Edit: Revisited and revised.
08
From: Quinn Fabray
Subject: A letter
To: Santana Lopez
Santana,
I'm sorry it took me so long to reply to your e-mail. Truth is, I didn't know what to answer at first. You ask difficult questions, both about our past and our present, and I had to sit on it for a day before coming up with any answer at all.
The first thing I think I should say is that Brittany was your first everything. You were childhood friends who watched each other grow up; you became lovers even before the both of you understood the implications of that; you got together officially because it was so intense and inevitable. She's your first love, she's the first person you ever promised forever to (or so you told me, on that New Year's Eve when the both of us were quite drunk).
You don't just forget your first love, Santana. And, in your case, you never learned to relate to Brittany in any other way. You were girlfriends, and then you weren't. Had you even spoken to her after the breakup before the divorce? Had you even looked at her? Your lives were so separate back then that I doubt it, if you allow me to speculate.
It's no wonder everything feels out of place. You haven't figured everything out, and apparently you haven't gotten over her, or at least, not completely. You weren't the one who decided to end it. You were the one who waited for months in the vain hope that one day you would just wake up and figure out it had been a bad dream. (Yes, Santana, we bonded a lot that New Year's Eve).
Love,
Quinn
Four weeks pass by and Santana becomes a mere resemblance of what she once was. She is at a dead end, trapped in a marriage she cannot stop questioning, tied to a person who ignores a huge part of who she is, living a life she envisioned without pondering the consequences. Days pass mechanically, one after the other, filled with activities and void of purpose. It's all an act; she's aware of it now. She has become the public figure, emptying herself of any true content.
But lies are heavy, as they demand more lying to cover the one previously told, as they demand a careful camouflage of feelings and perceptions and complete control of what should be natural reactions. So Santana feels heavy; an Atlas carrying the world to cope with her own deeds. Alexander looks at her, but he doesn't know how to reach out to her and she's too guilty of her own insincerity, for leading him on while lying to the both of them.
She is very good at lying to herself. She goes to work and she keeps on living and working and loving, because it is possible to perform the reality of it all without doing any of it. She laughs at the right jokes, works extra hours, watches the news and goes to dinners, but she knows Alexander knows something is wrong.
They are growing further apart by the minute and she isn't trying to stop it. It's not about fights or money or disappointment, because nothing concrete happens. It's about their silences, when there's no other soul but the two of them and the house feels too big. It's about Santana's laconic answers, short requests, and full compliance to his sayings. At the end of the first month, he suggests they could use some vacation time. Clear their heads and get a tan, or so he says. She agrees halfheartedly, and they settle for five days in Punta Del Este the following week.
From: Santana Lopez
Subject: A long delayed answer
To: Quinn Fabray
Q,
I was hoping you wouldn't remember a lot about that night. For someone your size you can surely hold a lot of vodka.
Unfortunately, I think your e-mail arrived a few hours too late. Brittany told me she slept with John (and that's why it took me a bit long to answer: I was trying to wrap my mind around it). It's over, then. I'm not her lawyer anymore. We will not be seeing each other.
Except that I feel horrible like never before. If I am to rank it: coming out in high school, Brittany breaking up with me, and now this. Of course, I go to work, I have meetings, I laugh at jokes. If there's one thing you and I learned at a very young age, its how to keep up appearances. But it's not enough. I'm performing tasks like a robot. Nothing really matters.
However, I'm perfectly aware that it makes no sense. I am married. My life has continued after Brittany. I built a career and a marriage. This is unfair to Alexander, who has been a life partner like few. He was jealous of Brittany and we did have our fights, but at the end of the day he's a good man and a good husband.
I can't communicate with him. What could I tell him? He doesn't even know I wasn't always straight. He looks at me, expecting answers, but I can't bring myself to say anything. He holds me at night and he's so tall and larger than life sometimes, but that doesn't bring us closer. I think I might me imploding our marriage, which makes me feel even worse.
I don't know what I'm doing anymore.
S.
At first, Brittany gives Santana time. Both of them needed to clear their heads and sort things out. She doesn't hear a word from Santana, and she dreams sometimes about that night, about the fight with Santana, about their first break up. Santana is all over her, impregnating her skin, her brain, her dreams.
In the second week, Brittany tries to contact Santana. Text messages, phone calls, voice mail; she did everything she could, but not a word has been heard in return for another four weeks. It drives her mad, because she isn't ready to accept that the case is closed and she is not ready to move on. She wants Santana, in any way, under any conditions. Friendship, courtship, marriage, she doesn't care.
She doesn't look for another lawyer. Instead, she packs; donating, selling or simply throwing away half of her belongings as the other half find its way into brown boxes that cluster her apartment. It takes her three weeks to do it and when their first month apart comes to an end, she has no furniture. She stops calling, too. Her tactic is obviously not working, so she needs to think of something else.
She starts looking for a new place. It's never a conscious decision, at any point. She wanted to pack, and then she wanted out. She starts getting paid by Jim – or, better said, with Jim, who starts calling her "partner". She had trained him when he was the weakest dancer, and the good karma seemed to be going right back at her. They had dancers now, and choreography, and production was starting at full speed.
She settles for a studio with plenty of space for dancing and almost no furniture. The bed is old and big, dark wood and memories from its previous owners. Brittany is in love with it. She spends the fifth week working on a single wall, putting up photos and posters. The result is beautiful, with all her favorite singers and dancers mingled with photos of her life, in bigger and smaller sizes. Santana is all over it.
From: Quinn Fabray
Subject: Hard questions to ask, few answers to give
To: Santana Lopez
Darling,
Let's not do this. You "weren't always straight"? You are a lesbian. Being straight is probably better for your social status and professional standing, but I have known you for two and a half decades. Do not lie to me.
I worry about you, you know. I've watched you retreat into straighthood and play the game, after you were fired and especially after Brittany broke up with you. I can still remember you in college, the hottest lesbian in Law School, as comfortable in plaid and boots as in a dress and heels; loving to show off Brittany, because she was your girlfriend and you were so proud of just being with her.
So I worry and I wonder about you with your big house, handsome husband, and thrilling career. You seem to forget that Brittany is free to have sex with whomever she so desires and it is not up to you to make demands on the subject. You can't claim her anymore.
You can't change the past, Santana. Is this thing you're feeling worth throwing away a marriage and turning your life upside down? Is it nostalgia? Do you even know who Brittany is today or are you projecting an image of who she was over a decade ago?
Much love,
Quinn.
PS: I'm pregnant. Finally.
Santana and Alexander go on vacation on the fifth week. Punta Del Este is lovely, and Uruguay does have a strong European trait to it. The people are beautiful and they are tourists with enough money to afford a perfect stay anywhere. Alexander and she go running every morning on the beach, taking in the impressive skyline and the smell of sand and salt, getting back to the hotel in time for breakfast.
Mornings are spent tanning and napping. Lunch is always at a different restaurant, and the food is often orgasmic. They walk through town and do some shopping at the end of the day, stopping to watch the sunset on the beach and toast. Alexander sits right behind her, arm on her waist and chin on the top of her head. They enjoy those moments in silence
She drinks more than she should, some days. She's not driving and she doesn't have to work the next day, she rationalizes. The inebriation feels good, for a change. She's building her walls and blocking the world out, again, and the absence of feelings is only broken with wine or champagne or even beer, if it's hot outside. She's arid, and her marriage might be crumbling because of it. She feels empty, and she cannot give Alexander what he is demanding.
At the hotel, they meet an English couple that goes out with them every once in a while. The man is short and thoughtful, the wife is tall and outspoken and the four of them share an appreciation for Uruguayan wine that bonds them together. He's a professor, she sells real state and they plan on adopting a baby, maybe two.
It feels lighter, but insufficient. She does get a nice tan, though, and it earns her a few compliments when she's back to the office.
From: Santana Lopez
Subject: Not even a letter, this time
To: Quinn Fabray
Quinn,
I wish I had the answers to your questions.
Santana
PS: OH MY DEAR GOD. A BABY! I'M CALLING YOU RIGHT NOW.
During the sixth week, Brittany discovers an inner strength she didn't know she had. She leaves John a message saying she wants to sell her share of the studio. That's what she needs, a clean slate and freedom to maneuver. It feels right. She should be focusing on the show, also, that would have its opening very soon. She doesn't want to follow the same old patterns, missing John in every broken routine.
He wants explanations and confrontations, and Brittany has to swallow her fears when she doesn't give in. It's night, late at night, and he is at the studio, because someone must have told him she was going to pass by. She sighs and hesitates for a moment, but a moment like this was bound to happen. "What are you doing?" He asks, looking at her like she's crazy. It gets under her skin, because he seemed ready to accept her opinion only and if she agreed with him. She thinks to herself how she was taught to do better than this.
"I'm leaving, John. It would be nice if you let me go." She answers honestly, getting the last of her things and placing it inside a bag. "I'm tired of it. Of this." She gestures to the both of them. "I don't want to see you anymore. I don't want to teach here anymore." She wants out and silently begs him to understand. She's been in a limbo for too long. Not married, not divorced. Her life has been paused for months now. It's time to hit resume, and keep going.
"Brittany, this is crazy-" He tries to say, but she doesn't let him. This is not the time for him to speak. This time, John has to listen. He is refusing to take in what she wants to say. She deserves better than this.
"No, it isn't. We are over, John. There is nothing between us, and that one moment we had sex did not mean anything." She's looking straight into his eyes. She had avoided him for weeks. She had not answered his calls. She had runaway to somebody else that night and let it very clear she did not want to discuss that lapse. He had looked for her and she had told him it didn't mean anything.
"I'm not giving up on us." He says, taking a few steps in their direction. He looks desperate and clueless. "I thought we were understanding each other, and the divorce-" He's doing everything wrong, all over again. He doesn't get it. Still, he closed his eyes to all that, in the hope he could get her back.
"No! You gave up when you cheated!" She loses control and speaks louder. "God, John. I will not forgive you. You broke us, and that is it." There's a long silence. "If you don't sign the papers, I will divorce you anyway." When the words leave her mouth, she can't believe she said them. She's holding back the tears already.
"Brittany..." He tries. She can barely look at him.
"I don't love you anymore, John. Let me go." He looks at her with an unreadable expression and leaves. She cries as soon as the door closes.
From: Quinn Fabray
Subject: Questions, questions, questions.
To: Santana Lopez
Santana,
Don't be a stranger. How are you holding up? Have you seen Brittany again? How's Alexander?
You shouldn't make a pregnant woman worry so much.
Love,
Quinn
Santana and Alexander start couple therapy during the eighth week, because something was obviously wrong and they weren't able to fix it. You're wrong, Santana, is what Santana feels like Alexander is saying when he comes up with the idea. Their therapist is a redheaded lady probably in her forties who has a great taste in shoes and looks at Santana like she can see right through her, and Santana feels naked and vulnerable.
Alexander starts by saying he doesn't know what suddenly became wrong and finishes by saying he loves Santana. Santana starts by saying they were growing further apart by the minute and finishes by saying she doesn't know what to do. He says they tried taking some vacation time, but that he is not sure how much that worked. She stresses it doesn't get in the way of their work, and things at the office are running smoothly. He says he has felt it for months.
Sessions come and go and Santana doesn't feel they're going forward, but she says nothing about it. She wants it to work. She wants to go back to normal.
Brittany becomes a topic eventually. Alexander, by his own initiative, starts babbling his nonsense and his jealousy, and for a few minutes Santana is paralyzed. He says he noticed Santana changing. He says he doesn't understand. He talks about the recklessness of her, to take that case when the wise thing to do would be to hand it over, and about the constant refusal to let Brittany become a subject of any critic or discussion. She says she is not going to discuss Brittany, at all, and tries to ignore his I told you so face.
It's the sixteenth week and she's at a one-on-one session with the therapist when progress is finally made. She's exhausted, she had a long week and she is so tired of never being able to voice out loud her own fears and she misses Quinn, but she is in San Francisco being amazing and Santana was never good at reaching out to people or even making friends to reach out to, in the first place. She doesn't want to disturb and worry Quinn any more than she already does.
"I feel empty. I'm ruining this marriage because I knew what I was doing and the decisions I was making and now I'm not anymore, you know? I'm pushing him away and he doesn't have the slightest clue of what is going on, the poor thing. He married the wrong woman. He married a projection of me without knowing. It's not his fault, at all, because I worked so hard to create this, this image and live up to it. But I feel empty, and it's not working anymore. I have no bigger goals, nothing to aim for. I think I lost myself somewhere before. I feel wrong because I am wrong, I am living the most fundamental lie and no one knows about it." She says, at once, without looking at her therapist, empty eyes focusing on the wall by her side. "I wake up and I think, what for? I look to my side, see Alexander, and I don't know what I feel besides the guilt for leading him on, for taking him into my own personal act."
She refuses to dwell on her alleged lie. The therapist increases the number of one-on-one sessions.
From: Santana Lopez
Subject: It's not fair to use pregnancy as blackmail, you know
To: Quinn Fabray
Quinn,
I might be cracking, I don't know. Alexander suggested we started therapy and I agreed. I didn't know what else to say, but at least we are trying. It isn't working out so well, truth be told. I can't say what's important in front of Alexander. What am I supposed to say to my husband? Hello there, Brittany is my ex-lover and I'm probably a lesbian?
We went on vacation a few weeks ago. Had I told you that? We had a nice time in Punta. It just felt like it wasn't with the right person. He's so manly and big and he loves me and I sometimes think I love him back. But it doesn't last long, and I'm back to feeling lost in no time.
I think I'm cracking. I said some things I shouldn't have to the therapist yesterday. I didn't mention Brittany or being gay, of course. But I did tell her how I feel. It felt good, getting it out there. Liberating, even. But I can't tell her everything.
Love,
Santana.
PS: This life is what I envisioned. Maybe I should have envisioned something else.
PPS: Not that I'll ever admit it out loud, but I miss you sometimes.
Brittany paces in front of the door, holding a brown envelope in her hands. It's the end of the day – she planned it, being the last appointment of the day, having less people around to eavesdrop anything. They used to say she's stupid, but she has proven them wrong once more, elaborating a scheme all on her own. Her stomach turns in anticipation and anxiety, because her gut feeling tells her this is it and her gut feeling never fails her.
Her mind divagates. John tells her he needs time, but he accepts and signs the papers eventually. His big eyes of sorrow and regret never leave his face, but he lets her go. They have been working on a way to solve their financial situation. He doesn't have the money to buy her share of their studio at once, but Brittany is in no rush. Little by little, things are falling into the right place. She needs, however, to work one more thing out before she can feel she is moving forward: Santana. This is the fifth month they are going without talking to each other and there is too much that's been left unsaid, for her to leave it at that.
She enters the office. The secretary nods at her and tells her to enter. Her heart is beating fast, her hands are sweaty and she can barely breathe. Santana is reading some papers, beautiful as always. Brittany clears her throat. "There you go. He signed the papers." She closes the door, takes a few steps forward and leaves the envelope at her desk. Santana just looks at her like she's seeing a ghost. Her pen leaves her hand and falls with a soft thud on the files she was reading. "I miss you." Brittany offers her before she can think of what she's saying.
Santana opens the envelope and looks the papers John had once rejected. She checks them one by one slowly. She looks at Brittany again, but doesn't invite her to sit. She sighs. "I'll take care of it." Her index finger runs over the sheets. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, until she finally finds her words. "But let's not do this."
Brittany had this coming. Old habits die hard, and Santana is so very often one for denial and running away when it comes to her personal life. "You're the one walking away this time, Santana. We're even." She broke it off, once. Now Santana was the one to put an end to them. What goes around, comes back around, she thinks sadly. It's all about balance, in the grand scheme of things.
Santana's eyes become hard and she gets up. They are eye to eye now. "Do not fucking accuse me of that, Brittany Susan Pierce. Do not." She's using a calm, low tone that feels more like a threat and the use of Brittany's full name is a testament of how deep the accusation has stung.
"I can say whatever I want, Santana." She answers, not giving in and not losing her temper. "I miss you and you're pushing me away." She said it; she actually voiced that thought. "We caused each other enough pain already." They had done so much wrong to each other, so many times. Santana, however strong she might look to the general eye, was so vulnerable and fragile at times.
Santana shakes her head. "It's too hard. I rebuilt my life without you, Brittany." There she goes, building up her walls once again. Brittany has seen this before.
"That's not what I'm talking about." She says, calm and soothing.
"It is exactly what we're talking about." Santana answers at once, almost aggressively. "You're making my head a mess all over again." She looks at Brittany in pain and Brittany could touch her if she wanted to, but she's frozen in her place. "Let's not do this. You left me, I survived. End of story." Except the story doesn't end there. There was so much more to it it's nearly insincere of Santana to sum it up like this.
"I'm not the bad guy." Their breakup was the recognition of a relationship long lost and buried. "I only said what the both of us thought."
Santana raises the tone of her voice. "Don't tell me what I was thinking, back then." Her voice breaks for a second. "Being without you was the last thing on my mind." Santana still remembers the months after that: the void in her eyes, the overwhelming loneliness that came from being ripped apart from your most basic aspiration, the moments in which she felt like sharing something with a person who was no longer around, the acute sensation of being doomed to be alone and the permanent wonder of where had they exactly lost themselves. The lack of answers.
Brittany is not willing to take the part of the villain in this act. She has suffered, too. "And still, I was a stranger among your friends, completely apart from everything in your life. You shut me away." It felt so horrible to watch your girlfriend live a life without you in it, a life in which you could hope to be nothing but a spectator. She was growing and changing in front of Brittany's eyes, turning into a stranger. The plans she was making didn't seem to include Brittany.
Santana's brow furrows in indignation. What did Brittany expect of her? To sit around and wait for the day the love of her life returned? It was not fair. She had a life to live while Brittany was away, a career to pursue. "I'm sorry, but you were never around! You can't just spend months and months away and come back for a few weeks and expect to know everything about me."
It's like a slap to Brittany's face. The guilt of always being the one to leave she carried already. "I had a career to build and you agreed to that, Santana."
"I tried to understand, but all I could do was to miss you." Santana doesn't even care anymore if anyone's listening. All this unresolved water under the bridge brings to surface her unplanned sincerity, the chronological distance being an enabler for her to talk openly. "Your travels broke me, Britt." It's one of her biggest truths among their mess. She doesn't mean to credit all the blame to Brittany, but Santana could never deal with the distance. "I couldn't pull myself together and I was by myself during some of the most important moments in my life."
Brittany is aware of it, even if Santana thinks she isn't. The opposite, however, also holds true. "Have you ever stopped to think you weren't there for me, too? Traveling with people I barely knew, struggling so hard, and I couldn't even count on you."
"Of course you could count on me! I would do anything for you." If Santana complied with Brittany's wishes, it was because Brittany's happiness always came first. She was Brittany's biggest fan from her first dance presentation when they were kids. Her eyes fill with a bitter sadness, as this is the when she can't deny incurring such pain. She was never able to regain the trust she had lost. "I'm sorry I didn't make that clear at all times."
"You cheated on me, Santana." It's such a hard confession to acknowledge. Imagining Santana touching another woman remained a painful memory, haunting her in dreams for endless months afterwards. Another woman mapping Santana's body, claiming Santana like her own. The Santana Ballet was sometimes unstable and unreliable - one step forward, two steps back.
Santana bites her lower lip as she holds back the tears. It would always come back to it, wouldn't it? "I was drunk and foolish, and I recognize my mistake." It's almost a whisper. Mea culpa. She had gone to a party, and gotten wasted. She was going on without sex for four months and she needed Brittany so much it hurt. She let herself go and ended up having sex with a random girl. The realization of what she had done the next day made her vomit. She called Brittany that very day and told her what had happened. "I tried everything I could to make up for it. But I never could, could I Britt?"
They were so young. They had tried to mend it, but Brittany couldn't forget and Santana could not forgive herself. A permanent weight had been placed, as much as they avoided the subject. "No, Santana, you never could."
"And then we turned into something we were not." Santana finishes their story and her eyes meet Brittany's. A long silence falls.
"I loved you so much, San. More than I ever loved anyone my entire life." Every person on Earth faded in comparison to Santana. Santana was bigger, braver, tougher, more intelligent, more beautiful, more fascinating.
Santana smiles the tiniest bit. "I loved you too, Britt-Britt. More thananything." Even at that moment, when she was supposed to feel nothing, Brittany made her heart race and her breath catch. Brittany made her laugh, made life lighter and more bearable. She gave Santana courage and purpose. "I'm sorry for everything."
"I'm sorry, too."