As July creeped into being, and the anniversary of her rape grew closer and closer, Santana's dread grew. She was doing so well now, functioning almost normally sometimes, in a way that was far beyond what she ever could have dreamed of even a few months ago. She was able to go out in public more often, even sometimes at night. She was able to continue to do well in her classes and to go on outings sometimes with Brittany, or even Rachel and Kurt, although she had to keep those short and well planned to keep herself from getting overwhelmed. She had narrowed her fall internship possibilities to three different choices and although nervous about balancing the responsibility with classes, she no longer looked at it as a daunting impossibility. She talked regularly with Brittany's parents through Facechat and sometimes on the phone, and although she still hurt when she thought of her own family, she knew that she had a place in the world and in the heart of many others. She knew she was loved, that people cared about her and wanted her in their lives, and that meant more than she could or would ever tell them.
She was sleeping better, and although she wasn't exactly thrilled about it all the time, she was eating better and at a healthier weight. She was using some of the coping techniques Kate had taught her in therapy, even on her own, and she was doing better with being able to actually talk about upsetting things. She had even managed to have sex- and to enjoy it.
She was doing okay. Sort of almost good, even. But the anniversary was coming, and in the week before its date rolled around, Santana knew that her "doing okay" was in serious jeopardy.
She couldn't help it; she felt tremendous anxiety, dread, and fear any time her thoughts drifted towards the approaching date. Nothing was going to happen to her; she knew that logically, that just because it was the same month and day, it didn't mean that history would repeat itself. She would be safe. Brittany would never let anyone hurt her. But Santana didn't want to even have to think about the possibility of otherwise. She didn't want to have to feel anything about it at all. She wanted it to be history, an event with no attached feelings, especially not fear. She didn't want to have to depend on Brittany or anyone else to make her feel protected okay. She just wanted to be okay, no matter what day it was or what meaning it held.
It was just a day, just a fucking date on a calendar. She didn't want it to mean anything at all.
So she tried to tell herself that it didn't. She tried to tell herself that she had come too far and moved on too much for a stupid anniversary date to impact her. She refused to let it impact her. So any time it seemed remotely as though Brittany or god forbid, Rachel, might be about to reference its coming, Santana cut them off sharply, making her lack of acceptance in having the conversation clear.
She was going to be fine. She was.
But the night before, she writhed and twitched and couldn't settle to sleep, not lulled even by Brittany's arms or gentle touch. What little sleep she managed to get was fitful and punctuated by horrible dreams that left her waking up gasping and choking for breath, cheeks already wet with tears. Even then she tried to shrug Brittany off, to tell her she was fine, even to the point of snapping at her.
It wasn't Brittany's fault. Santana was the one who should be beyond this. It was herself she was really angry with.
When their alarm went off in the morning, although every muscle in Santana's body ached with exhaustion and the desire to just curl in a ball and cry, she was stubbornly determined to push through and go about her day. She dragged herself up and out of bed without any needed prodding or coaxing from Brittany, and as she slouched into the kitchen, fumbling for the coffee maker, her hands were shaking so badly she dropped a mug, then tore a sugar packet so it spilled all over the floor. Although she wanted to eat, because that was part of being "normal", she couldn't think of a single thing in their kitchen or outside of it that she could imagine consuming without her stomach roiling in protest.
This was going to be a fucking bad day, but even so, she would be damned if she let it show.
As summer continued, the air in the city sticky and hot, Brittany had known, eventually, it was coming. The one year of Santana's assault had happened in July, she knew that much from Kurt and Rachel, and had gone so far as to reach out to them to ask the specific date because she wanted to be prepared. Just in case it upset Santana, just in case Santana knew it was coming too, just in case. She didn't know for sure if Santana had picked up on the date, if it held any significance, that it had officially been a year. She'd never asked her, and they'd never discussed it, how long it had been, only in fleeting moments of comfort every few weeks - in the winter when Brittany had reminded her that it had barely been six months since her assault, in the Spring when Santana had insisted that nine months was a long time. Santana had always paid attention to the date, and that worried Brittany.
Once she knew the date, it was almost all she could pay attention to. One month gave way to another, and then it went from being a month away, to a few weeks away, to mere days away. Brittany had noticed the subtle shifts in Santana, almost imperceptible, the way she abruptly ended the conversation every time Brittany even attempted to bring it up, wanting to know how Santana felt, knowing from her behavior that they both knew what was coming. She knew Santana's reaction could go a number of ways, but Santana, evidently, was not interested in talking about it whatsoever to her or anyone, as Rachel confirmed when she sent Brittany a brief text, reminding her that the day was coming up and letting her know she'd tried to bring it up but hadn't gotten through. Santana had pulled back from her, even going so far as to being short with her at times, although Brittany knew it wasn't anything she'd done.
The day before, they both carried on as though nothing was wrong, although Brittany was worrying all day, conscious of Santana at almost all times and trying to sneak glances, as if she could get her answers just by looking at her. She tried to keep them up late watching movies on the couch in hopes that Santana would grow tired and sleep better, but it had a reverse effect - they were both tired, and, despite Brittany's best efforts, Santana had still woken up in the night and she could hear her whimpering and crying. Instead of curling into her like she usually would, Brittany instead found her cranky and almost unwilling to be comforted, not wanting to talk when Brittany asked what the dream was about and shrugging off her arm, rolling away from her instead of towards her. It was a shock to Brittany, unexpected, but she still lay facing Santana, her gestures smaller now, reaching out slowly and gently to rub Santana's arm, her shoulder, whatever Santana would allow, trying to comfort her how she could without Santana snapping at her and growing even more agitated.
She had been dreading the morning before it even got there based on how last night had been, her only solace being that it was a weekend and they wouldn't have to go to class or go anywhere really, ruling out the chances of more unpredictable factors. She didn't move when the alarm went off, knowing they'd probably lay in bed for a while, warming up to the day, talking, like they always did, gradually easing Santana out of sleep with comforting words and assurances that she was okay, as Brittany had always found the transition from sleep to consciousness jarred Santana whether she was dreaming or not. Before she could even react, though, she felt the mattress dip- Santana was getting up. She picked her head up, expecting Santana to go into the bathroom and then return to bed, only to see her exit through the living room instead, her face falling as she flopped back down on the pillows. Not a good sign. Yawning, Brittany pushed herself into a sitting position at the same moment the mug clattered to the floor in the other room, making her freeze. For half a second, she had wondered if any more crashes would follow, moving only when it seemed to quiet in the kitchen, her eyes flicking to the floor to make sure nothing was broken.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, she squinted at the floor, realizing that what was on it was sugar, the paper packet in Santana's hand. "Are you okay?" She asked because she wasn't sure what else she should say, asking about the mug but also about so much more. "Don't, Babe, I'll get it. Coffee," She said, stopping Santana by the arm gently when they both began to stoop down to wipe up the sugar, pointing with her free hand to where the coffee machine was gurgling on, indicating she wanted Santana to keep fixing her coffee while she wiped up the sugar.
In all honesty, Brittany felt strange with their new dynamic and wanted something to occupy her hands while her brain caught up, wiping the floor clean with a wet paper towel and tossing it in the trash. "Do you want me to make you eggs?" She asked, pulling open the fridge and peering inside to confirm that they did, in fact, have eggs.
Santana flinched at the sound of Brittany's voice, even though she had been holding herself tautly, aware of her surroundings, and not missed her entering the room. Regardless of knowing this, any slight surprise around her when her body was held so tightly wound in moment caused her to startle, and she wasn't able to hide it. Embarrassed and further shamed by Brittany trying to help her, Santana pulled her arm away from her a little roughly, insisting with clumsy, shaking gestures that just spread the sugar around further to try to continue cleaning it.
"I've got it," she insisted, although clearly she didn't, her voice terse. "It's fine. I'm fine."
She swayed a little when she stood, catching herself against the counter quickly with the head rush that hit, and hoped Brittany hadn't noticed, despite how obvious it was. Returning to the coffee machine, now chipped mug back in hand, she turned back to start again at making her cup and found herself hit with a flashback moment.
One year ago, in the loft. Normal day, for that period of time, a typical morning with Rachel and Kurt. Rachel absurdly cheerful and practicing scales, Santana bitching at her about it and grouchy, Kurt rolling his eyes and making quips. It had been her turn in the rotation to make everyone's coffee, and she had muttered and griped about it, as though it would be the worst part of her day, to perform a small task while tired. She had been an idiot. She had been an absolute idiot, to think that something as normal as making coffee was a hardship.
She flinched again, her head whipping towards Brittany, when Brittany asked if she wanted her to make her eggs, her stomach flipping at the thought. And yet she was supposed to eat, it was the normal and expected thing for her to eat something, to be okay enough to at least try. She had to, and she could think of nothing else that sounded more manageable that wouldn't invite more questions, so she just shrugged one shoulder with feigned indifference. "I guess if you want."
Finishing making her cup of coffee, she stood there for a few more moments, unsure for a few seconds if her legs would be steady enough to let her walk to the table and sit without spilling or dropping the cup. Finally she made her way, more carefully than usual, and sat, hands cupping the warmth of the cup, but not actually drinking.
Brittany's eyes flicked toward Santana's face when her body flinched, her heart tugging that she'd scared her unknowingly. She was used to Santana flinching and jumping, especially in public and crowded spaces when they found themselves at a busy intersection or someone unknowingly got too close to her, but she was usually flinching toward Brittany, not because of her, and each time Brittany was unintentionally the cause of her jumping, she instantly felt guilty for it. She opened her mouth to apologize, but caught the flicker of darkness that ebbed across Santana's features as she pushed her arm away, leaving Brittany standing, somewhat dejected, in the kitchen, confused at the change in Santana's demeanor that had started taking place last night. She exhaled, taking a second but overall choosing to stay silent, glancing toward Santana's back as she wiped the sugar.
Part of her expected Santana to say no when she offered breakfast, brushing her off again without reason, but she took Santana's indifference about it as a small victory. At least maybe she'd let Brittany cook for her, at least maybe she'd eat something and then they could stop being so weird around each other. Watching Santana hesitate at the counter for a moment, Brittany nearly reached for her, a questioning expression on her face, wanting to figure out what was wrong, what was rooting Santana in that spot for a few long, pulsing seconds before she moved to the table instead, sitting in her usual seat. Brittany left her eyes on her a moment longer, silently assessing her body language, her facial expression, before moving to get the pan out and begin making them both eggs.
"I'll make them and you can decide if you want to eat them or if you want something else." Brittany decided, throwing a small smile her way even though she didn't feel like smiling at all.
It was even slightly unusual for Santana to sit down while she was still in the kitchen, mainly because they usually operated in a three feet radius of each other, sometimes because Santana was upset and the other times because they just wanted to be close to one another. Santana usually leaned up against the counter while Brittany cooked, something that once was so she could make sure Brittany wasn't adding to much oil or salt and then, as her eating progressed, became something that they just always did together, with Santana sometimes even helping her prepare the meal from time to time. Still, Brittany didn't comment on it, instead preparing their eggs, making sure to leave Santana's half in the pan a little longer because she liked her eyes a little crispier than Brittany's. She finished off their plates with a few strawberries before bringing it over to the table, setting both their plates down before them sliding into her seat, resting her left hand on Santana's thigh.
"Are you okay?" She asked again, this time without the pretense of Santana having just dropped the mug. This time she was really asking. "I know last night was hard," She murmured, rubbing her leg gently, comfortingly, her voice laced with delicate concern.
Santana doesn't even notice Brittany's confusion or faint hurt at her unusually strained and strange behavior towards her. She sat with her coffee, focusing so hard on being normal, being okay, that she had no idea how very brittlely fragile, on edge, and not okay she so clearly appeared.
She took a cautious sip of the coffee, another uncharacteristic gesture from her. She normally would hunch over her mug with greedy anticipation, gulping it down so quickly she sometimes burned her tongue. Even that small sip was too much; her stomach rebelled in response to it, lurching threateningly, and Santana didn't drink any more, only cupping her hands around the mug as though pretending to let it cool. Even as she did so she noticed with anger towards herself that the small taste she had managed was too sweet. She didn't drink coffee with sugar; what the hell had she been doing adding it like she did? What the hell was wrong with her?
Nothing. Nothing was wrong with her. She refused to let it be.
When Brittany set the plates down on the table, Santana eyed hers warily, not wanting to even attempt a bite. If coffee was making her feel queasy, she couldn't imagine eggs would be any better. Even the look of them made her drop her eyes to the side, as though they were threatening to come alive on her plate and shove down her throat. As Brittany sat beside her, laying her hand on Santana's leg, Santana's thigh muscle twitched beneath it. She resisted the urge to push her hand away, although she felt her back's muscles draw up tautly in response to her question.
"Of course I am," she said, an edge to her tone. "I'm fine."
She completely ignored her acknowledgement of last night being hard, as well as Brittany's hand rubbing her leg. She had to swallow hard to do so, forcing down the lump it caused to rise in her throat from this gentle concern and comfort. She didn't need comfort, or want it either. She couldn't.
Her jaw set, she refocused on the plate of food, steeling herself to try to eat- the normal thing to do. She swore the eggs looked like they were taunting her somehow, but it wasn't normal to think that inanimate objects, even those with the potential to become a chicken once upon a time, were able to have emotions, so she stabbed her fork into them and took a tiny bite. Even though she immediately hated the taste of it, even though her stomach sloshed and flipped with her effortful swallow, she took a second bite. She had to at least try to eat this, at least a little bit.. Enough to be normal.
Still, when she tried to make herself take a third bite, her hands shook so badly they dropped the fork, and she had to close her eyes, trying to keep herself from vomiting. She swallowed several times, her nails digging into her upper leg with effort to regain control.
Usually Brittany would be able to feel Santana's muscles relax at her touch, the tension and fear seeping out of her body at the realization that she was protected and safe, the physical reminder that Brittany was there along with what that meant - Brittany was there, she was okay, Brittany would never let anything happen to her. It was one of Brittany's favorite things, the reassurance that Santana, no matter how upset or unsteady she was, trusted Brittany above all and instantly felt better with her touch. It was one of the hundreds of ways that Santana told Brittany that she loved her without even having to say the words. But now, Brittany felt Santana go stiff under her hand, like her soothing was actually having the opposite effect.
At her words, Brittany didn't even try to hide the way her eyebrows furrowed in doubt, pressing her lips together as Santana insisted that she was fine, that word again. For an instant, Brittany saw a flicker of a younger Santana, always insisting she was fine when she was coming apart at the seams. Years later, Santana had gotten no better at hiding, and no more convincing that she was okay. Just like in high school, she never tried to explain her behavior - it had never been "I'm fine, I'm just tired," or "I'm fine, just not hungry," but always "I'm fine," and no more conversation, a brief answer and affective shut down.
Brittany sighed, "You don't seem fine," She said softly, wondering what it was, why Santana was choosing to bottle things up instead of talking it through, instead of letting Brittany comfort her.
She kept her eyes on her as she ate, waiting to see if she'd respond or further brush her off. It had barely been a few seconds of silence between them when Santana dropped her fork, Brittany jumping in surprise beside her as it clattered loudly against her plate.
"San," Brittany said, her eyes trained on Santana's face, her eyes shut and body tense, taking deep breaths. "Santana," Brittany repeated, moving her hand to cover Santana's on her leg, trying to get her to uncurl her clenched hand. "You don't have to eat if you don't feel like it," She said gently. She wanted Santana to know she didn't plan on fighting her about food today - there were days when she did insist Santana at least try to eat something, but on particularly hard days, Brittany picked her battles.
"Why don't we just go back to bed?" She asked, her body turned in her chair toward Santana. "We don't have to eat breakfast and we can try to sleep for a few more hours or lay on the couch and try to sleep there." She suggested, trying to guide Santana and give her a plan, a solution to whatever was up with her. "Don't upset yourself if you don't feel like eating right now," Brittany urged gently, knowing Santana was more worked up than she needed to be about eating.
This time, Santana did notice Brittany's reaction. She saw the creased brow and pursed lips, the obvious disbelief in her face and the way that she looked Santana over. It made Santana feel transparent, vulnerable and raw rather than understood and accepted, and she turned her head, her jaw tensing even more.
Why couldn't Brittany just let things be? Why was she pushing her?
"I said I'm fine, are you calling me a liar?" Santana snapped, her eyes flitting over to Brittany's only briefly, dark, attempting a challenge, but glittering with surface fear that was obvious before she moved her face out of view again. "I'm fine. God, it's not a hard word to understand."
She stayed coiled tightly as Brittany covered her hand, hearing her words, but also hearing what she viewed as the implied meaning behind them. That if she didn't eat, if she went back to sleep, she wasn't fine. She wasn't okay. It wasn't a normal day, she wasn't capable of having a normal day.
No. No, no, no. She was not letting this happen. Not today. Of all days in the year, not today. She was not going to let this get to her. She was not going to let him win. Not today.
"You tell me to eat every day and now you tell me I don't have to? Super consistent, Brittany," Santana sniped. She deliberately picked up the fork again, this time holding it in her full fist to make sure she wouldn't drop it, and forced a few more bites down. She couldn't manage any more than that; she already felt like she was suffering the consequences of perhaps three quarters of one egg being consumed, that it might not stay partially digested and inside her for long. When Brittany suggested they go back to bed, Santana's head whipped towards her, eyes flashing.
"Why would I go back to bed? It's morning. That means we wake up and do the shit we do when it's a new day. That means wake up. I'm awake."
She stood up, catching herself on the back of the chair when she stumbled, and then went to the kitchen sink, scraping the rest of her food into the garbage disposal and starting to wash the plate. Her back is rigid where it is turned to Brittany, and she is still swallowing frequently, barely, barely in control.
Brittany drew back at Santana's harsh voice, freezing for a moment. "Of course I'm not calling you a liar," She responded once she'd recovered from the initial blow and shock of Santana even asking that question.
She swallowed, blinking, floored by it. Santana was the most honest person she'd met, but a lot of times she was hiding her emotions or pretending they didn't exist, and Brittany knew that both of them knew it. It wasn't a secret, and it was something they'd talked about multiple times in the past and, for the past year, Santana had hardly ever even tried to hide her emotions from Brittany. Even when she did, it barely took any encouraging from Brittany to get Santana to open up and share with her how she really felt.
God, it's not a hard word to understand. The words reverberated in Brittany's ears, deafening for a moment. There was no way- surely Santana wasn't insulting Brittany's intelligence, her capability of understanding. She hadn't said the word stupid, but it felt a lot like she just did, a slap in the face that made Brittany drop her eyes to her plate, twisting her lips to the side as she tried to find her footing. Surely Santana wasn't trying to insult Brittany like that, Brittany didn't even want to consider it. What was going on? Logically, knew it wasn't Santana, she knew it had to be something, something related to whatever Santana dreamt last night, about the anniversary or something that had triggered her. She knew, logically, that it wasn't about her, but still, her emotions had flared with hurt and it was hard, with how harshly Santana was responding to her, to not take it personally.
Brittany didn't bother responding when Santana snapped at her for trying to assure her she didn't need to eat right then if she felt like it, not even bothering trying to explain the fact that Santana did need to eat but she could wait until she felt like it, keeping quiet because she wasn't sure how her voice would sound when her throat felt so tight. Swallowing, she picked up her own fork, eating in silence even though she had lost her appetite somewhere in their brief conversation. She kept quiet when Santana questioned why they would go back to bed, like it was the most ridiculous idea in the world even though they had long, lazy mornings in bed all the time and even more than that, took naps together and laid on the couch, letting Santana catch up on sleep and have time for them to just lay together. It was the most common thing in the world for them, but coming out of Santana's mouth, her tone of voice made it sound like Brittany had just suggested something that was ridiculous to even entertain.
She let Santana get up, flicking her eyes toward her as she stumbled against her chair, her hand reaching out, hovering toward her unconsciously but not touching her, pulling her hand back when Santana steadied herself. She finished her own eggs as Santana washed her plate, sitting back in her chair as the long silence dragged between them. Where did they go from here? Finally, Brittany took a breath, her eyes on Santana's back. "Why are you being like this?" She wondered, her voice hesitant and sad.
Santana couldn't have missed Brittany almost reeling back after her accusation of her calling her a liar. She didn't have to look her full on to see the hurt in her eyes, coloring every part of how she held her body and the tone of her answering words, and a twinge of guilt struck her chest, but it wasn't enough to overcome her need to push back, to propel herself forward through fine. There was an agitation steadily rising within her, one she could not understand or even put to words, and as she continued to struggle to suppress it, she couldn't look Brittany in the eye. She couldn't let her see just how badly it hurt right now to even draw breath, how much of an effort it was to just be in each moment in time and in each area of space her body occupied. She couldn't bear for someone else to enter that space right now, even to comfort, especially to comfort.
Even though her back was to Brittany, Santana could physically feel hurt shock and hurt at her harshness. She was so close to Brittany, knew her so well and so intimately at this point, that even in caught in her unusual state of agitation, she could see how much she was affecting her. She wanted to turn and take it back, to apologize and try to dissipate some of the confusion and pain she knew she was causing her. But she couldn't. Something inside of her refused to let Brittany off the hook, to lessen her pain, even as she refused to acknowledge her own pain or to even let herself understand just how badly she was hurting, how NOT OKAY she really was.
She didn't turn around again when Brittany asked her why she was being "like this," unable to stand to see the sadness in her face that she could hear so plainly in her voice. She hated to know that she was hurting Brittany, that her behavior was bringing out that smallness of her tone, as though Brittany were younger and more vulnerable- as though Santana had made her that way through her actions. She could hear in Brittany's voice the girl who had floated through school pretending she didn't notice when people laughed at her or called her stupid, who would deliberately say "stupid" things to further play into the role rather than to snap back. But only Santana had understood how it hurt Brittany, how she, like Santana, was partly trapped into a role she had never wanted to be assigned. And now Santana was the one putting her back into a place of feeling small, feeling less, feeling stupid.
She hated herself for that, and yet she couldn't stop. She couldn't soften her response. She couldn't even change her harsh expression as she spoke , not even turning to look at her.
""I'm not acting like anything, Brittany. I'm just starting my day. Normally. Like a normal person. I'm getting up and eating breakfast and having my coffee. I'm being an independent functioning adult. What, is that not okay with you? Do you like me all weak and codependent or something?"
She knew the moment the words came out her mouth how they would hurt Brittany, that she didn't truly mean them, and yet the part of her that wanted to take them back was overruled by the part of her that was digging in her heels.
Brittany sat in her seat still, dejected and feeling like she'd been cast to the side unexpectedly, like their entire routine had somehow flipped, the absence of all their intimate touches and eye contact leaving a cold, stark presence in the room in their wake. It was so unlike them that it almost stung like a burn, even before the attack they were intimate, affectionate with each other whenever possible, moving as one in their morning routines and doing small sweet things for each other - Santana brewing coffee and adding cream and sugar to Brittany's, Brittany cooking breakfast without having to ask how Santana liked her eggs or bacon or what she liked on her toast, they just knew and did it for each other. Always.
Part of her expected for Santana to turn around, almost by default. Even in their moments of tension and upset with each other, they never played out like this, and Brittany felt another unexpected sting in her body when Santana didn't turn, instead letting her words hang in the air. Brittany wished she wasn't so bothered by this, by Santana's snappiness. She knew she didn't mean it, she knew she hadn't meant to imply that Brittany was stupid or to hurt as bad as her words did, but repeating all those things in her head didn't help how she felt.
When Santana eventually did speak, her words were clipped and harsh, almost more unkind than they had been before, biting and accusatory. Not okay with her? If Brittany wasn't so upset, she would've laughed at that statement. Brittany and Santana both knew that there was absolutely nothing that wouldn't be okay with Brittany- since she'd gotten there, Brittany had been letting Santana lead, encouraging her to think about how she felt and what she wanted, only pushing back if Santana was neglecting taking care of herself or not eating.
Brittany bit her lip, turning her head in the opposite direction, wishing Santana's words didn't make her throat feel so tight and her eyes prickle. She didn't respond right away, fighting to keep her composure. It took what seemed like forever, trying desperately to clear her brain and sort through her thoughts, trying to convince herself again and again that Santana was just upset, that it wasn't true.
"You're acting like you can't stand me," She said after a pause, her voice wobbling dangerously as her eyes stung. "And it's not-" She paused again, dragging the heel of her hand across her eye. "It's not being weak and codependent, it's being in love," She said, seeing all their constant interactions and touches and glances never as a sign that Santana depended on her, but just that she loved her. "It's being in love and It's being nice. I don't get it," Brittany sighed, sniffling. "I don't get it, did I do something wrong?"
Santana's back was still turned towards the sink, but she could nevertheless actually feel the sadness her harsh words had brought over Brittany. She could hear the tremor in Brittany's voice and knew without needing to turn to see her that Brittany was trying not to cry. She had seen her sad enough to be able to know without looking how her chin would wobble just slightly, how her eyes would gloss over and shine with held back tears, how her pale skin would redden at the neck and cheeks. Santana hated to see Brittany sad, and most of her life she had flown into a rage at anyone she knew had caused her to be. She had gone out of her way almost always to prevent Brittany from being sad, cheering her up and taking on the task of keeping her from being sad almost as her mission in life. The few times she had been the person who had caused Brittany to be sad, she had turned the anger she usually would feel towards others inward with a fierceness that she couldn't display towards any others quite as strongly.
She was supposed to be the one person who never made Brittany sad. What the fuck was she doing? What the fuck was she saying?
For a moment she hesitated, her rigid shoulders falling slightly, and she half turned, starting to back down, to apologize. She started to confess to Brittany that she didn't know what she was doing or saying, that she didn't know why, that she felt completely out of control. Her dark eyes flickered with regret and pain, and she swallowed, attempting to summon up words that she knew wouldn't be enough, but nevertheless needed spoken. But when she opened her mouth, the words that came out were even more venomous than those she had uttered before.
"I can't stand you acting like I'm so crazy and helpless that I can't do anything without you. I'm not, do you understand that? It's like you want there to be something wrong with me, is that it? You want to rescue me or something, be better than me? Did you ever think maybe there's nothing wrong with me, maybe there's something wrong with you? Maybe-"
Santana's words cut off abruptly as she brought a clinched fist up to her mouth, almost choking with her own horrified realization of what she was saying, of just who it was she was saying it to. She didn't mean it, any of it. She hadn't even known the words that came out of her mouth were poised at the tip of her tongue. They had flown out like sharp arrows, independent of the need of an archer to send them out. She pressed her hands tightly against her mouth, as if trying to forcefully prevent anything further from emerging without her permission.
She was a horrible, evil person. What kind of darkness lay inside her to make her say things like that to the one person in all the world who was always there, the one person she loved more dearly than anything in her life? She really was the heartless, cold bitch that everyone had always called her.
As her thoughts began to race, her heart picking up a frantic pounding in her chest, her brain finally began to catch up with the blurted out words she had been tossing so automatically, and she wanted then to somehow punish herself, to make herself feel physical suffering as some sort of penance for them. Had she been so damaged by him- her rapist- that she had taken on some of his evil? Or had he simply pushed it closer to the surface, and it would have been inevitable to erupt eventually all along?
Thinking explicitly about her rapist, after such dogged effort not to, coupled with her self hating thoughts and regret, was enough to push her over the edge. Her already queasy stomach gave a warning heave as bile rose in her throat, and she turned back to the now emptied sink and began to vomit. Her throat and the back of her nose burned with the action, but she welcomed it, felt she deserved any physical discomfort and more. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she gripped the sink, shoulders hunched, not because of being sick, but because of the full reality of her behavior and words and their impact on Brittany now sinking in. She couldn't catch her breath enough to apologize at first; when she tried, a high whimpering sound emerged instead.
She had been wrong. There was something wrong with her, as much as she tried to deny it, as much as she didn't want to have it as her reality. There was so much wrong with her she couldn't even say the words she wanted to say, or stop from saying the words that she didn't.
Brittany sucked in a deep breath, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands, knowing she had to calm down, that her getting upset wasn't going to help the situation, even though it felt like Santana's words burned at her very skin, tearing her flesh and embedding themselves in her bones. It was a cruel side of Santana she hardly ever saw, especially now, and never directed at her. This was the Santana she knew such a long time ago, who wouldn't hesitate to cut people down with her words but always treated Brittany with such gentleness. For the first time, Brittany felt the hot shame of what it was to be on the other side of Santana's anger, to be the target, even, and it made her stomach roll. She wanted this to stop, she was desperate to undo whatever it was that had twisted them and gotten them to this place.
When Santana turned, Brittany flinched, her body already tense. She'd stopped expecting Santana to do anything except say something hurtful, knowing for one second that the look on her face was not a look that meant their discussion or argument or whatever it was was over. Brittany opened her mouth automatically to say she was sorry for whatever she did, to say she just wanted it to stop. Usually, she knew exactly what to say and do to give Santana what she needed, able to calm her and meet her needs without even really having to think about it. This, though, was something entirely different, an anger that had recently come pouring out. Brittany didn't know how to help her best, how to calm her fury, how to make it okay.
I can't stand you acting like I'm so crazy and helpless that I can't do anything without you. You want to rescue me or something, be better than me? Brittany's eyes fluttered shut at the harsh accusations of the words, the tears that she just tried to wipe away dribbling over. A new panic flared in her chest- was Santana right? Did she think that she was better than her? No, Brittany knew that wasn't it, but still, Santana's words sunk into her deep. Was it wrong for her to feel loved when Santana needed her, when she could help her? Did she take some sort of secret pleasure in Santana's pain? No, all Brittany wanted was for Santana to be as comforted and happy as she could- but did it come across that she didn't want that? Brittany's mind was spinning, and she was fighting not to get even more upset, dragging in deep, heavy breaths to try and keep herself steady. She kept her eyes shut, as if she wouldn't be there anymore, as if Santana couldn't see her and that would stop the torrent of words that were pouring out of her mouth. Did Santana really think these things, on some level? Had Brittany grossly misread their relationship?
Brittany's mind was still racing from what Santana had just said, wanting to press a pillow against her face and sob. She was about to get up and quietly go in the bedroom, hopefully putting some distance between them for a few minutes when she heard the unmistakable sound of Santana heaving, making her blink her eyes open, her vision cloudy and teary. Santana had turned away from her again and was leaning over the sink, undoubtedly throwing up, from the sound of it. For a moment Brittany froze, not sure what to do- would Santana push her away if she tried to help? Would it make her even more angry? It was the first time Brittany had ever questioned how Santana would respond since the very first time she'd come back to the loft and she absolutely hated the feeling. But then she heard Santana whimper and she stood, making her way slowly to the kitchen, slow enough for Santana to hear her coming and tell her to go away if she wanted to.
"Santana," Brittany said, her voice cracking, even though Brittany wished it sounded strong. She'd come up next to her, and she wordlessly reached across and turned on the faucet, washing away Santana's sick. Reaching up, she got a glass from the cabinet, pushing it under the stream of water for a moment before setting it down on the counter for Santana to take it if she wanted it. Brittany's entire body was tense, almost scared of what Santana was going to do, hoping she wouldn't pick up the glass and throw it, hoping the worst was over and, most of all, hoping Santana didn't get even more angry at her attempt to help her.
Santana remained hunched over the sink, head bowed, some of her hair straggling down over her face to partially hide its features. Her shoulder blades stuck out like sharp wings as she gripped the sink counter, and her chest continued to heave up and down shallowly as she sensed Brittany coming closer. She didn't miss hearing the crack in Brittany's voice, nor the sniffling that told her Brittany was definitely crying now or close to it.
She had made Brittany cry. There was only one time she could remember in all their years together that she had ever made Brittany cry, other than when Brittany responded with sadness to Santana's own tears, and that had been when she broke up with her in her freshman year at Louisville. It had been one of the worst things she had ever done, the stupidest mistake, and it had hurt Santana to do it as deeply as it had hurt Brittany. What horribly self sabotaging part of her kept doing things to wreck the person who loved her most, pulling her down to her own level of misery?
She was wrong. She was so wrong that she couldn't even begin to understand why she had come up with the untrue, twisted words that had come out her mouth, let alone how they had formed in her brain beforehand. She was wrong and twisted up and just plan cruel. She was everything she had never wanted to be, no matter how much she had pretended throughout her life that she didn't care and even reveled in the perception of meanness- fairly earned or otherwise- that others had of her.
Brittany hadn't touched her, had barely said anything in response to her. Brittany seemed afraid to come near her, and Santana could hardly blame her for it. Nevertheless, the other girl did rinse the sink out and hand her a glass of water, still without touching her, and spoke her name in a hoarse tone that seemed more a question than an address. And Santana couldn't take it. She had done this to Brittany, made her this scared, uncertain person around her. She had done this to herself.
Her body bowed forever, almost collapsed, and she put her forehead against the sink counter as she gripped its edge tightly with her fingers, the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor. Tears continued to stream, faster and more uncontrolled now, and heavy sobbing overtook her, causing her whole body to tremble with the force of it.
"I'm sorry, Brittany, I'm sorry," she gasped, the worlds barely intelligible through her tears. "I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean it, I'm sorry...god, what the fuck is wrong with me? You're right, you're r-right...something's wrong with me. Something's wrong with me, I'm wrong, I'm fucked up, I'm a horrible fucked up bitch and I didn't want to be, I don't want to be, I-I-I..." she choked, having to cough a little and try to clear her throat to be able to continue her stream of conscious words.
"I c-can't make it stop. I didn't w-want to, I don't mean it, I'm sorry...I couldn't stop. I tried to make it stop, all of it, I t-tried to be normal, I t-tried to be okay, and I c-can't. I can't make it stop! I c-can't even fucking talk to you like a normal person, I c-can't even say the words I w-want to say, s-something just takes over and I'm so f-fucked up I can't, I can't even say what I m-mean. God..."
She banged her head against the counter, moderately harshly, as her sobbing began to overtake her words, the only intelligible word emerging being "sorry".
When Santana tilted forward, Brittany's hands came out, hovering around her in case she did lose her balance and fall but she stayed upright, her body folding until her forehead rested against the countertop. Santana seemed to be coming down from the angry and volatile emotions that had just been overtaking her, and the way she cried now made Brittany's heart fracture. Just a moment ago she had been unsure about Santana's words and behaviors, wondering what she would say next but now, she seemed as small and sad and broken as she'd ever been. It was confusing for Brittany, her heart still throbbing with hurt at Santana's words while also seeing how sad Santana was, how hard she was crying. It seemed like she'd been trying so hard to mask her pain with anger - something Santana was very good at doing, that she'd resorted to saying anything just to appear angry and unbothered. Gently, Brittany took a step closer, her hand coming up to rest between Santana's shoulder blades as she sobbed.
It took a moment to realize that Santana was mumbling words through her tears, that she was speaking, and Brittany leaned forward, trying to hear whatever she was saying. After a beat, Brittany could tell she was apologizing, pleading and begging with Brittany, babbling about how she was feeling, her voice raw and desperate, horribly self deprecating and placing the blame on herself without any prompting. It broke Brittany's heart to hear her be so cruel to herself, to feel so much regret when just a minute ago she was still saying horribly vicious things, like she'd been intentionally trying to upset Brittany with what she was saying.
Santana was like a pendulum in that moment, swinging rapidly from one state of being to the other in a more volatile way than Brittany had ever seen before. She wasn't even sure what to do, and was about to cut off Santana's repetitive rambling when Santana banged her own head against the counter, making Brittany launch into action, fear of Santana lashing out at her suddenly dimmed by the fear of Santana possibly injuring herself.
"Hey- San, stop," Brittany said, "Sit down, right here," Brittany coaxed, her hand moving to wrap around Santana's upper arm for stability in case she lost her balance. "Right here, just sit and put your back against the cabinets," She said, confirming that she did in fact, want Santana to sit down right where she was standing. Brittany had been so caught up in Santana that her own tears had dried, leaving her eyes red rimmed but no longer actively crying.
Santana startled slightly at first when Brittany put a hand between her shoulder blades, not having expected the touch, but once she recognized the gentleness and pressure to be Brittany, her crying only grew louder, more desperate. She didn't deserve Brittany touching her that softly, showing her any kindness after the brutal way she had spoken to her. She deserved to feel this wretched, after she had made Brittany hurt. She deserved Brittany to walk away, to let her fall alone to the floor.
But Brittany didn't. Instead she stopped Santana from hitting her head again, grasping her to keep her from falling. Instead she showed her that she still cared, that she didn't want her to be hurt. Even after she had hurt Brittany, Brittany didn't have the desire for Santana to hurt too.
She was far too good for Santana. Far, far more than she would ever deserve.
Slowly Santana let Brittany guide her into turning around and sitting down, her head still hanging low, shoulders slumped forward, legs straight out in front of her. She had caught a brief glimpse of Brittany's tear-streaked face and red eyes, and another swell of shame choked her throat. When Brittany didn't sit with her right away or further touch her, once Santana was sitting down, Santana tried not to let that bother her. That proved impossible. Maybe she didn't deserve her, maybe she was nothing but horrible to and for Brittany, but she couldn't stand to go much longer without her hands automatically reaching towards her, wanting to draw Brittany back.
"S-Sorry," she stammered again, head coming up a little to look at Brittany beseechingly, tears still emerging freely. "I'm sorry...please don't hate me. Please..."
Brittany breathed a sigh of relief when she'd gotten Santana sat down on the floor, knowing now she didn't have to worry about Santana hurting herself or losing her balance the way she'd been subtly worrying all morning, each time Santana stumbled. Santana too seemed grateful to be able to rest her body in one place, slumping against the cabinets as she cried. This version of Santana was so different from the person Brittany had seen just a few minutes ago that it was hard for her to believe it was possible, that two different forms of emotions could juxtapose themselves so harshly, that there was so much emotion and volatileness swarming inside Santana's body. She had to be exhausted.
She let Santana settle where she was sitting, confident that she wouldn't try to get up, before Brittany stood again, glancing at the sink to make sure everything was rinsed out before reaching across to grab the water cup she'd set out for Santana, tearing of a few sheets of paper towel and dampening them in the faucet before wringing them out. She was quick in her work, sinking down beside Santana on her knees, her heart fracturing when Santana reached for her. Her face was open and pleading, childlike as tears streamed down her cheeks, the face that Brittany knew so well - the face that wanted intimacy, validation, love and comfort unashamedly, and the fact that knew that Brittany would've always give it to her, unlike so many other people in her life.
"I'm right here," Brittany soothed gently, settling down the cup beside her and catching her hand in midair. "Stop, stop, you're okay," She hushed. Brittany shook her head as Santana went on, apologizing again and begging Brittany not to hate her, her voice small and scared. She lowered Santana's hand to her lap gently, so that she could free her own hands to push Santana's hair back from her forehead, gently examining the smooth skin there, brushing her thumb over Santana's temple to make sure a bump wasn't forming. She hadn't hit her head that hard, but Brittany still wanted to be sure, her movements gentle and soft, not wanting to hurt her.
"You need to calm down," She said softly, rearranging her legs underneath her so she was sitting criss cross to Santana's left, facing her instead of having her back against the cabinets. "I don't hate you and everything is fine, you just need to sit for a minute," Brittany instructed, knowing Santana needed to come down from her emotional high and get everything out of her system before she could calm down but also knowing that she couldn't have Santana stand up or move with the state she was currently in. She knew they could talk about everything that had been said later, but now, she had to focus on what Santana needed from her now, and how best to take care of her. "Nothing is wrong with you," Brittany calmed, freeing Santana's hair from where it stuck to her teary cheeks, tucking her behind her ears and out of the way.
Santana shouldn't have been surprised by how gently Brittany handled her, but she was. It never ceased to amaze her when the other girl would seem to know just what she needed, just what to do or say to comfort her, even when it seemed that nothing in the world could ever help, ever lessen her hurt. As Brittany knelt beside her, putting the cup of water within her reach and catching Santana's grasping hand, Santana tried to hold onto Brittany's with a panicky grip, resisting her lowering her hand to her lap. When Brittany examined her head, Santana reached out again to grasp onto Brittany's shirt with both hands, needing the contact of some part of her.
She barely heard Brittany's words to her; they sounded like a soothing buzz in her ears, not fully intelligible against the thumping of her pulse against her temples and her only sharp cries. She did hear Brittany tell her that she was there and registered that much, hanging onto her shirt and shifting her body towards her as Brittany sat down beside her. Santana didn't quite lean against her, but her head bowed close to doing so, only lifting up when Brittany brushed her hair back from her face.
"It's n-not fine," she managed when she registered, a little belatedly, what Brittany was saying as she sat next to her. "I w-was wrong. I was wrong, it's n-not fine...nothing is fine. Nothing was fine, everything was wrong, it was all wrong..."
Without quite realizing her thoughts were beginning to slide back in that direction, she was thinking of the night in the bar, exactly a year ago, of yet another time she had been hunched on a floor, sobbing. Only then, she had been alone on the dirty bathroom floor, naked and injured and alone. Here, she was safe, she was loved, and she was with Brittany. Then, she had nothing, she had no one.
Then, she hadn't had Brittany. And that had been what she needed, more than anything else.
Her head did fall forward then to Brittany's shoulder, and her tears picked up an intensity that was so rough and harsh her whole body shook with it, and she clutched Brittany's shirt so tightly her nails nearly tore the material. Through her sobbing, more words poured out.
"You-you weren't th-there. You weren't there...I n-needed you, I wanted you, I wanted you s-so b-bad, and you weren't there..."
Even as she spoke, the words unplanned, Santana realized with a sickening, sinking feeling in her heart that they had been a piece of the reason for her anger today. As much as she loved Brittany and knew she loved her, as many ways as Brittany had made up for it since, on that one night a year ago, Brittany's choices to break up with her, to leave her in New York alone, had meant that Brittany wasn't there for her when she needed her most. And although most of her anger was reserved for herself, a small bit of it was directed at Brittany for that reason.
Brittany let Santana clutch onto her shirt, not redirecting her hands, knowing she needed to hold something tangible, that she needed to hold something tightly, letting her grip fistfuls of her pajama shirt in her hands and holding on tight, as if she was the very thing keeping Brittany there. Brittany continued to smooth her hair with a graceful, practiced hand, her heart squeezing at the way Santana instantly shifted her body closer, almost relieved. All morning, Santana had been shifting away from her or trying to push her away and rebuke her comfort but now, she was finally receptive to Brittany's love, letting her help and letting her try to make it better. Brittany hadn't realized how much it had hurt- Santana rejecting her, until Santana didn't reject her.
"It's okay, we can talk about it later," Brittany hushed when Santana insisted that everything was wrong, that she had been wrong. She wasn't sure what Santana was referring to when she insisted it was all wrong, but she knew she didn't want Santana to wind herself up again, gently trying to talk her down. "We'll figure it out Babe," Brittany promised, her hands moving to rub Santana's upper arms to calm her, "Everything is okay now. I'm right here and we can just calm down and talk about it when you're feeling better," She said. Brittany let them lapse into silence for a few moments, rubbing Santana's arms soothingly, trying to help her level out her emotions.
She saw something flicker in Santana's expression right before she dropped her head to Brittany's shoulder, her sobs beginning to pick up loudly rather than taper off into silence. Brittany was caught off guard, but she knew without a doubt that something had changed, that Santana had thought of something that tipped her over the edge. She moved her hands to Santana's ribs, gently shifting her shaking body into her lap, Santana holding tight to her shirt despite how hard she was crying. Brittany tried her best to absorb her sorrow, trying to soothe her shaking body against the stillness of her own, holding Santana close against her until she could detect words in between the harsh whimpers of Santana's cries.
You weren't there, I needed you, I wanted you so bad and you weren't there. Brittany's blood ran cold at the words and she knew, without even really having to think about it, what Santana was referring to, on this day of all days in particular. It was something they'd talked about multiple times, Brittany's regret, how she wished she had been there, Santana assuring her that it was okay. Brittany had still carried so much guilt about that night, and hearing Santana say it, finally, made tears spring into her own eyes, the deepest level of Santana's pain, one she'd undoubtedly been carrying with her since that night. Blinking back her tears, Brittany swallowed the lump in her own throat, her arms around Santana's body, holding her safe.
"I know, San, I know," She whispered, her voice watery, trying to keep it steady for the most part and just take care of Santana as she crumbled. "I'm so sorry," She said honestly. "I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't there with you, I had no idea it was happening, and I wish more than anything that I had been there, because I knew I could've taken care of you differently," She admitted, something she'd always known to be true.
Santana fell more fully against Brittany as she rubbed her arms, her face hot and hurting with the effort of her crying, and she shook her head against Brittany, mutely protesting her words that everything was okay. Even with Brittany holding her, everything wasn't okay, not by a long shot. All she could think of, all that could pass through her mind was the almost childlike thought that everything was wrong. Everything was wrong, both today, what she had done, and back last year, what had happened to her.
She didn't resist Brittany lifting her into her lap, burying herself more fully against her as she let her fists rest in between them against Brittany's chest, still gripping her shirt. She held onto her, her crying coming to a peak, just at the point of beginning to slow, although tears still emerged steadily, and she continued to shake. Her stomach still sloshed uneasily, but she wasn't nauseous enough to actually get sick. She could hear in Brittany's voice the tears that she was holding back, the earnest regret in her tone when she answered her, and she sniffled, her answering words small and crushed and childlike.
"I wanted you. I wanted you so much. I wanted you, and you didn't know, you didn't come. I didn't think you'd ever come."
She thought of how it had been to go into the hospital, of Rachel's helplessness and fear, of how she had seemed afraid to even touch Santana. Rachel had talked and talked and nothing she said had penetrated Santana at all. Brittany was right- she would have taken care of her differently. Even then Santana had known that, and she had felt the difference keenly.
Brittany held Santana as close to her as she could, a few tears tripping over the bottom of her lash line at the realization that this was something Santana had held onto for such a long time, had kept compartmentalized for so long. Brittany had always suspected it, but Santana had been so good at hiding it, at assuring her that Santana was okay and knew she had wanted to be there if she'd known and that it was fine. All the while though, Brittany knew, she had known that it had to have been so different, so much harder for Santana, in her most vulnerable moments, to have to rely on Kurt and Rachel. Brittany would never downplay the actions of Kurt and Rachel and was insanely grateful to them for having been there to help Santana yet, at the same time, she knew she would've done things differently, that Santana would've responded better to her and let her do things that she didn't allow Kurt and Rachel to do, that she would've listened to Brittany and done whatever she said.
Hearing that Santana wanted her that night made Brittany's heart fracture, splintering into a million tiny shards as she thought of Santana small and scared and alone and wanting Brittany while Brittany was across the country not even realizing that something was wrong, missing Santana constantly.
"I would've come," She said, because it was the only thing she could say, the only shred of truth that she had. "If they had called me that night, I would've gotten on a plane just like I did in Munich. I was in California that night. I would've left the tour that minute and gotten a flight." She admitted, because she'd looked back in her tour dates, wanting to know where she was, what she was doing. "I wish I had come, I wish they had called me." Brittany admitted, although she knew that Kurt and Rachel were only operating under Santana's orders. "I know I could've calmed you down better and not let you fall so far, I would've stopped you," Brittany admitted heavily, her voice free of doubt.
She knew it was true. Whereas Kurt and Rachel had almost always tiptoed around Santana with kid gloves, Brittany had always crossed lines, done what was best for Santana regardless of if Santana wanted it or not. She knew Santana better than anyone, and she knew, if she'd gotten there that night instead of four months later, it would've made all the difference.
Brittany cradled Santana close to her chest, one hand on the back of her head, holding her close as she sobbed, her cries guttural and wrenching as she wept about how badly she'd wanted Brittany there, a feeling they shared, Brittany desperately wishing she'd been there too. Chewing on her lip, Brittany debated staying quiet, not asking the question that she was desperate to know, the question that would've changed both of their lives, changed everything. It was something that she'd hung onto from the moment Kurt and Rachel told her about that night, something that pained her then and pained her now.
"Why didn't you let Rachel and Kurt call me?" She asked gently, her voice teary, not really trying to hide it now. "Kurt and Rachel, they told me you made them promise they couldn't tell me or anyone what happened, why?" She wondered.
What Brittany was observing was true; Santana had kept this aspect of her pain, of her grief over what had happened to her, hidden away for almost all of the time that Brittany had been back in her life. Once Brittany was back, although she had initially resisted accepting that Brittany would stay, once she had come to understand that Brittany was not leaving her again, she had pushed aside her hurt and anger over her absence that day. It had seemed pointless to dwell on that when so much else in her life was difficult, when sometimes breathing through each moment took all her strength. She had needed Brittany, to depend on Brittany, so heavily for so much that she couldn't afford to let herself feel her anger towards her or the pain that she had felt, not when Brittany was there with her in the present.
But it had been there. It had smoldered, not going away, and now it poured out over them both, leaving her a sodden, sobbing mess clinging to her with all her strength.
She could hear Brittany reassure her that she would have come to her, had she known, that she would have taken care of her. She could hear her and she believed her, but still, even though she knew this now, she had not known that then. Then, she had doubted, and the only thing that would have hurt worse than needing Brittany and not having her would be to ask Brittany to come and have her turn her down.
It was several minutes before Santana's crying had tapered off that she could finally respond, although her voice was still wavering and thick with tears when she did answer. She didn't lift her face from Brittany's shoulder, the words faintly muffled and exhausted against her.
"I didn't...I didn't know if you would come. I didn't...you left me. I didn't know if you would come anymore if I asked."
She sniffled heavily, her body limp against Brittany, and tried to explain more.
"I didn't want you to see me like that. If you didn't want me before then...why would you want me again, after that? I thought...I thought you would want to run away, even if you came."
Brittany didn't push her for an answer, instead holding her and letting her cry, her tears soaking the shirt that Santana clung to with all of her might, as if Brittany may float away if she didn't use every last bit of her strength. She shifted her body so she was leaning back against the cabinets, legs crossed underneath her with Santana in her lap, heavy against her, unwilling to let even an inch between them. Brittany didn't move her arms from around Santana, not even to wipe her own tears away, sitting with her safe in her arms as Santana sobbed, her raw, primal cries eventually giving way to softer, more fragile whimpers.
At Santana's response, Brittany shuddered, her eyes falling shut. It was so far from reality, so very far from any version of the truth, but she knew Santana believed it with full conviction. "You thought if Rachel called me and told me you had been raped that I wouldn't come to help you?" Brittany asked, repeating the question back to Santana, incredulous. She knew Santana was being honest, that she really believed it, but to Brittany's ears, it sounded so foreign. "I would've come if you asked me regardless of anything that could've happened to you," Brittany clarified. "I would've come if you told me you had a bad day or something or like, wanted to see me," She explained, knowing without a doubt that if Santana had called her at any point on tour, she would've gone to her.
Brittany sucked in a breath when Santana continued, hearing her explain her point of view, knowing they'd talked about this before but still wanting to explain herself. "I've always wanted you," She said, not caring if Santana believed her or not, because it was true. "I didn't break up with you because I didn't want you, I broke up with you because I didn't want you to be depressed and upset and have no life and only be existing for those times when we could talk on the phone late at night or when I could visit for a weekend," She said softly, thinking back to the Santana who had seemed like a shell of herself when Brittany was on tour but who would've also refused Brittany leaving tour or not taking the opportunity.
The situation was so twisted, so fucked up, how badly they both wanted Brittany to be there, but how Santana had forbade anyone from telling her, how Brittany was across the country without even knowing that something was wrong. It was as if the dagger in Brittany's heart was being twisted gruelingly so that she'd only bleed more. "I would've come the moment they told me," She promised, "And I would've have gone back to tour. Or I would've brought you with me, somewhere else," Brittany said, not entirely certain she would've let Santana stay in New York in the aftermath of what happened, but knowing Santana didn't have a choice at the time. "But I will always come to you, San," She promised.
Santana's head moved in a faint nod against Brittany in response to her question. She could hear the shock in Brittany's voice, and said aloud in that way, by Brittany, it did sound ridiculous, but that was how Santana had thought and felt at the time. She had been dumped, and therefore, to Santana, Brittany didn't really care anymore. Not enough to want to be with her; why would she come to her, a huge inconvenience no matter what the reason?
Santana knew now all those things that Brittany was explaining to her, the reasons why she had made the choices that she had. She knew too that they were the wrong choices for them both, She knew, and yet it was still hard to accept when she thought about how much it had hurt, how even with all the love Brittany had given her all day, every day, for months now, today, remembering how she hadn't known then hurt almost as much as it had at the time.
She nodded again, the gesture even smaller now, as Brittany promised that she would always come to her. She knew this was true, but she was too weary to speak. Her crying now tapered down to only the occasional tear and frequent sniffling, she lay against Brittany in her lap, every part of her aching with the intensity of her release of emotion. She let her eyes close, releasing a deep, shaky sigh as she let her grip on Brittany's shirt loosen just a little.
Brittany let what she said hang in the air, unapologetic and honest, knowing without even having to question it that she meant what she said, she would always come to Santana and she would've then to, no matter if they were broken up or not. She also knew that when she'd broken up with Santana, she'd done it purely out of love, knowing it had broken both of their hearts, but hoping above all else that Santana would find someone who loved her and someone who could give her all the things that Brittany couldn't - attention, undivided presence, love that didn't drain her or cause her sleepless nights.
She held Santana there on the kitchen floor, her back against the cabinet, resting her head back against the cabinet too, thinking back to how this was just like the very first time she'd seen Santana after the attack, how Brittany had held her on the bathroom floor, both of them eventually falling asleep in each other's arms only to wake up with Kurt and Rachel cooing over how sweet they looked. Santana had been crying even harder now than she had been in the loft that time, and Brittany held her as she felt her body very gradually begin to settle down, limp and heavy against Brittany, her head lolling on her shoulder, tired in the aftermath of such frantic, volatile emotions, swinging from red-hot anger to desolation and desperation, clinging to Brittany as though she may lose her then and there.
Brittany was content to sit there on the kitchen floor forever, but she knew Santana was exhausted, they both were. Brittany's own cheeks felt tight and dry from the dried tear tracks, and she patted Santana's arm gently. "Why don't we go lay down for a little," She suggested softly, knowing that what Santana needed was for Brittany to wrap her up in a soft blanket and let her continue to calm down from everything that had happened that morning. "I'll carry you and lay with you," She promised before Santana even had the chance to grab her shirt again, keeping her voice soft and gentle, making sure to reassure Santana that Brittany would be there with her.
Santana's body felt loose and limp, heavy against Brittany's chest. She couldn't have possibly gotten up if she tried; she was sure her limbs wouldn't have supported the heaviness of her own weight. She couldn't even lift her head. She felt as weak and helpless then as a newborn, fully out of control and fully dependent on Brittany. Just minutes ago, she had railed at her about "liking" her to be dependent, and now, she was more dependent on her than she had been in weeks, maybe months, just to be able to even barely keep herself from falling apart.
When Brittany patted her arm, Santana couldn't even look up at her to acknowledge the touch or her suggestion that they go lay down. She couldn't have stood even with Brittany helping her; it was as if all the muscles of her body had checked out. Instead she lifted her arms slightly, just barely capable of that much, and wrapped them around Brittany's neck, making it somewhat easier for her to lift her up.
God, she was tired. She was so damn tired, it felt like an effort even to breathe. Arms around Brittany's neck, head heavy against her shoulder, she waited for her to carry her, showing a trust in her that had been absent when she first awakened.
Brittany easily supported the heaviness of Santana against her, lulled by her weight, unabashed and needing, laying on Brittany in a way that was almost childlike, needed the physical contact, the reassuring presence of her. For a moment, Brittany thought Santana hadn't heard her, not registering Brittany's suggestion that they should move until she felt Santana's arms lock around her neck, signaling that Santana was getting ready for Brittany to pick her up. The gesture, so small and gently among the fury and sorrow of that morning, was enough to make Brittany's heart throb with love. For someone who had reduced Brittany to tears only moments ago, Santana seemed to vulnerable, so fragile.
She shifted Santana so that she could cradle her, one arm around her back and one hooked under her knees, rearranging her feet under her so that she could rise up to her knees, then climb to her feet with Santana in her arms, holding the water glass in one hand.
"San," Brittany instructed as she stood, shifting Santana's weight gently, "Rinse your mouth before we go to bed," She knew Santana was borderline catatonic at that point, but she still didn't want her to have to go to bed with a bad taste in her mouth, gently sitting Santana on the countertop, holding the water glass up to her lips and helping her drink, then lean over and spit into the sink, keeping her hands on her at all times.
When Santana was done, she easily accepted her back into her arms, letting Santana curl into her chest as she carried her back to their bedroom gingerly, bending her legs and letting Santana sink into the comfort of their bed. As she settled her, she brushed the hair back from Santana's face, leaning over her, their faces just inches apart. "Go back to sleep," She hushed gently, "You'll feel better when you wake up." Brittany knew that wasn't a guarantee, with how much Santana had yelled and cried, but she knew they had Advil somewhere in the bathroom and was prepared to give it to her upon waking if she needed it.
She tried to straighten up, but had Santana's hands still locked around her neck. "It's okay, I'm just going around to my side of the bed," She hushed, gently untangling Santana's grasp and placing her arms down before she moved around the foot of the bed to slide in beside her, drawing her body to her. Brittany still felt hurt, torn up beyond repair from the inside out, but she knew, in this moment, her role was to make everything feel as okay as she possibly could.
Santana let her weight be supported by Brittany as Brittany lifted her, cradling her like a bride being carried across the threshold. When Brittany encouraged her to drink some water and rinse her mouth, she opened her eyes slightly, now swollen and puffy from her crying, and looked at Brittany with bleary protest, trying to fall back into her. When Brittany supported her sitting on the counter and helped her drink, she let her guide her, feeling as young and small and helpless as a child. Rinsing her mouth did help her feel just a tiny bit better, and she more readily put her arms back around Brittany's neck for her to pick her up again.
As Brittany lay her down in bed, Santana kept her arms around her, not wanting her to pull back, even for a moment. Her eyes open as much as she could manage with her degree of exhaustion, she blinked up at her slowly, then closed her eyes, savoring Brittany's hand against her hair and face as she smoothed it back again.
Go to sleep, Brittany said. She would feel better, Brittany said. Santana didn't know if that was true, but she did know that she it was getting harder every passing second to keep her heavy eyelids open.
She whimpered a little when Brittany pulled back, even as Brittany reassured her she was coming back. As Brittany lay back beside her, spooning her, Santana's eyes drifted shut, but she was still subconsciously aware of the slight tension of Brittany's body as she held her. She knew even in her dazed state that she had hurt her, badly. Even as she drifted off she opened her mouth, wanting to apologize again, but the words died before emerging, so she fell asleep with her lips parted and a faint stuttering sound on her tongue.
She was too tired to dream or even move. When she awakened several hours later, coming to consciousness slowly, her head felt like someone had taken it by both sides and pushed it together hard, then shook her until pain rang throughout her skull. She groaned softly, trying to open her eyes; and with some difficulty attempted to roll over to face Brittany.
Santana was limp in bed when Brittany curled around her, whimpering and upset and tired, having worked herself into such a frenzy that she was exhausted so soon after waking up. She'd dragged her body through Hell, forcing food down and then getting herself so viciously upset, an outburst of emotion that had drained her of all her fragile energy. Brittany pressed herself against Santana's back, her presence solid and there, letting Santana tuck herself against her. Brittany closed her eyes too, forcing calm into her body, forcing herself to lay still even though she knew that sleep wouldn't come, not for her.
While she lay awake, she felt Santana go still beside her almost instantly, grateful that Santana was tired enough to fall straight asleep and not let her mind run. Santana needed sleep more than anything, to not think, to keep her emotions from spiraling, and Brittany was grateful she was getting it, hoping her emotions would be more even-keeled when she was well rested and more receptive to Brittany's help and affection. Careful not to jolt her, Brittany gently slipped away from right behind her, sitting up in bed instead, her knees hunched up with her arms wrapped around her legs. She knew that Santana hadn't meant it, that her words had been purely out of anger, stress, fear, sorrow- but they'd sunk into Brittany like blades, and for the very first time, she questioned everything.
Was she caring for Santana properly? Was she doing it wrong? Was she too receptive of comforting Santana- was she supposed to be pushing her to be more independent? Was she secretly enjoying how much Santana needed her? She loved that she was needed, but she needed Santana too, she'd always need Santana. She wanted Santana to be happy above all, didn't she? What if she'd just been telling herself that and she was actually as cruel as Santana made her out to be without even realizing it? Was she caging Santana in instead of helping to let her fly?
The thoughts came wild and rushing, enough to make Brittany tear up again, blinking them away as the dribbled down her cheeks incessantly. What if they'd fallen too far, beyond repair? She felt anger and sadness, frustration and pain. She had broken up with Santana truly thinking she was doing right by her, unknowing of the horror that would befall her. And while she hadn't been there that night, she knew that if she'd known, she would've dropped everything to get there, to be there. She didn't blame anyone for not telling her, a cruel twist of the universe, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
Brittany had slipped out of bed eventually, leaving the door open so she could hear Santana stir, cleaning up the remaining breakfast dishes and bumbling listlessly around the apartment, trying to do any task she could to keep her mind from spinning, to keep her thoughts from creeping in, twisted, poisonous, toxic. Eventually, she went back to bed, lying awake beside Santana, watching her sleep. Her hair wavy and disheveled across her pillow, her chest rising and falling gently, the calmest Brittany had seen her in hours. When Santana groaned eventually, Brittany reached out and rested a hand on her head, her free hand coming up to swipe at her own eyes, hoping they didn't look too red or give her away, making sure she was smiling gently when Santana rolled over to face her.
"Hi," She said softly, her voice quiet in case Santana was groggy. "You okay?" Brittany asked gently, fingers brushing her hair back lovingly, trying to be as gentle with Santana as she possibly could.
Santana squinted up at Brittany as Brittany brushed her hair back. She had never put in her contacts or glasses, and although her vision isn't bad enough that she can't see Brittany this close to her, her eyes feel hot and sore even after sleep. Brittany's voice is soft, her touch gentle and loving, and she is smiling at her, but even so, Santana can see the slightest hesitation in her expression. She is hypersensitive to any negative response from Brittany, knowing she has done plenty to earn it- although she can't remember exact specifics of why.
She knows she had been rude and cold to Brittany when she woke up, she remembers that much. She knows she had been snappy and mean, and she remembers yelling and saying a lot of things she hadn't planned to and didn't even believe, things she couldn't even remember now. That was the worst of it- Santana's memory of what she had done and said is blurred with the stress of what she's been experiencing. She almost feels like she blacked out and was taken over by the Snixx personality her high school self had insisted, and sometimes half believed, actually existed and took control. That was how Santana felt sometimes, and certainly had this morning- as though someone not really her, someone meaner and harder and too terrible for anyone to be able to stand to be around, had taken over without her permission or ability to stop.
But she also knows that no matter what, she is responsible for what she did and said, even if it all feels hazy and not entirely real to her now. She had hurt Brittany, badly enough that Brittany had cried. That was a level of unforgiveable that Santana couldn't tolerate, and it made her hesitate to reach out to Brittany now.
Yes, Brittany was still beside her, still talking to her kindly and touching her like she forgave her. But she shouldn't, not that quickly. Maybe not at all. Santana didn't deserve that. And yet...and yet, she was so, so scared to lose that.
She needed Brittany. Always, every day, but today of all days more than anything. Even without what she had said, without the fear that she had made Brittany love her less or pushed her away, Santana was already lost in a riptide of emotion, more than she could handle or even identify. It was overwhelming even to lay in bed with Brittany speaking gently to her. The thought of actually having to do more today caused her to curl herself up, her knees tight against her chest, as if to protect herself from the world trying to force her into it. She blinked several times as tears came to her eyes again, and she reached out for Brittany, grabbing her hand and squeezing.
"Brittany...I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I'm so sorry. I was really wrong. I didn't mean it, I was wrong, I'm sorry..."
She paused, shutting her eyes in effort to force back tears, but a few slipped free anyway, and she kept herself curled up tight.
"I'm sorry, it wasn't okay," she managed. "I'm just...I'm so scared. I'm scared, and I'm sad, and I'm angry, I'm so angry, and I don't know what to do. I can't make any of it stop. I can't make it stop, I can't even think, I just feel it all and it hurts, it hurts so much, and I can't make it stop, Brittany. I'm so scared it won't ever go away. I'm so scared it won't ever really be better. I'm sorry."
Brittany shook her head, hushing Santana gently as she apologized, her eyes already welling up with tears again. She wasn't sure what to expect from Santana when she woke up, but she wasn't surprised to find her groggy and upset, her eyes still swollen, her face haggard and tired even though she'd just slept. It would've been ideal for her to sleep through the entire day, but Brittany knew she was far too restless for that, only sleeping peacefully for those few hours because she'd been so exhausted, both mentally and emotionally.
She stayed calm and quiet while Santana continued, actually being open with her for maybe the first time that day, truly trying to put her emotions into words instead of snappy remarks, curling into herself feebly. Brittany kept stroking her hairline as she spoke, silently giving her the room to go on, listening as she explained the pain that was festering inside of her. As much as her heart ached, she ached even more for Santana, unable to relate to having all of that pain and poison churning inside of her. She knew she'd have to talk about what had been said that morning, mostly because Brittany had so many questions, mainly - did Santana really see her in that way?
Instead, she let Santana vent her emotions out, shaking her head again when she apologized. "Shhh, San, it's okay. We'll talk about that another time," She said, brushing off Santana's apologies, not wanting to have guilt added onto the onslaught of negative emotions that Santana was feeling. "It's okay, that seemed like a lot going on," She sympathized gently where she lay next to her. It was almost impossible to imagine this Santana - small and curled up and crying softly, as the same person who was so intent to offend Brittany that morning, who rebuked all of Brittany's comforting advances only to cling to her minutes later. Brittany's mind was spinning, but she knew that was nothing compared to what Santana must have been feeling.
"I think you decided you weren't allowed to be upset today," Brittany said quietly, knowing that she was correct on at least some level. "I think at some point you made the choice to not let yourself feel anything and then made yourself more upset when you felt things anyway," Even though Santana had been so hot and cold before she fractured, seeing how sad and broken Santana was inside made it easier for Brittany to fit the pieces together. "And when you try to not feel things, it just makes them hurt bigger," She reminded softly, knowing that was something that Santana knew and something that they'd both talked about. Santana had been doing a fairly good job feeling emotions as they came, but Brittany understood, of course, that the anniversary was a special case.
"Just because you're upset today doesn't mean it won't ever get better," She soothed gently, knowing she needed to quietly disarm Santana's worst-case-scenario panic. "I think a lot of what happened today was because you'd kept it bottled up inside for so long, and we never really even talked about it coming up." She pointed out, knowing that Santana had likely known the anniversary was approaching and simply preferred to not even acknowledge it, as if that would take the pain away.
Santana sniffled, still curled tightly into herself, her spine poking out like a narrow ridge, slightly outlined under her t-shirt. She nodded, her eyes bright and swimming with tears as she looked up at Brittany, intently focused on her face and the comfort just seeing her features so often could provide her. Brittany's hand against her head was gentle and soothing, and she tried to take a deep breath, her chest hurting with the effort, unable to quite manage.
"Yeah," she mumbled, nodding again, "I didn't...I didn't want to be upset. And I was, and I didn't want to be, and it was worse...it hurt even more. And I got mad. But I wasn't ...I wasn't really mad at you. I'm mad at today. I'm mad at...him. I'm mad at ME."
She said the last part with great feeling, her voice cracking, and she reached out for Brittany's hand. "I'm so, so mad at me. I feel like I'm still so fucked up and I was kind of doing okay. And now I'm not anymore and it's like I have to start over. I have to start all over, and I didn't want to. I don't. I can't do it all again. It's too hard."
More tears slipped out, a little faster than before, and she tried to hide her face against the pillow, still holding Brittany's hand. "I want it to be over. I just want it over. It's not fair. He got away with it all, he got to just go on and I'm stuck with everything forever. I hate him. I hate him, Brittany, and I hate him making me hate me."
Brittany was comfortable with the silence between them, the gaps when Santana took time to answer. She knew she was still groggy and tired, curled into herself so tightly as if she could just disappear, her breaths ragged and jerky. Beside her, Brittany tried to absorb her emotions, a solid ground where she could come back to center, as hard as that was currently with all of her emotions. But Brittany waited patiently, knowing that she always knew how to help Santana the best when Santana was talking, and that sometimes, all Santana really needed was for someone to listen to her speak and validate her.
She nodded along where appropriate, rubbing her thumb over Santana's forehead soothingly where her hand rest against her head, letting Santana clutch her free hand when she needed extra reassurance, turning her face against the pillow as Brittany could see her frustration mounting. Santana was so conflicted, so angry, and Brittany wanted to bring her down gently, to let her empty out some of that anger and sadness that had undoubtedly been boiling up inside of her for several weeks leading up to today. Santana had, despite Brittany's best efforts, isolated herself on a little island alone with her emotions but now, she was drowning in the current of them and needed someone to pull her back to shore. And Brittany, despite the fresh ache in her heart, would always save Santana.
"Okay, okay." She soothed, brushing her fingertips through Santana's hair. "Let's talk about what happened and not get ahead of ourselves," Brittany guided quietly, letting Santana cry it out for few moments before she continued speaking. "I don't think that would've happened the way it did this morning, that this would be happening like it is if we prepared for this together," She said honestly. "I think we could've talked about how this day was coming, or you could've told me when you started feeling like you might get upset today and we could've talked all about why and made a plan for what we were going to do today and what it might be like," She outlined, her voice vague. "Just like we talked about getting on a plane at Christmas, we discussed it a lot and you asked me all the things you were afraid of and then when it came time to do it we figured it out and it wasn't so bad." Brittany didn't want Santana to blame herself for her own sadness, but she wanted her to see that consciously deciding not to feel something wasn't a successful way of dealing with her emotions.
"You're not fucked up because you're upset today and being upset doesn't mean you're starting over," She continued gently, knowing that Santana, in her childlike sadness, needed Brittany to take all of her fears and emotions and disarm them, remind her that they weren't true and that she was okay and all would be right in the world. "You can have awful days just like everyone else, and I think you might've made it a little bit worse by trying to pretend like it wasn't there," She said, her voice delicate. "But you're always moving forward, even now. You're learning, Santana, and sometimes it might not work and sometimes it will. You won't be stuck with everything forever, but I think you'll need to talk about things and know that they're there to really let them go." Brittany encouraged, knowing Santana wasn't intentionally trying to make her own life harder but it was her default mode to pretend like things were okay.
She let Santana think about what she was saying for a few moments, curled up and small next to her as they lay in bed facing each other, having the most honest conversation that they'd had in days. Finally, Brittany spoke up again, "You have every right to hate him, he took away a huge part of your safety," Brittany acknowledged, knowing that she hated Santana's attacked too. "But you and him are totally unrelated, and I do not hate you," She mumbled, scratching Santana's scalp gently with the hand that was resting on her head, threaded through her hair.
Santana's tears began to taper off with Brittany's gentle words and touch, and she rolled her face over to look at her partially, peeking half her face over from where it had been buried in the pillow. She feels like her entire head is stopped up from all her crying, and her head is still throbbing, but she made an attempt to listen, sniffling.
She is pretty sure that what Brittany is saying is accurate, given how things have gone down this morning. But she hadn't wanted her to be right. She hadn't even wanted to know that this day was coming, let alone that it could affect her this badly. She had wanted to believe that she was past it enough that she could by sheer will just choose not to be so affected. She hadn't wanted to need to prepare, let alone actually do it. But Brittany was right. If she had been honest with herself, none of this might have happened quite so badly.
"I hate to talk about it," she said softly, her voice cracking. "It's so hard. I just...I just want to not have to do any of this. I've tried so hard all year, and I thought I was sort of doing okay. And now I'm not. I'm just...I feel like it's the same again. I feel like it's worse, because I'm supposed to be better. And I know you said I can't say what I'm supposed to be, but it just...it's just how I want it to be."
She swallowed, moving to rest her head against Brittany's leg. She took Brittany's hand again and kissed it's back, exhaling.
"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I don't...I don't want to talk about him. I'll talk about this. But not him."
Brittany grinned when Santana peeked her face up, the gesture so childlike and sweet, even through Santana's tears. "Hi," She murmured, their faces inches apart where they lay. She moved her hand down to rest on Santana's side, rubbing her ribcage gently through the fabric as she sniffled, sounding stuffy and thick with the pressure of crying. She pouted when Santana's voice cracked, her vulnerability striking and bare, voicing her frustration, her exhaustion. Brittany felt her own stomach knot- she wished there was a way, any way, to take the burden off of Santana, to let her be free of the trauma and constant-potential-upset for just a day or two, but she knew there was no such miracle in the world.
When Santana tucked her head against her, Brittany wrapped her arms around her, pulling her small, curled shape against her own body as Santana kissed the back of her hand, making her smile with how sweet the gesture was. "I know," Brittany started, because she did know how difficult it was for Santana, and how strong Santana was in talking about it anyway, in soldiering on and doing the hard thing. "San it's okay if you take a step back sometimes, or if you have a really bad day or just get upset," Brittany promised, wishing with her entire body that she could make Santana believe what she was saying, to get Santana to give herself more slack, to not come down so harshly on herself.
"It's not worse and you are better," She reminded, tiling her head so that her forehead rest against Santana's temple on the pillow. "You're not the same person you were when I got here, and you're not the same person you were when it happened. You know that and I know that and getting upset doesn't mean you're automatically back at the starting line. I will never let you go back to that," She promised, knowing that Santana would believe her when she said it. She regretted not being there that night, knowing that she would've kept Santana afloat, that she could've taken care of her and loved her in a way that wouldn't have let her fall so far. But she hadn't been there. And the only thing she could promise her was that now that she was there, she'd never let Santana go back to that place.
Santana heaved another sigh, the force and effort of it reverberating through her frame. She inched a little closer to Brittany, wanting to feel the full weight of her arm around her, letting her temple rub slightly against hers as Brittany pressed her own head to Santana's on the pillow. She thought that maybe it was just her imagination, but just Brittany being in contact with her head made it hurt a little less.
She listened to what Brittany was telling her, struggling to accept it. Brittany never told her anything that she didn't believe was true. If Brittany said it was okay to be upset, that she could be really upset and fall apart really badly and still not be worse or starting over, maybe it was true. Maybe today could just be a really, really bad day. Maybe tomorrow would be better, or a little better, and maybe she could still be kind of okay again soon.
"Okay," she whispered, trying so hard to believe, needing to feel that Brittany was right. She wasn't sure she could keep going, keep trying, if Brittany wasn't, if Brittany didn't believe her own words.
Still curled close to Brittany, her knees against both her own chest and Brittany's, head to head, Santana was silent for several moments, just attempting to breathe. After a while she whispered again, more calmly than before, although her voice is still hoarse.
"I look gross. My nose is runny. And my head and eyes really hurt."
She breathed for a few more moments, still trying to use Brittany's presence and support to continue to calm, before speaking again, more uncertain.
"What do I do today? How do I even...how do I get through it? I don't know if I can, Brittany. I don't know how to. Not today."
Despite knowing Santana still held significant doubt about everything Brittany was promising her, her willingness, her little voice accepting what Brittany was saying with a simple okay, made Brittany smile softly, nodding as if to reassure her, to let her know it was okay to believe all the things Brittany was saying, all the things Brittany truly believed. She knew it would take more than that to really make Santana see things from her point of view, but her willingness, her openness now compared to earlier that morning already spoke volumes.
Brittany curled herself around Santana's little body, her hand on her side reassuringly, their joint hands folded between them, listening to the sounds of their breathing - Brittany's breaths, low and deep and steady, and Santana's a little shorter and quicker but evening out the longer they lay, the more her body relaxed. She loved the sound of it, the sound of Santana literally calming down in her arms, listening and feeling each part of her body loosen and sink further into the bed, heavy and soft as opposed to tense.
She giggled a little when Santana spoke, moving her head so she could press a kiss to Santana's forehead. "We can wash your face," She whispered into her skin, an easy fix to an easy problem. Brittany wished she could form instant solutions to all of Santana's problems, just like that. "Your head and eyes hurt because you've been doing a lot of crying," She whispered, moving so that she could kiss each of Santana's eyelids in turn. "It'll go away," She swore, "You can drink water, that'll help." These were all problems that Brittany could fix - a shower, a glass of water, a hug, Advil to help a throbbing headache, detangler to untangle Santana's hair. A million little things for a million little problems, and yet neither one had any solutions for the biggest challenges they were up against.
Brittany was reminded of that challenge when Santana spoke again, her voice more thwarted and nervous. It was a question for a solution Brittany didn't have, and yet she tried to give her one anyway. "Anything," She said softly, "You can do anything. We can lay here in bed all day if you want, we don't even have to leave the house," Brittany explained, listing out some hypotheticals. "I'll be right here and we'll just do what we always do and do whatever makes you feel the safest and the best, and then soon it will be time to go to bed and it'll be over," She promised, reminding Santana that this state of being wasn't permanent, nor was the anniversary, as much as the day already seemed to drag on.
Slowly, slowly, Santana's body eased most of its tension, and she even almost smiled when Brittany curled herself around her, enveloping her in the comforting near cocoon of her own body as much as possible. Santana did smile, just a little, when Brittany began to address her complaints one at a time, adding a kiss to different parts of her body to punctuate her words. Brittany had a way of making problems that felt huge and overwhelming seem manageable, fixable, at least in tiny parts. It was one of the many things she loved about her.
"Okay," she said softly again, giving another small nod, in response to Brittany telling her that she could wash her face and get her some water. She didn't feel like moving yet though and made no effort to sit up or pull away from Brittany.
Another slow, more uneven breath escaped her as Brittany reassured her that she could do what she wanted and needed to today- it was her choice, entirely up to her. Santana felt like even the prospect of trying to decide right now was too much, and so she squeezed Brittany's hand.
"I guess right now I just want to be with you," she said quietly. "That's all. I just want you with me."
If that means having Brittany literally carry her some of the day, that might be exactly what Santana needs, as ridiculous as she privately thinks it is. If that means she can't walk out of the room without Brittany again or that she needs to stay glued to her side, or that every time she sits it needs to be in Brittany's lap, that's what she wants today. Constant, continual contact. Constant knowing that Brittany is not going anywhere, that she's still there no matter what, no matter how sad Santana is or how unable to function today.
She ran her thumb over the back of Brittany's hand slowly, still deep in thought.
"I'm still scared," she confessed. "I think...I still think it's going to happen again today. Or that I'm going to think about it and remember it so much I'm going to feel like it is, and then it's almost the same thing. I know that's lame but it's how I feel."
Brittany smiled when Santana voiced her request, a want that was raw and simple and vulnerable and true, a need that was almost primal for Santana, at her very core. And, a need that Brittany could meet, something that she could give her with ease and with abundance. For not the first time, Brittany wondered how much physical touch had done for their relationship and, more so, how Santana's reception and want of Brittany's touch allowed their relationship to blossom and grow in ways that words never had. Long before Santana would ever admit to loving her, their relationship deepened all on its own by the way Santana loved the way Brittany touched her, in the way that Santana would rest against her body in bed and link their pinkies together in public when it was all she dared to do.
"That's easy," Brittany whispered against her skin, because she knew she didn't have to grant permission for Santana to have that or want it- Santana would always have it, and even on their worst days or hardest arguments, she'd never deny Santana the contact that kept her afloat. She squeezed Santana's back in response, a silent conversation, bringing their hands up to Brittany's mouth as she returned the gesture of kissing the soft skin on the back of Santana's hand.
"That's just like a plan," She said encouragingly. She knew Santana loved plans, loved routines, loved knowing what was happening at what time so she could prepare herself. She functioned so well like that that she and Brittany often added flexible and unspoken things to their routines, like narrating each step they'd do after they got out of bed, from showering to brushing their teeth to what they would wear that day. It gave Santana structure when nothing else comforted her, and Brittany always played along, building them a whole day from nothing.
"It's different because we don't have times today or little things, but planning out what you want is the same, and the day can just be one thing, not a bunch of little things," She promised, assuring Santana that theme merely being together was enough for today.
She lapsed into a brief silence as Santana explained her fear, her lips pressed against the back of her hand as she nodded sympathetically to how Santana felt. "I won't let anything bad happen to you today," She said simply, knowing she didn't have to elaborate. "And I won't let you get too far in your head either," she added, swearing that she wouldn't leave Santana to her own thoughts enough for her to spiral like that, to be so consumed by the memory of her trauma that it destroyed her. She knew she was only so powerful compared to Santana's mind, but she would try, to keep her present and hold her there and distract her when she could, all the things she wished she could've done if she'd been there that very night.
It was true; more than anything, be it words, gifts, or activities done together, Santana had always felt most loved and at peace when in physical contact with someone she loved, and beyond everyone by far, with Brittany. Santana had always, always felt better and safer and happier by holding Brittany's pinky or resting her head against her shoulder, by twirling Brittany's hair in her hand or linking arms. She couldn't remember a time when Brittany's touch didn't affect her, and that had only increased with time and life events.
Santana listened, her brow furrowed slightly as Brittany lay out for her what their day would look like, bringing Santana's hand to her lips. She wasn't sure she fully understood how making their day a plan, when she had no plans in mind, was doable.
"How is that a plan?" she questioned. "If we don't plan to do anything? Do you mean, like, decide how you'll be with me?" She thought about it for a few moments. "Like...you have to be in the same room all day. And I can sit on your lap if I want. And...you won't make me do anything that's too hard or scary to do today."
She was warming up to this idea a little more as she talked, coming up with more. "And I don't have to talk to anyone but you. And only if I want to talk. And you can't get up if I go to sleep, even to use the bathroom. You can just pee the bed."
She actually gave a faint giggle at the last comment. "Just kidding. You don't have to pee the bed. Just carry me with you or something."
Her faint smile dropping away at Brittany's promise, she raised her head to look up at her, regarding her seriously. Seeing how much Brittany intended to keep this promise from her expression, she just nodded again, pressing her lips together.
"It's just a more simple plan," Brittany shrugged, "All we have to plan is that you'll be with me, and then all those things you just listed don't even matter- I mean, we can plan those too, all the specifics, but the plan can just be that we'll spend the day with each other at home, and that's it. You know nothing scary will happen because you know that no matter what, you'll be at home with me," She said softly, smiling in amusement as Santana gained momentum in discussing their new 'plan' for the day.
"Exactly," Brittany said, rolling her eyes about the comment that she wasn't allowed to get up if Santana was sleeping. "We can do all those things," She promised, even though Santana never needed permission to do any of those things with her, she knew listing them all out, the ways in which she'd be able to be with Brittany and be protected, brought her even more comfort, safety, and something to look forward to even. The day Santana had outlined didn't look that different from the rest of their days when they didn't have class or dance, but Brittany was content to keep Santana in her arms for the entire day if that meant she was in a better mood and felt less likely to get upset about the anniversary.
When Santana's face dropped at the seriousness of Brittany's promise, Brittany slipped her hand out of Santana's so that she could wrap both arms fully around her, tucking her in close, safe, a silent promise to do everything she could to keep her that way regardless of how Santana's emotions took hold throughout the day. She met Santana eyes, seeing that she understood the weight of Brittany's promise but also that she was scared, uncertain of what the day would bring, how she would feel, if she would panic. She'd already had an exhausting and borderline torturous day and Brittany felt her heart throb in sympathy for her, tucking Santana's hair behind her ear and smoothing her hair off her face.
"It's okay that you're afraid," She said softly, validating Santana's uncertainty in her own emotions. "What matters is that I'm not, and that's all you really need, right?" She affirmed softly, assuring Santana that she was okay, that she had them and would make sure everything was okay and handled.
Pressing her lips to Santana's forehead, she let a few comfortable moments of silence pass between them before she asked. "Do you want to lay here for awhile longer? Or do you want to take a bath?" Realistically, Santana had way more than two options - she could go back to sleep, they could go in the living room and watch a movie, they could try breakfast again or do basically anything in the apartment, but Brittany knew Santana needed a little more structure, gently outlining her choices for her to give her an "either or" choice rather than endless possibilities.
Santana considered Brittany's explanation, pondering whether it made sense to her. It did seem like an overly simple plan, but that didn't necessarily make it a bad one. Although it did cross her mind that it might be true that nothing scary could happen in reality, but that didn't mean her mind wouldn't go to scary places, either in flashbacks while awake or nightmares while asleep. But she did know and trust that Brittany would do everything she could to keep her from falling too deeply, just as she had promised, if either occurred.
When Brittany wrapped both arms around her, Santana shifted just a little closer, almost fusing herself into her with the proximity of their bodies. She held Brittany's gaze for several moments, understanding the continued silent promise in her eyes, before dropping her own to the side. Sometimes it amazed her how strong Brittany was, how smart and logical, and how anyone in the world could have missed seeing that the way that Santana did. She truly was the most special person Santana could have ever dreamed of loving, and Brittany loving her was nothing short of a miracle to her.
As Brittany gave her choices, Santana considered. She truly didn't want to get up, but at the same time she was starting to need to pee, and she did want to wash her face. She wavered, knowing that Brittany wasn't only giving her the two options, but rather letting her know she wanted to hear what Santana wanted. Even making such a small decision felt hard to her today, but she finally said, somewhat uncertainly, "I want to lay here, but I need to pee. I don't want a bath though. I don't want to be na- I just don't want to today."
She didn't want to be naked today, is what she had started to say. But saying the word naked felt perilously close to bringing forward too vivid visualizations, and so she stopped herself, hiding her face against Brittany.
Brittany let Santana ponder her options, absentmindedly grazing her fingertips along the back of Santana's neck. She felt an extra moment of gratitude that the particular day fell on a weekend, knowing that if it had been a weekday they would've had no shot of going to their classes, but missing them for something like this would've only compounded Santana's stress. The space of the day gave them time and room to have their ups and downs like this morning, with time to recover, to be together during the day without any pressure from the world around them.
She made a small hum of acknowledgement when Santana started speaking, sharing her feelings and what she wanted. Britany honestly hadn't been sure how she'd take the idea of a bath- if she'd lean into it and like the calming feeling of the bathwater or if the idea of undressing like that was too much. "That sounds good," She responded easily. "Why don't we go to the bathroom and you can wash your face and then we can come lay back town here or take the comforter to the couch and lay together?" She suggested, filling in details even in areas where it wasn't need to give Santana more of a formal structure about what they could do.
As she hid her head, Brittany snuggled her closer, her hand coming to rest on the back of her head. "It was just an idea, Babe," Brittany pointed out, not wanting Santana to focus too much on it. "Remember you like baths because they feel good and you like the hot water and laying against me and not having to wash your own hair," Brittany said gently, reminding Santana that the choice to do things like that was hers and because it was a thing that was relaxing and felt good. "But you don't have to today, we can just lay together and put on a movie," She assured her, glossing over each bump in the road for Santana today, wanting her to have the easiest day possible going forward, knowing it had already been hard for her.
The small hairs on the back of Santana's neck stood up pleasurably in response to Brittany's gentle touch, and she tilted her head even more firmly into Brittany, soaking up her comfort. She considered her suggestions of their next move carefully, still thinking through what could happen next, and then next. It gave her something to focus on, a welcome distraction.
"Okay," she said slowly, working it out in her head. "We can go wash my face and pee. And then go to the couch. I don't know if I want coffee. I think I'll get a headache even more if I don't. So I think I need water and maybe coffee? But it might make me stay awake more. I don't know if I want to be awake much today. But I don't know if I want to sleep much and have nightmares either," she fretted, unable to decide. "Should I have coffee? Should I be awake or asleep?"
She lifted her head, meeting Brittany's eyes, twinges of anxiety starting to spike up again at the lack of a decision. "What should I do? I can't decide."
She hesitated, then said almost shyly, tightening her grasp, "Don't let go of me when we go to the bathroom. Okay? I know it's st- silly, but I kind of want you to hold onto me the whole time."
What she really wanted was Brittany to carry her, but she felt a little hesitant to say that. She wasn't quite at a state of emotion or anxiety yet where she would automatically reach for her to do that without being self conscious.
Brittany continued stroking the back of Santana's neck, gently twirling the wavy hair at the base of her neck as Santana narrated their plan in steps, all of them gentle, chill activities, the perfect stay-at-home day given the situation. She listened to Santana talk out her options on whether she should have coffee or not, silently loving the way Santana was so comfortable, speaking her options out loud. It hadn't always been that way, Santana internalizing every little thing because she had never really had someone's undivided attention before. Brittany always encouraged her though, and Santana doing it automatically right then made her heart swell with love for her and a wave of calm- Santana truly was in her safest place.
"Shhhhh," Brittany soothed when Santana picked her head up, seeing the anxiety flash across her expression, that deer-in-headlights look that made Santana look so young, so small, as if she was fighting to stay afloat in that very moment over something so small. "It's okay if you can't decide, it's not a big decision," Brittany hushed, "Why don't you make both, and if you don't like the way the coffee makes you feel you don't have to drink the entire thing," She soothed. "It's normal to not have the answers to things like that," Brittany reassured. She hated the word normal but she knew it mattered to Santana- to be normal, to feel a certain way and be reassured it was normal. "It's like when you can't decide what kind of restaurant you want to go to or what kind of movie you want to watch. Nothing big happens either way." Brittany was quick and calm in bringing Santana back down, confirming that her lack of decision making wasn't a concern and shouldn't be one for Santana either.
"I won't, Babe," She added easily when she felt Santana's grip around her tighten, leaning forward to kiss her forehead again before she sat up slowly, her movements slow and even, not wanting to jar Santana. She let her hand trail down Santana's arm to link their hands, not letting go of her as promised, before she scooted slowly to the edge of the bed, swinging her feet over the edge to stand up. "Come on," She encouraged gently, knowing Santana may need a little extra boost of courage, holding out her other hand for Santana to take too, to help her climbing off the bed.
"But it could be a big decision," Santana said, slightly more calmly as Brittany rubbed her neck. The gentle stroking against her skin did help her heartbeat slow slightly, but she was still fretting, fearing the wrong choice. "It could make me feel worse. It could make me worse either way. I don't want to be worse."
She exhaled, giving a small nod when Brittany continued to encourage her. Still, her brain seems stuck so much in a mode of anxiety that she can't think of anything else. "I don't know if I remember how to make coffee. Everyone knows how to make coffee. I feel like I'm brain dead but brain overcharged too. It's awful, I hate this."
As Brittany promise to stay in contact and close to her, kissing her forehead and gently stroking her arms, Santana froze again, unsure she remembers how to walk. Slowly she takes Brittany's other hand and lets her pull her to her feet, relieved when her feet do hold steady and resume normal walking. She clings to her, hip to hip, one arm tight around Brittany and the other grasping her hand as they make their way into the bathroom. Once in there she forgets for a second why they are there and looks at Brittany with new anxiety. "I don't remember what I'm doing. I can't do anything today. Brittany, I feel so stupid!"
For Santana to say that word to Brittany especially really shows her stress level; normally she avoids it at all costs.
"It's not going to make you feel that much worse or change anything too much," Brittany promised. "If you drink coffee and you're awake then you can just lay on me and rest your eyes, even if you can't sleep and we can still lay together. If you don't drink coffee and you have a headache, you can take an Advil or drink more water or try to take a nap," She said, outlining the different possibilities for Santana in detail, knowing both of them only had small changes based on her decision. "Each choice is a good one," She promised, trying to relieve Santana's stress about the day as much as she possibly could.
"You do remember how to make coffee," Brittany assured easily, "I think you're scaring yourself and thinking too much about it," She said, her tone soft, sympathetic, knowing that Santana wasn't doing it on purpose and trying to make things more difficult, she really was that anxious. "I think your mind is moving too fast and it's focusing on little things like making coffee," She elaborated as she stood, "We can make it together." She knew Santana knew how to make coffee, but she didn't want to put her in a position of having to do it alone or put her on the spot, knowing that she may balk at the task.
She guided them into the bathroom, letting Santana curl into her side as they made their way across the room, keeping her hand in Santana's and the other on the small of her back. Once inside, she kept Santana's hand in hers, assuming she'd move to use the bathroom, instead turning to Brittany with fear alight in her eyes. Brittany's brow furrowed at Santana's statement, her voice brittle and sharp.
"Santana, stop," Brittany said, her voice soothing but firm. "You're freaking yourself out," She said, squeezing her hand to keep her in the present and ground her, glossing over the use of the word stupid, instead wanting to relieve the sheer panic that she saw in Santana's expression. "You're okay, you're just going to use the bathroom and then wash your face," She reminded, giving Santana clear instructions. "We're just going to stay home today and hang out on the couch, just like if it was a normal Saturday, just you and me," Brittany promised, knowing there was nothing normal about this particular day, but not wanting Santana to continue to convince herself that she wasn't able to do anything or remember anything today.
"Okay...yeah. Okay," Santana swallowed, finally accepting Brittany's words. She still couldn't choose what she should do, but she did accept that she could at least choose something.
"But I don't remember," Santana whined when Brittany next assured her that she did know how to make coffee, her forehead puckering up, as though close to tears. She grasped Brittany's hand tighter as her mind, just as Brittany had assumed, continued to race.
What else had she forgotten? Could she still drive? What if she tried to drive and hit someone? What if she got in an accident and hurt someone? Hurt Brittany?
Never mind she had no actual intention of driving today, her mind had leapt that far ahead.
When Brittany promises to make coffee with her, Santana's expression eased just a tad but continued to show her stress. She grasped onto Brittany tightly as they went in the bathroom, a sheen of near panic in her eyes with her outburst, and when Brittany spoke to her more sharply, Santana blinked, eyes wide, but did jolt out of her flare of panic. As Brittany continued to outline what she was doing, Santana nodded, blinking back tears, and straightened her shoulders, trying to get herself together. Lifting her chin with a determination she didn't really feel, she went to use the bathroom, still grasping Brittany with her right hand, and then went to wash her hands and face, deliberately avoiding looking at herself in the mirror.
Brittany kept her hand in Santana's as she used the bathroom, her thumb rubbing the back of Santana's hand in slow, soothing circles. She could tell Santana was on edge about the smallest things, practically being able to see her anxiety dip and peak as the thoughts crossed her mind. Brittany knew, logically, Santana had lost the ability, or forgotten how to do anything, but she was convincing herself that was the case, almost paralyzing herself with her own fear. Brittany hated to watch it, knowing that she could help but only so much, and that Santana's mind was sometimes even more powerful than her attempts to soothe her.
When Santana moved to wash her face, Brittany rested a hand on the small of her back, coming to stand next to her at the bathroom mirror. As Santana splashed water on her face, she bent down, making sure her hand was still on her back and got her face lotion out for her, handing her a towel when she twisted the water off. She handed Santana the face lotion, moving to wrap her arms around her from behind, her arms making a lazy loop around Santana's waist as she rubbed in the lotion. "Does your face feel better?" She wondered gently, her head tilted, speaking into the side of Santana's neck. She could tell that Santana was still a little teary and nervous, about what Brittany couldn't be exactly sure.
She kept them there for another minute, just holding Santana, before disentangling them to take Santana's hand, pulling her into her so she could wrap an arm around her waist to guide her. "Let's go get coffee and water okay?" Brittany suggested, narrating where they were going before she led the way out of the bathroom, to the living room and then the kitchen, reaching up with her free hand to get a mug from the cabinet, one she knew Santana liked because she saw her use it all the time. Still one-handed, she pulled the coffee grounds down next, getting out a coffee filter, beginning the coffee making process with Santana tucked to her side, giving her the option to participate but ultimately not forcing her.
Santana was relieved when Brittany did as she had promised still and kept continuing contact with her with every small gesture she made, holding her hand against her back or wrapping her arms around her as Santana washed her face. Santana was still trying not to look at herself in the mirror, but she noticed a difference in the tight, near burning from before as Brittany asked her about how her face felt. She leaned back into Brittany's arms, sighing, and nodded a little.
"Yeah. Better."
She tilted her head back to further nestle against Brittany's. She would have been happy to stand there unmoving in her arms if that meant no further decisions to make today, but Brittany gently guided her along back to the kitchen, still holding her hand, supporting her. As Brittany started to make the coffee, Santana hesitated, then slowly joined in, several beats behind and a little clumsy. She stays close to her, somewhat ridiculously pleased when she realizes that she does know how to do this, that everything Brittany is doing is familiar. As the coffee brews, she tucks back against her, quiet for several moments before speaking again.
"I didn't want to be like this. I really wanted to be okay today. I really hate that I'm messing that up. It's like...losing."
Brittany grinned, her eyes sliding sideways to glance at Santana when Santana joined in, taking over for Brittany as she clicked the coffee maker on, her movements natural and familiar. At the gurgle of the coffeepot, Brittany hummed in happiness when Santana tucked herself back against her chest, her head on Brittany's collarbone as they both waited patiently for the coffee to brew, the smell of fresh coffee filling the air around them with a certain coziness. As Santana spoke, Brittany rested her lips against her hair, listening to her confession, another gentle showing of her vulnerability.
"You're not messing anything up," Brittany whispered into her hair, "Or losing. You're only losing your own test, San." She pointed out softly, silently reminding Santana that she was her own worst critic and often the one holding herself to standards that no one else expected. "I had no idea how today was going to go, I didn't think you would or should be a certain way or do things a certain way. It's just however you feel- you're never wrong for feeling something, even if it's something that's not happy."
Brittany slid her arms back around Santana's waist, fitting them back against each other. "Today is just a day, and you feel however you feel," Brittany said simply, "Just like if you woke up with a headache or wanted to stay in bed all day." She knew, of course, that this day held so much more weight for Santana then other days, but she wanted to strip down Santana's feelings as much as possible, moving the expectations off of her.
"Plus, you're not letting anybody down. You're not even going to class or with me to rehearsals. I know you really wanted today to be something, but nobody else in the world except me knows how you feel today. No one is judging you or wanting you to be something," She reminded softly, knowing, at times, Santana felt like she had everyone's eyes on her at all times.
As Brittany's words hung in the air, the coffee pot finally gurgled to a stop and Brittany smiled, reaching forward past Santana to pick it up by its handle, effortlessly pouring some into the mug for her. "Okay, coffee, check," She patted Santana's hip before she stepped to the side, keeping one hand on Santana as she got a glass down from the same cabinet. "Now it's time for water," She emphasized, knowing Santana needed that more than anything, shuffling Santana to the side of her to make space for Brittany to pull the refrigerator open and get out their water pitcher, filling a glass for Santana.
Santana sighed, her eyes shimmering as she tried to hold back tears. They have been rising and then receding from the surface often since the moment she let herself start acknowledging how she truly feels, and Brittany s kiss to her hair briefly brings them back into threatening again.
She listened to Brittany simplify for her that she shouldn't feel any specific way or put pressure on herself to, and she can almost accept it, though not quite. She leaned back into her again as Brittany put her arms back around her, closing her eyes.
"I don't like it," she said softly. "And I wanted to be better for you. I'm sorry I was worse to you, I didn't want that. I really wanted to show you I could be okay."
She lifted her head, relieved, when the coffee finished being made, reaching for her mug to fill it. She rolled her eyes to Brittany as she insisted she drink water first but nevertheless took the glass and took a sip, then another.
"Coffee now? On the couch?"
Brittany exhaled when Santana apologized, her body stiffening just slightly before she forced it to relax, tensing at Santana's inadvertent mention of this morning. She'd been trying to push it out of her mind, to meet Santana with love and calm and solid ground, to not think about the fact that a few hours ago Santana had refused to show her affection, to even look her in the eye or treat her with respect, reducing her to tears in a matter of simple statements, each one targeted strategically at the chinks in her confidence, the soft spots where the daggers could sink. She knew she couldn't focus on it too much - the sadness, the insecurities that seemed to tsunami out of nowhere within her, making Brittany realize that maybe they'd been there all along, the rug of their stability and relationship yanked out from under her as she questioned if she was caring for Santana in the right way, loving her in the right way.
She knew they couldn't talk about it then. She didn't want to talk about it then, although she knew she'd have to ask questions eventually, now wasn't the time. Santana was too far along the edge and Brittany needed time to think, to decompress, to consciously detach Santana's words from Santana and know with certainty that it had been her fear speaking, not her. "This morning kind of hurt me but I don't really want to talk about it yet," She said simply, swiftly moving to the next topic, "You don't have to be better for me," She said softly, although her voice was strong. "You've never had to be better for me."
Brittany knew this was a recurring thing with Santana- it had always been, in some capacity, although Brittany had never held her to any standards. Santana wanted to be better at loving her, Santana wanted to be a better person for her, Santana wanted to be better for her now. "I have never asked you to be anything other than you," Brittany reminded, knowing the real expectations came from Santana herself. "I just want you, real you, and for you to not pretend with me," She said, referencing that morning without actually having to reference it, reminding Santana, asking her, begging her, for honesty rather than the pain and arguments that came when she was trying to fake it.
She nodded when Santana confirmed their next move, picking up her coffee mug while Santana held the water glass, setting the mug down on a coaster before she tossed some pillows out of the way to make room, knowing they'd likely end up laying down. She settled first, as usual, kicking her legs up on the couch cushions while she opened her arms for Santana. "What kind of movie do you want to watch?" Brittany asked.
Santana had been watching Brittany intently, hyper alert to her body language and expression. She noticed the brief change in her body, felt it and cringed with her knowing she was the cause, even as she felt Brittany force herself to relax and meet her with calm.
She knows she hurt Brittany. Before Brittany said a word, she was very much aware and wanted to find a way to take it back, take it away. Hurting Brittany is an absolute no go in her world for anyone, any time, and when she's the one who causes it, it's unbearable until she knows they are okay again. Even then Santana tends to inwardly dwell and hate herself for it until enough time has passed for the sharpness of her actions to fade.
Her heart wrenched at the simple, truthful answer from Brittany that she had hurt her. Santana knew this, and unlike her, she wasn't denying it. She got the pointed reference to Brittany wanting her to be herself, her real self, heavy emotion and all, but still, she moved more slowly as she settled against Brittany, not yet answering her question. Her mind is heavy as she asks her, "How can you still be so nice to me when I hurt you? I know you don't want to talk about it and I won't make you. I just...how can you still be here for me when I was so awful?"
Brittany expected Santana to give her a movie name, or at least a genre, but instead, she answered Brittany's question with an unrelated question, but one that had come up before in their relationship, especially when Santana had done something to hurt Brittany or they were fighting about something. Almost one hundred percent of the time Santana didn't do it on purpose, snubbing her in public or hurting her feelings about their relationship status out of fear, always coming back around and feeling guilty and apologizing when they were in private. It wasn't the first time Santana had questioned Brittany's kindness and loyalty, inadvertently showing her own vulnerability when it came to unconditional love.
"I'll talk about it at some point," Brittany said first, wanting Santana to know that she did want to have a conversation about it eventually, "I just don't think either of us are in the right place to have that conversation without getting upset," She pointed out honestly, knowing that was probably true for both of them. "But just because you do something wrong or hurt me doesn't mean all of this," She waved with her hand ambiguously, motioning to them, their apartment, their little life, "Has to be over or doesn't matter. We can fight and hurt each other and still be in love and take care of each other," Brittany reminded, knowing that aspect of love wasn't something intuitive for Santana because it was something she'd never been shown before.
"You're not perfect and I'm definitely not either," She insisted, knowing Santana put her on a pedestal for basically everything. "We're with each other like, all the time and we're going to say things that hurt each other or disagree about things or get upset," Brittany shrugged her shoulders, knowing that, in a lifetime of love, arguments were inevitable. "But that doesn't mean all the other parts of the relationship go away or that I'll stop taking care of you. Not taking care of you when you need it, today especially, would be just as wrong. You can love someone and be in love with them and still feel hurt or not happy in that exact moment. If the only relationships were ones that didn't have any fights, there wouldn't be any." Brittany knew, internally, although they'd had piece of this conversation before, it was still something foreign and knew to Santana, something she'd have to process and something she might have to experience multiple time to really believe, especially now that they'd broken up and gotten back together.
Santana watched Brittany's face carefully, still trying to judge Brittany's true emotion as the blonde responded. It was true, they would both probably be upset if they talked right now about what Santana had said, how she had treated Brittany, this morning. But Santana has the anxious, antsy feeling of needing to know that she can make it okay, that she can make it right. She hates feeling that things are hung in the air unfinished, that she hasn't yet earned back the "Right" for compassion or understanding from Brittany.
"You are perfect," Santana insisted as Brittany explained her reasoning to her. "You're perfect to me. I just...I want to make it better before you're nice to me. I want you to know how sorry I am. It doesn't seem fair that I don't earn it back."
Even as she says it she knows Brittany will not view this the same way, and truthfully, in the same situation flipped, she would have always given Brittany comfort if she needed it. But she can't quite take that in for herself yet.
"I don't like fights," she muttered, before adding a quick, "don't tell Kurt and Rachel. I like fighting with them. Usually."
Slowly she leaned her head against Brittany's shoulder, finally answering her question about the movie. "Can we watch a Christmas movie?"
Never mind that it's July.
Brittany rolled her eyes with a small grin when Santana automatically insisted she was perfect, knowing that answer was coming even though she'd just confessed the opposite. She sighed as Santana explained her reasoning to her, her expression sobering, knowing Santana's words were vulnerable and raw and, sadly, true. "I don't need you to earn anything back," Brittany insisted, "To be fair, you never earn anything, I love you because I want to, all the time, not because you earn it," She pointed out, her heart tugging a Santana's idea of having to work for love. "I've always just loved you and I'll keep doing that because I just do," She explained simply, her feelings just that simple. "Love's not something you like, take away from people," Brittany pointed out, "It'd probably take a really bad thing or a lot of things for someone to stop loving someone else and even then, sometimes people are still in love anyway." She shrugged. She had never experienced Santana doing anything to her, not like she'd seen on movies and shows and heard about in break ups and divorces, but she knew without ever really having to experience it, that she would always love Santana at the end of the day.
"And I know you're sorry and we can make it better on a different day, but right now, it's fine enough." Brittany said honestly. She did know Santana was sorry, but still knew there were things they needed to talk about and questions Brittany had before they could fully move on from this morning's events.
"I won't," She smiled again, pressing a kiss to Santana's temple. "I don't like them either." There were a lot of things Brittany didn't like about their current situation, but she didn't voice them, not yet. Instead, she let Santana rest her head on her shoulder, nodding gently when she asked to watch a Christmas movie. "Okay, yes, but it has to be Elf," Brittany said, "Or the Grinch, but lets start with Elf." They were shamelessly her two favorite Christmas movies of all time, despite the fact that she'd seen them a hundred times. She easily clicked to the movie, starting it and shifting her body down on the couch, leaning against the pillows as Santana leaned against her, content, for the moment, at their state of being, hoping Santana would actually listen to the movie instead of letting her thoughts wander.
Santana pondered what Brittany was telling her. It was true, as most things were that Brittany said so easily and quickly and that Santana had to wrestle with to begin to believe. Brittany had always loved her, just loved her, no matter how terrible Santana treated other kids in school or how hot and cold she was towards Brittany. She had loved her with and without implants, with and without makeup or sexy clothes, when she was happy and when she was vibrating with rage, when she was confident and when she was shattered into pieces. And she had always loved Brittany too, no matter what state Brittany was in, no matter what Brittany may have done to annoy or hurt her. She had never stopped.
Sighing, choosing not to press the matter any further and to try to turn her brain off instead, Santana let Brittany turn on Elf, only half paying attention, at best. She tried to focus on Brittany, on the calming warmth of her body, the gentle, even breaths she took against Santana, the weight of her arms around Santana. She tried to ground herself in the present moment, and she managed to make it through most of the movie before she looked up at Brittany.
"Do you remember Christmas, going to stay with your family, looking up at the stars?" It was easily one of her favorite memories of the year. But lurking behind it was the traumatic one of seeing her family in the grocery store and having them ignore her. Santana still had not heard from any of them since. Not one phone call, not one text.
She tried to smile, thinking of the night on the bleachers with Brittany, but she squeezed Brittany's hand, eventually speaking her thoughts. "I don't think they're ever going to know about me. This. Or anything. I don't think they even care."
She wasn't specifically saying her family, expecting Brittany to someone connect the unspoken trail of her thought.
Brittany felt Santana sigh against her, going quiet, at lease for the time being. She was almost certain though that despite Santana's silence, her mind was wandering, not fully focused on the movie no matter how hard she was trying. Brittany herself was paying more attention to Santana rather than the movie, content that Santana was at least fairly calm as she processed her thoughts, lying still and heavy against her. They got through the movie with ease, Brittany eventually actually paying attention to it when she had concluded that Santana was okay.
She hadn't been sure if Santana would bring up their earlier argument again but was almost certain that they'd end up discussing the anniversary at least several more times that day, knowing it was weighing heavy on Santana's mind. When Santana did speak, referencing Christmas first, Brittany grinned at the unexpected memory of their last Christmas, also their first Christmas together since Brittany had come back.
"Of course I remember," She smiled, patting Santana's behind where her hand rested. "That was the best time." Brittany remembered Santana's childlike disappointment, how badly she really wanted Christmas magic and how let down she was, the sensitive side of her that Brittany loved so much. She also remembered how quickly Santana had cheered up, how they huddled together on the bleachers in the cold but stayed out there anyway, mesmerized by the little world they'd found.
As Santana continued, Brittany's smile sobered, rubbing her thumb along the back of Santana's fingers, silently reassuring her, letting her know that she knew. It was still unthinkable to Brittany that so much had happened in Santana's life, so much trauma, a life altering event, a medical event, and her parents had no clue. She rolled Santana's observation around in her mind, knowing that she was right.
"Do you want them to know?" She asked gently. She knew Santana could go either way with her parents, and trying to predict which way she'd swing had been futile every time Brittany tried. There were times when Santana took meticulous steps to keep things from her parents, which had been almost funny being that her parents were so unobservant that they probably would've never noticed. However, there were other times, times that Santana never let onto, but times where she wished her parents noticed things - when she joined the honor society, every time Cheerios one Nationals, the A's on tests that Santana continued to achieve. She was a teenager who hid things from her parents, but she was also human, Brittany knew, and desperate for love.
"You're probably right, about them not knowing," Brittany said simply, making the distinction between them not knowing and them not caring. "I don't think they'd ever find out unless you chose to tell them," She said, her voice calm, but a thrill of fear running through her - if Santana really did want to tell her parents, Brittany feared their reaction. She assumed they'd care- she knew they loved Santana in a twisted, absent way, but she feared how their reaction, or lack thereof, might affect Santana.
Santana nodded absently at Brittany remembering with her their special night on the bleachers, how cold she had been and how happy too, how she had believed for one of the first times in five months that she could have real moments of full, true happiness. She had experienced more since, but it's hard to connect with them today, to remember them in quite the same vivid feeling.
As Brittany rubbed her hands, gently giving comfort and support, Santana's forehead furrowed, a line forming in between her eyebrows as it often did when she was in very deep thought. She let Brittany see her face without hiding it, a wave of conflicting emotions flickering across her features with her consideration.
She did want her parents to know- in two ways. She wanted them to have been so involved in her life already that they would be the first people she thought to call when the terrible occurred in her life, rather than the last. She wanted them to know her so well and so thoroughly that they would be able to tell from looking at her or hearing her voice that something had happened to her, something life changing. She wanted them to be the kind of parents who would know this so deeply they would demand she tell them without her having to ever find a way to bring it up on her own.
But they weren't those parents, and they never would be. The very best she could hope for was a second kind of knowing- the hard kind, where Santana would have to put forth the effort of calling them, having them actually answer the phone or return the call, and telling them. Or even more difficult, actually travel to them, find a way to speak to them when they were available and home and willing, and without her abuela present. Both seemed nearly impossible to do.
And then there was the uncertainty of how they would respond. Of course, Santana knew what she wanted from them in response. She wanted them to take them in their arms and tell her that it was never her fault, that she was brave and strong and loved. She wanted them to tell her how sorry they were, to vow to be better for her, there for her. She wanted them to even cry for her, to grieve for what had been taken from her and what she had suffered.
But it was very possible- even likely- that none of that would happen. It was possible that there would be awkward silences and polite condolences before a change of subject and an excuse to leave. It was possible they wouldn't meet her eyes, let alone touch her. And that would wound her to the soul.
"I do want them to know," she said softly, unsure of how to say this to Brittany. "I just don't know if they'll be able to know it in the way I want them to know it."
Brittany watched Santana's face, making no attempt to divert her eyes, knowing Santana was letting her see. Her face had that adorable look of concentration on, but Brittany felt a hint of sadness when she saw it- the ever-present sign of Santana teetering back and forth while she thought about her parents, trying to meet the parents she hoped for in her head with the ones she had in reality, trying to find a middle ground, the right answer, as if there was a correct answer. Brittany had seen her do it all the time, a heartbreaking reminder that Santana, at the end of the day, held no faith in her own parents. Brittany could say with complete conviction that her parents would react to things a certain way, that they'd be so happy for her about certain things, that they'd come to New York if Brittany asked, a million little things that Brittany just knew, a security that Santana never had.
And while she knew Santana's relationship with her parents well enough, even Brittany couldn't predict how Santana would answer the question she posed. She knew it could go either way, and, likely, Santana had valid reasons for both. It was the constant tides against each other - Santana knowing that her parents weren't active in her life, and the fact that despite everything, she was their only daughter, they were her only family, and she loved them. As much as it broke Brittany's heart to watch, she loved them. Brittany knew her position in this entire scenario was fluid- she couldn't take a certain stance for or against Santana's parents- she was on Santana's side, always. Period. When Santana was in favor of her parents, Brittany quietly supported her, and when her parents shattered her into a million pieces, Brittany was there to convince her that she was better than any of her parents' opinions of her.
When Santana confessed that she did want them to know but she wasn't sure they could know in the way Santana wanted them to, Brittany nodded slowly, not entirely sure of what Santana was saying but sure that she had an idea. "Do you mean you want to tell them in a certain way or you want them to react in a certain way?" She questioned, giving Santana an either or option. The first one was relatively simple, if Santana wanted to tell them in person, they could go to Lima. The second, a far more challenging task, one that may be impossible. Still, Brittany knew her place in the situation, and she took it.
"I think your parents will be upset, if you tell them," Brittany said, trying to ease the pleading look that Santana had taken in her eyes. "Especially your mom. I think even if she doesn't show you or tell you she's upset, she will be. She's a woman and you're her daughter." Brittany was aware that she was currently speaking in favor of Santana's parents, something she thought she'd never do again in her life, but she wanted to ease the blow, to gentle the impact if Santana did tell her parents and didn't get the response she wanted.
She knew, on some level, she had to be right- Santana's mother had to be upset over this news, as a woman with a daughter who understood the dangers of just plain being a woman, despite the fact that she and Santana had hardly ever had anything close to a mother-daughter conversation. Brittany was fairly certain that all of Santana's knowledge of women's health and later knowledge of sex had come straight from Brittany or from Brittany's mother rather than Santana's own.
"I just don't want you to think their reaction has anything to do with you," Brittany confessed after a beat of silence, not wanting Santana to choose to do this and then suffer in the aftermath.
Santana bit down lightly on her lower lip, knowing what Brittany meant in her question. She had no idea how she would tell them- the two options seemed equally daunting to her, whether over the phone or in person. Each had its own special brand of hard. Over the phone, she could excuse the lack of physical touch by the distance, but she could not see their expressions or as accurately judge their emotional reaction. In person, she could do this more clearly, but she could also get a greater intensity of hurt should they react in a way she wouldn't want.
"I want them to react in a certain way," she admitted, her voice small, almost shamed. She let her eyes slide away from Brittany's finally, afraid to say aloud just what she wanted and how scared she was of the high chance it wouldn't, couldn't happen. To even say how much she wanted her parents' love and concern in this matter was a level of vulnerability that brought her back to finding it difficult to speak about it out loud. She was reminded briefly of her days of writing on the dry erase board with Kate in her office, of spelling out words on Brittany's skin, and felt strong temptation to slip back into doing so.
Santana gave a barely perceptible nod in response to Brittany's gentle encouragement, her reassurance that her parents would be upset for her, if she did tell them about the rape. She believed that was true- she just wasn't sure how or if they could show that they were upset, or if they would be able to be upset in the way she wanted and needed them to be. She was pretty sure, almost certain, that they couldn't be. But part of her wanted so desperately to believe that it was possible, that for this, they could rise above their failures and be the parents she had always needed.
She held no such hope, however remote, for her abuela. Her abuela would not be upset for her; if anything, she would probably consider it an act of God, meant to humble Santana and bring her back from a life of sin.
Brittany's talk of being a woman, of Maribel Lopez being a woman like Santana, made Santana's mind drift without her knowing it in the direction that Brittany's had gone, about her younger years and how she had come into understanding her body and its functioning. Despite her father being a doctor, Santana had never actually had any talks that she could clearly recall about sex or puberty with either of her parents. There had been books placed for her about the topics on her dresser, but neither had bothered to follow up to ask if she had questions, if she wanted to talk, or even if she had read them. They seemed to assume that Santana would naturally come into understanding her body without their assistance, or else she would ask Alma Lopez. It was true enough that Alma had been her primary caregiver for several years, and the extent of her teaching Santana about her body had been to toilet train her, assist her with bathing, hair brushing, teeth cleaning, etc until she judged Santana old enough to do it entirely alone, and then to snap at Santana about what was and wasn't appropriate and ladylike to do with her body. Most of Santana's knowledge had come from friends, movies, magazines, the internet, and unfortunately, direct experience.
When she was older, it was Brittany's mom, not her own, who gave her a talk about sex and birth control, despite Santana's protests that she didn't need to hear any of it because she wasn't having sex (and she wasn't, until the week after the very timely talk.) It was also Brittany's mom who realized that Santana was sneaking tampons and pads out of their house freshman year, because she had been too embarrassed to tell her mother she had started her period her first week of high school. Katherine Pierce had bought Santana her first stash of supplies, not her own mother.
She knew and remembered all these things. Still, as Brittany gently told her that she didn't want her to think their reaction had anything to do with Santana, Santana couldn't help but feel otherwise. She shrugged, not replying. If their behavior had nothing to do with her, then why could someone not even related to her be more of a mom to her than her own mother? Didn't that have to mean there was something about her that her own mother couldn't respond to? Would it have been different if Santana had been another kind of kid?
From where they sat, legs intertwined together on the couch, Brittany reached to cup Santana's face in her hand, letting her thumb skate over her bottom lip as Santana worried her lip between her teeth in thought. She knew, no matter what happened, no matter how bad they were, Santana's parents would always be a delicate subject, a subject at the soft underbelly of Santana's heart, the most vulnerable she could possibly be, no matter how much she tried not to care. It broke Brittany's heart that she even needed to try to not care, to be aloof to their negligence and disapproval of her Abuela.
"Mmm," Brittany made a gently noise of understanding when Santana confirmed that she wanted her parents to react in a certain way. Brittany had known it, before she even really asked the question. It was that childlike wonder that Santana had- not just about her parents, about all things, even if she didn't show it. Brittany loved that about her, the fact that Santana, who was so reserved and hard to the outside world, let her hopes soar about nearly everything, her excitement and happiness levels often matching her initial hopes when something proved to be as good as Santana had hoped it would be. Although Brittany knew she'd never admit it, doing something like building a blanket fort could be the highlight of Santana's week, or when, in high school, they made plans to do anything, whether that was sneak out of their hotels in New York during nationals or go to Breadstix, Santana was always giddy with excitement.
But, Brittany knew, that childlike hope and excitement worked both ways, and when she got her hopes up, it was difficult for her to accept the reality and disappointment it sometimes held. When their Christmas lights adventure failed, Brittany knew Santana had truly been upset, wanting something close to magic and being let down, even though Lima was notoriously disappointing. Brittany feared she'd suffer the same fate at her parent's reactions - daring to hope for something that would, to put it simply, never happen.
She felt Santana nod against her hand, barely, knowing that Santana was trying to prove it to herself as much as Brittany was trying to prove to her that her parents really would care. She let her think, the two of them sitting in silence. Brittany knew what Santana wanted, wishing more than anything that she could give her the coddling, over affectionate pair of parents that Brittany knew she secretly hoped for, even after all this time. Brittany had no idea how the Lopez parents and her Abuela had somehow raised Santana, who was the most physically and verbally affectionate person she knew. It was one of her favorite things about Santana, but it also made her heart ache to think about how long Santana had probably spent in her early life wishing her parents were the same way.
"Your parents just don't show it," She reminded her, unsure how she found herself in the pro-Lopez court but knowing Santana needed the reassurance. "People are different, your parents just aren't expressive like we are." Brittany knew they went far beyond "not expressive" and there was a whole host of other issues happening in the Lopez family dynamic, but she didn't think that was something Santana wanted to discuss at that moment. "I think they'll be upset for you- your mom probably a lot, but I don't think they'll know how to show you that. Or want to show you that, I guess." For what it was worth, Santana's parents weren't very keen on showing joy either, or any emotion whatsoever.
Brittany exhaled when Santana shrugged, her eyes still not looking at Brittany. "It's not you," She repeated. "You have plenty of people who show you all different kinds of affection," Brittany reminded her, not wanting Santana to place the blame on herself, which she knew was Santana's unfortunate default. "Think about my parents, my mom says like, 500 words a minute, and my dad says maybe 5, total." She didn't mean to intentionally draw the comparison between their parents, only to point out that people show affection and emotions differently.
"I know you wish they were different," Brittany said softly, tucking Santana's hair behind her ear. "That's not a bad thing to want, but I don't want you to set yourself up for this and then have it hurt you," She argued gently. "I think we can talk about it more, and you don't have to decide right now either."
Santana isn't sure that she likes the word "expressive" being used to describe herself, because to her, it sounds a lot like "sensitive" or "emotional," both words she would far rather put on any of the other former Glee club members than herself. Even if she knows deep down that both words are true enough descriptors, she would rather them NOT be, and has always prided herself in presenting as so brash and harsh as to be occasionally cruel and always uncaring about what other people thought or felt, no matter how untrue that actually was.
It was how she had protected herself, growing up in her home. It had hurt too much to let the vulnerable softness of her true heart, her true self, show through to people who would ridicule it or not even notice its existence.
When Brittany continues to reassure her that it's not because of her that her parents are how they are, that she has people who love her and will always be willing to come to her with hugs or words of encouragement or compliments, Santana nods a little, her face still in her hand, eyes still averted. She knows this is all true, but it doesn't make her feel any less that she wants at the very least two more of those people to be her own parents.
Brittany must have read her expression, as much as she had tried to keep her face turned away, or at least felt a shift in the way she held her body. As she told her that she didn't have to decide, that they could talk about it later, Santana exhaled, nodding more firmly this time.
"Yeah. I'm done talking now. Talking is overrated."
Back to an outer shell, hard Santana, though a very faint, bad imitation of one, easily cracked at the seams and showing through badly to the reality.
Brittany could tell Santana was struggling internally with her newfound desire of wanting to tell her parents what happened, and she knew the decision was so much more multifaceted than even she understood. She knew the logical side of Santana's mind could tell her why it was a bad idea and could result in getting hurt, but she also knew that Santana's heart, on some level, would always want love and approval from her parents, even in cases like this where she was hurt. She wanted them to be upset that she had been hurt, and Brittany knew, no matter how upset she, Rachel, Kurt or her parents were, none of that would replace what Santana wanted in the form of a reaction from her own parents.
All Brittany could do was silently vow to try to keep Santana as protected as possible in figuring this out and if she ever did decide to tell them, wanting Santana to be able to share this will them, but also wanting to protect Santana above all else. When Santana nodded, she let her thumb stroke Santana's chin gently where she cupped her face, soothing and silent, a few strokes of comfort from the pad of Brittany's thumb. She nodded when Santana declared she was done speaking, not wanting to fight her on that point, knowing they'd probably have this conversation again at some point, but willing to let it go, especially today, not wanting Santana to get too upset or think too much about potentially telling her parents.
"Okay, no more talking. Quiet game," Giggling when Santana insisted that talking was overrated, Brittany rolled her eyes playfully, leaning forward to press a gently, chaste kiss to Santana's lips. What she really wished she could do was slide her lips against all the cracks in Santana's heart, smoothing over their jagged edges with her love. She let her lips linger for a moment, knowing she could only do so much, but forever wanting to do everything that she could to ease Santana's pain.
Settling back against the couch, she let Santana settle with her, knowing that Santana would probably continue to mull over this rather than watch the movie in earnest, but willing to hold her as she thought, knowing, especially today, Santana needed safety and quiet, comfort and warmth. Brittany was content to give her all those things, snuggling her against her body as she leaned against the cushions, idly flicking her eyes to the TV.
