Brittany always does to her. She adores him, she respects him, but he never made her as concerned for him as she was for Brittany the night before.
"Thank you, San." Brittany interrupts her line of thought and kisses her cheek, lingering for a few seconds too long. The hand on Santana's thigh feels like it's burning and she covers it with her own. Brittany's breath is hot and Santana closes her eyes.
"You're welcome, sweetheart." The word rolls off her tongue so naturally again, she can't bring herself to feel bad about it. Their foreheads touch as they open their eyes, expectant of something yet to be named.
The moment breaks with the sound of Alexander's footsteps descending the stairs. Santana jumps in her seat and straightens up like she's been hit by lightning. He barely acknowledges the both of them, mumbling a good morning and grabbing a piece of cake before leaving. What had just happened? The women exchange a guilty look when the door closes, but nothing is said.
Brittany feels guilty in so many levels she can't even begin her list. It's impossible to look at Santana and not feel her heart clenching, because this is the closest they have been since forever and Brittany is completely undeserving. She has betrayed Santana's trust once by doing what she did and twice for not telling her right away. When you lose the perfect momentum, what is there to do?
She had crossed the invisible line of Santana's home, causing her trouble with her husband. She had crossed the invisible line that determined both of them were independent women, not supposed to rely on each other like that. And still, Santana had welcomed her, served her breakfast, and smothered her with attention and love. The way she closes her eyes when Brittany kisses her cheek, how she plays with Brittany's hair, or how she looks at Brittany leaves no room for doubts. It's love, it's their puppy love all over again. The fact that she cancelled her meetings for the morning—it's love.
This feels too good for Brittany to break. Santana reads the news sitting on the couch as Brittany watches something on TV, head resting on Santana's lap. The other woman hadn't asked once about the previous night, which makes it even worse. This understanding and patient Santana is unexpected. Santana had grown up, after all.
Another hour passes by before Brittany opens her mouth. "We need to talk."
Santana hates that sentence, because it's never a good thing when someone has to announce it like that. She puts her phone aside when she hears Brittany say it, pulse racing when the blonde sits up and looks right into her eyes. Santana has great instincts and they are telling her she is not going to like this.
She takes a deep breath. "About what happened last night?" she tries, tentatively. There is a myriad of subjects to discuss when it comes to the two of them, but what Santana wants to hear the most is what happened the night before that left the blonde so fragile. She hadn't asked out of respect for Brittany, who would say what she needed to say when she needed to say it, but Santana needed to know.
"Yes." The long silence that follows the answer and Brittany's wondering eyes that never seem to meet Santana's make the moment even more unsettling. Santana runs a checklist through her mind once again, reaching the conclusion that it could only be John. She stretches her arm out and holds the blonde's hand. "John showed up at our—I mean, my apartment."
Then there's anger. It was so arrogant of him, to show up a day before a crucial meeting, purposefully trying to ruin things. It was startling how he hadn't gotten the message that, even if he does manage to ruin the case, he would not manage to rebuild what he had lost. Brittany doesn't belong to him anymore. Santana had learned the hard way that Brittany's decision to let go is always irrevocable and irrefutable, and John would learn it soon enough.
At the end of the day, Brittany is always the one who holds all the cards.
"I-I tried to make him leave, but he didn't, and I yelled at him that he shouldn't have broken us-" She stops abruptly, as if trying to find the appropriate words to describe what happened. The look in her eyes is unbearable enough to get Santana talking.
"He's just trying to ruin the case, but he won't." She places a hand on Brittany's thigh and pulls her closer, but the other woman gestures negatively.
"Just let me say it, Santana." The brunette arches an eyebrow, suddenly guilty for initiating the touch, and retreats. "John, he- me too, I mean we-" Something is very wrong. Something is very wrong and Santana doesn't want to hear the end of the sentence. "We had sex." Santana's heart drops.
At the end of the day, Brittany is always the one who holds all the cards. "Excuse me? What did you just say?" Santana asks her, because this cannot be real; this is not real. Brittany is turning tables once again, and Santana is breaking.
"I don't know, it just happened and-"
Then there's even more anger, boiling under the surface. If that is the best Brittany has to say, she'll have to try harder. "It just happened, Brittany? Is that the best thing you have to say right now?" She hides her face in her hands, jerking away from Brittany's touch when the blonde makes the first attempt at closeness. "You should have thought of a better excuse, really."
"I'm sorry, Santana." Brittany has her sad panda face on, but Santana cannot be the one to hold her together this time.
"Sorry doesn't cut it! Don't you get it?" Santana says, exasperated. All this, for nothing. "What is this to you? A joke? I'm working my ass off for you, Brittany, to take up a case I'm not even specialized in, working extra hours without making a single dime, being supportive of you, taking your parents out, and for what? For you to decide to throw it all away for an orgasm or two?"
Brittany is hurt. "Of course not, Santana! I didn't plan this!" She attempts closeness, but Santana gets up, realizing how long it had actually taken for Brittany to reveal that information. It makes things worse, to have held, touched and cherished Brittany when she was fresh from her husband's.
"Then why did it take you so long to tell me? You let me take you into my house, you let me kiss you, you let me make you breakfast; and what for, Brittany, what for?" This is too much for Santana, whobput her marriage on the line for nothing. She had been willing to fight her husband to protect Brittany, she had been willing to do everything for Brittany, all this for nothing. "God, to think I kissed you and held you just after you and he-"
"Santana, please, don't-"
"Do you want to go back to him?" Santana dreads the answer, but she needs to hear it. Her hands are shaking, so she shoves them in her pockets. This conversation is sure making the rank of worst moments of her life, and she wants it to be over.
"No." Brittany comes closer, and this time Santana doesn't shove her away. "I don't want him, not even a tiny little bit." She sounds honest, and the way her voice is low and tentative soothes Santana's anger away for a while, leaving just the disappointment and the heartache.
"Maybe you're confused." Santana pauses and looks at the blonde. "Maybe it's time for you to leave. This case is closed."
Brittany nods, understanding what Santana is really trying to say, and gets her things to leave. Santana just watches her go.
Santana feels like crying, because this isn't fair at all. Her heart is breaking, physically aching, and she can't breathe. She can't breathe, her nose is going to start running any moment now and the tears filling her eyes might as well run down her cheeks also. She takes off her blazer and undoes two more buttons of her shirt, but it doesn't help her need for air in the slightest.
It's like being punched and kicked and her hands are trembling. She thinks to herself how ridiculous it is, to cry like a teenager over your ex. Images of John and Brittany together fill her mind, however, and she is breaking all over again. This time she isn't entitled to grieve; she isn't entitled to be miserable. She isn't entitled because Brittany doesn't belong to her – it's hard to grasp the concept, though, because there wasn't ever a time when Brittany hadn't belonged to her, and everything is new and awkward.
She realizes what a big mistake it was, allowing herself to be around her, allowing herself to be herself, not handing her case to any other lawyer, someone more informed, more adequate. She should have realized she wasn't ready to have Brittany without having Brittany, to keep on with separate lives and not have her own feelings betray herself. She should have know she would look forward to seeing the blonde, that she would go back to indulging her every wish just for the sake of it, that her heart would race faster when they touched, that they just didn't know how to be just friends. She should have known she needed distance.
She should have known that she can't take Brittany's love life as anything other than betrayal. She chokes on how hypocritical she is, making demands she herself doesn't fulfill. Hasn't it always been this way? She didn't want Brittany with Artie but she doesn't want to come out and be with her also; she wants Brittany to give up her life but doesn't want to give anything up; she feels possessive of Brittany but she herself is married to another – the list could go on for hours. It might as well be her eternal return, for it feels indeed horrid and heavy and absolutely cyclical.
She is selfish, ridiculous, and absurd. She wants what she can't have, and she doesn't know how to have Brittany as much as she doesn't know how to live without her. She hides her face in her hands, defeated. She has lost this game several times. Tears run down her cheeks as she tries to tell herself life will go on without Brittany. Life has continued before. The show must go on, she repeats to herself. The show must go on.
It's all she has been doing since the breakup: putting up a mask and running the show flawlessly. She has played the part to the point of becoming the part, and now she doesn't know what to do with herself. She doesn't know how to mend the distance between who she is and who she says she is. She doesn't know how to fit Brittany into her life, she doesn't know how to look at Alexander and not compare and not be premeditated. She sobs, because there have been few times in which she has felt this alone and this lost.