A/N – Enter Quinn. For purposes of this story, she is not pregnant. This chapter deals with sexual abuse and self-harm. Nothing too graphic but you have been warned. Thanks for the alerts and reviews and just for sticking with me in general. Oh and I don't own anything related to Glee.
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"Brittany! No, no no no! Fuck!"
When Santana appeared in front of me, I was still crouched in the boys' locker room but I had at least managed to dress myself. She knelt down in front of me with her shaking hands hovering just beside my cheeks as if she was afraid to actually touch me. I looked up at her and tried to smile, further splitting my already bleeding lip. I then realized that she wasn't alone. Quinn was behind her, wide eyed and looking worried, and quite honestly a little sick.
"Hi San. Hi Quinn." I slurred softly.
Santana gently settled a hand on my cheek and ran a thumb over my split lip and I swore I saw tears in her eyes. And pure rage. Apparently Quinn had returned to the choir room after forgetting a book and had come across Santana screaming in the closet. Santana couldn't even tell Quinn what was happening, she just barreled down the hallway trying to reach me. Once they did find me, I don't think Quinn really needed much explanation but I'm still not entirely certain when Santana filled her in on the details.
To say their friendship was strained would be an understatement. Both were trying to be the top bitch, head cheerleader and there was only room for one. They were always trying to one up each other but had to appear civil to bystanders. Santana and Quinn were close growing up but had grown apart as every aspect of their lives was pitted against each other once high school arrived. I missed our times together. But here they were, both scrambling to come to my aid, differences cast aside.
Before I could really wrap my brain around what was happening, Santana and Quinn were helping me into Santana's car. I don't remember walking from the locker room to the parking lot but I can't imagine I was doing much on my own volition. They immediately informed me that they were taking me to the hospital but when I began to cry and begged them not to, Santana reluctantly drove to her house just to calm me down and curb the imminent panic attack.
They fretted over me, trying to convince me to go to the hospital but I just became more frantic when they mentioned it. Santana even tried to get me to agree to see her dad. He's a doctor. But that didn't make me feel any better. In the end, Quinn drew a bath and Santana helped me in and out of the tub. Her jaw clenched when she caught sight of the bruises forming.
I just sat there huddled in the water and shaking. I jumped when I felt firm arms wrap around me and felt a cry bubbling up in my throat.
"Shh, it's me Britt." Santana whispered. "It's just me. I've got you. I've got you now baby. You're safe. Everything is going to be fine baby."
I relaxed into her arms as she pulled me flush against her front. Santana gently began to help me wash myself. Honestly she did most of the work; I was too drained and numb to do much of anything more than just sit there and try to pull in another breath. When she pulled away and lifted herself out of the tub, the cold and loss of her comfortable presence hit me.
When she helped dry me off and dress me in an extra set of pajamas, she was so careful with me. Almost like she was afraid I would break. And then she silently took my hand and led me to her bed. Quinn stood off the side biting her lip nervously. I fell asleep between my two friends, Santana with her arms firmly circling my waist and flush against my back, Quinn softly humming with her arms wrapped around us both.
They stayed with me even when I woke up whimpering in the night. I dreamed of both my father and Karofsky coming into the room. But it wasn't just me they were hurting, they were also hurting Santana. But she and Quinn both held me and shushed me when I awoke. They didn't leave and I was certain they loved me.
xxxx
When I awoke again, sunlight was streaming into the room and Quinn's spot on the bed was empty. Santana was still molded to my back and holding me tightly. She must have sensed I was awake.
"Hey B." She whispered, stroking my hand with her thumb where our hands were still clasped around my belly.
I shifted slightly and turned so I could see her. Her smile was sweet but the worry was clear in her eyes. Clear to me anyway. Someone else might not have noticed but I knew my Santana. She was worried. She was worried about me and I hated that I had caused her distress. But I had to. She had to understand that I was just as protective of her as she was of me.
"San," I croaked, turning more so I was fully facing her. "Please don't be mad at me."
The look on Santana's face cut me to the bone. Her lip began to tremble and her eyes welled with tears. She scooted forward so that our foreheads were touching and cupped my face gently.
"B, I'm not mad at you. I'm not mad at anyone but Karofsky. And myself for not realizing what you were up to. I shouldn't have let you do this. And I swear to you, he will never touch you again. Do you understand me B? I'm going to kill him. I swear I am going to murder him."
I knew she would. From the look in her eyes, I knew Santana was going to kill Karofsky, or be killed herself trying. I shook my head frantically.
"No! No, San, you can't! I won't let you! They'll take you away from me! I did this to protect you, to keep you safe and you can't go and ruin that, please! I locked you in a closet to keep you away from him, don't think I won't again! I'll kill him myself San; I swear I will. They, they can lock me up forever; I don't care! I won't live if you're taken from me San, I can't!"
I was losing control. I knew it and I could tell Santana knew it too. She quickly wrapped her arms around me and I buried my head in her shoulder.
"Ok, all right baby. All right. It's ok. I'm sorry B. I didn't mean to upset you." She was trembling as she held me. I was sobbing then.
"Please, don't leave me! Please San, don't leave me alone." I knew if I didn't calm down and control myself everything would come spilling out. Everything from my parents leaving me alone to raise myself, to my father's visits whenever he was actually home. She knew about Karofsky, that was enough.
"I'm not going anywhere Brittany, I promise." She whispered softly as she stroked her fingers through my hair.
When I was calm again, I noticed Quinn had slipped back into the bed and was again holding us both. She's a quiet one that Quinn. And just as protective as Santana in her own way.
We all three missed school that day. They both pressed me to talk to them but I remembered Karofsky's threat. I didn't want him going after Santana and exposing us. He would do it too; I knew he would. I tried to hold out and keep quiet, I really did. But Santana was almost begging me to tell her if he had threatened me. She said she just needed to know what we were dealing with so she'd know better how to help and protect me. I can never say no to Santana.
So, I told them of Karofsky's new arrangement, that if anything were said about what he'd done to me, he'd still expose our secret. And that he expected me to meet with him again. I almost felt less guilty hiding what was happening with my father after telling the full truth about Karofsky. Santana sat with her jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. If Quinn was surprised to hear the extent of our relationship, she didn't show it. I think she probably knew all along.
Santana and Quinn decided that if I wouldn't go to the hospital or to the police, they were at the very least telling Coach Sylvester. She would know what to do. She would know a way to protect me from Karofsky. He had injured one of her best Cheerios after all; she would definitely be out for revenge or something. One of her secret Special Forces friends would break his kneecap or something. I was afraid she wouldn't act before Karofsky made good on his threat and that everything I had done to protect Santana wouldn't mean anything. And again, I really couldn't say no to Santana.
So, that evening we drove to the school and watched until the Cheerios practice ended. Apparently with three of her star Cheerios missing, Coach was on a rampage and the cheerleaders hobbled away at the end of practice. I immediately decided telling Coach was a bad idea. But then I saw Karofsky's truck in the distance and felt Santana's hand slip into my own giving it a firm but gentle squeeze. I silently followed Santana and Quinn into Coach's office.
Coach took one look at my split lip and bruised face and silently motioned for us to sit down. By the time our tale was through, Coach Sylvester's face had shown more emotion than I could ever remember seeing. Santana had done most of the talking and I could only nod when Coach directly asked me a question. Santana kept my hand grasped firmly in her own, and Quinn kept a hand on my shoulder.
Coach Sylvester said we did the right thing in coming to her. She offered to call the police herself but when another panic attack began to seize me, Coach agreed that the less attention brought to the situation the better. She promised to handle things but didn't say how it would be done. In a strange way, we all trusted her to help us. More like I trusted Santana and she seemed convinced that we could trust Coach so that was enough for me.
We returned to Santana's house that evening and we stayed at her house again the following day. She said Coach would understand if we missed another practice and it wasn't as if I needed to worry about falling behind in classes. I couldn't remember the last time I had really tried to learn anything. My spot on the Cheerios pretty much guaranteed me passing grades.
Santana just held me and I slept most of the day. Quinn went to school as usual and called us later that evening. Karofsky had been shipped off to some military school in Idaho and Coach Sylvester seemed convinced he would be on the front lines in some desert in the Middle East by the end of the week. It certainly was not what we expected but he was gone nonetheless, and gone in a way that only Coach Sylvester could arrange.
Santana and I returned to school after one more day out. I was terrified as we approached the doors to the school. Santana held my hand firmly and gave me a small smile as we pushed our way down the halls. I received quite a few questioning looks. We had tried to cover the bruises with extra makeup but my split lip was difficult to disguise. Santana was viciously protective all day and shoved more than a few people out of our way. Quinn even snapped at the kids in Glee club when they began to get a little too bold with their questions. She and Santana just passed it off as a typical "Brittany" incident and no one seemed to question it after that.
Santana and I began to spend most nights together again. She was pretty close to her parents, her mother especially, even after they had split up. So her mother could tell something was up but didn't question when I would sit silently huddled in their living room and then follow Santana upstairs. For the first few weeks I was terrified of letting Santana out of my sight. She asked once if I needed her to call my parents. I tried to ignore her surprised look when I told her I didn't know where they were and hadn't seen them since the night before the Karofsky incident. She didn't push it further. She simply held me in her arms night after night.
It was nice, feeling as if I had someone who actually wanted to help carry the burden I was struggling under. I wanted to tell Santana everything, I did. But I decided that I would accept her support with the Karofsky thing and pretend it covered all my troubles. It was enough for a while.
I couldn't understand why I was having so much trouble coping with Karofsky when I had been forced by my father multiple times over the course of multiple years. And I really was proud of myself for protecting Santana. But I was drowning, I was certain of it. I only hoped I didn't drag Santana down with me. My sacrifice would have been for nothing if I caused Santana further pain and I couldn't allow that. I loved her and you protect the ones you love.
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It was few months or so after Karofsky and I was again spending the night with Santana. I had fallen asleep with her wrapped protectively around me but when my eyes cracked open sometime in the middle of the night, I immediately felt her absence and the chill against my back.
I stayed completely still while my eyes adjusted to the darkness. It wasn't long before an almost imperceptible sniffling reached my ears. I rolled over quietly and felt my heart clench at the sight of Santana curled into a ball and crying quietly. She was biting down on her finger to keep from waking me with her sobs.
I inched closer to her wrapped her in my arms. She stiffened.
"Please San." I whispered. "Let me hold you for once. Please?"
I held her as she finally let herself cry. Santana wasn't known for saying things like "thank you" or "I'm sorry" to anyone but as her sobs began to fade I could make out her plea for forgiveness over and over. It hit me then, she felt guilty. I had tried to protect her and keep her safe and while I honestly did what I thought was best, I still only managed to cause her pain. It had to stop. I had to be ok. Somehow, I had pull myself together.
"San?"
"Yeah B?" she asked, turning in my arms so that we were facing each other.
"You don't have to worry about me." I said firmly. "I'm ok. And I wouldn't do anything differently. He's gone and as long as he can't hurt you, he can't hurt me. So don't cry. Don't be upset. Don't you see, as long as I have you and you're ok, I'm ok. I'm going to be ok San."
I leaned in then and pressed my lips to her forehead. I don't know if Santana really believed what I said or if she just wanted to. I don't know if she thought I was already healing nicely or if in my obliviousness I had already forgotten, but she smiled and seemed calmer. And that was all that mattered.
We made love that night for the first time since Karofsky. Looking back, it was clearly too soon and I was in no way ready to be intimate again but I needed to show her I could still be myself around her. I tried to block out the images of Karofsky and focus on Santana. The girl I loved was making love to me. Her touch was so tender and gentle I wanted to cry at the beauty of it. Her touch was healing. And as we caught our breath and held each other tightly, I could only hope she felt as loved as I did in that moment.
xxxx
As I've said numerous times, and it should be quite obvious, I've never been particularly smart. But my spacey personality isn't all just my lack of intelligence. Disassociation is the word the psychology people use I think. As I mentioned, apparently from the time my father began coming into my room as a child, I began to let my mind wander to make the time easier. It seemed perfectly normal but after the Karofsky thing, it began to happen more and more often.
I became even more spacey and off the wall as high school wore on. Even though Karofsky was gone, my father was home more often now as the inheritance began to run low. Even though he hurt me night after night, I couldn't bring myself to hate him. Maybe it was because he always cried after. Karofsky didn't cry.
The first night he came to my room after my meeting with Karofsky was the first night he left me in tears since I was a child. It was the first time I hadn't been able to block him out and I was painfully aware of his every move and touch. I wanted to call Santana, to have her come comfort me but I knew I couldn't. I was still trying to convince her that I was moving on and doing ok and if I called her in that state, I was afraid that I'd end up spilling about my father. I needed Santana to continue to believe I was coping. Which meant I had to actually go back to my house from time to time.
We tried to carry on normally; everyone thought it would be best. Only Santana, Quinn, Coach Sylvester and I knew what had happened. And Karofsky of course, wherever he was. No one else suspected a thing. We were still the three top Cheerios and seemingly on top of the world. We were so normal in fact, that Santana went back to Puck. After everything, she went back to him. It felt like a knife twisting in my gut but I couldn't complain really, she still always came back to me too. And she insisted that I was the one she loved, not Puck. And I knew she still worried about me and the strain was beginning to show. I was draining and if Puck helped ease her worries, I couldn't complain. Not out loud anyway.
I tried to control my emotions but it was getting harder all the time. The first time I cut myself, it was purely by accident. I was helping Santana's mother in the kitchen which was a disaster waiting to happen really. She asked me to chop some vegetables or something and before I knew it, I had sliced my thumb and blood was dripping.
At her mother's exclamation, Santana came running and they helped clean up the mess and bandage my thumb. Mrs. Lopez said she didn't think stitches were necessary and quickly shooed me out of the kitchen to avoid further incident. I vividly remember feeling the blade slice into my skin. I remember seeing the blood surface and then begin to drip. But mostly, I remember my scattered thoughts and emotions going still and calm. I had never felt so calm before; it was as if the world around me slowed and I could catch my breath. Sure, my thumb hurt, but in that moment, nothing else did. I gave Santana the first genuine smile she had seen since the whole Karofsky thing started. And the smile I received in return from her reminded me again; everything I had done for her was more than worth it, because I had done it for love.
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I was seventeen when my mother left my father. She left him for some traveling salesman. It was quite ridiculous really, the middle-aged housewife running off with a man she met on her doorstep selling vacuum cleaners or encyclopedias or shoes or something. My father was crushed and unfortunately I was his only source of comfort.
He somehow found out that I had in fact had sex with other people, I'm not sure how. He seemed almost hurt and my father became even more aggressive and the nights he didn't come to my room were few and far between. It was almost as if he was jealous. I was sick every morning before going to school and my usually form fitting Cheerio's uniform began to sag. Normally Coach Sylvester would praise us for weight loss but at our weekly weigh-ins, she would simply clench her jaw and record my new numbers. She never yelled at me and she yelled at everyone. But she never asked how I was doing. My performance wasn't suffering so why would she.
My little habit of cutting myself became an almost nightly event during this time. While the feel of the blade slipping through my skin still calmed my mind and emotions for a time, my tolerance was building and I found I needed to do it more and cut deeper each time. By the end of my junior year my stomach was riddled with scars. I had to be careful not to cut where anyone could see and with the ever-shortening length of our Cheerios skirts, I wasn't left with very many options. I quit showering in the Cheerios locker room and became intensely guarded with my body.
My nights with Santana were also few and far between. We were still close of course but I kept finding excuses for why she couldn't come over. When we were actually together, always at her home, I refused to take my shirt off and she didn't question. I suppose she felt she was being supportive and that it was just an after effect of my incident with Karofsky. As hard as I tried to appear as though everything was fine and I was fine, occasionally I would break down. But Santana was my safe place, just as I had been for her. I just had to make sure it didn't happen often. I didn't want to scare her.
I could tell Santana missed me even though she was spending more and more time with Puck. I desperately wanted her to ignore my excuses and slip into my room every night, or better yet, catch my father when he came in so that maybe, just maybe she would be able to save me from him too. But she stayed away.
Even Quinn seemed to distance herself. I don't think she knew what to do. She and Santana stayed close to me all during school hours but we never talked about Karofsky. To the rest of the glee kids I was just my normal crazy self even if I was even more mentally absent than ever before. I wanted one of them, someone, to confront me, to ask me what was going on. Mostly I wanted Santana to be the one to come to my rescue and pull me out of whatever pit I could feel myself slipping into but she was not a mind reader and she was at a loss for how to help me. I ached for her but couldn't tell her.
After the rare instances that we were together I would sometimes cry quietly and she would hold me in her arms. Sometimes she would cry with me. But she never pushed me to talk. And I never brought any of my issues up to her; I was convinced she still had enough of her own problems to deal with. But I was slowly dying and trying desperately to hide it from her.
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I'm not sure what caused me to hit my breaking point. I don't know if it was my father coming into my room every night for three weeks straight or the news that Karofsky had gotten some kind of great medal of honor or valor or whatever. Or maybe it was the stress of Nationals looming for both Glee and the Cheerios. Or maybe it was the fact that Santana and I hadn't spent a single night together in almost a month. I honestly don't know.
All I remember is that one night when I was supposed to be at Rachel's house for some Glee practice I was crouched on the floor in the Cheerio's locker room with a razor in my hand and my leg bleeding profusely. I couldn't even care that I was ruining my appearance and that Coach Sylvester would not be pleased.
That day after practice when Santana left with Puck, I just couldn't take it any more and I remained behind. I crumbled almost immediately as soon as I was left alone. I wasn't aware of how much time passed but apparently when I didn't show up to Rachel's, they began to worry. Santana was almost frantic and she insisted that the glee kids set out in search of me.
While Santana decided to head to the park where I like to feed the ducks, Quinn headed back to the school to see if I had remained behind after Cheerio's practice. She found me huddled on the floor, my hand shaking as the razor hovered over my already bleeding leg.
"Oh my God, Brittany." She whispered. She crouched next to me and wrapped her trembling hand around my own. "Sweetheart, give me the razor."
I remember looking up into her soft eyes and seeing the worry and compassion. I remembered that night that she held Santana and me after they brought me home from the incident with Karofsky. I couldn't get my brain to cooperate and form words so I simply allowed her to take the razor from my hand and she threw it viciously across the locker room.
"Brittany," she said softly, trying to break me out of my stupor, "how long has this been going on? Brittany? Sweetheart talk to me."
I could only whimper as I cried out once for Santana. Quinn kept a hand on me as she whipped out her phone and dialed our friend.
"Yes, I found her. She's in the Cheerio's locker room. She needs you Santana. Hurry!"
The next few minutes were a blur as Quinn tried to wrap towels around my leg to stop the bleeding. I couldn't do anything more than sit there crying, dazed. And then the door was thrown open and Santana came rushing in, hair wild around her face and her jaw clenched tightly.
She stumbled over to me, her eyes widening in shock at the sight of the blood that was dripping down my leg and pooling underneath me. "Brittany?"
And just like that, I was in her arms and being rocked as she whispered into my hair. I have no idea what she said but I felt safe. I was safe.
Santana and I finally pulled apart but she kept her arms around me. "I'm so sorry B. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone. I said I wouldn't and I did. I should have paid more attention to you. God, I'm so sorry."
I just mumbled into her shoulder that it was fine; I was really fine. I couldn't meet her eyes. I can't say for certain but I'm pretty sure the fact that I couldn't look at her added to her guilt. She cried. Santana doesn't cry in front of anyone but I've lost count of the times she's cried in front of me, for me, and I hated it. I hated I drove her to what she considered a sign of weakness yet again.
"B?" Quinn said softly off to the side. I'd forgotten she was even there. "Why don't you let us to take you home?"
And just with those soft-spoken words, I shattered.
"No!" I screamed, startling them both. I shoved at them trying to clamber to my feet and break away from them. I couldn't go back there, ever. I wouldn't. I was to the point that I would rather dig the razor into my wrist and sever every artery and vein there than go back to my father.
"Brittany?" Santana asked, stunned. She was quick on her feet and was reaching for me before my muddled mind could convince my legs to do more than shake.
"I said no! I won't go back there! I'm not! I can't!" As I spun to bolt for the door, pain shot through the leg that I had just mangled and it gave way underneath me. I fell back to the floor with an anguished cry and again, Santana threw her arms around me and pulled me into her lap, whispering softly.
"Ok, ok B." Santana said quietly. "You'll come home with me. And you can stay there as long as you want. I have fucked up enough Brittany. You need me and from here on out, I'm here for you, I'm yours. I'm going to take care of you. I'm yours B. I love you. I am so fucking sorry Brittany! I'm so sorry."
Her words registered but only barely. It was exactly what I wanted to hear but in the back of my mind I saw her leaving me again every time Puck called for her. I saw her shrugging off my touches in school. I saw her leaving me alone, with my father. I curled further into myself and put my hands over my ears. I rocked back and forth slightly, mumbling intelligibly.
"Britt? Please look at me."
I released a shaky breath and finally raised my eyes. Santana cradled my face in her hands and thumbed my tears away. She was no longer crying and in her eyes I saw not only worry and compassion, but also sincerity.
"I know I haven't given you any reason to lately, but please Brittany, please trust me." She whispered.
At my timid nod, Santana gave a pained smile and pressed her lips to my forehead. Quinn slid closer to us and again placed a comforting hand on both of us.
Santana and Quinn helped me to my feet and with one on either side of me; I limped out of the locker room to Santana's car. Quinn had sent a text to the rest of the glee kids to tell them that I was on my way to Santana's. If they pressured for information, she didn't show it. I felt so small and helpless. But for the first time in longer than I could remember, as we pulled into Santana's driveway, I knew I was safe and I honestly wanted nothing more than to fall asleep without having to listen for the creak of my bedroom door.
xxxx
Santana's mom gave us startled looks as we entered the home. She looked me up and down; taking in my pale, tear streaked face and my bloody hands and legs and made a move to approach us. Santana gave her a pleading look that stopped her in her tracks. Mrs. Lopez was a fairly well known attorney in town. She could totally have given that hot Latina judge on the People's Court a run for her money but she was happy in real estate. But she had great connections and that would serve to help me later.
She gave Santana a questioning look but their relationship was a remarkable one. She just nodded and slipped back into her den, confident Santana would find her before too long and explain.
Much like the night of the Karofsky incident, Quinn ran a bath for me while Santana simply sat holding me. When the bath was ready, I was terrified. They were both standing there waiting for me to undress and slip into the tub but taking off my uniform would reveal the multitude of scars riddling my torso and hips. I was ashamed.
"Um…can you guys turn around?" I said in my typical monotone voice. Both narrowed their eyes in my direction, Santana even quirked a brow.
"B…"
"Please?" I whispered, dropping my head. I stood there, my bottom lip between my teeth and unable to meet their worried gazes.
Santana stepped closer, tentatively placing her hand on my arm. "Why B? Is it because you don't want us to see more scratches?"
They were far from scratches but even I could tell she was attempting to put me at ease by making me think it wasn't as big a deal to show them as I thought. She's so smart my Santana. I nodded slowly, eyes still on the floor.
"I'll um, leave you two alone." Quinn said softly as she slipped out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Santana lifted my chin, searching for my gaze. "Please, B. It's all going to be ok. I'm going to take care of you, I promise. Let me see you, please? I promise I won't leave you again and there's nothing you can show me or tell me that will make me love you any less. B?"
I scratched my neck absent-mindedly and gave a small nod. I slowly unzipped and peeled my baggy uniform away, revealing my marred skin. Many cuts had already scarred but some were fresh and scabbed. To Santana's credit, she didn't cringe or curse or run out. She just bit her lip and clenched her jaw before stepping even closer to me and wrapping her arms around me.
She helped me out of my undergarments and into the tub. While I sat huddled in the water, arms wrapped around my knees, Santana bathed me and washed my hair, much like she had the night with Karofsky. And she sang to me. Santana had the most beautiful voice. Mr. Schuester should totally have given her more solos in Glee.
After I was cleaned up Santana again helped me out of the tub. She wrapped me in a warm towel drying me off. She steered me to sit on the edge of the tub while she rummaged around the medicine cabinet for something to put on my raw leg. She knelt before me and looked up at me with questioning eyes. I shrugged and nodded and she began bandaging my wounds.
A soft knock on the door sounded and Quinn asked if she could come in. I nodded again and Santana called for her. Quinn slipped in and was holding sweatpants and a t-shirt for me to wear. I hugged the towel tighter to my body, keeping my eyes on Santana's hands as she finished her task.
Quinn stepped closer, holding up the sweatpants for me to step into. I again kept my eyes to the ground as I put first one foot in and then the other, still clutching the towel around my waist and chest.
"B." Santana said softly. She reached for one of my hands. I hadn't realized I was holding the towel so tightly my knuckles had turned white and I was shaking, my breaths coming in short raspy, gasps. "It's just Quinn, we're the unholy trinity remember? You don't have to hide anything from either of us."
"That's right B." Quinn said holding the t-shirt. "I'm your friend too, I'm not going anywhere. I love you…but not quite like Santana does."
Santana snorted and I chuckled. I actually laughed a little. And then I remembered everything that was so fucking wrong with my life and my laugh turned to sobs. Body wracking, heart wrenching sobs.
I don't actually remember how I ended up curled on the bed, in the t-shirt, my head in Santana's lap as she ran her fingers through my hair. Quinn was beside us, a hand resting on my leg. I don't know how long they let me cry. When my sobs turned to nothing more than whimpers, Santana took a deep breath and lifted me to an almost sitting position.
"Britt," she said cautiously. "We have to talk about this. Please, tell us what's going on. We want to help you. How long has this been happening?"
I wiped a hand across my face. It was still wet with tears and my nose was running. I was a disgusting mess. Quinn reached and wiped at my eyes and nose with her sleeve. Santana scooted closer and wrapped her arms around my waist, her chin resting on my shoulder.
"Um…since that day I was helping your mom in the kitchen and I cut my thumb." I said softly, still unable to meet either of their gazes. Santana tensed. That had been months ago. Six months to be exact.
"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I'm so sorry B. I should have noticed. This whole thing is my fault and you should not have to be dealing with this alone. I wish Karofsky would come back from wherever the fuck he is so I can castrate him."
"I don't know what that means." I mumbled. "It's not your fault San."
"It's Dave's fault." Quinn said softly. "But that's not what's important right now. Brittany, you can't keep doing this. Sweetheart, you can't keep hurting yourself like this. We want to help but maybe you need to talk to someone, like a professional. Maybe Miss Pillsbury has a pamphlet or something. Or maybe your dad knows a counselor."
At the mention of my father I felt a familiar hand closing around my throat, I couldn't breathe. I was panicking again and my breaths came in short gasps. Before I could control myself I was clawing at the bandage on my leg. Santana and Quinn both grabbed for my hands to stop me before I could inflict any further damage.
"Britt! Stop!" Santana cried trying to hold me still. "It's ok, stop, everything is fine B! Please!"
It was then that Quinn went deathly still.
"B? Why don't you want to go home? Is there something going on in your house? Is someone hurting you?"
I don't know how Quinn figured it out. I tried so hard to keep it a secret. But when she was sitting there staring at me with her wide hazel eyes and squeezing my hand, I just couldn't lie to her. I couldn't find the words so I just nodded and looked anywhere but at Santana who went rigid next to me.
"B?" San asked. "What do you mean someone is hurting you? Who's hurting you? Brittany?"
"Um…my dad." I whispered, still not meeting their eyes.
"Brittany." Santana breathed. "Oh God, no. Tell me he's not…Not this, anything but this. This isn't fair, it isn't fucking fair!"
Then Santana was firmly gripping my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. "I love you." She said hoarsely. "I love you Brittany. You know that right? I love you. Please talk to us, don't shut us out. Don't shut me out."
I broke again. I spent the next very tense few minutes telling my story. I told Santana and Quinn everything from when my father first came to my room; to the time my parents left me alone for weeks to fend for myself; to how my father came looking for me almost every night since my mother left.
I told them about the cutting and how it helped if for only a few minutes. It took a bit of convincing that I really wasn't attempting suicide, I was just trying to ease the pain a little. I told them everything. By the end of it, Quinn was crying silently and Santana was trembling in rage. She began spitting a string of curse words in that foreign language she and Mr. Schuester know. But they didn't leave. They stayed with me through another long night.
Although, at some point in the night I awoke to soft whispers coming from the en suite bathroom. I could make out Santana's muffled sobs and Quinn whispering.
"She couldn't tell me! Her father has been hurting her for years and she couldn't fucking tell me! Oh God, I'm so sorry. I've done nothing but hurt her; I let her down Quinn. I should have protected her! She's-she's so innocent! How could he? How could I not know?"
"Santana," Quinn replied insistently, "Listen to me. You know now. And the important thing is what you do now. She trusted us to tell us about this and we have to be there for her. Beating yourself up isn't going to help her. Brittany loves you and I'm pretty sure one reason she never told you is because she wanted to protect you. You know she loves you."
"I know. I know and I love her too!" Santana cried. "And I'm going to make this up to her. I'm going to be so there for her that she's going to get sick of me. Brittany has to be ok. She will be, I'll make sure of it. We can fix this."
It was quiet for a few seconds until I heard Santana continue. "Come on, let's get back in there. I don't want her waking up alone."
I never told Santana that I heard them that night. I pretended to still be asleep when they crawled back into bed but I immediately curled up closer to her. I like to think I was comforting her just as much as she was comforting me.
xxxx
The next morning when my cell phone began to vibrate and my home number was displayed, Santana just held me tighter and Quinn tossed the phone away, much as she had done with the razor the night before in the locker room.
And when their doorbell rang later in the day and my father's voice sounded from the foyer, Santana was out the door and racing towards him before we could stop her. Quinn and I followed and by the time we reached the downstairs foyer, Santana's mother was trying to pull her off of my father.
His nose was bleeding and she had pinned him to the door. In the midst of her snarling rage, I could make out a few of the curse words she taught me in her special language. I also heard her threatening to remove certain body parts if he ever touched me again. My father was frozen against the door until he saw that Quinn and I had joined Mrs. Lopez and Santana who was still struggling against her mother's hold. I felt a shiver run down my spine when our eyes met.
"Pumpkin?" he asked, an unreadable expression on his face. He reached a hand toward me and Santana snapped again while Quinn pulled me firmly against her side.
"Oh fuck no!" Santana cried and once again tried to throw herself at him. "You don't get to touch her. You don't get to talk to her. You don't get to think about her! You sick fuck! She's your daughter; she was just a kid! How could you?"
I think Mrs. Lopez got the idea of what was going on at that point. She quickly reached for a phone and shoved Santana behind her. "You get the hell out of my house Stanley before I call the police."
"Brittany, baby, come on home." He tried again reaching for me. "You're upset, come home and we'll talk about it. You don't want to leave me home all alone do you baby?" His voice was beginning to hint at an edge of panic settling in and his eyes were darting back and forth rapidly.
Mrs. Lopez had shoved him out of the door and had it locked behind him before my foggy, shocked brain could form a reaction other than cowering by Quinn's side. Santana returned to my side once he was outside.
"Never again baby," she cooed, running a hand through my hair and stroking my face continually. "He's never going to hurt you again, I promise. I promise Brittany."
When I looked up, Mrs. Lopez was watching us with a pained expression. "Oh, Dios mio." She whispered. She stepped in front of me and with Quinn and Santana on either side of me; she wrapped her arms around all three of us.
Many tissues later, Mrs. Lopez finally separated herself from our position on the couch where we had all been crying. She told me she would help me, that I was safe, and that I could stay with them for as long as I needed. With a squeeze to Santana's shoulder, Mrs. Lopez retreated to her study to begin the legal process to keep my father away from me forever.
xxxx
I don't know all the details. I just know that Mrs. Lopez called every attorney in town she knew to help protect me. By the end of the day I had a restraining order against him and my legal guardianship was temporarily transferred to Mrs. Lopez herself.
My mother was called. Again, I don't know the details; I just know she didn't come running back to help me. In fact I think I've seen her maybe four times since she left. It's ok though. I like to pretend she didn't know what was going on under her own roof but even I'm not that naïve.
I was faced with the possibility of a long drawn out court battle if I decided to press criminal charges. I didn't think I could handle that. I couldn't get up in front of strangers and tell what he had done to me for years. We all understood that if a defense attorney pressured too much, I could easily get confused on the stand and who knew what could happen.
So again, Mrs. Lopez came to the rescue. Somehow, and to this day I don't know how, but she convinced, or maybe threatened, my father into giving up his parental rights. He agreed to never have contact with me ever again. I also like to pretend that this was his way of apologizing for all the pain he had caused, but again, I'm sure it had more to do with the embarrassment and backlash his reputation would suffer if anyone suspected he was involved in something like this. And the possibility of jail time if convicted.
And is it fair that my father wasn't really punished for what he had done to me all those years? No, just like it wasn't fair that Dave Karofsky wasn't other than being sent to the middle of a war zone. But much of life isn't fair but at least he was finally out of my life. And I had to make the best out of what life had dealt me.
And so, more than halfway through my senior year of high school, I officially moved in with Santana and her mother and tried desperately to put this chapter of my life behind me.
xxxx
Somehow, along with agreeing to stay away from me, my father also agreed to pay for any counseling and medication that might be necessary. Mr. Lopez had been contacted throughout this ordeal as well. He used his connections in the medical community to find the best psychologist in the area for me to meet with. It was all a very confusing and scary time for me.
I was shocked to find that there were medications to help deal with this disassociation thing they said I had developed. That was the first time I heard that word when I was explaining how I would separate myself from what was going on around me to make the time pass quicker. Apparently it was a normal occurrence for someone suffering through a traumatic experience. It was nice to know I wasn't crazy, as I had always assumed, along with most people around me.
There are also medications for things like posttraumatic stress syndrome and even for some learning disabilities. With the right dosages and regular counseling sessions, I found I could actually remember school assignments and class materials enough to receive legitimate passing grades all on my own. I was far from an A student even with the help but I was passing all on my own.
The day I voluntarily raised my hand to answer a question in Mr. Schuester's Spanish class and actually gave the correct answer, I'm not sure who was the proudest, Santana, who gave me a beaming smile and squeezed my hand, Mr. Schuester who told me that I was making excellent progress, or myself. It's the first time I remember answering anything correctly in any class.
The glee kids all found out what had happened. I assume Quinn had informed them but I don't know for certain. They originally seemed afraid to be around me, not certain how to act. One stinging lecture from Santana that they were to treat me normally or they'd have her to answer to seemed to set things back to rights pretty quickly. Rachel of course suggested we all sing through our emotions. It's just lucky Puck and Finn were finally able to pull Santana off of her before any real damage was done. After their initial awkward glances, they were nothing but supportive and Glee continued to be a cherished time for me. Apparently there were more people in my life who loved me than I ever imagined.
xxxx
I graduated from high school a few months after I was separated from my father. I was proud but still completely overwhelmed with everything that had happened to me. I wish I could say the rest of my journey was all smooth sailing and rainbows. But that just isn't realistic.
I had been abused repeatedly from the time I was ten years old and the pain and damage doesn't ever fully go away. There were still many nights that I woke up screaming and sweating and Santana, and sometimes her mother, would have to physically hold me down to keep me from harming myself in the middle of one of my night terrors. I still had the occasional relapse into cutting myself. Certain little things would set me off. But with the help of the counselors and Santana of course, I learned to express myself and what I was feeling with other methods than reaching for a razor. I learned I didn't have to bottle everything up and protect everyone around me. I was actually learning to take care of myself.
Santana had been accepted to a number of colleges. I hadn't even applied because before, the idea would have been crazy and now, I knew even with the progress I had made that college wasn't for me, at least not yet. She told me she would stay in Lima to be with me if I wanted but I knew there was no way I could allow her to sacrifice her future for me. So I timidly, and in all honesty, fearfully, suggested that maybe I could just follow her to whatever school she decided to attend.
"I could work somewhere and keep you company while you study. If you want I mean. I don't have to go with you if you don't want me to, I understand." I ended in a rush.
Santana just stood there with an almost dumbfounded look on her face. "You would do that? You would follow me to a new place, just to be with me?"
It was as if she had never considered that I would follow her even though following her was what I had done for the majority of my life. There was no question that Santana would have an apartment wherever she decided to attend school. Her parents were quite well off and between the two of them, paying her rent and tuition was no problem. I was afraid to intrude but I knew I had to be near Santana. I just hoped she would want me to follow one more time.
"I'd follow you anywhere San." I whispered. "And I wouldn't be a burden I promise. I'll take all my medication and go to all the counseling sessions; I'll be good. I'll help you study and I'll clean up after you and I-"
I didn't get to finish my sentence because Santana had engulfed me in a fierce embrace and pressed her lips to mine. I took that as an invitation to tag along to NYU with her. We came out to her mother that same night. Mrs. Lopez thanked us for telling her but with a smirk so much like her daughter's, informed us that she'd known since we were 15 due to the noises that often came from Santana's bedroom. I could have died from embarrassment. Until she stepped closer to us and wrapped her arms around her daughter and me and kissed us both on the cheek and said she loved us. Then I was pretty sure I could have died from happiness.
xxxx
I was 24 when Santana asked me to marry her. Life was going well. Quinn and even a few of the other glee kids had moved to New York City and we had all grown even closer over the years. Quinn was still our best friend and even lived with us for a time. Santana had been accepted to law school after graduating from NYU and the weekend before she proposed, she had just found out that she had passed the bar exam on the first try. We were ecstatic.
I had been teaching a youth dance class and she was going to be an attorney. We had moved into a nice apartment and I hadn't had a night terror in almost a year. We were happy; life was good.
I came home from my last dance class of the night to find the apartment dark except for candles lit everywhere throughout the apartment. Rose petals dropped on the floor led the way to our dining area where a table was set for two with more candles and more roses. And there was Santana waiting for me.
After a perfect dinner that I still swear she ordered up instead of cooking as she had insisted, she took my hand in hers and asked if I would spend the rest of my life with her. It was the easiest question I had ever been asked.
Six months later we were married. My family of course did not attend. But that was ok, our friends came and Santana's family came. Even most of our old glee friends came. I couldn't be sad that my own parents weren't there, not when we had so many people with us who loved us.
We wrote our own vows for the ceremony. I borrowed a few lines from a song I had come to love. By the end of our vows there weren't very many dry eyes in the place but for once, they were happy tears. It was everything I could have dreamed of and Santana was breathtaking. We've been married a few years now and I must say, I still wake up with a smile each and every morning because I get to wake up next to my best friend.
Has our life together been perfect? Of course not. Santana was well, Santana for quite a while in high school and I also made a lot of decisions that hurt the both of us. But looking back over the years, Santana has always been my constant and I honestly wouldn't change a thing. Because even with each and every twist and turn and up and down of our journey, it was still our journey and if even one of those twists were to be removed, we may not have ended up here, together and happy. So no, there is nothing I would change. It's like the song says,
We did what we had to do. Won't forget, can't regret, what I did for love.
A/N – Well there it is. I truly appreciate those who read through the difficult subject matter. I was torn between two endings but reading back through it, I thought the poor gals deserved a happy ending. And the song mentioned at the end (and the story title…and basically inspiration for the story itself) is "What I did for Love" by Marvin Hamlisch and Edward Kleban. Thanks for reading.