She picked up on Santana's body language shift almost instantly, silently accepting the coffee Santana prepared for her with creamer, exactly how she liked it, taking a seat at the table even though Santana didn't follow her. Brittany made it a point not to stare at her, instead chewing her own food calmly and sipping her coffee, humming in delight when it tasted, no surprise, perfectly. Santana always managed to nail the coffee to creamer ratio in a way that not even Brittany could.

"Come sit, Santana," She said, patting the chair to her right, at the 90 degree angle. She was careful with what she said, intentionally not telling Santana to come eat, knowing that regardless, Santana would prickle at that statement. Instead, she looked up at her patiently from where she sat, wanting Santana to at least take the seat next to her and calm down. She could tell Santana was stressed out by the way she stood, focusing on anything except the food.

"It's not going to bite you," Brittany teased gently, knowing there was no way she'd ever get Santana to eat if she got so upset over the mere prospect of food in front of her.

Santana hesitated, the stress obvious in the lines of her forehead. She sits beside Brittany but grasps the coffee cup hard in her hands, knuckles whitening. She perched on the edge of the chair, leg muscles taut as though prepared to jump up, and focused her eyes deliberately on her hands.

Part of what scares her is the possibility that she might actually eat, if Brittany wants her to. And that she might like it, and want to keep it up. It's far easier and more controlled to have rules and rituals and routines with eating, and one is that she hasn't sat at a table with food. Hell, she doesn't sit to eat, period. Santana is convinced calories count less if consumed while standing.

She is not giving this up. This is the one and only thing she's had total control of, that has made her feel a little more powerful.

"No, but it will blow up all my insides into giant marshmallow balls so I look pregnant in four different places," Santana muttered.

"Come on," Brittany said, slipping her hand under the table and over to rest on Santana's rigid thigh, rubbing her palm against her leg. "Relax, we're just sitting here." She soothed, "It's the same thing as sitting on your bed or sitting in the bathroom. And let go of the mug, if you break it it'll hurt you because it's hot." Brittany's eyes fell on Santana's hands, clenched tight around the mug.

Brittany kept her hand where it was, eating a few more bites of her own food, her hand rubbing soothingly back and forth, trying to calm Santana and downplay the entire situation. At Santana's comment, she rolled her eyes and giggled, although she knew she genuinely was afraid of eating it.

"So what?" Brittany raised her eyebrows, resting her chin against her hand and her elbow on the table, one eyebrow raised. She knew she was challenging Santana in a way that nobody did, questioning what would happen if the marshmallows did make her look bloated. She already knew the answer was nothing, the same thing that would happen if Brittany lost her abs - nothing.

She knew that Santana had just complimented them, but even if her stomach flattened out and wasn't as muscular, Santana wouldn't mind at all. They'd always been physically attracted to each other and never hesitated to touch and foster physical contact and she knew, deep down that Santana knew that wouldn't change, but at the same time, knew there was so much more to the issue than just Brittany's approval. In a way, Brittany often wished Santana only sought her approval - she'd bloom so much brighter without the weight of the world against her.

"It won't change your body, but it wouldn't even matter if it did."

Santana was slow to even begin to relax, her leg loosening a little under Brittany's touch, though it continued to occasionally twitch unconsciously. She was slower still in letting her hands release their grasp of the mug. She tried to focus on breathing, aware that her breaths are a little shakier than usual, and she doesn't love that her voice matches when she answers.

"It does matter. It matters to me. It just matters, okay?"

Even Santana knew her answer was defensive and not at all logical sounding, but it was difficult to put in words just what made this so important to her. It was everything. The expectation of a woman in society to be beautiful if she is anything, encouraged further by her abuela's remarks on relatives gaining weight even as she dished food on their plate. It was trying to get attention, to be seen and approved of and thought of as beautiful by everyone from her parents to her classmates to romantic partners to Sue Sylvester. It was part of being popular, being the best, then being a success as a woman. It was because Santana might think of herself at times as hot but had never felt beautiful, not unless Brittany said the words in her sincere way. She couldn't be, not when it took fake nails and boobs and makeup and sexy clothes to make her come across that way. It was because she had internalized the message that beauty and success equalled thin, and that equalled suffering. It was because she didn't even want to be beautiful or hot or anything but beneath notice anymore. It was most of all something tangible and easy she could fixate on and control, a way to take out her turmoil and self criticism in a way that felt right and deserved. It was so many things at once, and so many of them contradicted each other so that she could not explain.

"It matters," she said tightly again. "It matters a lot."

Brittany raised her eyebrows but kept on eating, turning the answer over in her mind. She could see how lost Santana was in her own head, even if she was relaxing a little under Brittany's hand. She didn't rush to fill the silence but sat there, watching Santana's eyes focus on nothing at all as she tried to sort through her thoughts. She knew those thoughts of hers were difficult to untangle at all, they always had been. Brittany wasn't sure, even if Santana did let her in, if she'd be able to.

"It makes me sad that it matters so much to you," Brittany stated honestly, choosing to be true rather than to be wary.

She wasn't sure if the comment would upset Santana but she was sure it was something Santana already knew. They'd been through this in varying degrees before and so much of it boiled down to the same things. Santana wanted control and Brittany was willing to hand over as much as she could, seemingly, which never was enough as it turned out. She left it at that, finishing her bowl of cereal, grateful that she'd remembered to eat before class because she'd been starving. Her own now-satiated hunger only made her wonder how Santana felt - how she could possibly have energy to get through the day without eating anything at all.

"Do you want something else?" She offered, not sure if Santana would even attempt anything but willing to give her whatever she wanted if it meant she'd put it in her mouth. "Something without marshmallows, if you don't like them anymore," Brittany added with a pout.

Santana wilted a little at Brittany's honesty. That was one of the hardest things about confrontation with Brittany- Brittany rarely gave her anything to buck up and fight against. Brittany didn't nag or guilt or yell. That would be so much easier to deal with and feel okay about arguing against. Brittany just told her what she thought and how she felt, and I impacted Santana more strongly than anything else she could have done.

Santana watched silently as Brittany finished eating, shaking her head tightly when Brittany asked her if she wanted something else to eat. But when she too stood she felt light-headed and had to grip the table to steady herself. She try to think back to what she had eaten in the last few days and realized it was very, very little. Nothing at all on the last day that she went to class, and only the handful of popcorn yesterday. She knew she couldn't go more than another day without having something, but it was hard to acknowledge that to herself, let alone Brittany.

She wrestled with the knowledge that she was playing with the very real possibility of making herself ill, possibly in front of Brittany and her students, which should be mortifying and beyond shameful and not something Brittany should have to put up with. It was a difficult balance of what and when she would break down and eat even after years of more or less having it figured out, and sometimes she miscalculated.

Finally her desire not to dent Brittany''s reputation or day in any way won out ever so slightly over her pride and anxiety, and she said with downcast eyes and pained inflection, "You can't watch me. You have to go in the bathroom."

Brittany sighed, not at all surprised that Santana didn't want anything else. It was more so a hopeful question than anything, but Brittany, for a moment, had thought that Santana maybe would tell her something she'd rather eat. She tried to ignore the fear swirling in her stomach - there was no way, Brittany knew, that Santana could go on like that. She'd been surrounded by eating disorders of varying degrees through dance and Cheerios and had undeniably once had one herself, and knew that realistically, Santana couldn't keep living on nothing. She made a mental note to talk to Rachel on the side about it - for the most part, she tried to keep Kurt and Rachel out of she and Santana's discussions out of respect for Santana's privacy, but when it came down to her health, Brittany would cross the line with zero hesitation.

She almost moved to catch her when Santana stood up, her arm reaching out to grab her by the forearm, only taking her hand away when she was sure Santana's knees wouldn't buckle from underneath her. Brittany, for a moment, felt a flash of anger- she was angry that Santana was doing this to herself, angry that she thought it was a solution or thought it was sustainable. She swallowed the lump in her throat with another heaving sigh, about to stand to put her bowl and spoon in the sink when Santana spoke, not holding Brittany's gaze.

It took Brittany a second to think about what Santana said, and another few seconds to think about it. Swallowing again, she gaped, not exactly sure how the best way to respond was. Finally, she asked softly. "Are you being serious?"

It was the first time Santana had actively made a move to separate them. Most of the time she was trying to figure out how she could get herself onto Brittany's lap, and Brittany didn't quite know how to deal with it. She couldn't even count the amount of times she'd seen Santana eat, and Santana seen her eat.

"I've seen you eat before." She stated, bewildered more than anything. "I'm not going to judge you, it would actually make me happy if I saw you eat. I think if I go in the bathroom you're actually not going to."

She didn't want to outright accuse Santana of lying to her - and she knew, not once during the entire time she'd been there, had Santana ever been dishonest with her, but this was the only situation where she feared that maybe, just maybe, Santana wouldn't really eat.

Santana flushed, partly out of embarrassment, partly out of a flare of anger- more at herself than at Brittany. Had it actually come to this, that Brittany no longer trusted her? Brittany really thought she would lie to her? Brittany was the only person that Santana would go out of her way to avoid lying to- it was her trust more than anyone's that mattered to her, and the possibility that Brittany might not was as upsetting as the issue they were clashing over itself.

"Yes, I'm being serious," she said with some heat. "I know you saw me before, but I don't care, I don't want anyone to see me now, so you have to go in the bathroom. I said I would eat something so I will. If I wasn't I'd just tell you no. Since when do you not trust me? God!"

She ran a hand through her hair roughly, the other hand still gripping the table edge. It agitated her to even think of trying to explain to Brittany why it mattered to her that she not watch her eat right now. She knows perfectly well that Brittany is aware she has to eat something to survive, and she knows Brittany has seen her eat countless times. But it feels different now, more intense than before. When she was younger, for one thing, she tended to purge what she ate with laxatives or overexercising, which meant she was slightly less rigid about eating. Neither were something she had the energy for now, and so that left simple restricting. It felt different now for people to see her eat, even Brittany. It was one more thing she needed to have control of.

"You have to go in the bathroom," she repeated, less angrily, but with a stressed edge to it. "Please just do it, I can't explain it, you just have to or I can't."

Brittany felt her own frustrations rising, wanting so desperately for Santana to be able to eat and be calm around food and be healthy that it nearly made her eyes prickle. Instead of snapping back, which she would've loved to do, Britany only sucked in a deep breath and let it out, deflating like a balloon at Santana's words. Santana was right, Brittany did trust her, but she wanted to tell Santana she was giving her reasons not to. It wasn't that Santana had ever broken her trust, it was that her behavior was instantly making Britany fear that she would.

"Take your time," Brittany said finally, picking up her cereal bowl and depositing the bowl and spoon in the sink.

Her voice had flattened completely, not an ounce of bite to her tone despite the storm that was wracking against her rib cage and raging on inside of her. She wanted to say something snappy, but she knew she couldn't, she knew she really didn't want to. At the end of the day, she knew Santana wasn't doing it to get under her skin deliberately, and no matter how hard watching Santana suffer was, she knew it was infinitely harder for Santana. Silently, she made her way into the bathroom, kicking the door shut with her foot and sinking onto the bathmat.

Santana didn't miss the frustration in Brittany's expression, nor did she miss the downcast way that she looked at her., as though she was let down by Santana, disappointed in her. She hated, absolutely hated the way Brittany had just looked at her, the fact that she maybe didn't trust her anymore. It was her own fault if Brittany didn't trust her, but it seemed impossible to her to be able to do anything other than the routines that made her feel marginally safer.

Santana cringed, feeling like Brittany's lifeless tone and the way she had kicked the door shut as she left had directly punched her in the heart. Tears came to her eyes, and she took several gulping breaths, wiping at them harshly with the heels of her palms. She knew she couldn't eat if she was crying, and she had just promised Brittany she would. She couldn't back down now, especially after seeing just how upset Brittany was with her.

Slowly she went to the refrigerator and opened it, surveying its contents. Her head did the math automatically of the calories in the foods available versus the energy it would give her, in addition to more personal mental notes like how "fat" she would feel eating them. She decided on four baby carrots, four blueberries, and a fourth of a grapefruit, because that was an even number, another requirement for her lately- food needed to be countable, measurable, and of an even measurement. She ate the food with her throat tight, making it difficult to swallow, and was careful when cutting the grapefruit to hide the remaining parts of it deep in the fridge. She didn't like to leave evidence of having eaten. She was careful to wash and put up the knife and plate she had used to cut the grapefruit too, and then looked over herself obsessively, checking her arms, legs, and even pulling at the skin of her side and stomach to make sure that she doesn't noticeably look bigger. She knows, knows this is ridiculous, but she can't stop herself from doing it all the same.

It took her almost fifteen minutes to eat this small amount of food and do what she felt she needed to hide that she had, longer than it normally would because of her anxiety about Brittany being upset with her. Finally she called out in a small voice, "I'm done."

She bites the inside of her cheeks and instructs herself viciously not to look upset as she waits for Brittany to reemerge, wanting badly to latch onto her and seek reassurance not just for having eaten but also that Brittany isn't angry with her, doesn't think less of her. But she can't bring herself to. It would hurt too badly if Brittany stiffened up or pulled away.

In the bathroom, Brittany dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. She had to calm down, both of them upset wasn't going to fix anything and she desperately wanted Santana to be calm that day and not get upset about something small or something that could be avoided. She sucked in a few deep breaths, reminding herself that this was something they could fix and they could get help for this. It was the only thing that kept her from panicking, thinking about how she and Santana had both gone through this before and come out on the other side, at least she had.

She hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, the exhaustion of the last few weeks hitting her full force. Brittany had been giving all of her energy to Santana, all day every day, both of them had been working hard to try and help Santana heal, but it was only then that she realized how much it was taking out of her. She let her eyes close as she waiting, even though her head was spinning wildly and her emotions were coursing through her veins. She wasn't angry at Santana, she was angry at everything in the world that had made Santana feel like she had to make herself smaller, into this shell of the person she used to be. She was angry at Santana's attacker, his words still playing on repeat in Brittany's mind even though she tried to push them away.

Even though her eyes were shut, she could hear Santana moving around the kitchen, even though she guessed that wasn't exactly giving her privacy. She heard the refrigerator open and close at one point, which she guessed was a good sign, and then heard the faucet running. She wasn't sure what Santana was doing, but she didn't dare open the door. Despite her curiosity and concern, she'd made a promise to Santana and firmly intended to keep that promise.

The whole thing took longer than she thought it would, but eventually, Santana called for her. She was slightly surprised that she didn't come and get her, but clambered to stand up anyway, swallowing and checking herself in the mirror. She'd had enough time to calm down, but the entire ordeal was making her skin crawl, and she made sure to take a deep, steadying breath before stepping out of the bathroom. She glanced around, her eyes falling on Santana as she moved back toward the kitchen and dropped back into her seat. While she looked more calm, Santana actually looked infinitely more upset. Chancing another look around the room, she asked, "You really ate?"

Her voice wasn't accusatory, more curious than anything, not seeing a plate or anything out of the ordinary around. "It's not that I don't trust you, it's that it just doesn't look like you ate." Brittany followed up quickly, not feeling like being accused of not trusting Santana again.

That was it. When Brittany looked around the room for evidence that Santana had done as she said she would, that was sign number one to Santana that Brittany didn't trust her- she had to check after her rather than just take for granted Santana was being honest. Then Brittany actually voiced aloud that she wasn't sure Santana had eaten, following it up with the observation that it didn't look like it and the disclaimer that she did trust Santana. That, to Santana, just cinched it that Brittany didn't. Who had to clarify that they trusted someone strongly implying that they didn't? Who had to check that someone had kept their word if they trusted that they had?

Santana's chest hitched, and before she could check herself, tears overflowed. She slumped back down in a kitchen chair; She is so angry with herself, but there is only grief in her expression.

"You don't trust me anymore, you don't believe me. You're mad at me. I hate being like this, I hate you being disappointed in me!"

Santana had a way of crying that, even in her twenties, made her look like a child - the way her child wobbled dangerously as she fought to keep her composure, the way her entire face crumpled when she finally surrendered. They'd both seen each other cry a handful of times and every time, Santana's cry broke Brittany's heart. This time was even worse, as it truly felt like her fault.

Sighing, she moved, crouching beside Santana's chair, shifting Santana's legs so her body faced her. "Hey hey hey, stop," She hushed, her hands firm on Santana's thighs.

"I'm not mad at you, first of all," Brittany said, getting that out of the way. "And, more importantly, I'm proud of you, not disappointed." She clarified, moving her hands up Santana's legs to capture her hands, holding them in her lap. "But I also was right beside you in high school when both of us were very, very good at lying about eating and pretending we ate when we really didn't. And I was doing tons of unhealthy things with you to make ourselves skinnier for Cheerios," Brittany reminded her, "So I know how easy it is to say you did and you didn't." She pointed out, not even remembering how many times she lied about eating to her friends, her parents, even Sue when she'd gone too far.

"I trust you, Santana, but your disorder isn't you. I don't think you'd ever lie to me, but I think you have a problem and I think the problem would lie to me." She said softly, rubbing her thumbs across the back of Santana's hands. "I didn't know it had gotten this bad again," Brittany admitted.

The only time it had ever been this bad for Santana was when they were in high school, and at that point, people figured the both of them out pretty quickly. They were high schoolers, under the watchful eyes of their teachers and family but now, they were alone in New York City, and Brittany was reminded again, bitterly, how few people in world were looking out for Santana.

Santana sniffled, looking from under her lashes at Brittany as she held onto her hands. Brittany sounds sincere, but it still hurts to replay her tone, the exaggerated doubt her own mind had put into it. She dropped her eyes again, nodding with reluctant acknowledgement at Brittany's words. She knew they were true. Her problem was a liar, not just to other people but to Santana herself. It lied to her constantly, in a way she would never allow anyone else to. It lied to her so much she no longer knew what was true.

"I know it's bad," she whispered, acknowledging this to herself for the first time. "I'm supposed to be controlling it. But maybe it's controlling me. I feel like I can't stop, Brittany. Even when I try, I can't stop."

She was surprised at how honest Santana was being with her, but she appreciated that over Santana trying to put up defenses, nodding in understanding at what she was saying. Truthfully, her words scared Brittany, the severity of the problem only becoming even more obvious. She knew they had to do something, to help Santana get this under control and help her with recovery. It was clear that this extra stress and lack of eating was only making Santana's mental struggles worse and making recovery overall much harder on her than it needed to be.

"I know," She hushed, "It went too far, it's okay," Brittany nodded, even though she knew it wasn't okay at all. Holding tight to her hands, Brittany continued. "We can get you help, San. You are in control, you can control whatever you want." She soothed, knowing Santana wasn't in control of her nightmares but reminding her that when she was there she was very happy to give Santana control over basically everything in their life. "I want you to gain weight because I think all of this - you being hungry and not feeling strong and being so stressed is only making it harder for you than it needs to be," She admitted, knowing this and the assault probably went hand in hand and Santana never trying to recover without also battling this. "We'll figure this out but it can't, it can't go on like this."

Get her help. Santana swallowed, her stomach sinking at the idea of this. She didn't know what Brittany meant, exactly, but it sounded to her like a highly unpleasant thing. "Help" sounded like intrusion, giving over a loss of control. Help sounded like people looking in on her and making choices for her, taking over for her what she no longer could see clearly, and that sounded terrifying. It sounded like no control at all.

She could understand what Brittany was telling her, and she knew it was true. It was so much harder in her current state to fight the demons in her mind that told her the world was dangerous, the world was full of people who were going to harm her, the memories that would not fade away from replaying in her body and thoughts, whether she was awake or not. It took so much effort and energy, and without eating, with her body as weakened as it was, she had so little to spare.

Her problem with her eating and her weight was sapping away from who she was, making her a person who was tired and frightened and unable to think clearly, a person who was more concerned with numbers and rules and restrictions than living a full, functioning life. Even with her effort at using control to feel strong, she felt weaker and more vulnerable than ever in every way.

It wasn't working. What she was trying to accomplish all along was not working, and for the first time, Santana admitted this to herself silently, even as her stomach knotted and rebelled at the idea of help and change.

"My head tells me so much, all the time," she murmured, sniffling and clutching at Brittany's hands like a lifeline, a physical anchor to pull her out of herself when she got lost inside of her own self. "I feel like there are four other people in me other than me. There's this really mean, evil bitch who wants to tell me how much I suck and everyone else does too, and everything I need to do to make up for that or make people not see that. Then there's this pathetic crazy weirdo who flinches and hides and won't let me stop thinking of all the bad things that happened and could happen and throwing them up in my mind. Then there's the sad little panda that just wants to lay around and give up on everything. And then there's…sometimes there's him."

She leaned forward towards Brittany, still holding her hands, and let her face rest against her shoulder, this admission and attempt to explain herself and her own thoughts driving her to feeling somewhat raw and vulnerable. Against Brittany's shoulder, she mumbles, "The eating…they all say things about that. Telling me what I should do with it. All of them. I'm so tired, Brittany. It's so hard to fight all the time. What if…what if that's all just who I am now? What if I'm not even here anymore? Like, the me we think of is just gone forever? Or what if it was never there and it was all just a show?"

Brittany nodded as Santana spoke, her face open and accepting to what she was saying, resting her arms on Santana's legs, their hands joined in her lap. She was shocked at how easily Santana could categorize the different "voices" in her head, silently realizing that Santana must have been living with them for awhile and obviously knew them well.

She didn't hesitate to slide her arms around her when Santana folded forward in her seat, resting her head against her shoulder, her hands resting against Santana's back. "He's not inside of you," She soothed, shocked to have heard that one of the "voices" was his. "It's just your memory, which I know is equally as scary, but he's gone now." Brittany promised, her head resting against the back of Santana's shoulder. "You do look like a sad panda when you're upset though, but it's cute, don't worry."

"And all the other voices are just doubt," Brittany went on, wishing she could silence them for Santana and bring her reassurance and peace of mind, something Santana so truly deserved. Still, she was glad Santana was comfortable enough to tell her all of this without questioning if Brittany would dismiss her or think it was silly. "I know you're tired, you've been pushing yourself a lot lately and I think it's hard to keep up because you're not taking care of your body," She said honestly, her voice free of accusation. "A lot of getting better in your mind has to do with getting better in your body too," She pointed out, her voice soft and gentle, treading lightly on the topic.

When Santana questioned if she was still her anymore Brittany broke the tension with a laugh, scratching her nails soothingly over Santana's back. "You ask me a lot of hard questions but that one was pretty easy," She said. "I'm absolutely sure you're still the very same you I've always known," Brittany promised, knowing Santana needed to hear those words. "You don't think I would've noticed from the very first second if someone else had invaded your body?" She asked, patting Santana's back twice surely. "Nope, you're in there. We just have some things we need to work on this time."

Santana breathed in, then out, surprised that it felt easier, that she could fill and empty her lungs without feeling close to choking or drawing further tears. She slowly wrapped her own arms around Brittany, nestling her head against her, and listened to her, trying to draw comfort and hope from Brittany's reassurances.

She couldn't trust herself anymore, not with so much fighting against her in her mind. But she could always, always trust Brittany.

Brittany believed she was still in there somewhere. Brittany believed in her. That, more than anything else, quieted the warring voices she had identified, drawing out her own a little more strongly to distinguish from them. Brittany Pierce believed in her, and that was what mattered. That was everything.

Taking another huge breath, Santana squeezed Brittany's shoulders, then slowly lifted her head, looking at Brittany. "I really did eat. I promise. Probably not…not much," she admitted, biting her lip. "But I did. I don't want to embarrass you. I wanted to be able to be with you today."

The air in the room had noticeably changed, all tension and anger and sadness leaking out of the space around them like a punctured balloon, leaving only kindness, comfort and love around them. She held Santana like that, unmoving and comfortable, letting her hands roam aimlessly, both of them digesting the others' words - Brittany's mind spinning about Santana's confession, Santana sinking into the warmth of Brittany's reassurance.

"I believe you," Brittany said instantly, because she really did. "Will you tell me what it was?" She asked curiously, not sure if keeping the actual food a secret was part of Santana's privacy about it. "I won't make you eat more," She added, even though she wished she could, already knowing whatever Santana ate probably wouldn't be sufficient.

As Santana continued speaking, Brittany's brow crinkled, her head tilting where she knelt. "Embarrass me?" She repeated, echoing Santana's words, her voice tipping up at the end of her question. She shook her head gently. "I don't understand, how would you embarrass me? Everyone at the studio already knows you." Brittany pointed out.

It was true. Since Brittany's first day, Santana had been her shadow, sitting in the back of her classes or hunched over her laptop while Brittany taught and she completed school work. If anyone ever noticed her or questioned it, they never said anything, not wanting to chance having a former professional dancer on the staff. Brittany wasn't sure if it was her resume or lack of caring that kept everyone silent, but she didn't really care, everyone greeted Santana in the same way that they greeted Brittany, and it went without saying that wherever Brittany was, Santana was as well. Exactly as they both liked it.

Santana continued to breathe more easily, comforted in circle of Britney's embrace and reassured now that the blonde was not upset with her. Her features further release some of the remaining tension they had held when Brittany told her that she believed her. She hesitated, not sure if she should let go of the secrecy she was used to around her eating just a little, but then relented. Somewhat.

"Some blueberries and baby carrots and some grapefruit," she said, deliberately vague on specific amounts. When Brittany questioned how she would embarrass her, Santana exhaled, not really wanting to explain in case it sparked another heated exchange, but not able to deny her a reply.

"If I passed out or something. That would be embarrassing to you, in front of your students and the staff. You would have to stop and make your day all about me when you're working and you shouldn't have to. I don't want to do that to you."

She counted it as a small victory that Santana had actually told her what she'd eaten, even if it hadn't been a lot at all or even enough. Brittany didn't want to upset her by trying to coax her into eating more so soon after their last interaction and so she only nodded, giving Santana a reassuring smile as a thank you for telling her.

Her smile wobbled when Santana explained her reasoning, a heavy feeling pooling in the bottom of her stomach. "Santana that wouldn't be embarrassing to me," She pointed out, going back to rubbing her thighs soothingly. "I want you to eat because you need to eat to be alive. Not because you're worried about passing out or embarrassing me." Brittany pressed her lips together - Santana's logic was so, so backwards. "I want you to do it for you, San. Have you ever…" She hesitated for a moment, not sure she wanted to know the answer. "Have you ever passed out from hunger before?"

Santana enjoyed Brittany rubbing her legs, leaning back a little in her chair and relaxing a bit more. She listened to Brittany but pursed her lips in some doubt, because eating for herself is not a concept that she can really wrap her thoughts around right now. There have been times where she ate more easily and maintained a healthy figure, but she wasn't doing it for herself, she was doing it because she was made to, or because it felt less effortful than now. She doesn't understand that her very lack of nutrition makes it harder to make rational choices and thoughts and to feel better; she only knows that sometimes in her life, eating has been far easier for her than it is now and those times happened somehow to be when she was a heavier weight.

When Brittany asked her if she's ever passed out from hunger before, Santana tensed again, unsure if she wanted to answer. Finally she nodded a little jerkily.

"Uh…maybe twice? I might have just fallen asleep really deeply one time, I'm not sure. Just one time I really know. But no one found out, I was home both times. And once I got up I ate so it was okay."

She says this like it makes total sense and the fact that she ate after passing out made up for the complete lack of self regard that lead up to it happening in the first place.

She thought she had learned to stop expecting anything when it came to Santana, but realized, as she listened to her response, that she'd expected her to assure Brittany she'd never passed out before. She tried to keep her face in check, not willing to reveal the shock that she felt at Santana's answer.

"It's not okay," She said simply, a direct rebuttal to Santana's words. "That shouldn't happen to a person ever, San." Brittany pointed out gently, already knowing they viewed this in two completely different ways. "That means your body doesn't even have enough energy to even, y'know, function." She said, fumbling for the word. Brittany tried to stamp down the rising panic in her stomach, reminding herself to talk to Rachel and Kurt sooner rather than later.

Swallowing, she kept her voice even, her face passive, wanting to avoid an argument at absolutely all costs. "You were lucky you were home," Brittany clarified, patting her leg. "But what if you weren't?"

She let the question hang in the air, knowing Santana wouldn't have an answer to give her but wanting to think about it anyway. Standing, Brittany took Santana's hand and gave it a squeeze, telling her she wasn't mad at her but also telling her she wasn't going to forget about this conversation. "Ready for dance?" She asked, her voice free of accusation or anger.

Santana exhaled again, hearing Brittany's point and uncomfortable thinking about it. She doesn't want to have to consider passing out in public and what could happen then. Even the idea is scary, and she fidgets, avoiding her eyes.

"I get it, okay? I know. I'll try more. Really."

She means it, mostly, but she would also say anything to end this conversation now. When Brittany changes the subject and stands, Santana is more than thrilled to have a diversion.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

She stood, taking Brittany's hand, and picked up her things for school to follow her.

Brittany: Guys, Santana's eating is so bad.

Brittany: I'm so worried

Brittany: Did she tell you she's fainted twice from it?

Kurt: what? How would that happen without anyone knowing about it? If she fainted then she would have hurt herself or somebody would have called and told us about it

Kurt: she's probably just being dramatic

Rachel: fainted? When did this occur? Is it possible that perhaps she was drunk because I do not personally know from experience but I've heard that sometimes people have blackouts when they are drinking heavily and Santana has been known to drink heavily on quite a few occasions at times. I haven't seen her do so recently but I suppose I would not be astonished if she had.

Brittany: Are you serious? She's not lying. She said it happened here.

Brittany: I know Santana hasn't drank since it happened. She wouldn't.

Brittany: This is the worst it's ever been, she's not doing it for attention. It's unhealthy

Brittany: She made me go in the bathroom so I didn't see her eat this morning.

Kurt: Brittany, I know you love her and she's nothing but sweet to you, but you have to admit that Santana is not above stretching the truth to get her way at times. Are you sure that she isn't trying to get you to do something for her by making herself sound really helpless?

Kurt: don't get me wrong, I know she's going through a horrible time and it might not even be something she's consciously aware of doing, but I seriously doubt she could faint on two occasions and no one would have a clue.

Rachel: well making you go to the bathroom while she eats is hardly surprising, I haven't seen her eat in months. She always says something nasty about our food such as it has nauseated her and she can't stand to be in the room with it. Even though I am pretty sure that she has eaten some of my organic food on several occasions because I know exactly where I place it in the fridge and somebody is moving it. I thought she was just trying to hide it so only she knows where it is because she always puts it behind the soy milk or somewhere where you can't really see it very well.

Rachel: of course it's unhealthy, she does look very thin and I have told her so but she just doesn't listen. And you know Santana, she isn't going to do anything that someone tells her she should

Rachel: I do wish that she would simply ask me before eating my food and I certainly wish she would not hide it because although I can take her acidic humor it is aggravating that she hides my food when I would share it if she would just ask

Brittany: You guys haven't felt her body. She's skin and bones. It's horrifying. I know she wouldn't lie about this

Brittany: Do you hear yourselves? She could die

Brittany: You guys are being awful. She can't control it. She needs to see somebody

Kurt: Please do not put the image of feeling her body into my brain.

Kurt: I mean, she kind of is always skin and bones. And boobs. See, now you already ruined me, I probably have to turn in my gay card.

Kurt: Seriously though, I think you're taking this a little far. She's got some ridiculous eating habits and definitely could gain weight, but she isn't dying.

Rachel: Well to be fair, she won't let us touch her body. She flinches and pushes away so I have sort of stopped trying. Other than in bed and I do suppose her shoulder blades feel sharper.

Rachel: She could control it though, she's choosing to do this to herself, although goodness knows why. I wish she would stop as much as you do, but it's Santana, I don't know what anyone can do.

Rachel: See someone? Like a therapist? You know she wouldn't agree to that, she wouldn't even talk to the doctors at the hospital after what happened.

Rachel: I agree but I just think she has to come out of this on her own, no one can make her do things differently.

Brittany: Omg, you guys aren't taking this seriously

Brittany: Yes a therapist. She's going to die if she keeps doing this.

Brittany: She can't come out of it on her own, it's a disease.

Brittany: You're not listening to me.

Kurt: We are listening. I just don't think it could be that bad, I mean didn't you guys starve all through Cheerios? Isn't she just kind of good at it by now?

Rachel: Kurt!

Rachel: We are listening, I do agree she needs to gain weight and eat more healthily. I just don't know what you think we can do. It's Santana.

Rachel: And I don't mean that as anything negative even though she is very, very negative very very often. But you know what I mean. Santana doesn't listen to us. I suspect she enjoys deliberately not listening to us.
Brittany: Yeah we did which is how I know how much worse this is.

Brittany: I just don't know how it got this bad.

Brittany: I'm going to have her stay at the loft with me from now on.

Kurt: Brittany, are you sure?

Kurt: I mean are you guys officially even dating?

Rachel: Oh, you are, aren't you! Congratulations, why didn't you say anything to us?

Rachel: See Kurt I knew they would before the holidays, you do owe me now!

Kurt: She didn't say they are yet!

Rachel: Of course they are! Why else would they move in together?

Brittany: We're not but she's not going to get better at the loft.

Rachel: Well, she could if she wanted to, why does the location matter?

Kurt: I told you, wait until confirmation, Rachel, there is no way I owe you at this rate.

Rachel: Well why aren't you together? Perhaps it is none of my business but it's obvious you love each other.

Kurt: not that I'm encouraging her but she has a point. I mean this entire conversation is proof of how much she matters to you.