Chapter 14: Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting

"I left your apartment last Saturday night and I felt really good. Like, better than I had in a while. I got in the car and started it up. I cranked the radio up and started for home."

Flashback

I get home and can see from the driveway that the light in the living room is on. I know, that, at least someone is home. After I shut the engine off, I get out and shut the door, I hit the lock button on my keys. The car beeps and I walk towards the house looking for my key for the front door. I find it just as I get to the door. I hold it out to stick in the door but the door swings open before I can put my key in the lock.

"Santana." Her voice is firm.

"Mom."

We stand there and stare at each other. Hell if I am the one who is going to break eye contact first. Stubborn, I know. My mother shifts and breaks eye contact and I've won this staring contest. But, her eyes shift down my body. I look down too and remember that I am wearing Brittany's shirt and I smile because of it.

Her eyes come back up to my face. She glares at me for a few seconds. She's mad. "I've been calling you all day." My mom says. I know that she has been calling me all day. I had my phone with me and it was in working order, too. I just didn't want to talk to her. Sure, I probably should have let her know that I was alright and stuff but-

"Yeah." I say with a shrug.

"So, you knew that I was calling you and you ignored my calls. I was worried about you. You didn't come home last night and I didn't know where you were all day." Her voice rises the longer she talks.

"I'm fine." I inform her and push passed her into the house.

"How was I suppose to know that?" I hear mom spin around and slam the door closed behind her.

"You were with that girl, weren't you." She says. It's not in an accusing way, just sort of like, she knew it and didn't even have to ask.

"My friend. Yes." I spin around to face my mother again. "I stayed over at her house last night and we hung out today. Not that it's any of your business." I raise my voice to match her raised voice.

"That's it?" My mother questions.

"Yes. That's it. I know what you are thinking. I didn't sleep with her. Contrary to your opinion, I don't sleep around. I still don't know why you think that I do. No matter how many times I tell you that, I don't." I ball my hands up at my sides in frustration. This really is not what I want right now. An argument about my whereabouts after I've had one of the best days I've had in a long, long time. "I stayed at Brittany's house because I was being a jerk to her and wanted to apologize. And it was late and Brittany asked me to spend the night. Simple as that." It's not a lie, not totally, at least.

"Well, you should have come home this morning. Or called and told me where you were all day."

"I am a twenty-three year old adult, with my own life. I don't need to tell you what I am doing every moment of every day."

"Exactly." She says pointedly.

"What's that suppose to mean?" I scoff.

"It means that you are an adult and you need to start taking responsibility for yourself and your actions. You need to stop staying out all night and not coming home until a full day later. You need to stop drinking all weekend, every weekend. Going out and getting shit-faced drunk and taking taxis home at all hours of the night. Those are not the actions of a responsible twenty-three year old." My mom steps forward until she is about a foot away from me. Face to face. Eye to eye. We stare each other down.

My fists clench and unclench. "That's so not true." I argue back. I am furious now. She is just saying things to make me mad. "You don't know what you're talking about." I am yelling now.

"I do. You need to settle down. Stop partying all the time and find someone to spend your life with. It's time to grow up, Santana." Her voice is lowered and steady and calm when she speaks. It's a little eerie. "No more drinking and hooking up with random girls." It's almost as if my mother is warning me. At least, that's what it sounds like to me.

She steps to the side and steps around me. She doesn't say anything else. Her retreating form lets me know that she is done arguing with me and that this conversation is over, at least, for right now.

I turn on my heels and watch her make her way down the front hall and turn towards the living room. She stops and looks back at me. "Now I suggest that you go up to your room and change out of whoever's clothes those are and go to bed."

My hands tighten into fists again. Little clenched balls of fury. "You can't tell me what to do." I scream at her.

"Yes, I can. I am your mother and as long as you live in this house I will continue to tell you what is right for you. I will also tell you what is wrong." With that she disappears into the living room.

I stomp a foot on the floor trying to get rid of some of the anger that is building up inside of me. It doesn't really help though. I look around the hallway. The walls are lined with pictures of the family. Me, my father, and mother from when I was little all the way up until I was eighteen.

I barely hear the crunching and popping sounds.

My left fist, punctured through the wall paper and plaster, in between two framed pictures. One a picture of my parents on there wedding day and the other a picture of me on my first day of school. I pull my hand back and look at the hole that is now in the wall. The next thing I know is a searing pain shooting through my fingers and hand. I look down at my hand that is now hanging limp at my side.

"Santana, what the hell?" I hear my mother's voice from the next room and I bolt. I run down the hallway and up the stairs and into my room. I slam the door shut and turn the lock. I lean up against the door and listen. I can hear my mother downstairs. "What the hell did you do?" I assume she is has made her way into the front hall where I just put a hole in the wall with my fist.

"Santana Lopez." She yells up the stairs and I know that she has seen the damage now. Next, I hear her angry footsteps as she climbs the stairs. She gets to my room and tries the doorknob. When that doesn't work she starts pounding on my door my her hand. "Santana, what the hell is the matter with you?"

I don't say anything. I flex my hands and feel the pain in the left one. I sink down the door, and sit on my ass with my knees folded in front of me, and listen as my mother bangs on the door, and yells about the hole in the wall, and how I am going to have it fixed and paid for. The whole time I don't respond to anything she says.

After about five minutes of pounding and yelling she leaves.

I rest my forehead on my knees and let out an exasperated sigh. I'm angry and frustrated. I don't know what to do. My hand is killing me. It hurts like a son of a bitch.

I knew my mom wasn't going to be happy when I finally showed up at home, but I could have never imagine what has just transpired.

After a few minutes of just sitting on the floor and gathering my thoughts and calming my heartbeat, I stand up and go over to the bed. I will actually do what my mother wants me to do and go to bed. But, first, I need to get some aspirin for my hand and maybe an ice pack.

I sneak out of my room and into the bathroom. In the cabinet I find the aspirin and take two. There aren't any ice packs upstairs so I will have to go without that. I run my left hand under the cold water though. At first it stings, I wince and pull my hand back, but try again and keep my hand under the water for a few minutes while I brush my teeth with my other hand. That proves to be more difficult than I thought it would. I usually brush my teeth with my left hand, it's my dominant hand, after all.

I get back to my room and lock the door again. I don't want my mom coming in and checking on me. I know she will try. I know she will be worried about my hand. But, I don't want that. She is my mom and she is going to worry. That's just her nature, to worry. I'm a big girl and can take care of myself and I'm going to prove that to her.

I slip my jeans off and pull my sleep shorts on. Next, I reach for the hem of my t-shirt expect- it's not really my shirt. It's Brittany's. I smile down at the material that covers my torso. Pulling the bottom up to my face, I bury my nose in the fabric. It's smells like Brittany. It's comforting after everything that has happened. Just the smell of Brittany and her home on me makes me feel a little better. Some of the anger dissipates and a sort of calm passes over me.

I sigh and fall back onto the bed, still wearing the t-shirt. I need it right now. I curl up under the covers and wait for sleep to take over.

I wake up a few hours later due to the intense pain in my hand. Getting out of bed I turn the light on and start to inspect my hand. It hurts, obviously. The knuckles on my three middle fingers are starting to get black and blue. I make a fist and the pain multiplies at the center of my hand and shoots up my arm.

Great. It's probably broken. I leave my room and go to the bathroom and take two more aspirin. It's probably not a good idea cuz I just took some a couple hours ago. The bottle even say not to take more for four hours after the first dose. I don't care, though, right now.

Climbing back into bed, I pull the blankets up to my chin and try to get back to sleep.

The next morning I wake up- if you can call it that. I tossed and turned all night. The pain in my hand and the thoughts in my brain both keeping me awake.

I really don't want to go downstairs and have to deal with my mom this morning. She will probably berate me some more. But, I have to go down there, eventually. First of all, my hand is killing me and it needs more attention. I know this for a fact. And second, I am hungry. Even though I had one of the best meals I've ever had last night with Brittany.

I descend the stairs and walk into the kitchen. Mom is sitting at the table, reading the paper. "Morning." She mumbles, I assume she hears me entering the room.

"Mom." I say timidly. I really don't want to have to do this but my left hand gives me no choice. She looks up over the top edge of the paper with a raised eyebrow. "Can you look at my hand?" I raise my hand in the air and I see her eyes widen at the sight. My black and blue and swollen hand clear for her to see.

"Oh my god." She whispers and stands up from her seat and moves towards me. "Santana." She grips my arm at the elbow. "This looks terrible. Does it hurt?"

I nod. "A lot."

"Okay. Go get dressed. I am taking you to the hospital."

"But mom." I whine.

"No. Go. Now. We are going to the hospital." She demands.

"Okay." I sigh and walk back to the staircase. So much for taking care of myself.

"So, Santana, what do we have here?" Doctor Gordon says as he walks into the exam room.

"I think I broke my hand." I mumble, embarrassed.

"And how did you do that?" He asks when he sets down a folder on the counter and takes a seat on his little stool on wheels.

"I punched a wall. Put a huge hole in it too."

"Wow. Well, lets have a see." He motions to my hand and I hold it out for him. Dr. Gordon gently takes my hand in his and looks at it. "I'm going to examine this. Tell me if it hurts." I nod and he squeezes all of my knuckles in between his thumb and index finger. "Do any of your knuckles hurt?" He asks.

"Not really. Just a little bruised, I think." I tell him.

"Okay. Now the actually hand bones." He moves his fingers and presses down on the bones in my hand.

"Fuck." I yelp and try and pull my hand away from him but he holds tight to my wrist. "That fucking hurts."

He smirks at me. "That's because it's broken. You wait here and I will go set up a x-ray for your hand and when we get the pictures we can discuss our options."

"Alright." I sigh, trying to ignore the pain in my hand. Dr. Gordon just made it worse. I had been able to push it to the back of my mind but as soon as he pressed down on my hand the pain came screaming back to the forefront.

The door creaks open and Dr. Gordon comes back in with a x-ray in his hand. "Well, it looks like you are going to need surgery."

"Surgery." I gasp.

"Yup." He puts the x-ray up on the board and lights it up. "See this bone here. It's broken, obviously. But, it is also out of place and we need to go in there and realign it and put in some pins to hold it in place so it can heal properly."

"Just freakin' great. When do I have to have surgery? Today?"

"Not today. Tomorrow morning, though. 8 am. Surgery shouldn't take too long. It's a simple surgery and you should be back at home sometime in the afternoon."

"Okay." It's a lot of information to take in at once. Surgery. Why did I have to go and punch the hallway wall.

"Alright. I am finished here, Ms. Lopez. The nurse will come in with all of the information you need for tomorrow and a prescription for a pain killer for your hand."

"Okay." It's all I seem to know how to say.

Dr. Gordon holds out his hand and I lift my right hand to shake his big hand. "Good luck with your surgery and the healing process."

"Thanks." He is out the door in a flash.

I awake to my mother yelling at me to get up. "Santana, get out of bed. You don't want to be late for surgery." I look over at the clock and it not even six in the morning.

I groan and climb out of bed. Looking down at my hand which is still black and blue and swollen but is wrapped in a temporary splint. The nurse came in after the doctor left with the splint and wrapped up my hand and wrist. She also give me a prescription for a painkiller. That helped a lot. Without that painkiller I don't think I would have been able to sleep at all last night.

Skipping a shower- cuz what's the point- I head downstairs. I don't bother to change out of my pajamas either. I will be going to the hospital. They will give me one of those ass revealing gowns, and I will put it on, and then lay on a bed all day. There isn't really a point in doing much of anything this morning. I can't even eat breakfast. I haven't had anything to eat since nine o'clock last night, and for whatever reason, I'm not allowed to have food before surgery. I don't know why because it's not like I'm having surgery on my stomach. Whatever, though.

"Good morning, Santana."

"Morning, mom." I grunt back.

"Are you scared or nervous?" She asks.

"No." I open the fridge and look inside.

"You can't eat anything."

"I know that. I'm just looking."

"Okay." She ruffle the daily paper and clears her throat. "Your father is going to stop by your hospital room, after your surgery, when you are awake."

"Great." When I say, great, I really mean it. I haven't seen my dad in a few days. He works so much and sometimes I just wish he would spend a little more time at home. If not with me, but with my mother, just so she isn't so lonely, or so she gets off my back for a while. I know that she is lonely, and wants him home more, but won't say it out loud. She takes utmost pride in the fact that her husband is a prestigious doctor at the local hospital.

"We should leave soon." I mumble and shut the refrigerator door.

My mom puts the paper down and looks me over. "So, you're ready then?"

I throw my hands out to my sides, sort of presenting myself to her. "Yep. It doesn't get much better than this."

She rolls her eyes and stands. "Fine. Let's go." She grumbles and I know that she is not please with me. It's probably either my attitude or the way I'm dressed.

We pull up to the hospital and now I do feel a little nervous. I go in and fill out paperwork, then they bring me to a room and give me the dreaded hospital gown. After that, I sit in a bed for about twenty minutes before the doctor comes in and explains the surgery to me. He leaves and a few minutes later I am being wheeled into surgery.

I groan as I return to consciousness. I feel groggy as I blink open my eyes. The first thing I see is my dad stand at the end of my hospital bed.

"Hey, Santana. How are you feeling?" He asks with a kind smile.

"High as a kite." I blink lazily at him. He smiles and I can tell that he wants to laugh but doesn't.

I hear a noise from my left and turn my head to see what it is. My mom is sitting in a chair at the left side of my bed shaking her head.

"Does your hand hurt?" My dad asks and nods towards my left hand.

I look down at my hand and think about his question. I try to move my fingers but can't. There is a thick, black cast that goes from my past my wrist all the way to my fingers. My fingertips are sticking out from the cast only maybe an inch. "No." I turn back to my dad.

"Okay, good. I don't want to talk about it right now but I do want to know why you punched a whole in the hallway wall. I talked to your mother about it and got her side of the story. But, I want to hear your side of the story too."

"Okay." I sigh. That's one of the best things about my dad. He always wants to hear all sides of the story. He always tries to be as fair as possible. I don't know if it's because he is a doctor or if it is just the person that he is. He always wants the best possible outcome, for everyone. His family, his patients, his friends. He only wants people to be happy and healthy. He is a simple man in that way.

I will have to sit down with him one day and tell him everything that is happening in my life, and everything that my mother thinks and wants to happen for me, and most importantly what I want for myself.

Which is easier said then done. I'm not even sure what I want at this point.

Like my ER doctor told me, I am home by mid-afternoon, which is a relief. I don't know how much longer I could sit in that hospital bed with my mom staring at me. My dad left about half an hour after I woke up. He had to get back to work but it was nice for him to take time out of his day to come and see me.

Now all I want to do is climb in bed and go to sleep. The anesthesia has pretty much worn off. My hand started to hurt about an hour ago and I took two painkillers right before we left the hospital and now I just want to sleep.

Present Day

"Holy crap." Brittany says. I nod along. Holy crap, indeed. "So that's why your hand is in that cast."

"Yep." I confirm for her.

"I'm so sorry." Brittany says and she looks a little sad about it.

"Please, don't be. It's not your fault. It's totally mine. I was the dumbass who punched the wall."

Brittany frowns. "I know but- I still feel bad." She looks down at my cast. Her fingers reach out and tap the back of my hand on the hard material of my cast. "How about this? When I am done with work we go back to my apartment and talk about this some more."

I nod. "I'd like that." I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. I would like nothing more than to spend time with Brittany. Even if I have to talk about my problems. There isn't anyone else that I feel comfortable enough with to even hint at the issues that I have to deal with in my life right now. Just Brittany.

Next time- an evening at Britt's apartment.