I gazed up at Brittany. She was fast asleep, her chest ascending and descending rhythmically. I traced her jaw line with my finger, lost in thought.
I was bewildered. Before I met her, whenever the thought of sex appeared in my mind, I would become extremely anxious and defensive. I didn't want to have sex. With anyone.
But with Brittany…it was different. It was like she was inside my mind and could read my thoughts. She knew exactly what to do and when to stop. I tried to think of the perfect person, and all I could think of was her.
It was so incredibly easy to trust her. This was very unusual for me. Trust was really not something I handed out freely. But Brittany…I trusted Brittany from the moment I saw her.
She was the missing part of my soul that I had always been looking for. It felt like I had been building this puzzle, piece by piece. But the last piece was missing. And you look for it and look for it, all over the house, under the sofa, behind the drawers, in your games collection. And finally, after days upon days of searching, it just appears. As if an angel dropped down from heaven and placed it before you. Brittany was the last missing piece of the puzzle that was my complex and demented life.
And I loved her. I loved her unconditionally. And I knew that one day we would get married. We would have two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. We would grow old together, and die side by side, hand in hand, in our sleep. I felt sure, as I lay there, that she would always be with me.
Brittany stirred. I looked at her in anticipation. Her eyelids slowly retracted to reveal her baby blue eyes. She smiled warmly at me.
"Well, aren't you the most beautiful sight I have ever woken up to," she mumbled sleepily.
I grinned and rolled out of the bed. My face reddened as I realized that I was still naked. I looked back at Brittany. She was smiling mischievously at me.
I playfully rolled my eyes and got dressed. Brittany continued to lie in bed, her eyes unfocused. Suddenly, she turned her head to me with determination.
"San, I want you to promise me something."
"What?" I asked hesitantly.
"Don't let him hurt you anymore."
"Who?" I said, even though I knew the answer.
"Your father." Brittany's face was stern.
"But…" I averted my eyes. "I mean, he doesn't hurt me…he loves me."
Brittany looked at me doubtfully. "Loves you, San? I love you. That's what love is. He doesn't love you. A father who rapes his daughter doesn't love her."
"B—but," I stammered. "He doesn't. He doesn't rape me."
"San, don't lie to me. I saw the bruises and the scars."
My eyes filled with tears. I looked up and tried to stop them from flowing down my face. My knee began to shake anxiously.
"San—" Brittany looked disgusted with herself. She stood up and put her reassuring arms around me. "I'm sorry."
I sobbed into her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I shouldn't have said it like that. It just drives me mad that he allows himself to do that to you."
"He doesn't try to hurt me," I sniffed. "He only wants what's best for me."
"Is that what he tells you?" she sighed. "Just, please, promise me you'll never let him hurt you again."
I didn't respond. How could I promise her something like that?
Suddenly, we heard the front door slam. I looked at Brittany, immense fear boiling up inside me.
"You have to go. Now," I whispered. She nodded and silently got dressed. As we opened my bedroom window, I heard my father's heavy boots nearing my room. Brittany gave me a quick peck on the lips and climbed out of the window.
The moment that her foot disappeared through the curtains, the door opened behind me. I turned on my heels, holding my breath, to see my daddy gazing at me. He paused, his hand still on the doorknob.
"Am I interrupting something?" he said dangerously.
"What—no, no, I was just…" I trailed off as his face remained severe. His eyes fell on my undone bed. He looked at me again, poker-faced, then turned around and closed the door behind him.
I sighed in relief. That was close. Too close.
A strong wind chilled my face as I walked to school. It was a gloomy Monday morning, but I was as happy as could be. I thought about the past weekend, which I had spent with Brittany.
On Saturday, Brittany took me to a nearby carnival. We rode the roller coaster and ate so much popcorn that we wanted to puke. We spent the whole Ferris wheel ride kissing and exploring each other's bodies.
On Sunday night, Brittany took me out to dinner. We went to a cute little Italian restaurant and filled our stomachs with pasta and steamy marinara sauce. It was wonderfully romantic.
I did notice, however, the glances. I didn't pay much attention to them at school; people didn't like me there anyway. But outside of school? Why do educated adults look at me so skeptically?
It must've been because I was a lesbian. They weren't used to seeing two teenage girls out on a date. People are still so old-fashioned. They think that love can only exist between a man and a woman and that only they should be allowed to marry and create a family. What a load of crap.
When I got to school, I walked to my locker and twisted in the combination. I saw something darting at me out of the corner of my eye, so I snapped my head to the right.
Brittany jumped at me. "You got it!" she screamed joyfully. "You got it! You got it! You got the role! You're Anita!"
"Whaaaaat?" I widened my eyes in disbelief. Brittany grabbed my hand and led me to the choir room. The cast list was posted on the door. I trailed my finger down the list until I found my name.
Anita – Santana Lopez
"Oh, my God!" I hugged Brittany. I couldn't believe it. I was going to be in a play!
"I told you! You're flawless!" She kissed me on the nose. The first bell rang, so we said our excited goodbyes and left for our classes. I walked cheerfully to my Psychology class.
My Psychology teacher, a round woman with a pleasant face named Mrs. Klope, greeted us with the usual spiel about how we must do the readings in order to pass her class.
"Alright, now that this is out of the way, we'll be starting a new topic this week. Can anyone define schizophrenia for me?" she looked at us expectantly.
Rachel Berry from Glee Club, who was sitting a few rows in front of me, promptly raised her hand. Mrs. Klope nodded at her, and Rachel began, "Schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by social awkwardness, paranoia, delusions, and hallucinations. People who suffer from schizophrenia will often times fail to remember where they were or what they were doing for specific periods of time."
"Excellent," said Mrs. Klope. "Now, schizophrenics are not all the same, naturally. Each of them has his or her own habits…"
My mind wandered off into another world. I closed my eyes and imagined myself on stage, in front of a theatre full of people. I pictured the way that they will stand up for me and cheer their hearts out. It will be amazing.
We were let out of class five minutes early, so I headed to the choir room. The hallway was deserted and unusually calm. I was about to enter the classroom when I heard voices conversing inside.
"Will, are you sure it's safe to let Santana be in the play?" I heard Mrs. Pillsbury's concerned voice ask.
"Yeah, she'll be fine. That girl is a pile of talent, and Artie and I can't just ignore it. She's perfect for Anita."
"Alright, if you're sure…" I heard her footsteps approach the door. I quickly walked in the opposite direction.
"Santana?" I turned around. "Hi, how are you?" Mrs. Pillsbury smiled sweetly.
"I—I'm good," I managed.
"I'm glad. Congratulations on getting the role." She walked past me down the hallway.
I looked after her. Why did she think that it wasn't safe to let me be in the play?
Troubled, I opened the classroom door and was greeted by Mr. Schuester. I sat down and waited for the rest of Glee Club to show up.
Once they were all seated, Mr. Schue sighed and began, "As you know, Principal Figgins will not fund this play. I guess too much of this school's money goes into buying lip gloss and whatnot for Coach Sue's Cheerios," he shook his head disapprovingly. "Anyway, that leaves us in a tight and unpleasant position. I really hate to do this, but I'm going to have to ask you each for fifty dollars. That should be enough to pay for costumes and build the set."
There was a murmur among the students. I panicked. The last thing my daddy would ever give me is an allowance. Where was I supposed to get fifty dollars?
We did a read-through in class. My spirits were raised when Artie showed ecstasy at the fact that my Spanish accent was flawless.
After school, I kissed Brittany goodbye and walked home. I had a plan. It was dangerous, but I had to get those fifty dollars.
I opened the front door silently. I left my backpack and my shoes in my room and tiptoed to my daddy's room. I peeked through the crack in the door.
My father was lying on his stomach, snoring. My eyes looked around. There. His wallet sat innocently on his bedside table.
I held my breath and treaded softly across the room. Five steps left…four…two…one…
I picked up the fat black wallet. I looked through the bills. Ones… And some more ones… What did he need all of these ones for?
All of a sudden, my daddy's muscular arm had a death grip on my elbow. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he yelled at me.
I tried to get away, but I was powerless under his strength. He threw his blanket off of him with his empty hand and stood tall above me.
"You tryin' to steal from me, huh? Did you really think that was gonna work?" he snarled. He threw me to the wall. I scurried to the corner, whimpering helplessly.
"I'm gonna show you what happens when you try to steal from Daddy...yeah, I'm gonna get rid of you good-for-nothin' once and for all." He opened a drawer in his table. His hand returned with a small black revolver. "I'm gonna show you…" he muttered madly as he slipped the bullets into place.
Don't let him hurt you anymore. Don't let him hurt you anymore. Don't let him hurt you anymore.
And that's when I blacked out.