She was silent for the length of the ride, nearly sitting in Brittany's lap with how closely she sat while still being buckled, her head against her shoulder and her hands grasping both of Brittany's. She stayed right at Brittany's heels and grasping onto her as they finally entered the apartment, letting go only to allow Brittany to take off her jacket. Santana herself didn't bother to even take off her shoes, let alone her jacket. She just nodded in response to Brittany's question, knowing that she wouldn't care or hardly notice what movie was playing with the exhausted tangle of thoughts and emotions in her mind and body. She just wanted to be held right now, for as long as Brittany was willing.
Brittany registered, after she'd kicked her own sneakers off, that Santana wasn't following suit, despite the fact that she was inches away from her. She'd largely been wrapped up in her own thoughts about therapy, but the sudden stillness from Santana centered her, focused her thoughts on what she needed to - take care of Santana.
"C'mere, Babe," Brittany tugged her toward her by the lapel of Santana's jacket, unzipping it for her and pushing it down her arms, letting it fall to the floor discarded before crouching down to untie the laces in her sneakers, easing them off her feet and setting them on the floor, tossing the jacket over a kitchen chair before pulling Santana to her by the waist, collapsing onto the couch and opening her arms for Santana to crawl into them. Once they were settled, Brittany tugged the throw blanket from the back of the couch, tucking it over Santana's body. Truthfully, part of her hoped Santana would fall asleep, but she knew, if Santana's mind was anything close to Brittany's, it was spinning.
She was only half paying attention when she put Luca on the TV- their favorite, knowing she just wanted to hold Santana as close as possible. "You did amazing today," She hushed once the movie had begun in the background, lovingly stroking Santana's hair.
Santana let herself be manipulated around gently by Brittany, lifting her arms as needed for her to undo and remove her jacket and lifting her feet for her to remove her shoes. She felt like a little kid being taken care of in a way, and it was both a strange and comforting feeling. As she let Brittany tug her onto the couch with her and collapsed full bodily against her chest, she pressed most of her face into Brittany's neck and shoulder, her heart beating a little faster than normal, only one eye partly able to partly see what was on the TV. The noise is a soothing background to her thoughts more than anything.
As Brittany strokes her hair, her arm tight around her waist, Santana breathes out shakily, mumbling into Brittany's warm skin as she wraps her own arm tight around her shoulders.
"I can't believe I said all that. I didn't mean to say all that. I don't even know her. I never say any of that. What's she going to do now? We don't talk about that stuff, I never say that stuff."
She lifts her head a little to gauge Brittany's response, anxiety in her expression. "I'm sorry you had to read that stuff," she said again, feeling the need to say this in spite of Brittany telling her to be honest and not worry about making her sad. "I know you hate it. I hate it too."
She couldn't say she was surprised at Santana's disbelief - she'd experienced a similar feeling watching Santana open up to the therapist so much, although it was the best case scenario and a far better one than Brittany had expected.
"It's a good thing that you said all that," Brittany assured her, pushing the hair back from Santana's face when she lifted her head just a little. "I know it was hard, but the more you tell Kate, the more she can help. I'm so, so proud that you did that," Brittany reminded her.
Brittany could tell Santana's apology was heartfelt, but she shook her head gently. "Don't apologize, it made me sad, because I care about you, but it was important for me to read too," Brittany nodded. Always, she would choose the sadness that came with knowing things rather than not knowing them at all, especially when it came to Santana and how she was feeling. "If you don't say it that doesn't mean it's not true," She pointed out. "I'm glad I know all those things, even if they were hard to read. You feel how you feel." Brittany rested her head against the top of Santana's, twirling the ends of her wavy hair through her fingers. "That was the strongest thing I've ever seen anybody do," Brittany admitted quietly.
Santana took this in, Brittany's acceptance of her and her feelings, however huge and messy they were, however dark and difficult. She took in her pride in her, and although her lips twitched into a brief smile, recognizing that it was genuine and appreciating it, she was still wrestling with the aftermath of her disclosures, and what they meant to her now and to Brittany.
"I wish it wasn't true," she said softly. "Any of it. I wish none of it ever happened. And that I was different. I want to be different. I try so hard to be, and I just...I just can't be."
It was how she had felt in high school too, the push and pull tug of wanting to be open, wanting to love and feel boldly and shine out the truth of herself, no matter how flawed and different from the norm or familial or societal expectations of her that self was. She had not been given the option to show herself in the way or timing she had needed or wanted, and although the situation and circumstances were different now, although she had chosen herself what to say and share, the feeling of exposure afterward was still there.
As Brittany played with her hair, clearly working on soothing her, Santana let her head come back down heavily against her chest. She went quiet for a few moments, but when Brittany told her that she had been brave- that she had been braver than anyone else she knew, she lifted her face slightly, tears stinging her eyes and choking her voice as she answered, "Then why don't I feel brave? Why do I feel so scared all the time? I'm even scared now, and it's over."
Brittany sighed, making Santana's body rise and fall under her chest. "I know, me too." Brittany agreed softly. Surely, Santana's life would've been worlds easier if she hadn't had to deal with all the obstacles she faced. "I don't want you to be any different," Brittany clarified after, "I love who you are, but I wish everything had been easier for you. You didn't deserve it." She thought back to the lanky, young Santana who she'd first befriended - why had the world been so cruel to her? It was something Brittany asked herself often but never quite found the answer to.
Santana's head weighed heavy on her chest, and she thought, for a few moments, she might've been successfully lulling her to sleep, but she lifted her head moments later, her face just inches from Brittany's, close enough for Brittany to see all the different shades of brown that exploded through Santana's irises like constellations. Her voice was choked, and Brittany pouted, bringing her hands up to frame Santana's face.
"Because you still went through all those things," Brittany reminded her gently. "And they're scary to remember and talk about." Her voice was lullaby soft, seeing the cracks in Santana's emotions plainly as they held each other's gaze. "Being strong doesn't mean you're not afraid anymore. What you did was brave because you were afraid but you told the therapist anyway, you wrote things down for the first time that you'd never really said before. And talking about it is a big deal because that's important for Kate to help." She hushed, wishing she could take away Santana's pained expression.
Santana drank in Brittany's features, the alternating glint and glimmer of her sky blue eyes as her emotions shone out from them. She could see in her gentle yet resolute expression that Brittany truly believed what she told her, just how much she loved her and was proud of her, and Santana blinked hard, trying to swallow down her own emotion, to maintain control. Nevertheless a few tears slipped out, wetting Brittany's hands around her face. It didn't hurt as much as she thought it would to cry. It almost felt better, in a way.
"That was so hard," she whispered, one hand drifting up to cover one of Brittany's. "I try not to talk about it or think about it, any of it, because maybe then I can forget, maybe I won't feel anything about it anymore. But it doesn't work. It never really works, even when I try really hard. Brittany, I've been trying so hard."
That too is a piece of what hurts. All Santana's life she has tried so hard at everything she does, and often she manages to gain what she works for. When she doesn't, it hits her as a personal failure, as a lacking in her that she has to push past until she does manage to get it.
Their faces just inches apart, Brittany could see every emotion flicker plainly across Santana's features, soft and tear stained as they lay together. Her thumbs gently swept under Santana's eyes, collecting tear droplets and stroking across the flat of Santana's cheek comfortingly.
"I know," She hushed. Santana's default was to try to not think about her pain in hopes that it would disappear, something Brittany had watched her struggle with for as long as she could remember. Her heart fissured for the woman lying on top of her- Santana had run herself ragged trying to not think about her emotions, only for them to cling to her consciousness and force themselves to the front of her thoughts and dreams.
"Talking about it will help it go away," Brittany promised soothingly, "All these things happened to you, and I wish you could just forget about them, but talking about them, like you just did with Kate, will make them less scary." She knew what she was saying was far easier said than done, prompting Santana to talk about her deepest emotions. "Kate can help us figure out how to deal with all those things your feeling, like she gave us some tools today, y'know?" Brittany held Santana's face steady between her palms. "Not thinking about them isn't going to work, Babe. I know you've been trying so hard, but I think you're making yourself more upset."
Santana's cheeks twitched slightly even under the gentle pressure of Brittany's thumbs, and she closed her eyes, more tears emerging in spite of this. She released a long, ragged sigh, shuddering with the effort of just feeling what she was feeling, of continuing to hold it in the small confines of her body. She felt full to the point of explosion with her own emotions, and as Brittany continued to talk to her softly, encouraging her, promising her that talking would help, she swallowed several times, slowly forcing herself to open her eyes. The words that came emerged rough and bitter at first, difficult to form, and she almost choked on them in her effort to bring them forth.
""I...I was raped."
It's the first time she's said the word out loud, and she almost gags on it, having to take several breaths and swallow hard just to keep down the nausea and flare of panic it brings. But when nothing happens from speaking it, when her heart beats on and the world continues and Brittany is still holding her face in her hands, still looking at her with just as much love as before, Santana presses herself on.
""Brittany...I was raped."
The tears came in earnest then, a sudden flood she couldn't hold back. She had thought she cried all that was possible for her in therapy, but as it turned out, there was far more she had yet to release. Santana cried, chest heaving against Brittany's, her heartbeat a rapid tattoo against her ribcage, but she kept talking, the words coming fast and choked and broken, but still coming, just clear enough to be understandable even through her sobs.
"I was raped. He raped me. He held me down, he choked me, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe. He said, he said he would kill me if I fought back. I think he would have, I was so scared he would. I thought, Brittany, I thought I was going to die. He hurt me, Brittany. He hurt me so bad..."
She gulped for breath, wanting desperately to hide her face in Brittany's neck, to find her safety there, but she needs to look at Brittany, she needs her to see her face, so she can seek the reassurance that Brittany sees her, that she really hears and understands. Santana needs more than anything now to have her hear her, to have her take in and hold everything she's held to herself. So through her tears she continues.
"He said...he said I was nothing. He said I was a s-slut, and a bitch- w-orse than that. He said...he w-wanted to hurt me. He did everything he could to hurt me. Everything...he h-hated me. He said...he s-said he was f-fucking the gay out of me. He, he thought it was okay. He...he hated me, Brittany. He hated me for, for who I am. For-for loving you. I'm...I"m so scared that so many people hate me for loving you. B-but I don't want to ever stop loving you. I..."
Running out of words, Santana dissolved against Brittany, finally letting herself sink into the curve of her neck and wrap anchor tight arms around her. Her entire body shook with both the release and the extreme emotion of what she had just said aloud, what she had let herself acknowledge for the first time.
She was stunned when Santana spoke- the rotten, vile word falling off her tongue quietly as they lay together on the couch, plunged into the safety and intimacy and comfort of their apartment. Brittany's body stayed heavy and relaxed against Santana, her hands steady on her face. She knew it was the first time she'd said the word out loud, mentally replaying everything Kurt and Rachel had told her about the hospital, about Santana's refusal to speak, about how she'd never even brought it up around Brittany or said that so plainly.
Santana repeated the words before Brittany felt something crack in Santana's chest, the tears springing forth earnestly from her eyes in a tidal wave of emotion. She almost opened her mouth to speak, but stayed silent after a moment, instead nodding in understanding, wanting to give Santana the space to tell her as much as she wanted about all the thoughts and feelings and trauma that crashed around inside of her.
Her voice was pitiful and pleading, almost childlike as she revealed the details of what had happened in the bathroom, and Brittany felt her throat tremble just slightly but steeled herself - she would not get upset, not in this moment, not when Santana was looking at her desperately and clinging to the steadiness of her gaze. The words were slamming into her eardrums- Santana had been afraid she was going to die, powerless at the hands of this attacker. It made Brittany sick to her stomach to even comprehend someone putting their hands on her beautiful, precious, small Santana, who was too perfect for this world and deserved to be protected.
The details of it all made her head spin, desperately trying to cling to all the words Santana was saying and remember them, knowing they were important and knowing it was the very first time Santana had explained what really happened. She was pulled out of her thoughts only by Santana dropped her head against her neck, finally succumbing to the emotions that were wracking through her body, her spine snapping and chest expanding with sobs as she fought to suck in breaths.
"Okay, okay, just lay right here," Brittany hushed, wrapping her arms around Santana just as tightly, holding one hand against the side of Santana's head as if she needed to protect her. "Shhhh," She hushed, holding Santana steady against her body, as if she could absorb and protect her there. Brittany didn't speak for a few minutes, letting Santana sob and tremble against her body and register the fact that she'd just told someone what really happened. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Brittany finally spoke.
"You were raped, Santana. And I'm so, so sorry that happened to you. You're the most beautiful, important thing to me and I can't even think about someone touching you in any way other than out of love." She confessed, knowing her words were important in the wake of her confession. "You didn't die and he didn't kill you and you're right here and safe with me now and I promise I'll never let anyone hurt you ever again," Brittany swore, speaking softly into Santana's ear where her head was tucked right under her jaw.
"He didn't hate you- he doesn't know you and has no idea that your name it Santana or that you like black coffee or were a cheerleader or that you once dated me or love Reese's Cups," She rambled, "There was something wrong with him, he was sick and twisted and had no idea who you were and hurt you just because you're gay, because something was wrong with him."
"I'll never stop loving you and I promise I'll keep you safe." Brittany cooed, knowing that, above all, Santana needed comfort. "People can hate me for loving you and I'll just keep right on doing it because it's the best feeling I've ever felt and no matter what happens, I know I'll have you and you'll have me and we can come back to our safe little apartment and lay just like this and watch movies on the couch and take showers together."
She ran her fingers through Santana's hair, peeling strands from where they clung to her wet cheeks. "What happened to you was terrible and awful and had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him but you know what? Even though he hurt you and said all those terrible, horrible things, I still love you and you still love me and we're right here together." She spoke against Santana's temple, her body heavy from the weight of Santana's confession but comforted by her own words. "He didn't win, you did."
Santana's sobs softened slightly, her breathing still irregular and hot against Brittany's skin, but she listened, desperately taking in every stroking, soothing touch, the firm grasp of her arms around her. She listened to Brittany's response, and slowly, her tears became softer, her flood of emotion less of a storm as she let Brittany's thoughts begin to overcome her own. She listened, grasping Brittany, and tried to believe.
It was true. Her rapist had not known her name. He didn't know anything about her but her occupation, and the fact that she was gay. He didn't know anything else, nothing only important, just that one, big important thing of her sexual orientation. It was not a good reason to hate her. It was not a good reason to hurt her. It had been wrong. She had not deserved it. And as obvious as those thoughts might have been to anyone else, to Santana, it was the first time they truly occurred.
She lifted her head a little, just enough to crane up to see Brittany's eyes, her own bright and shining with still brimming tears. She needed to see the love Brittany spoke of for her in her eyes, just as she heard it in her voice and felt it in her touch. She needed to see the reassurance that Brittany would never stop loving her, and when she saw this clearly reflected in Brittany's eyes, she let out a shaky breath, letting her head fall back against her chest beneath Brittany's chin.
Brittany smiled a little when Santana picked her head up to look at her, knowing why she did it. Similar to how the sound of Brittany's voice could instantly steady her, a reassuring glance could do the same, and Brittany was sure to smile gently when Santana's teary eyes met hers. Truly, she didn't feel like smiling, she felt like screaming or demanding someone explain why this terrible thing had to happen to her vulnerable, sweet Santana. It didn't seem fair, and Brittany was shaken by what Santana had confessed, but knew, in that moment, her priority was making Santana feel safe.
"See?" She said as silence had settled around them, the only sounds coming from the Disney movie on the TV. "You just told me so many things and nothing bad happened. They made you a little sad, but now they're not all your secrets anymore, they're mine too," Brittany pointed out, tugging up the hem of Santana's shirt to rub her bare back in comforting strokes.
"And we can keep working with Kate and it'll get better every week," Brittany promised, more just speaking words of comfort to calm Santana than anything else. "And every time we'll come back to this apartment just like we do after class and after dance and I'll keep you safe and no one will be able to hurt you." Brittany assured, knowing she'd do anything to protect Santana and keep her from any other pain. "I wish I could take all those thoughts away and replace them with only good things instead," She confessed, wishing that more than ever.
"Nothing happened," Santana whispered, as though to reassure herself of this further by saying it aloud, testing its truth. "I told you and nothing happened."
This feels miraculous to her somehow, like a false promise, and she sucks in a breath, saying it a third time, more tentatively. "Nothing happened...and I'm safe."
She closed her eyes, waiting, almost expecting something like a sudden attack or the roof to fall in on her head; she honestly wouldn't be surprised. But the world continues, she is still breathing, still safe and alive and loved and held. She opens her eyes again, looking up at Brittany.
"Tell me. Tell me the good things."
Brittany snuggled her body even further into the couch, utterly content with Santana tucked against her jaw. She still felt overwhelmed about everything she'd just learned, and her stomach rolled to even think of Santana in that situation, in that bathroom while Brittany was across the world, but she comforted herself by the knowledge that now they were together in their little shared apartment and she had Santana in her arms and could help her every day forward.
She grinned earnestly when Santana asked for good things, sighing, her hand rubbing Santana's back under her shirt, voicing what was on her mind. "I felt so bad that I wasn't there, that I wasn't at the bar with you that night or even in the bathroom to help you," Brittany confessed, "Or at the apartment or the hospital, because I know you hated them even beforehand. But I was just thinking how I have you right now and all the days after so I can keep you safe right here like this and don't have to worry about you because you're right here with me." She said gently. "And we'll stay in this apartment and keep making it our home and you can do your homework at the counter while I cook dinner and sometimes when we walk home from your classes we'll start taking the long ways to walk through parks or by our new favorite restaurants that we discover and then after that we'll go to our new favorite bar instead of coming home and we can dance together and it'll be just us and then we'll come home safe to this apartment and our bed."
Brittany was listing so many things they didn't ever do - they never prolonged their walk home or went out to eat and never drank or went to bars or danced or stayed out late. "And when the weather's warm we'll start having picnics in the park and feeding the ducks and laying in the grass together and you can read me all the things you'll write." Brittany promised.
Santana listened, eyes finally no longer brimming with tears as her breathing began to even out with Brittany's stroking hand down her back. She moved her head enough to kiss Brittany's jaw when Brittany voiced how bad she felt, wanting to reassure her that she didn't hold her responsible or blame her for not knowing or being there.
She listened, envisioning all the activities that Brittany outlined, and although a little tug of anxiety pulled at her chest as she imagined, mostly, the images and events Brittany laid out to her sounded nice. Scary, unlikely to ever actually feel okay- but nice, in a fairy tale kind of way.
This morning she hadn't thought it possible she could say aloud to anyone what happened to her, or write to a stranger the depth of her pain towards her family. But she had done those things, so maybe some day she could do what Brittany talked about too.
"You always loved ducks," she murmured. "Maybe we can get a cat. Bring LT up here and get him a friend, keep him from the street life."
Brittany hummed contentedly when Santana kissed her jaw. She knew at that point, doing all of the things she listed seemed so out of the question, impossible even. Before therapy, Britany didn't even realize how many things they didn't participate in, how scheduled their life was, build around making sure Santana knew what came next and was never in a situation where she was uncomfortable or could get scared by a man or too many people being too close to her.
But now, after how far they'd come, it didn't seem impossible to think about them one day doing those things. She knew it'd be baby steps and it wasn't something that would happen soon, but she knew Santana trusted her more than her own fears, and it seemed like she'd clicked with Kate much better than either of them had expected. Suddenly, it was easy for Brittany to picture them tucked in the corner of an Italian restaurant with dim lighting, out for a date night or just because, or the two of them wandering the city after Brittany picked Santana up from class, in no rush to get home, stopping at coffee shops or bakeries as they went, just out of curiosity.
"Oh my god, we should totally get a cat," Brittany giggled, jostling Santana a bit as her chest rose and fell. "I'm sure Tubs would love the city but I think I've lost him to my mom. There's no way he'd pick me over her, she spoils him even more than I did," Brittany rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm pretty sure she lets him get away with everything and feeds him way too many treats." Brittany admitted, although she didn't mind, if anything, she was happy LT had been so well behaved since she'd left.
Santana smiled, loving hearing Brittany giggle, seeing her smile. She lifted her head up a little, listening to her talking about her grouchy, fat old cat, and nodded agreement. "I hate to think how much fatter he's gotten if she gives him more treats than he did. What is he now, a small country?"
But she says this without bite, knowing how much Brittany loved that cat. The more she thinks about it, the more the idea of getting a cat together stirs her interest genuinely.
"Do you really want to get a cat?" she asked, shifting herself on Brittany's chest so she's partly propped up to look at her better. "That would be kind of cool. Maybe a kitten. Do they have an animal shelter near here? They have to somewhere. We could go pick out one. But I'd be in charge of the feeding, no offense but I don't want a cat to crush my thigh bone every time it gets on my lap."
Brittany giggled, shoving Santana's shoulder lightly. "I'm sure everything she's giving him is organic or some homemade thing," Brittany said with a wave of her hand, returning her hand to Santana's back. Brittany's mother was always quite the homemaker, and she was almost certain that she was homemaking some of Lord Tubbington's food and treats.
She smiled when Santana looked up at her, genuinely entertaining the question. "Maybe," She laughed with a shrug. "I think we should wait a little to figure out if we like this apartment or if I'm going to stay at the studio I'm at," She said, speaking out loud. "I guess cats aren't all too hard to bring with us, if we move," Brittany reasoned, plainly speaking about their future together. "Maybe we can go to a shelter or something or look for one." She didn't say it, but she thought it would be a good idea, especially if Santana had something to distract her and busy her with, as well as keep her company if they ever got to a point where Santana stayed home alone. "I bet Kate would think that was a good idea." She added.
"Oh, maybe he actually lost weight then. Is that possible? Can Tubs possible be un-tubby?" Santana attempted to picture this and was at a loss. "What would you call him then? Lord Bonington?"
Santana noticed that Brittany had shifted the wording of them talking about the cat. She had mentioned Brittany getting a cat- but Brittany had mentioned them having a cat, together. She had spoken as though any cat she adopted would be Santana's cat too, and that no matter where she ended up, Santana would come with her. Santana smiled at this realization, her eyes softening.
"Let's do it," she decided. "Let's go get a cat. A super cute one. Maybe a black one with sleek fur...or a fluffy one with big eyes. Or one of those judgmental Siamese ones. Are all the cats at shelters ugly feral looking ones, or will they have some cute ones, you think?"
She's brightening thinking about this, her face beginning to take on an animated look. "We could teach it to scratch Rachel's ugly sweaters. I know she still has a few in her closet, she thinks I'm not aware but I know she didn't really throw them out like I tried to make her."