Double bonus chapter this week. Cuz it's a short one. From Santana's point of view. A little bit of insight into Santana's world. Enjoy.
Chapter 7: Santana
I wake up and without opening my eyes everything seems nice, and warm, and cozy, and good. But, as the seconds pass, something feels off. I wiggle around a little. This doesn't feel like my bed. Actually, this doesn't feel like a bed at all.
I feel around and it's definitely not my bed that I am lying on. It's a couch. But why would I be sleeping on the couch. That doesn't make any sense. Why would I sleep on the couch when I could just go upstairs and sleep in my bed.
I crack an eye open to look around and see if that will give me any clues.
Crap, this isn't my house at all. I don't really recognize anything either. I don't know where I am. I open my other eye and lift my head off of, I look down, the pillow that my head was resting on.
There's a tv across the room from me and a coffee table about two feet in front of the couch that I am lying on. I don't really recognize anything. This place seem familiar but I don't know where I am. I think, maybe, I need to stop drinking so much.
I throw the blanket that is covering my body off. When I look down the length of my body, thankfully, I am fully clothed. That's good. I go to sit up and something catches my eye. I turn to my right and there is a large cat sitting on top of the coffee table. My hand goes over my mouth and I gasp at the sight. This thing is huge and it's just staring at me. It looks like it wants to eat me. But, I really have no idea what it wants. The cat lets out a loud meow. I lean forward and put my finger to my lip and shush the cat. I don't know why though. I don't know what time it is and I don't know if there is someone else sleeping somewhere in the room. I don't know anything.
I sit up and look around the room. It's a wide open floor plan. I appear to be in the living room area and can see the kitchen from here. It's nice. Nothing like the huge house that I live in but whoever lives here has a reasonably nice place. It has a homey feel. Warm and inviting. Maybe that's why, when I woke up, I felt warm and cozy and overall just good.
It's a shame that the only thing my mind is telling me to do is leave. Run. Get out of here.
I stand and notice that there aren't shoe on my feet. I don't remember taking them off. Then again I don't remember much of last night. I spot my shoes right next to the couch and sit back down to put them on. I can feel the cat staring at me as I tie my shoes. I look up when I am done and glare at the damn thing.
I stand again and look around. There doesn't seem to be anybody here. I can see a shut door, though, and assume that it is the bedroom and that whoever lives here was nice enough to let me sleep it off in relative peace.
I wonder what happened and how I got here, but guess that I probably fell asleep, and that was that. It's happened before, in college. I would go out at night, get drunk, pass out, and not really remember much the next day. Whether it was due to the alcohol or me purposely blocking it out, I don't know.
The walk to the front door is short. I unlock the door and open it. I turn to step out and the cat is standing there now, staring up at me. It's now that I remember what happened last night. Or parts of what happened last night. I remember standing in this exact spot last night and that cat staring up at me just like it is doing again right now.
Brittany.
I shut the door as quickly and quietly as possible. That cat is Brittany's cat. I can't remember it's name but it's something long. I know that. This apartment is Brittany's apartment. That couch is Brittany's couch. The person sleeping behind that bedroom door is Brittany.
I smile a little, standing at the top of the stairs. I remember her bringing me here after I showed up at the bar. After she got something for me to eat and made me eat it. We sat on the couch and watched tv and played with the cat. A strange feeling tingles through my body. I'm not sure what it is. Gratitude maybe.
I sneak down the stairs as quietly as possible. Only a few of them creak under my weight. I feel lucky but I'm not sure why. And I definitely don't know why I showed up at the bar last night. I don't know why I agreed to come home with Brittany last night, either. Although, I don't think I knew where she was taking me when we left the bar. I don't know why I went so willingly, either. She's basically a stranger. That probably wasn't my smartest decision but I don't think Brittany would cause me any harm.
I push the door open and step out into the early morning sun. When I look to my right I see the front of the bar and walk in that direction. I vaguely remember Brittany saying once that she lived next door.
As I'm walking I notice my car in the parking lot. Perfect. But, do I have my keys. I pat my pockets. In my right front pocket is my phone and in my left I find my keys. I pull them out and hurry over to my car.
I laugh a little cuz my car has been sitting in the parking lot of the bar since Friday night. It is now Sunday morning. Man, that's terrible. I'm a hot damn mess.
The car starts up when I turn the ignition. Some Bon Jovi blares out of the speakers. I punch the dial on the radio to kill the noise. It just adds to the headache that I can already feel coming on.
Once it's quiet I put the car in gear and start my drive home. I'm sure my mom will be thrilled to see my rolling in at this hour.
I park the car in the driveway when I get home. After shutting off the engine, I rest my forehead on the steering wheel dreading going in the house. I know mom will be awake. It's after eight. I know she will be up and reading the paper. Hopefully, I can sneak in without her hearing me.
I slide out of the car and shut the door. If I go in the front door the odds of my mom seeing or hearing me are less. I make it inside and shut the door without a sound. I stop and listen to see if I can hear my mom. I don't hear anything so I take a few tentative steps toward the stairs. The hardest part is next because from the dining room table you can just barely see the stairs.
I put my foot on the bottom step and I still don't hear anything. I'm feeling good about this. I take the second step- and nothing. The third.
"Santana." My mother's voice booms through the house. I stop and turn around. I know I can't just run off. That would be worse.
"Yes mom." I say turning towards her and trying to look as innocent as possible. Not that I did anything wrong.
"Where have you been?" She asks. Cutting right to the chase I see.
"I stayed the night at a friend's house." I tell her and it's not a lie. Well, friend might be a generous word. Brittany isn't really my friend. I think she is just someone who took pity on me and took in a hot mess of a girl so I didn't end up dead on the side of the road or something.
"Really? Does this friend happen to be a female, by any chance?" She lowers the paper and glares over the top of it at me.
"She is. What does that have to do with anything?" I really don't know why it matters.
"Then I'm guessing that more than friendly things went on with you and your friend." She raises an eyebrow in association with her lewd comment.
That's it. I've had enough already. I take a step into the kitchen. "You know what? Just because I am gay doesn't mean that I sleep with every girl that I come into contact with."
"Don't raise your voice with me, Santana. And I didn't say that." She flattens the paper out on the table. "I'm just saying you have been spending a lot of time 'out' in the last couple of weeks. I'm guessing that one girl has something to do with it. And, as far as, what you just said I should hope that you have more self-esteem than that to be out there sleeping around. I raised you better than that." She finishes her little speech and raises the paper again but is still looking at me like I have disappointed her. And I guess I probably have.
"There are no girls. For your information. I stayed at a female friends house last night and nothing happened. And that's the truth. I'm going upstairs to take a shower." I inform my mother.
"Fine." I turn for the stairs, again. "And, Santana." I stop and turn back to face my mom. "I'm going to 10 am church and I expect you to be ready to go at 9:30." She says through her paper without even looking at me.
I throw my hands in the air. I know I can't argue with her. "Fine." I groan and stomp up the stairs.
I don't understand why she doesn't believe me. Like ever. Not just with this, but with other things, as well.
I will go to church with my mom just to humor her. It's not that I don't believe in god or religion or anything like that it's just that the Catholic church doesn't take too kindly to people like me. In my opinion, it's just a bunch of old guys that are stuck in their old ways.
I slip into my room and search out a bottle of Advil for my headache, then onto finding something to where to church. After I find a nice, wholesome dress appropriate for church and head across the hall to the bathroom to take a shower.
I go to church and sit with my mother through mass. It passes as a usual mass would. I don't feel out of place. I've been coming to church since I was a baby with my parents. We are walking back to the car after mass when my mom says that we are going out for lunch.
"Okay." I agree. Again, it's not like I have a choice. We rode in the same vehicle and there's no way in hell I'm walking home.
"How's Breadstix sound?" She asks as she unlocks the car doors.
"Great." I love Breadstix, so that's a plus. This day won't be complete shit after all. I, at least, get a awesomely delicious meal out of it. And mom will probably pay too. Even better.
We are sitting across from each other in one of the many booths. I am feasting on a breadstick when mom clears her throat. I look up from where I was studying the scratches in the table. "What?" I say around a mouthful of breadstick.
"Santana." My mother sighs. "Don't talk with food in your mouth." She scolds me. "I wish you would take yourself more seriously. You're not a kid anymore."
"I am serious." I argue. Because, yes, I am serious, just not all of the time like her. I don't want to be old and boring. Not yet, at least.
"No. When are you going to grow up and take responsibility for your life?"
"I am responsible."
"No. Santana you're not. You are 23 years old and still live at home. You spend your whole weekend out partying or whatever it is that you do. You don't come home at night or stay out until all hours of the early morning."
"That's not true."
"Yes. It is. Santana you need to get your shit together. And soon. In a short few years, I will be retiring, and you will be taking over my business. And the sooner you get your life in order the better. I am not saying this stuff just because. I am saying this because you need to get it together."
"Mom, I haven't even been out of college for a full year yet. I live at home because I can't afford to move out. College isn't exactly cheap. And I know you and dad paid for half of it but I still have a lot of debt. And I'm working on it. I don't know what more you want from me."
"How about you not going out all of the time and maybe having a serious relationship?" She looks at me and I can see the challenging look in her eyes.
I want to argue with that but I don't know if I can. She does have a point. Minus, all the not having any money and taking over the insurance business crap, she is right. I am grown up but I don't always act like it. Especially, away from work. I could be more responsible and I have been spending a lot of time drinking but that's mostly because she has been nagging me about all of my failures and disappointments, kinda like she is doing right now.
But I'm young still and can do whatever I want. I'm an adult and my mommy can't tell me what to do.
"Yeah well. What can I say? Sorry I'm not perfect." I shrug nonchalantly.
My mom sighs. "Santana." She says it like she doesn't know what else to do with me. She then looks away from me and out the window.
I don't know what more she wants from me, well, other than the things she just mentioned. But, come on, that's not even that bad. I have my shit pretty fucking well together for a 23 year old. I have a job. I have a future at that job. I have a roof over my head. I have more than a lot of people at my age do.
And sure, maybe, I still live and home and I am not in a relationship but so what. A lot of people aren't.
She should be glad that I went to college and that I agreed to go into the insurance business and that I am taking over for her so that she can retire early. She should be glad that I live at home and give her something to do. Cuz if I wasn't around she wouldn't have anyone to keep track of or criticize. She should be thanking me for keeping her life interesting.