It was Christmas the year after.
She was still living with us, I didn't want her to go, and he didn't want to kick her out. She was his sister after all.
I wouldn't say that he was happy about it, but he didn't complain. She helped him with dinner, she surprised us with breakfast, she never made mess, except in her own room, she even wanted to pay rent. But that wasn't needed, he said. There was money enough.
The only downside was, for him, that he didn't get to make love to me that often anymore. Or make love to me at all.
I spent most of my nights cuddled up to Brittany on the couch, thinking about life, warmed by the fire. Most of the times he was in his seat, reading a book, occassionally smiling at us. He liked the fact that we became such good friends, me and his sister. He told us one night, when we were eating dinner at the table. He said that he enjoyed watching us talk and laugh about stupid things. Things that were stupid to his opinion, but I, myself, found the stories about her cat very amusing.
Monsieur Tubbi moved in with us, he had his little bed in her room, but mostly he slept next to her.
Because he was at work the entire day, we had a lot of free time together. We spent most of our time in bed, or on the couch. Sometimes we went outside, so she could paint or feed the ducks in the park. When he came home, we were usually watching tv, hiding our blushing cheeks and messed up hair, covering our locked hands under a blanket.
We knew that what we were doing was wrong. But then again, it felt so right. There wasn't one moment I regret spending with her. We never fought, just as I didn't fight with him, but it was different. It wasn't because I tried keeping myself under control, so I wouldn't get angry. We didn't fight because there was nothing to argue about.
After a while, even the many hours I spent with her in the day weren't enough anymore. I found myself sneaking out of my room late at night, when he was asleep, and shuffling over to her bedroom door.
I knew she would be waiting, she knew that I would come.
I would softly open the door, and climb in bed inbetween her and Monsieur Tubbi. She cuddled up to me and the cat would curl up in a ball.
I always smiled when I heard him purr.
When Christmas came along, we tried to dress him up as a reindeer, but he wasn't very pleased about that. He could be quite grumpy at times, but I bought him a present anyway.
We were sat in the livingroom, by the Christmas tree. She and I had decorated it together, and it looked magnificent. We had been singing Christmas carols all day long, and he had joined in once in a while, but he was too busy preparing a delightful Christmas dinner to have some real fun.
We were exchanging gifts when I realised it was exactly one year ago that he had proposed to me. On Christmas, by the tree.
I knew that my mother would remind me of that on the family party. I just knew.
I wanted her to come with us, he had already invited her, but I didn't want to make things uncomfortable. I didn't want her to feel left out.
After all, everyone believed I loved him.
My mother called me up a couple of hours later, wishing me happy holidays. She asked me when we were coming over, and I told her as soon as we could. I said we would be bringing his sister, because she was living with us, and she was looking forward to meeting her. I ensured my mother she would love her.
She smiled at my words and put her arm around my waist. We were laying on the couch when he came in. He asked us what we were watching, and I felt her remove her arm from my waist before answering. "The Polar Express is on" she said.
I still got chills every time I heard her speak. That cute British accent made her sound so sweet, and the soft raspiness in her voice made me swoon.
He sat down on the other couch and threw a blanket at my face. I laughed at him and draped it over our legs.
Since she had came to live with us, the relationship between me and him had gotten better too. We could laugh with eachother, he was less tensed than before. I liked that. But I couldn't deny, that I liked her more.
I never loved him, and I hated myself for treating him this way.
I told him my mother expected us as soon as possible, and he nodded at me and told us we could go in a couple of days.
And so we went.
He had always loved roadtrips, so there we were. Me and her in the back, her head on my lap, and him in the front taking us over the road. He didn't just like roadtrips, he was one of those typical travellers. The ones who have their car-music-mix on endless repeat, to enthusiastically sing along with. But I didn't mind. She was asleep in my arms and that was all that mattered to me.
I introduced her to my parents and my family, and I was right. My mother instantly loved her. But after 30 minutes she had figured out what we had been hiding for over two months. She called me in the kitchen and I already knew what I was about to hear.
"Santana," she told me "He is a good man, he takes care of you and he loves you. Don't let him down. If you betray him, you would be a shame to this family, Santana. Don't throw your life away for this girl."
My mother was the only one who I had ever even mentioned the first girl to. I knew I could trust her. Even though she kind off scared me sometimes, the only thing she ever wanted was for me to be happy. To live a better life than she had.
I sighed and told her she was right, and that I was sorry. But I couldn't let her go. I knew it was wrong, I explained to her. I never intented to hurt him.
I saw the look in her eyes. She was disappointed in me. In my life, I had let my mother down many times, but I swore to myself I would make her proud someday. Until this day, I still haven't succeeded.
I wanted to explain to my mother that she wasn't just a crush to me. That she was more than a crush, more than just a love. But she didn't give me a chance. She sighed and told me to end it, before he found out. She said I had to tell him, in an attempt to remain the little dignity I had left.
She left me no choice.
My mother walked out just as she came in. She gave me a questioning look, but didn't ask. She knew something was wrong as I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes. I could hear her soft footsteps, barely hearable, she was walking up to me. She took my hand and caressed my palm softly with her thumb.
"She knows, doesn't she?" her sweet voice echoed against the kitchen tiles.
I softly nodded. "She knows." I whispered out.
She held me in her arms, I don't know for how long. Time stopped when I was with her, but in the real world, the clock kept ticking. After a while she looked at me. She tucked my hair behind my ear and smiled, telling me it was going to be okay.
That we would be okay.
She wiped away a tear off my cheek and softly kissed my lips.
A second later we heard the kitchendoor close.
The car ride home was silent. I laid stretched out in the backseat, they were in front. I heard them talking, but I didn't listen. All I could think of was that door.
Someone had seen us.
Somebody knew.
I sat up and traced my finger over the glass. White snowflakes landed on the window, millions and millions flew by. The once so green landslide had turned into a completely different world. As we drove into our town, we were greeted by hundreds of twinkling Christmas lights. Little kids were playing on the street, building snowmen and throwing snow at eachother. A tiny dog dressed as a reindeer ran by.
It could have been a perfect Christmas.
But it was not.
I laid down on the couch as soon as I came in the house. He asked if I was tired, and I told him that I was. He smiled at me and draped a blanket over me, so I wouldn't be cold. His kindness only made me feel more guilty everyday. It would've been easier if he got jealous, or mad. It would've been less difficult if he complained about the fact that I spent more time with her than with my husband. But he didn't.
Instead, he sat down and massaged my feet, he made me hot chocolate milk and he put on Nightmare before Christmas. He knew it was my favourite movie around that time of the year. But that was the worst part. I knew if he found out he wouldn't be mad. He wasn't the type of guy to get angry, he was the type of guy that remembers when you like which film, and how you drink your chocolate milk.
He was the type of guy that would be hurt.
I would hurt him in the worst way possible.
He told me to get some sleep, and he turned off the lights. I heard his footsteps on the stairs and I wondered where she had gone. I hadn't seen her since we had entered the house. I heard a door upstairs and closed my eyes.
Jack the Skeleton started singing.
It was a week after the Christmas party. I was laying in bed awake, when I heard the door squeek open. Thinking it was him, I didn't move, but kept staring at the ceiling.
But I heard her call my name, softly, into the darkness. She was standing in the doorway, barely dressed, and she looked at me. I asked her what she was doing, and she walked over to the bed.
"Is he with you?" she asked. She sounded worried and I frowned, wanting to say yes. But I wasn't sure. I lifted up the sheet. His side of the bed was empty. I placed my hand on the mattrass, it was cold. He had left a while ago.
I sat up, asked her where he was. She shaked her head and told me she didn't know. She was in bed when she heard some noise, but she had been too scared to come out right away. I got out of bed and took her hand, together we walked downstairs.
The livingroom was dark and silent, only the ticking of the clock to hear. I flinched when I heard a noise behind me, but she smiled and told me it was the cat. He came with us, following us in the room. I switched on the light, it hurted my eyes. I looked around the room, let my hand strike over the edge of the couch. It wasn't until I walked over to the dinnertable that I saw the note. I picked it up and traced the sides of the paper with my finger. It was teared off from a notebook, the paper was wrinkled, the handwriting wasn't neat.
I closed my eyes, sighed, and read what he had to say.
Dear sister, dear wife. I could hear his voice in my head.
It's funny how I am still calling you that. I'm going away for a little while, I am sorry for not saying a proper goodbye.
I need some time to think, but I will be back soon.
Love, Sam.
The little heart after his name made me smile sadly.
I read his letter over and over, until it finally came through to me. When I understood what he had meant, I gulped and looked up at her.
She looked at me like she could read the words from my face.
He knew.
I felt quite terrible for not missing him. I tried to think about him once in a while, where he was and how he was doing, but it was so hard to think of something else but her lips on mine and the sweet taste of her tongue.
He came back two weeks later, on a surprisingly sunny afternoon. We were doing the dishes together, while singing along loudly to the radio. We were in the middle of a foam fight when I heard a key lock in the door. By the look on her face I knew she heard it too. She told me I should probably go greet him, but he already walked in to the kitchen.
He didn't act strange, greeted us both with a smile, and kissed me on the cheek. I had never been great in situations I wasn't prepared for, so I didn't know what to say. She came to my rescue, asked him where he had been.
They started talking, and I watched them, just as I did before.
We sat down in the livingroom and he told us where he had been, and that he was sorry for leaving without a goodbye, and why he went away. He said that he saw us that night, in the kitchen doorway. He came to call us for dinner, but turned around as soon as he saw what was happening. He didn't get angry, but he told us that he was confused.
She did most of the talking, I stayed silent.
I couldn't do anything but fake a smile and nod at them. I couldn't tell him the truth. The awful truth that I had been lying to him ever since we met, that I had never loved him, that he wasn't the one even though I had told him many times. I couldn't hurt him like that. But he knew more than I had thought, and I was about to hear all of it.
I just didn't know it yet.
He looked me in the eye, and told me he was sorry.
I had no idea why.
I should've been the one that was sorry. I should've apologized. But I didn't get a chance.
He told me he knew from the first time I said I loved him, that it wasn't real. That I didn't close my eyes when he gently kissed my lips, that I had changed from the moment we got together.
He told me he knew it wasn't right all along.
I asked him why, why he would do that to me, and his answer got me speechless.
"Santana," he started. "It was not because I knew it wasn't right, that I never loved you. Because I did, I genuinely loved you, and I still care very much. But I could see your strong walls up and high, and I knew I was not going to be the person to break that guard down. I didn't want you to be alone when someone would try, I wanted you to give the real life a chance. The right life."
His voice was soft and controlled. Like he had been practicing this speech ever since the night he had left.
"I never, ever wanted to change you into somebody you are not. I wanted you to feel loved at times when you needed it the most."
I still didn't quite know how to react. It was all too sudden, too fast, too .. Good.
I had expected him to be sad, and hurt, and disappointed in me. But he wasn't. He was glad that I had found love.
And in that first moment her and I were together, we weren't the only ones who knew.
I asked him why he was okay about it. After all, I was his wife, and I had betrayed him. With his twin sister of all people. He smiled sadly.
He knew it was the best for everyone to act this way, but he later confessed that he had gotten drunk to forget his thoughts and hold back his tears. He had never been as strong as he looked.
Then I realised I had been thinking wrong. I had loved him, very much, but not in the way he wanted. I loved him like a puppy loves his human. Someone you adore because he takes care of you, someone to share warmth with. Warmth and peace and love.
But I loved her like a sunset. Beautiful, sweet and soft. The feeling you get, when the sun slowly disappears behind the horizon, leaving the sky alone in her colorpalet of pink and red. You feel blessed, to see this magical kind of beauty. But soon the sadness will win you over, because you know the beauty won't last. The sun will go down, and as soon as it's gone, it will take every good feeling away with her.
Until she comes back.
That night, I didn't sneak out of bed, late night when he was sleeping. I hid my face in her hair and held her close.
I already was where I belonged.
A/N Okay so I have a feeling that this chapter is less good than the first one .. is that a right feeling, or ..? Thoughts?