Chapter 02
Flashback - San
Furrowing your brows, you turn sideways and study your profile in the full length bathroom mirror. Despite your lack of stomach fat, you still suck in your gut as you press your hands firmly over the bandage covering your breasts. "Ugh..." The disgust emanates from your throat as you continue to scrutinize your appearance. You've been binding your chest for a few months now, having learnt the technique from an online website. "Fucking implants..." Despite your prowess at such procedures, the fact remains that there's only so much 'flattening' to be achieved with two bags of silicone in the way.
Turning again so your facing the mirror directly, you release your hands and let out your gut in defeat. It'll have to do. Reaching towards the hamper, you pick up the shirt you'd placed there earlier and slip it on over your head, careful not to brush the neckline against your already made up face. The shirt lays nicely over your relatively smooth torso, though you can't help but feel self conscious of the small bump in the contour where your smashed breasts reside. "It's just drag... it's fine... it'll be dark..." You reassure yourself aloud, fiddling with the hem of your Abercrombie shirt, unsure whether you should tuck it into your baggy jeans or leave it loose.
Deciding on tucking the front half in and leaving the back free, you then turn to the sink where you've left your hair ties and the finishing touches to your outfit: your NY Yankees baseball cap. Sliding your fingers through your thick, lengthy, brunette hair, you start to gather the pieces together up into a bun when suddenly the sound of the front door opening resonates throughout your apartment and through the open bathroom door. "Rikki?" You can't see your wristwatch, but would have sworn you had at least another twenty minutes before your cousin was due to pick you up.
At first there's no response, so you continue to twist your hair in your hands, assuming your cousin was just early and didn't feel like sitting in the car. "You better not be drinking already!" You shout outside the doorframe, knowing your cousin had the good sense not to drink before getting to the club, but also knowing he never passed up free beer when he was over. Almost ready to put the tie into your bun, you feel your heart practically stop when the voice that responds is not your cousins.
"San, honey? I wasn't feeling well so I decided to come home early. Sara and I stopped at Wendy's on the way home and we've got some spicy chicken nuggets and a frostee with your name on it. I don't know if you usually eat before or after your class." Brittany's voice was growing louder and louder as she worked her way through the apartment, eventually heading down the back hall towards the bathroom you were currently occupying.
Shit, shit, shit! Grabbing the door, you quickly close and lock it; your hair having fallen back around your shoulders since you'd not managed to get the tie in before reacting. "Oh this is not good.. not good." You groan, gripping the sink and staring across at your reflection in the small mirror above it. Staring back at you is a figure with your eyes, your hair, all the same features really, except this individual also had a goatee painted on in stage makeup. Up close, it was easy to tell that it wasn't real, but that was the great part about performing on a stage.
"Santana?" Brittany's voice is getting closer down the hallway, and you quickly turn on the taps, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it. If you can get the makeup off, then perhaps the rest could be explained in some manner that didn't include telling your girlfriend of over a decade that you don't actually have a late class on thursday nights, but have been performing in a drag show at one of the gay bars in the city for the past six weeks. "San?" Your girlfriends voice is right outside the door now, and you hold your breath, not knowing what to do.
Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. You groan internally as you watch the doorknob jiggle. You've started to scrub at your face, but the makeup you had used had already set and was being a bitch to remove. "Santana- The door's locked... I really need to use-"
"Hey, BrittBritt!" You interrupt, keeping one eye on the door, and the other on the mirror as you scrub furiously at your face. "I'm actually kinda in the middle of something, can you give me a few minutes?"
Despite your words, the tugging at the doorknob hasn't ceased, it's actually become more frantic. "San, I'm really not feeling well.. I think I need to- really, I'm gonna-" You drop the washcloth in the sink, forgetting instantly about your makeup as you listen to your lovers voice waver and then cease completely. Before you can even formulate the girls name on your lips, there's suddenly the sound of retching and a figure dropping to the floor.
Forgetting instantly about your appearance, you unlock and toss the door open only to spot your partner on her hands and knees, vomiting onto the carpet. "Brittany!" Dropping to your knees, you immediately place a hand on the girls back and begin rubbing in soothing circles as she continues to bring up what looks and unfortunately smells like Wendy's. "Geeze, I'm sorry, I didn't even think..." You briefly contemplate going back into the bathroom to fetch the small trash can for her, but she's already stained the carpet so there's no sense in leaving her side. "Shhhhh... It's okay..." You whisper soothingly as the girl seems to finish expelling her dinner.
"Mommy?" You glance up at the tearful and tentative voice of your 4 year old daughter. The girl is standing a few feet down the hallway, her slender, tan arms wrapped protectively around her torso as she watches in fright her mother being ill.
"Sara, mija, it's okay. Mommy's tummy is just upset. You know how the baby makes mommy's tummy more sensitive, right?" You reach a hand out to your daughter as you try and reassure her. Only the moment the two of you make eye contact, her eyes widen even further as she lets out a terrified scream. "Sara!" You watch in momentary confusion as the girl backs up down the hallway and then turns, running into her bedroom, her scream having turned to fearful sobs by the time she's slammed her door shut.
It's not until the woman still hunched on the floor starts to sit up and turn to you that you realize what it was that had scared the girl. There's nothing you can do but simply sit there and let your lover witness you like this for the first time. Please don't freak out, please don't freak out, please don't freak-
"Santana?" You had managed to close your eyes before your girlfriend could fully turn to you, so have no idea what her expression may be. Her voice is somewhat confused, but mostly still shaky from having just been ill. You hear her spit a few times and mentally kick yourself for being such a fucking coward, unable to ignore your own shame and get your pregnant lover some water to clean her mouth out. "I don't- I don't understand-" There's no anger, just more confusion, and then the feel of the girls fingers on your face, tracing the smudged faux facial hair almost delicately.
Shaking your head, you reach up and take the girls hand in yours, bringing it away from your face. Tears have begun streaming down your cheeks but you refuse to open your eyes and see the horrified or disgusted or devastated look on woman's face. You hadn't wanted to hurt her, not after everything you had already put her through, which is why you had lied to her about having an evening class the same night she had to stay late at the studio. Normally your cousin would pick you up before she'd returned, and dropped you off hours after she'd have gone to sleep. It had worked perfectly for the past month and a half.
"San, look at me." You shake your head and bring your arms up in front of your face; partially to hide yourself from the girl, and partially to soak up the wetness. Her hands are on you again, this time tugging at your arms, bringing them back into your lap before returning to cup at your cheeks. "Baby, look at me. Please."
Brittany's voice is so soft and reassuring, you can't help but slowly blink your eyes open. The girl's thumbs have moved to wipe at the tears directly beneath your eyes and you desperately try to keep from producing even more at the undeserved gesture. "Britt- I-" You falter, not really knowing what to say at this point. You should have never come back. If you had just stayed in Lima, then Brittany wouldn't have had to see you like this. Sara wouldn't have had to see you like this. "I- I'm sorry."
Despite having just been ill, the woman before you continues to rub and stroke at your cheeks, her mouth parted slightly as she lets out a few soothing murmurs. "Shhh, honey, it's okay..." Her ocean blue eyes are boring into yours and you just know your going to start crying again. "Is this... is this why you left? Is this why you've been so unhappy?" You only whimper at this and try to pull your head away. "Baby, please. Please talk to me." She has tears in her own eyes now and it takes everything inside of you not to get up and run. "I love you, Santana. Your daughter loves you. Whatever this is, whatever this means, I promise it's not going to change how we feel about you."
You shake your head as best you can in her grip, your entire body trembling at this point. You want to believe her. You want so badly to believe her when she says that she won't stop loving you. That Sara won't stop loving you. "Honey, it's okay. It's going to be okay." Her arms are around your shoulders now, pulling you into her chest. Letting out a strangled sob, you quickly bury your face into her neck, your own hands winding desperately into the fabric of her sweater. How can it be okay when you've been hiding such a huge secret from the woman you love for so long? Your entire life has been a lie, and in effect, so has your relationship with the woman currently rocking you in their arms. "It's okay."
You're sobbing freely now and shake your head against her neck. "No... Britt... it's not okay..." How can it be okay that the person you've been has never actually felt like the person you are? How can it be okay that for as long as you can remember, you've felt like you've been living in the wrong body? How can it be okay that, deep inside, you wish more than anything that you had been born a man?