In the wake of both of them being sick and the emotional conversations they'd had recently, they'd been things slow, falling into the comfort of their routine and spending time at home, with each other. Brittany knew she'd given Santana a lot to think about with everything she'd said, and she knew they had to bring it up in therapy, eventually, but she was content to give Santana time to think it through before they brought it up to Kate. Brittany hadn't tried anything recently, nor did she plan to outside of kissing, wanting Santana to know without question that they could make out and cuddle without the expectation of it immediately transitioning into something else.
Her mind had not only been replaying their conversations around intimacy, but also Santana's terror when she had gotten sick initially. It was a blind spot that Brittany couldn't get her mind off of. She couldn't reassure Santana about that night or the hospital because she hadn't been there. Everything else about Santana's life, Brittany knew without a doubt. But that night was a gap of information, information she never learned because she wasn't there and hadn't asked Rachel or Kurt for specifics outside of what they told her. Now, however, she wanted to know. She needed to know what Santana was tested for, what she was given. She knew Santana had blocked out most of it, but she wanted to know in case Santana ever wondered - she wanted her to be able to come to Brittany for the answer instead of Rachel. Even though Rachel had been with her, Brittany knew Santana wouldn't ask, not in the same way she'd ask Brittany.
And so, Brittany texted Rachel. What started out with her just asking questions about that night quickly turned into her getting the answers she wanted and even more. She learned that Santana had been tested, yes, and, even past that, Rachel had the clothes. The clothes, the ones Brittany assumed had been thrown out when Santana blatantly refused a rape kit. She knew Rachel had fought her on it that night, but she never would've guessed that she'd kept the clothes, that Rachel would've held onto them for so long, sealed in a bag, silently, having the foresight to know Santana wasn't being rational. It took Brittany's breath away, the revelation that Rachel had them, the power that gave Santana, power she didn't even know she had. Text messages turned to phone calls, mostly while Santana was in class, Rachel and Brittany going over the details of that night and discussing the torn clothes Rachel had kept under her bed the entire time.
Quickly, they made arrangements for Brittany to take them, when Santana had a large enough block of classes that Brittany could go to the loft, get the sealed bag from Rachel and hide them in their apartment where Santana would never stumble upon them. She knew the news that the clothes still existed would catch Santana unexpectedly, and she didn't want the concern of someone else having them to scare her, even if that someone was Rachel, who she knew Santana trusted implicitly. Since she'd found out, Brittany had known she needed to tell Santana, just to make sure she knew even if they didn't act on it, but she also knew she needed to take care of the clothes before she told Santana, making sure they were tucked away safely.
After she'd hidden them, Brittany left to pick Santana up from her class, greeting her and making their familiar walk home, holding Santana around the waist as they went. It was Santana's latest class, and unavoidable evening class, and while Santana had always been fine on the walk home, it went without saying that Brittany always held her just a little bit tighter, a little closer for extra comfort. With every step, she thought of what she knew, what Santana would soon know when they were in the safety of their apartment.
At home, they shed their coats and slid their shoes off, Brittany shivering in the spring chill. It was late already, and she knew Santana needed to eat, but she wanted to give her time to process the news before they went to bed, wanting time to answer all of her questions and calm her down if need be, not sure how she'd react to a physical reminder of that night existing. Sitting on the couch, Brittany crossed her legs and then held her arms out for Santana.
"Come here, Babe. I want to talk to you about something," She beckoned softly.
Santana had been struggling over the past few days. Brittany and she were both feeling physically well again and had transitioned back into their usual routine together, but she was still pondering over their conversation from when Brittany had still been sick. She was still amazed that Brittany was so willing to give up so much for her, as she viewed it, everything in her life and in her own needs, just to be with Santana, to make Santana more comfortable and secure. She didn't know what she had ever done to deserve that- probably she had done plenty in her lifetime to deserve the opposite. But Brittany had gone out of her way to continue to show her in the last few days how much she still loved and cherished her, exactly where she was and for what they did have together, without expecting anything further. And as much as it bothered Santana that she couldn't give Brittany everything and more that she wanted to be able to right now, from financially to sexually, it did make her feel just a little more secure that Brittany didn't seem to view her life as lacking at all.
On their way home after Santana's last class of the day, Santana noticed that Brittany seemed a little quieter than usual. It was mid spring, still cool enough outside for Santana to burrow herself close against Brittany's side, and Brittany had her arm tight around her, more so, Santana thought, than usual. She couldn't decide if Brittany was just being extra affectionate, or if maybe Brittany thought she seemed extra cold or extra anxious today. Whatever the case, she didn't mind it and gladly snuggled close as they walked.
Santana noticed the shift in demeanor in Brittany once they were in the house. She seemed too quiet still, too serious, and when she sat down on the couch and motioned for her to come sit with her, Santana automatically went on guard. As Brittany held her arms out for her, Santana went still, not moving as several possible negative reasons for her request started flying through her mind.
Was Brittany sick again? Really sick this time? Was she mad at her? What had Santana done to make her mad? Was it Rachel or Kurt, had something happened to them? Or Brittany's family? Or Santana's family? Was Brittany breaking up with her?
Not moving a muscle, she shook her head quickly, her voice taking on a sharp edge. "No, just tell me. What? What happened?"
Brittany raised her eyebrows when Santana froze where she was, refusing to move, already catching the anxiety in her voice, on high alert the moment Brittany said she wanted to talk. "I'm sorry," She said quickly, almost getting up and going to Santana, but ultimately staying seated where she was, not wanting to spike Santana's anxiety even more than it already was. "I shouldn't have started like that, everything is fine, everyone is fine. Nothing bad happened and nothing bad is going to happen," Brittany said, wanting to bring Santana's defenses down just a little before she told her the news. She didn't want Santana to be upset before Brittany even told her.
"I'm serious, I wouldn't lie to you," Brittany added, returning her arms to her lap but still sitting where she was, her voice low and calm. "I'm not leaving you and I love you." She said, not because it made any sense but because, based on their latest conversations, she knew Santana's mind would automatically jump there. "I'm okay, you're okay," She tried to list off everything Santana could possibly be wondering, wanting to soothe her with every possible comfort. "I'm scared I'm going to freak you out when I explain, but I texted Rachel because I wanted to know more about that night at the hospital," Brittany began slowly, wanting Santana to have all the background before she blurted it out.
"I didn't ask her about anything specific," She clarified, knowing Santana's mind would instantly jump to their conversation about HIV when she was sick. "I just wanted to know what happened, what the hospital treated you with, what kinds of tests they ran, stuff like that. And Rachel didn't say anything bad. Everything came back clean and totally normal," Brittany said, knowing, even though she assured Santana she was fine, hearing that the medical test results were normal would relieve her. She almost blurted it out right then, but she held back, beckoning to her. "Will you please come sit, Babe? I swear it's nothing bad, it just might upset you." Brittany chanced, knowing Santana hated news in all forms.
She couldn't blame her, every single part of Santana's body was geared toward assuming the worst, always, even if it wasn't bad. Still, she knew Santana was stubborn, and knew she might not move, and that she didn't want to keep torturing her if she didn't move, knowing she'd have to tell her anyway if she decided to stay where she was.
"Everything is fine, everyone is fine, nothing bad happened or is going to happen, then why do you want to talk to me? Why would I get upset? Something has to have happened. Something happened or you wouldn't talk to me and I wouldn't be getting upset!"
Santana was still worked up, her pulse throbbing with her rapidly words thrown up into the air between them. She only partly heard Brittany's reassurance that she loved her and wasn't leaving her, but it was enough to soothe at least that question in her busily churning mind. If she's not leaving her, then things have to be at least a little okay. But that doesn't mean they're totally okay, because otherwise she wouldn't be telling her to sit down and talk. Sitting down and talking, in Santana's view, is rarely a sign of things being okay.
When Brittany told her that she had talked with Rachel about the night at the hospital, Santana, as predicted by Brittany, immediately flashed to her worry from last week about having HIV. She opened her mouth to pelt Brittany with more worried questions, but Brittany was reassuring her that she was okay before she could get them out, that the tests were normal. So she wasn't sick, no one was sick. But then what had Rachel said that made Brittany want to talk to her? She was going to kill that little midget the next time she saw her for whatever this was about, because even before she knew a thing she had a feeling that this related back to Rachel somehow.
Santana paused as Brittany encouraged her to sit, but then slowly inched forward, just barely perching on the couch beside her. Her entire body is taut, thrumming with barely held back irritability and fear as she turned towards her.
"What? If it's not bad why would I be upset? It has to be bad."
"Because I'm your girlfriend and I know what's going to make you upset and what isn't." Brittany answered easily. She could basically hear Santana's heart racing from across the room, wishing she could soothe her. "It didn't upset me, but it might upset you. Nothing bad happened and you know that, San." Brittany said, knowing that Santana trusted Brittany when she said something and, even though she was still riddled with anxiety and confusion, Brittany knew that when she spoke, Santana believed her, always.
She saw the confusion and shock flicker across her face at the confession that she'd spoken to Rachel, knowing immediately it was going to be about getting sick, swiftly disarming those worries as she tried to encourage Santana forward. She held her eyes steadily, wanting Santana to see that she wasn't being dishonest when she promised that everyone was okay and nothing was immediately wrong. Brittany kept her eyes on her as she shuffled forward, waiting patiently until Santana sat on the couch, knowing it was Santana being stubborn right along with Santana being anxious.
"Thank you," Brittany said, ignoring her question, instead reaching over to rest a hand on Santana's thigh, leaning over to her, their faces inches apart. With her free hand, she threaded it through Santana's hair underneath her ear, cupping the side of her jaw. Leaning that close to her, Brittany saw the fear and uncertainty plainly swimming in Santana's eyes. She was scared, and Brittany felt her heart pang at how easily frightened Santana was. Blinking, she swallowed.
"Listen to me. Honey, it's okay. You're going to have questions and I swear I'll answer every single one the best that I can and I'll tell you everything I know," Brittany said, laying it all out for Santana, pledging her transparency and honesty before she spoke, calmly and slowly, feeling Santana's unsteady breath on her face as they hovered there, inches apart and holding each other's eyes, "Santana, Rachel kept your clothes from that night. The clothes you were wearing at the bar, in the bathroom. The hospital didn't throw them away."
Santana took an uneven breath as Brittany reminded her that she could trust her, that she had never lied to Santana and never would. Santana did know this. If Brittany said nothing bad had happened then she believed that was true. But what if Brittany didn't think it was bad and Santana did? Why else would Santana be upset except if she thought that whatever Brittany said was bad?
Although Brittany was touching her with several soothing gestures at once, one hand a grounding weight on her thigh, the other holding her face lightly, turning it towards her own, Santana could not relax. She was sure Brittany could feel her pulse against her fingers, thrumming even at her jawline, as Brittany continued to try to reassure her to listen to her, that she, Santana, would be okay.
And Santana did try to listen. She heard every word Brittany said, but once they pierced her ears, they just didn't make sense to her. Because they couldn't be true, Brittany had to have misunderstood. Rachel couldn't have her clothes. They couldn't be still existing, still lurking somewhere in the loft. There was no way. She had long ago washed away every trace of that horrible man's body and its fluids from her, and she would never have to come across them in the real world again. Ever. The clothes were buried in a landpile long ago, probably as biohazardous waste, since there was blood on them.
But Brittany seemed to really believe what she was saying. And it just didn't make sense.
"No," Santana said slowly, her expression blank. But as she continued to speak her eyes grew wider, pupils dilating, and her face drained of color as she gripped the upper part of her legs with both hands. "No, she didn't. That's not possible. She didn't keep my clothes. Why would she do that? They wouldn't let her do that, they weren't hers. I didn't want them, they wouldn't...they wouldn't let her just take them. Why would she take them?"
Then her expression shifted, the paleness of her complexion flooding with color again in a hurry as anger took over. "No, why the fuck would she do that?! What the hell is wrong with her, why would she do that, why would she want those fucking horrible things?! You mean she has it in the loft, she just kept it there, all this time? And she wasn't going to SAY anything about it?! She let me fucking sleep in the same place where those clothes were, she let me stay in the same house as that bastard's- his-" she can't bring herself to say it at first but then spits it out, her entire body taut and beginning to shake from how rigid she held herself. "His fucking JIZZ, she kept that in the same place as me?! That's it, I'm going to go kick her ass, right now, and I'm taking those clothes and I'm burning them. Maybe the entire loft around them while I"m at it. Fuck!"
Brittany held Santana's gaze in the heavy, suffocating silence, letting her words, her confession, hang in the air around them, watching Santana absorb what her words meant, a shock to the system that neither of them had ever saw coming. She didn't dare look away from Santana's face, her heart in her throat and her blood thundering in her ears, waiting, waiting for the realization to dawn on Santana. She watched her expression blank, her face falling in disbelief. Brittany wanted to speak instantly, to comfort her in the very next breath, but she gave Santana a moment to process it, to adjust to the news, not wanting to overwhelm her, wanting to give her time to fully understand what Brittany had said to her.
"Yes, she did," Brittany said slowly, calmly, trying to answer every question Santana was bringing up, her voice laced with disbelief. She'd gone nearly a whole year thinking the clothes were gone, she'd gone a whole year without even thinking of the clothes at all, only to find that they'd existed all along. "I don't know if they let her or if she took them after you said you didn't want them," Brittany answered honestly. "I don't know how she did it, but she's had them," She repeated, confirming Santana's disbelief.
She had been so caught off guard at Rachel's confession, it had taken so many questions for even Brittany to believe it, and Brittany hadn't even been involved in that night. She could only imagine the jolt to the system the news gave Santana, her clothes, the ones that she'd once worn to work, the ones that were torn off her, had never been thrown away.
"She wanted to- " Brittany started, before Santana's face flushed and she cut Brittany off swiftly. She took her hand off her jaw, instead pressing both hands against Santana's thighs, wanting to ground her, to center her even as she raved and cursed Rachel out, a sudden outburst of rage at the fact that Rachel hadn't told her for so long.
"I know, San," Brittany sympathized with her anger, knowing Santana felt betrayed, even if Rachel had been doing it for Santana's own sake. "I know you're upset, Babe." She said, letting Santana continue her angry exclamations, flinching when she sneered at how Rachel had let her sleep in the same place as the clothes, instantly grateful that she'd told Santana the very same day she came to possess the clothes.
"Santana," Brittany waited until she ran out of steam, until her outburst had quieted at least for a moment. She was strung so tightly, shaking from rage under Brittany's hands, and Brittany rubbed her legs soothingly, bringing her hands up to rub Santana's arms and then up to rest on her shoulders. She had no idea how Santana would react to her confession, knowing it could go either way, but not hesitating, never questioning if Santana should know. "Rachel doesn't have them anymore, I do." She admitted, calmly and loudly, wanting Santana to focus on what she was saying rather than the angry fit she was working herself up into. "I took them from her today, I didn't want her to have them and I made her give them to me. They're here, I hid them and you're never going to find them, but you get to decide what to do with them." She said, knowing the revelation that they were in the apartment would be another blow to Santana.
Brittany had been insanely thorough in her work. She'd made Rachel put the clear sealed bag into a garbage bag, not wanting to see the clothes for herself, deciding she wasn't ready for that. When she'd gotten home, she'd taped a note to the garbage bag labeled Santana, do not open, lest Santana ever find it, wrapped the bag in a hoodie, shoved the hoodie into a garbage bag and then hidden it in the deepest corner under the kitchen sink, behind all of their cleaning supplies. She'd decided that if Santana came across it, she'd rather her figure out what it was from a note than ever risk seeing the clothes.
Santana barely felt Brittany's hands against her thighs. She was still tensed and shaken, flushed with muscles twitching. She was fighting the urge to jump up and start pacing, in an effort to bleed off some of her intense emotions through the movement. Even as Brittany kept her hands against her, rubbing her arms and legs calmingly, Santana was not calmed down. She paused speaking only to catch her breath, and then when she started to understand what Brittany was telling her, she was stricken with shock anew.
Rachel didn't have the clothes anymore. Brittany had them. Brittany had them, right here in the same house as her. Maybe even in the same room. Brittany had actually taken those clothes home with her. She had touched them, looked at them.
Santana's face slackened, losing color again as this realization sank in, and her breathing began to stagger, shallow, uneven, and sputtery. She started to panic, coughing and almost choking as she began to fear that she was actually suffocating somehow, her nails digging into her legs as she fought her intensifying fear.
They were in the same place that she was. They had been for months, without her knowing it, and they were again now. That man's DNA was somewhere within proximity of her. What if somehow parts of it had managed to come off of the clothes and were in the air now, what if she was breathing him in? What if he was inside her all over again, this time inside her mouth and lungs? What if he was able to know that somehow, what if he somehow knew that those tiny pieces of him were near her and he could track her down? What if he found her? What if he had known all along exactly where she was and he was just waiting to come back and get her again, maybe this time to even kill her?
Brittany watched her words affect Santana for the second time that night, desperately wishing she didn't need to be the one to make her feel this way but also knowing that there was absolutely no one else who could relay this news to Santana. Santana had reacted intensely when Brittany told her, Brittany who she trusted, Brittany who she felt safest with above all else, and Brittany couldn't even conceptualize what it would've done to Santana if she'd somehow found out any other way.
She felt her heart tug when the color drained out of Santana's face, registering that the clothes were here, in the apartment, and that Brittany had taken them from Rachel. It had been a no brainer for Brittany to take them, but now she questioned if she'd done the right thing. Initially, she'd thought Santana would feel better knowing they had the clothes and they couldn't somehow get lost at the loft or be taken or touched, but now, she wasn't sure. She knew, really, there was no right thing to do in a situation so dark and twisted as this one was.
"Hey, it's okay," She said when Santana coughed, her breath sputtering, wheezing in short spurts. Brittany pulled Santana to her by the waist, reaching down to try to unfurl Santana's clenched hands, trying to relax her muscles. "It's okay, Santana." She repeated, her eyes on Santana's wide and rolling and terrified. Brittany took Santana's face in her hands, trying to get her to focus on her, trying to get her to center in on something. "Santana, I need you to breathe, you're okay. I told you we were safe and we are. I promise you'll never, ever have to look at them or see them or even know where they are," Brittany said, her voice clear, steady and loud, trying to guide Santana to safe ground, trying to bring her back from the brink of full blown panic.
As Brittany pulled her closer, Santana continued to wheeze, finding it harder and harder to draw in breath the more she struggled to do so. She grasped at Brittany's hands, squeezing hard enough that her own knuckles popped, and when Brittany pulled her hands loose to cup Santana's face, Santana's eyes locked on hers, huge with desperate fear.
Brittany's eyes are baring steadily into hers, her voice is loud and calm and sure, and although Santana can't focus on her words at first, she focuses on Brittany's face, on her eyes. Her eyes are reassuring her, grounding her, and as Santana continues to barely suck in whistling breaths, her chest on fire, tears blur her vision and then overflow. She stares at Brittany through wet eyes, speaking in a wobbly whisper.
"I don't want them here. I don't want them near me. I don't want him near me!"
When Santana's eyes landed on hers, Brittany exhaled. As long as Santana was focusing on Brittany and looking at her, Brittany knew she could get through to her. And she was looking at her, eyes wide and pleading, begging for reassurance, for comfort, for safety. "You'll be okay, San," Brittany said, holding her face in her hands, inches from her own, forcing her to hold her gaze and focus on her.
"It's alright. I won't let anything bad happen to you," She promised, her thumb skating under Santana's eye as she cried, feeling her body shake as she found to suck in deep breaths. Brittany knew she was panicking, bowled over with the sudden realization that Brittany had the clothes, the clothes she'd thought were long gone. When Santana spoke, a frantic, charged whisper, Brittany shook her head, trying to meet Santana's panic with calm, trying to absorb her emotions and bring her back down slowly.
"You're safe," She promised, her eyes burning with determination. "They're not going to hurt you, he's not anywhere near you, San."
Brittany's heart fractured at her frantic, tear-clogged plea that she didn't want him near her, surprised to find a lump in her own throat. Swallowing, she repeated herself.
"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," Brittany swore, even though they were sitting in the safety of their apartment. "They're just clothes, Babe. I know you're upset, but I promise I won't let anything happen. Come on," Brittany urged lovingly, "Tell me why you're afraid." Brittany expected sadness and frustration, but when she looked in Santana's eyes, she saw pure, unbridled fear, gripping Santana and rendering her helpless.
Santana's eyes stayed unwavering on Brittany's, desperate for her reassurance. Although it was Brittany's actions that had sparked this fear in her, it was also only Brittany she could trust enough to comfort her. She sniffed, blinking back against her tears as she tried to look at Brittany clearly, even as her vision swam and her face felt cold in Brittany's hands.
As Brittany reassured her that she was safe, that she was not going to be hurt, Santana struggled to believe this, to reason through her immediate fears. She couldn't speak for several moments, just trembling under Brittany's hands, her stomach angry and raw with her fear before she tried again to speak.
"He's h-here. I know, I know he's not, like, n-not his person, but part of him is, and I just- I didn't know they were still there, I thought it was all gone. Everything b-but what I remember. And now, now it's still here, and part of him is right in here with me, and if he knew that he might come look for me to get rid of the evidence, and then-"
She cut off, having worked herself up again to the point of near hyperventilating. Eyes glued to Brittany's, they silently begged for her to help her breathe again.
Brittany let Santana take her time, continuing to hold her face in her hands and wipe her hot tears away, never stopping her steady stream of comforting words, her eyes just as unwavering as Santana's were on hers. "Come on Babe, you're doing so good," She comforted, encouraging her.
She nodded as Santana spoke, listening empathetically to what she was so afraid of, what about the clothes made her shake in terror. Brittany was grateful Santana was talking, grateful that she was even trying to explain why, explain what it was, even though her reasoning made her so scared. Brittany had seen her upset and sad countless times after the assault, upset about her memories, upset in the aftermath of nightmares. She'd seen fear from her nightmares too, but those fears were more easily disarmed by Brittany once she'd gotten Santana to wake up. This was unbridled terror, a threat that, to Santana, was very real, Brittany realized. It was one of the first times Santana expressed fear that the specific person who hurt her may come back, may look for her, past her anxiety about men in general or men in hats, this was about the man who had done this.
Hearing Santana's sentence cut off, Brittany stepped in, nodding her head. "Okay, okay," She hushed, hearing Santana's breathing kick up, short, jerky wheezes that weren't reaching her lungs. "Come on, San, I know we have a lot to talk about, but I promise I'll keep you safe, you're safe right here with me," Brittany soothed, keeping one steady and soft on Santana's jaw, her other hand searching for one of Santana's free hands, smoothing her hand flat with her thumb before bringing Santana's fingertips up to Brittany's own lips, kissing them gently.
"Hey, San, it's okay, I just need you to try and breathe big and slow just like this," She cooed before breathing in deeply through her nose, holding it for a second before she exhaled through her mouth, blowing gently, slowly against Santana's fingertips so she could feel when she exhaled. Brittany did that a few more times, holding Santana's gaze, inhaling deeply and exhaling just as slowly.
In between her deep, steady breaths, she spoke, still holding Santana's fingertips up to her lips, trying to get Santana to focus on her, the way she breathed, the way her lips and jaw moved as she spoke. "It's okay, Babe. I know you're scared, I know you didn't think they still existed. But he's not coming, he doesn't know. The only people who know are you, me and Rachel." She soothed, "He doesn't know where we live or who we are," Brittany reminded, pressing a kiss to Santana's fingertips. "I know it's hard because they're from that night, but it's not a part of him, they're just clothes." They were way more than just clothes, it was evidence, but Brittany wanted to downplay it, to get Santana to breathe, knowing focusing on the fact that his DNA was on the fabric would have the opposite affect on Santana's demeanor. "I would never do anything if it meant you would ever get hurt," She promised, knowing that if Santana believed nothing else, she believed that.
Santana continued to maintain desperate eye contact with Brittany, even as she continued so weep, her shoulders heaving as Brittany steadily held her face, wiping her tears as they came. She didn't want to stop looking at Brittany, afraid of what she might start picturing, of how it would overwhelm her, if she had anything but Brittany's face directly in her line of vision. As even this failed and she started truly struggling to breathe, Brittany kissed her fingers, coaxing her to breathe with gentle demonstrating breaths against her finger tips. She never looked away from Santana, never flinched at the overload of emotions Santana was throwing her way, and Santana felt a flicker of gratitude and love for her even with her overwhelmed state.
Gradually her breathing became closer to gulps and sniffles than fighting for air, and Santana clutched Brittany's hand back, still highly upset, but no longer near passing out from lack of breathing. She still struggled to make herself understood as she attempted to explain.
"B-but it's not j-just clothes. It's not. It's m-more. It's everything. It's, it's him on them, and it's me, and it's everything, and it does hurt. It does hurt. It hurts so much."
She actually sounds a little calmer as she manages to get out some of her thinking, even if she still isn't sure it makes sense.
Brittany continued holding Santana's hand against her mouth, their faces inches apart, not daring to ever move with how desperately Santana was looking at her, knowing they were tiptoeing along a tightrope together, Brittany fighting to lead the both of them to the other side safely without tipping them over the edge. She had to focus, had to remain in the present and hold Santana there with her, drawing her out of her thoughts as much as possible. She knew Santana needed her, and being needed sharpened Brittany's focus and cemented her resolve, whenever Santana looked to her, or reached for her, or said her name for comfort, Brittany rose to the occasion, knowing that in that moment, this was the most important thing in the world to her, the only thing in the world that mattered to her.
She nodded as Santana grasped at her hand, watching her try, so hard, to deepen her breathing. "Good job, Babe," Brittany hushed, "You're doing so good, just like that," She nodded, letting Santana focus on her breathing for a few seconds before she spoke again, stuttering out more of her explanation. Brittany let her speak without interruption, continuing to blow slow, gentle breaths against Santana's fingertips so that she could actually feel them in between simply pressing her lips against her fingers in a long, gentle kiss as she listened to her.
"I know, I know Honey," Brittany calmed, because she did, understanding that the emotional impact of the clothes was far more daunting than the objects themselves. She rubbed Santana's hand with the back of her thumb, holding their joined hands against her own cheek as she spoke, her voice low and calm, steady as Santana fought to steady herself. "You're doing good," She encouraged again, "I know you're scared," Brittany nodded, sweeping her thumb under Santana's eye, brushing away her tears again. "But I won't let you get hurt, I know it hurts your heart, but I promise I'll keep you safe here," She calmed, gently making the distinction between Santana's emotions and her true, physical safety.
"I know the clothes make you think about what happened that night, Santana," She said, validating Santana's fear. "But now, they're just clothes, and I know what you mean, but here, in this apartment, they're just clothes, and they're yours and mine now and we never have to do anything with them ever. Ever." Brittany had almost said that they were Santana's clothes, but she didn't, clarifying that they belonged to the both of them now, not wanting Santana to feel like they were hers alone. "They can stay where they are forever, and I know his DNA is on them, but that's it. They're in a bag, multiple bags, actually, and Rachel has had it sealed since she took them." She promised, not wanting Santana to spiral from the details of what having the clothes meant. "I've never seen them, and you never have to either." Brittany promised, rubbing her cheek gently.
With Brittany's blue eyes steady on hers, the only thing Santana would let herself look at and focus on, Santana slowly inches towards a calmer state. She shivered as Brittany blew continued even breaths against her fingers, frequently kissing their tips and stroking her face and hand as she continues to speak to her quietly and calmly. She barely could take in what Brittany was telling her, but the majority was finally beginning to sink in.
Brittany was here, and that was what mattered. Brittany would be here, always. Brittany would never let her feel unsafe, no matter how scared she was or how upset. Brittany was here.
With jerky, clumsy motions Santana climbed into Brittany's lap, burying her face in the hollow of her neck and shoulder and wrapping her arms tight around Brittany's waist, straddling her legs with her own. She's calmed enough to no longer need the constant visual of Brittany in front of her, and now her body gives occasional shivers as she continues to come down from her distress. She stays against Brittany, trusting her to continue to hold her and keep her with her.
Brittany continued to murmur steady comforts, reminding Santana that even though the clothes made her feel upset, they were nothing more than clothes and that the two of them were safe in the apartment, constantly promising that she wouldn't let anyone hurt her. She was meeting Santana's volatile, storming emotions with the quietest, most simple movements, slow and gentle and steady, safe, solid ground for Santana to land, unwavering a calm, bringing Santana down slowly, letting Santana speak and get her thoughts out and meeting them with quiet affirmations to validate how she felt and what she was afraid of.
She hadn't moved Santana's body save for her hands, not wanting to jolt her, knowing that she needed to keep her gaze steady and let Santana move how she wanted, trusting Santana's body enough to know that Santana would seek out what she wanted when she wanted it, and in those moments, Brittany knew Santana needed to see her face, to feel how she breathed and keep her eyes open and trained on her while she came down from her hysterics.
After a few minutes of gentle calming, reassuring Santana that she was okay and had the autonomy to make every decision about her clothes, she did move, causing Brittany to move in response, the hand that was on Santana's cheek moving to wrap around her upper arm, helping her climb into her lap and settle, her knees landing on either side of Brittany's hips. "Come here, Babe, it's okay," Brittany soothed as Santana settled against her, burying her face in her shoulder. Brittany wrapped both her arms around her, smoothing her hair back so that she could breathe, keeping Santana held to her body, her hand rubbing up and down her back in long, heavy strokes. She could feel Santana shiver occasionally against her as she continued to get her emotions out.
"You're okay, Babe, no one can hurt you now," She hushed, leaning back against the cushions with Santana with her, settling the both of them. "You're in control, you're safe right here."
Santana grew calmer with time as she rested against Brittany, her own hummingbird-fast pulse beginning to settle more in rhythm with Brittany's as their chests pressed close to each other. She breathed in Brittany's scent, her sinuses slightly clogged, and grasped her more tightly around the waist, fisting the back of Brittany's shirt with one hand. As Brittany stroked her back and hair, murmuring continued comforts, Santana eventually stopped crying entirely and went limp against her, all except for an occasional shiver.
She was trying so hard not to think anymore about the clothes, about where Brittany had hidden them or what they might look like. She can picture them so clearly. She can picture him so clearly, no matter how much she tries to put Brittany's image at the forefront of her mind. And as scared as she is, she's even more exhausted now.
It was so tiring to have so much fear. It took so much energy, mentally, physically, and emotionally, to have to be aware of so much in the world, to even know that things were possible that she had never worried about before. It drained her, and she simply rested against Brittany, trying to summon some of her energy back, before finally whispering against her neck.
"Sorry I lost it. I hate feeling this."
Santana's weight against her was equally as relaxing for Brittany as it was for Santana, warm and reassuring. Brittany was calmer now, confident that Santana was okay and just needed time to reset emotionally and come down from her upset. She felt Santana's hands tight against her back, clutching the material of her shirt, desperate to stay close as Brittany held her to her chest, each part of their bodies fitted together leaving no space in between. She stayed silent, knowing she didn't need to speak, patient with Santana as she felt her heartbeat gradually slow down through the fabric of her shirt. Gently, she let her right hand slip under the hem of Santana's shirt, resting her hand between Santana's shoulder blades softly, letting her nails scratch her back soothingly, feeling her lungs expand and deflate as her breathing grew more controlled. Keeping one hand wrapped securely around her, Brittany flicked the TV on, the sound of whatever show was on filling the room as she thumbed the volume down. She didn't care what was on TV, she just wanted background noise to surround them. The apartment seemed large and empty when the only sound was the sound of Santana's tears, and she wanted something else to fill the space and make it less scary.
"It's okay, San," She said, picking up on how weary Santana's voice sounded, weak and exhausted after being so upset. "You didn't do anything wrong, you don't have to apologize," Brittany promised, "I knew it was going to upset you, that news would make anyone feel overwhelmed."
Even though she'd known Santana would get upset, even Brittany didn't anticipate just how upset she'd been, realizing the memories of what happened were far more vivid that Brittany had ever realized, and although Santana didn't remember pieces of what happened at the hospital, Brittany realized she remembered much more of the night than she'd initially picked up on.
"I know that scared you," She sympathized as she comforted her, her other arm securely around Santana's waist as she rubbed her bare back under her shirt. "But nothing changes, you get to decide what happens," Brittany promised her. "We're still safe here, and we'll wake up in the morning and everything will be just like it was. The clothes will stay where they are we'll still be us and nothing bad will happen," She said, knowing the revelation of the clothes still existing had thrown a wrench into Santana's carefully constructed routine and normalcy, wanting to reestablish safety and familiarity for her.
Santana didn't feel like it was okay. Even with her body pressed as closely against Brittany's as she could keep it, even with Brittany's warm hand rubbing her back, her words soft and soothing against her ear, she still felt like her reaction had not been okay. It had been intense even for herself to experience, and the strength of her emotions had scared her almost as much as their cause.
"I hate it though," she mumbled into Brittany's neck. "Getting scared and freaking out on you. On anyone. I thought that's what therapy is for, to make me stop."
She exhaled, hearing Brittany's words of reassurance, her efforts at painting a picture of normalcy that they both were growing more accustomed to. But she couldn't fully accept that her life could continue as its new normal, not with this new fact thrown into existence.
"I just want not to remember anything anymore," she murmured, squeezing Brittany briefly. "I want to just erase it all and make it gone. Didn't they use to do lobotomies back in the day? I'll take a lobotomy. Sounds like a promising lifestyle going forward."
"I know you do," Brittany said, "I don't like seeing you that upset either." She was careful, making sure she didn't say that she hated it too, not wanting Santana to ever feel guilty for the way that she felt. "Getting scared isn't a bad thing, San. I probably would've gotten just as upset. Nobody has been through what you have and no one can tell you how you act is normal or not. Anything that you feel is real and okay just because you're feeling it." Brittany reminded her, resting her cheek against Santana's head. "Therapy is to help you manage when you get scared," Brittany clarified, gently reframing Santana's perception of the goal of therapy.
"And it's working, you know it's working. Kate helps us all the time with helping you figure out what you need and what you want and how to show me," She pointed out, which was true, along with helping Brittany how to understand how to best help Santana depending on how upset she was and what it was about. "You listened to your body just now and you knew what you wanted and when you wanted to look at me and when you wanted me to hold you," Brittany reminded. "And you spoke, the whole time, even when you were upset. That's a big deal, Babe." She turned her head, kissing Santana's ear where her head rested on her shoulder.
She was impressed that Santana had been able to talk to her the entire time, treating that as a victory in itself. Santana had had a habit of refusing to say things out-loud, regardless of if it was a fact or a fear, both in therapy and with Brittany, and Brittany had been encouraging her, little by little, to talk to her, even when she was upset. She'd been coaxing Santana to describe what she was feeling, no matter how irrational the feeling was, and Santana had been doing it for her, getting better at verbalizing her thoughts and fears to Brittany.
"And you calmed down fast. You got upset and figured it out and then you did what you needed to do to calm down," Brittany continued, "And I'm ignoring the lobotomy comment," She added swiftly, a ghost of a smile on her mouth. "You'll always remember, Babe," Brittany sighed gently, "But, with therapy, and time, the memories won't be so triggering, they won't hold so many emotions in them. They'll just be there." She promised, wanting to assure Santana that the memories wouldn't always have such power over her.
"It is a bad thing," Santana argued, sounding slightly calmer, closer to her own self again, although she didn't lift her face from Brittany's neck. "Being scared isn't a good thing, and it sure doesn't feel good, and I don't want it, so it's not okay."
She sighed when Brittany continued to cradle her, calmly encouraging her to adjust her thinking. She knows deep down that Brittany is right, that Kate has also reassured her that her feelings are normal and valid, but that doesn't mean she isn't embarrassed and ashamed by them regardless. Still, as Brittany pointed out how she had listened to her body without even realizing it, how she was able to talk to her even though she was upset, Santana realized to her own surprise that this was true. At one point that had been unthinkable, to talk about something so upsetting and while so anxious and afraid. She would have resorted to tracing or writing if she could even manage that, and yet today she had spoken the entire time, even when she was actively verging on panic. Maybe she was doing better. Maybe Brittany was right.
"I guess," she said softly, her hands gentling against Brittany's back, no longer clutching her so harshly. She laid against her for several more minutes, just thinking quietly, before saying hesitantly, "It's not in our bedroom, is it? Or in the bathroom?"
She can't stand the thought of sleeping in the same room that any part of that man, no matter how tiny, was in, or being naked in the same room either.
"Being scared isn't a good thing, but everyone feels scared at some point, San," Brittany said, listening to Santana murmur against her neck. "Everyone, I feel scared when I think about something happening to you or something upsetting you or what happens if the studio closes or I get injured," She said, randomly listing off a bunch of random fears. "Or Hailey or something happening to my parents. And Rachel and Kurt all probably have their fears too. But you think about, you feel it, and then you let it go. You just felt scared, you felt it, and how you're letting it go," Brittany assured her.
She sighed contentedly as she felt Santana relax a little against her body, keeping up her loving ministrations, scratching her back gently as she felt her limbs loosen. She knew Santana was deep and thought and didn't make an effort to pull her out of it, listening with her body in case she tensed or flinched, which she didn't. Brittany didn't expect her to ask about where the clothes were and she hesitated, pausing a moment while she decided how to answer her question. She wanted to be honest with her, but she also wanted to stress the fact that the clothes were clothes, even if they held emotional trauma for her.
"No, honey, they're not," Brittany answered finally. "I'm not lying to you, but if I were, you wouldn't have any idea that they were even there," She added. She knew the clothes made Santana upset, rightfully so, but she would continue trying to remove their power. "I know they upset you, and I know there's DNA on them, but you are the one in control. We can throw them away or do whatever you want to them." Brittany promised. "They have no connection to him, you can't feel them or hear them or even see them."
She knew the chances of Santana ever finding them were close to zero, but she'd even taken precautions and hidden them in hoodies and extra bags with a note on the outside, effectively stopping Santana before she could accidentally expose herself to them. "I don't want you to upset yourself more. I could've stuffed them under this couch - I didn't- but you still wouldn't be able to feel them. It doesn't matter where they are, Babe. Do you want me to give them back to Rachel?"
"I never see you get scared," Santana protested faintly, trying and failing to recall a time that she could remember Brittany visibly scared. "You never show that you're scared. I don't think you're ever really scared. Not like me."
She can feel Brittany's hesitation to answer her and tenses, beginning to feel dread that maybe the clothes are right under their bed or somewhere equally disturbing to her. But Brittany would know better, surely?
She does believe Brittany when Brittany tells her the clothes aren't in their bedroom or bathroom, but she's still struggling with not knowing where they are, exactly. How can Brittany be sure she won't find them by accident? How can she be sure that she can't feel them? She's pretty sure she can feel them. It feels to her like that, anyway. At least she had definitely been sure she could feel them a few minutes ago.
She ponders Brittany's question about giving the clothes back to Rachel. Her instinct is to say yes, that she doesn't want them to exist at all, let alone in the same building. She wants Brittany to burn them and bury them twenty feet deep. But even as she opens her mouth and starts to lift her head to tell her this, she hesitates.
"I'm...I'm not sure," she finds herself saying slowly. "I don't know what I want you to do. I don't even know why I don't know, but I don't know."
"I've never been through half of what you've been through," Brittany responded instantly, an uncomfortable truth. Half was even a stretch- Brittany hadn't endured even one tenth of the struggles Santana had gone through in her lifetime. "But if I did, I know you would let me cry and be scared," She pointed out, indirectly calling out the fact that Santana was her harshest critic at all times and rarely accepted her own struggles, although if the situations were reversed, Brittany was confident Santana would never, ever judge her.
After confirming to Santana that the clothes aren't in their bedroom or bathroom, she let Santana think about the question, equally curious about her answer. Initially, Brittany taking the clothes was a no brainer to her- they seemed too intimately personal for Rachel to keep them, even though Rachel had been there that night while Brittany had not. Idly, she twirled Santana's hair, happy that she was relaxed and loose against her body now, the tension seeping from her.
Catching her hesitation, she waited until she verbalized an answer before she spoke. "Okay," She said simply, "You don't have to decide right now, or at all," Brittany said, reinforcing the fact that this was, truly, something Santana had complete control over. "Why don't we leave them where they are now, and if you decide later that you want me to give them back to Rachel, I can do it while you're in class." She suggested, now looking Santana in the eye as she sat up.
Sliding her hand out from under her shirt, she cupped her face again, brushing away the tear tracks tenderly. "I don't want you to be freaked out all the time if they're here, and I think if you keep feeling this way I should give them back to Rachel." She added, "But you're not going to find them and even if you did, you would know what they were before you ever got close enough to seeing the actual clothes. There's a note." Brittany was certain Santana wouldn't find them, being that they were never home without the other one, but Santana's eyes still looked uncertain, like she needed extra reassurance.
"I thought you'd want us to have them rather than Rachel," Brittany explained, wanting Santana to understand her thought process, thinking it may help with her decision. "I thought you'd get upset if I told you the clothes existed but they were some place else. I thought it would make you obsess over where they were and if they could get lost or taken or something at the loft, so I took them so you would know they were somewhere where nobody else could get them. But you have control over what happens to them." She promised, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.
"You've been through things," Santana protested. "You had people make fun of you in school. You survived Sue and you weren't always nice to yourself and your body. Things haven't always been easy for you."
Although truthfully, when she thought about what in life had been difficult for Brittany, most of it came down to decisions she made, such as going on tour, rather than something she couldn't help, such as had often been the case for Santana. One of the things that had made things far more difficult for Santana in her life was how often she had simply not had any control, whether that be from her family's behavior to being outed to being bullied to having her heart broken, right up to being raped. It was a repeating and increasingly traumatic theme in her life that she had always fought to regain control of- to have any control at all.
It was true that she would always let Brittany cry when she needed to, and she would never judge her for being scared. Somehow it was hard to see things the same way when it came to herself though.
Santana nodded slightly, closing her eyes briefly as Brittany cradled her face and wiped the last remnants of her tears. She opened them again to regard her, considering her promises to her solemnly as Brittany reassured her of her control, of her inability to accidentally stumble across the clothes without knowing.
"I get it," she said slowly, in response to Brittany's explanation of why she had taken the clothes. "You're probably right. It just feels...I just don't like it. It was...shocking, I guess. And scary. Like how much else don't I know? If the clothes are there still when I didn't think so, maybe he is too." She shivered a little, not even liking voicing the thought, but pushing herself to continue even as she huddled closer to Brittany. "Like maybe he watches me. Or maybe I've walked past him and didn't notice. He might even go to the college or work there, I don't know. I don't know anything really except the parts I remember."
"Okay, I have," Brittany said, owning up to that fact, although, most of the bullying and hardship she'd endured had been before she'd met Santana, which was fairly easy to overcome considering she'd ended up being taken under both Quinn and Santana's wings during high school and being a Cheerio. "Things were hard sometimes, but things have been way, way harder for you," Brittany said honestly, not wanting to downplay Santana's life or even pretend like anything she'd gone through was remotely worthy of comparison.
She watched Santana intently as her eyes fluttered shut, calm, safe and heavy in Brittany's lap, no longer fighting for composure, trusting and loved and held. "I know," Brittany agreed, "I was shocked when Rachel told me. I never would've even guessed," She shrugged her shoulders, stroking Santana's cheek tenderly as she questioned how much else was going on that she didn't know about, nodding sympathetically. She was quiet, letting Santana voice her hypothetical fears, nodding when appropriate. Brittany couldn't blame her for being afraid - she knew the fact that the clothes had been kept this entire time was a shock to the system, showing Santana the harsh realization that she didn't have all the facts like she once thought she did.
"I think you probably know everything else, Babe," Brittany began gently. "Rachel told me she didn't tell you because you were so against it at the time, but she didn't want you to lose your only chance to press charges - if that's something you ever want to do, you don't have to," She explained, her voice softening as she treaded on more sensitive ground. "I don't think he's been watching us," Brittany soothed, "I think a sick man just happened to be in your bar. It's been so long, too long for him to be watching us and not trying to do anything. I think we would've realized someone was watching or following us," She pointed out, sliding her arms around Santana as she felt her draw ever-closer. "The city's a big place, and I think the odds of that happening are really, really small." Brittany knew absolutely nothing about Santana's attacker so it was hard to give her complete certainty, but she knew the odds were so small and it was likely just a fear Santana needed to vocalize.
"Do you remember everything?" She wondered curiously. Even to that day, she'd never spoken about the night in detail with Santana, and she wasn't certain if they'd ever would, only hearing snippets from her during the peak of her upset. "You don't have to do this now, or ever, but if there are things you don't remember, or questions you have, Rachel pretty much remembers everything about the hospital," She confessed, bringing her hand up to brush a wisp of hair off Santana's face. "I don't know how curious you are or how much you blocked out, but she would tell you, if you ever wanted that."
Curled against Brittany, her head rested against her shoulder, Santana let herself be held and comforted, soaking in Brittany's caressing touch against her cheek. Her features have softened, showing vulnerability plainly in a manner she would have hated, had she seen it for herself. She didn't argue when Brittany assured her that Santana's life has been harder than hers. It was true, objectively, even if Santana was reluctant to acknowledge it.
As Brittany continued to acknowledge but reassure her, Santana further relaxed. She knew that if there was anything else that she needed to know, things Brittany or Rachel had been keeping back, Brittany would have told her by now. And Brittany would be honest if she believed there was a real chance that the man could come for her again.
As Brittany wondered aloud what Santana remembered, brushing her hair from her face, Santana shut her eyes, as though to block out overstimulation of taking in both the present and the past simultaneously. She didn't hide her face, but she kept her eyes shut and her head snug against Brittany's shoulder as she answered slowly.
"I remember everything about...what he did. Everything. Before, and...during. I don't remember much about after." She paused, taking a shaky breath, and knotted her hand into a tight fist. "I don't remember how I got to the hospital or a lot about what happened there, or how I got home. I think...I think maybe I fainted? Or I just can't remember, I don't know why. I don't really want to remember. I wish I didn't remember the rest of it either."
Brittany continued rubbing Santana's upturned cheek with light, gentle strokes, her thumb skating back and forth gently, reveling in the feeling of Santana's calm stillness so soon after her emotions had been peaking and dipping. Brittany felt exhausted in the wake of Santana's panic that day, so could only how imagine how upsetting and draining the experience was for Santana, content to give her time to reset, time they both usually always needed. It was something she'd learned early on with Santana, how badly she needed time, that during moments in high school where her mask would shift back into place effortlessly, inside, she was screaming. It made her smile a little to think of all the times Brittany had dragged her by the elbow into janitor's closets and empty classrooms, letting her collapse against her briefly, her knees buckling under the latest insults, pressure from Sue, pressure from her parents, pressure on all sides of Santana at all times.
And now, it had become part of their routine, effortlessly. Any day that Santana had therapy, Brittany tried her best to give Santana as much time both before and after as she possibly could, spending the rest of their afternoons on the couch with Santana in her lap, curled up and safe. It didn't matter if they were watching a movie, talking, sleeping, or just sitting, Britany knew Santana needed to sort her emotions and surround her senses in calm.
She was a little shocked to hear that Santana remembered everything that happened before the hospital. She didn't doubt her, but Brittany had never truly asked her what happened, nor had they discussed that night in explicit detail, save for Santana muttering a few things that had been said or done.
"Okay," Brittany said simply, noncommittally. "That makes sense," She nodded, "I think you know all the big things, and I don't think you need to know any more or any less. If you ever did, Rachel would be there to tell you," Brittany promised, stroking her hair back. "I wish you didn't remember the rest of it either," She sympathized.
Eyes still closed, Santana swallowed, savoring and taking continued comfort in Brittany's arms around her, her hand still stroking through her hair. She feels small, in a good way that she always does when in Brittany's arms, as though she will be protected and cherished and held safe. She feels far calmer now than she normally does while talking about anything to do with that night, maybe partly because of Brittany's gestures, maybe partly because she's worn herself down from her earlier surging of emotions.
"Do you think I should talk about it?" she wondered quietly, lifting her eyes up to Brittany's. "I never want to. It feels like it will happen again if I do. Or like I'll feel it all over again. But maybe I'm supposed to, so that will stop. I don't know. Kate always wants me to talk about it one day and I never do in there. Do you think I'm supposed to talk about it with you?"
She paused, checking Brittany's expression. "Or is it too much on you? Would it make you too sad, or too upset?"
Brittany flicked her eyes down to where Santana's head rested when she asked the question, taking a moment to think about it. She couldn't make eye contact with Santana with her head on her shoulder, but she could feel Santana's eyes on her, knowing she was watching her, wanting an explanation into what Brittany thought of it all. She sighed, playing with the hem of Santana's shirt at her back, her fingers stroking the bare skin of her lower back as she contemplated the question, twisting her lips to the side while she thought about.
"I think eventually? Probably," Brittany said honestly. "I mean, I don't think you need to tell Kate, me or anyone everything you remember, but I think right now, and since I've been back, you've been afraid that saying things will make them real." She pointed out, "Or will make them happen again." Brittany had helped Santana rebuild her life, a sense of normalcy, a sense of routine, but she knew really, it was all a carefully constructed house of cards, one puff of wind could send Santana into a tailspin. She'd just seen it happen when she'd told Santana about the clothes, a reaction far more volatile and afraid than even Brittany had expected.
"I think memories like that are a lot for you to bear the weight of all on your own," She continued, "When you tell people things, then you're both dealing with it, together, and you're not the only person in the world who knows what happened. But I think if it's going to upset you and make you scared, or you don't feel ready, you shouldn't force yourself. I think it'll have to happen eventually, because I think when the words and memories don't have any power, they won't be able to scare you." Brittany said gently, knowing it wasn't something Santana could keep to herself forever, not wanting her to have to keep something so heavy. "You're getting better at saying things," She reminded thoughtfully, "I think when you do decide to talk about it, it will be hard and scary, but it doesn't mean it'll happen again or that you'll feel it like that," Brittany promised.
When Santana asked about her, she paused, swallowing for a moment as she hesitated answering, thinking about the question. "I think, I mean, I have to hear it one day. I have to." She said honestly. "I know it'll upset me, and I will always feel guilty about leaving and that happening and the way I wasn't there." Brittany confessed, "I know I didn't know it would happen, but I know if I had been in the city, even if we'd been broken up and hadn't seen each other in a year, I could've gone to the hospital that same night and I think it would've been different," She said, knowing she was right. It was the worst night of Santana's life, and she knew if she'd been there Santana would've felt marginally less afraid and she would've been able to communicate with her better than Kurt and Rachel or the doctors.
"I will always feel like that, but I also know that I can't do anything about it and me being upset over that all the time won't do anything. We're together now, and it happened already, it's over. That night is done and it can't be changed, I can't go back, but I know that since I've been back I've done everything to try and help you and no one can take that away from me." Brittany said, "And when I get sad about it I just have to remind myself that I can't go back and but I can keep helping you today, tomorrow, every day." She said, wrapping her arms around Santana and holding her closer. "And so I know I'll get upset when I hear it, but I also know that talking about it isn't going to do anything. It wont' make it happen again or even make you feel like that because our life is so different now, a good different. So I don't think you have to make any decisions now, because it's based on how you feel, but I think, in time, talking about it would make it less scary."
Santana considered Brittany's point of view carefully, unconsciously biting her lower lip as she turned it over in her mind. It made sense. Brittany usually did have very steady logic, although not everyone outside of Santana always recognized that natural intelligence in her. She exhaled, her face registering some guilt as Brittany acknowledged that she would feel upset and guilty when she did hear the details of what had happened. She didn't want that for Brittany, although it was of course inevitable.
"I don't want to ever make you feel bad over something that wasn't your fault and didn't happen to you," she said. "I would rather you not get dragged in with me. I don't see how you feeling bad too is going to help anyone."
She gets what Brittany is saying, and maybe even that she's right, but she still doesn't like the idea of deliberately saying something that will upset them both. She wants to protect Brittany in a way from even verbally reexperiencing it with her, even though she also knows that Brittany is involved with Santana and the aftermath of her working through her experience every day.
"I'm not ready today," she said quietly. "I don't know if I ever want to talk about it out loud. But you know I talked about maybe writing about it a while ago? What if I wrote about it instead? What if I just let you read it? Would that be the same thing?"
Brittany smiled sadly, turning her head to press a kiss to Santana's temple at her kindness. "I know, Babe, but I'm in love with you and I'm in this with you, because I want to be and I choose to be," Brittany said softly, as if she'd ever choose anything different. "You didn't deserve to get dragged into it either, and you'll never have to through any of this alone. Me knowing isn't going to help anyone or anything, but I need to know because I love you, and I want to know because that's what love it. It's sharing all the good things and the beautiful things but also the bad and the ugly things. One day." She promised.
She let her hands lazily trail and up and down Santana's back, idly now, knowing Santana isn't upset but still wanting to constantly be touching her as they sat chest to chest on the couch. She let Santana think about what she said, letting her roll over Brittany's thought process in her mind before forming an answer.
"You're not ready today," Brittany agreed instantly, wanting to make sure Santana knew that Brittany understood that and had no intention of pushing her. "I think that's a good idea, that may help you." She encouraged, stroking Santana's hair. "I think if that's easier for you than speaking about it, that's what you should do."
Brittany continued, "I think that's a good step." She clarified, "I think one day, you'll be able to talk about it just as calmly as you're talking to me now, and it won't be something that's so scary because it'll be a memory that happened a long time ago and that's it."
Her voice was whisper soft, holding Santana against her body. Even though she'd gained weight since they'd been working on getting her to eat, her frame still seemed so small and fragile in Brittany's lap, and she wondered, with admiration, how Santana could possibly live with the darkness in her mind and the memories of what had happened. "At some point, it won't be this big scary thing that happened and something you can't talk about. It'll just be this terrible thing that once happened to you but doesn't define you or stop you." Brittany promised, knowing she would do anything to help Santana get to that point.
I'm in love with you. Santana instantly smiled, inwardly glowing at those words from Brittany. No matter how often Brittany told her she loved her and showed her with her actions, it still was capable of amazing her.
"I'm in love with you too," she said quietly, pressing a kiss to Brittany's cheek. "Thank you. For everything."
As Brittany continued to rub her back and play with her hair, pressing her love into Santana's body with each small touch, Santana settled against her, feeling as though her body and Brittany's are almost one. She nods slightly, not sure entirely if she believes Brittany's promises, but feeling some hope because she knows that Brittany believes them. And Brittany is one of the most determined people that Santana knows. If there is a way to get Santana to feeling better, to having a full and happy life without fear, Brittany will make it happen. That Santana does believe.
"I'll try to write it for you," she said finally, her body relaxed in spite of the weight of the decision. "Not today. But soon."
"You don't have to thank me," Brittany said instantly, although she was grinning. It was true, she never thought anything she did for Santana was important enough to be worthy of thanks, she just did it because she loved her. Santana's decision, her promise surprise Brittany, but she didn't let it show, hugging Santana to her and pressing kisses to her temple and cheek.
"Okay," She accepted easily, "Don't rush yourself, San." Brittany added, not wanting Santana to force a deadline on herself or push herself if it was too soon. She knew the clothes had been a blow to Santana, and even if she was calm in her arms right then, she knew the emotions would linger and she was constantly urging Santana to give herself patience and time.
Yawning, she patted Santana's back, her eyes glancing to the oven clock in the kitchen, seeing it was far later than they'd though. "Let's brush our teeth, I want to lay with you," She encouraged. Brittany had gotten creative with her methods of ushering Santana to bed, still skirting around saying 'let's go to sleep', even though Santana was sleeping better than she ever had in recent weeks.
Brittany helped Santana climb off her lap, keeping one hand on her as they made their way into the bathroom together, taking turns washing their faces and brushing their teeth, a sleepy, domestic routine that they'd mastered. It was the small things that always reminded Brittany how far they'd come, like the fact that they were so atuned to each other in their routine in their apartment and Santana had referred to the bedroom as 'our bedroom.' It always sent a flurry of butterflies through her stomach and made her even more certain that she wanted to be doing little domestic things like brushing her teeth with Santana forever.
Once they were done in the bathroom, Brittany laced their hands together before she turned out the light, wanting to be touching Santana before she plunged them into momentary darkness, leading them into their bedroom. While she knew Santana dreaded the nights, Brittany loved them, living for the moments right before they went to sleep and right after they woke up in the morning, where it was just them, curled around each other in the sheets, letting Santana adjust to the day or wind down for the night. It was intimate and vulnerable just like it had always been, when they had peeled off their Cheerios uniform and Santana had let down her guard in high school. Their lives had changed so much, but to Brittany, nighttime was always sacred.
Peeling off her leggings and pulling her shirt over her head, Brittany paused in her bra and panties. She'd slept in her underwear with Santana before, a few times, and, more than anything, she wanted to be as close to her as she possibly could.
"San?" She asked gently, making Santana pause as she too got ready for bed. "Do you care if I sleep naked? Or do you want me to keep my bra and underwear on?" She wondered, giving the decision to Santana, as always.
Even when they were younger, Brittany had always been infinitely more comfortable naked than Santana had been, even though she'd constantly reminded Santana how beautiful and perfect she was since the moment they'd first been intimate. "I won't do anything," Brittany added, not wanting to scare Santana or make her think she'd try to initiate something Santana wasn't ready for. "I just…I want to be close to you," She confessed, somewhat shyly, a blush creeping across her cheeks.
Santana nodded her understanding of Brittany's encouragement, nuzzling her cheek against Brittany's in response to her affection. She yawned immediately after Brittany, realizing then that some of her relaxation could be simple exhaustion. She nodded against Brittany's shoulder, slow to get up, and kept her hand in hers as they made their way into the bathroom and began to get ready for bed. Santana sometimes still felt a flutter of anxiety when they began their nightly ritual of preparation, but she felt calmer now than usual, perhaps because she had already gotten out more emotion than she could muster up again so soon.
She wasn't paying much attention to Brittany as she followed her into the bedroom and started to undress. When Brittany paused, Santana's eyes came up questioningly, noticing that she seemed to be considering something before she spoke her question. Santana considered this carefully, tilting her head. She didn't feel threatened by Brittany, naked or otherwise. And she knew very well Brittany wouldn't do anything. She herself still felt inclined to keep at least her underwear on, but she nodded, realizing as she answered that it did feel okay to her.
"Yeah, of course. I don't mind. And I know you won't, babe. I know."
She finished undressing, leaving her underwear on, and was briefly self conscious as she slid under the blankets, but as soon as she felt Brittany's warm arms wrap around her, the flutter of anxiety was replaced with immediate comfort. She snuggled closer, resting her head against Brittany's bare chest, and listened to her heartbeat. This felt okay. This felt right.
Brittany kept her eyes on Santana, watching her think about her decision, tilting her head in the way she always did when she was concentrating. Brittany thought it was adorable, and she was glad Santana was thinking about it, taking her time to really think it through before answering or agreeing. Brittany had no idea what Santana's answer would be, but she was prepared to put her pajamas on or keep her underwear and bra on, just in case Santana felt uncomfortable. She knew after getting upset Santana's emotions could ping pong back and forth, so she wanted to do whatever made her the most comfortable and made her feel the safest, always.
When Santana said she didn't mind, Brittany beamed, feeling her heart thrum when Santana told her she trusted her and she knew she wouldn't try anything. She knew Santana trusted it, but to hear her say it like that 'I know you won't', stroked a chord deep and low in her body. Reaching behind her easily, she unclipped her bra, letting it fall to the floor before kicking off her underwear. She loved sleeping naked, even when Santana wasn't there, but especially when Santana was there. Even if they didn't do anything, it made her feel close to her, Even when, at times in high school, it had felt like there was an ocean between them, laying together at night had instantly made them feel closer together.
Brittany slipped under the covers first, assuming Santana would put pajamas on and join her, but when she glanced up to see Santana unclipping her own bra, she smiled, feeling her heart flutter, not from arousal, but because Santana was trusting her with so much. "You're beautiful," Brittany blurted out, not even thinking before she said it, the words rolling off her tongue effortlessly.
As Santana slipped under the covers, Brittany turned and flicked out the lamp before she reached for her, pulling her against her body, their bare skin warm and smooth against each other as they lay. It was warm and cozy and safe and comfortable, and Brittany hummed contentedly as Santana laid her head down on her chest, bringing one hand up to stroke Santana's hair, her other hand resting on her ribs, feeling her side rise and fall as she breathed. "I love you," she murmured, "I wish I could always make you feel as safe as right now."
Santana flushed as Brittany looked up at her undressing, her smile somewhat bashful but genuine. As often as she had been told that she was "hot" by guys throughout high school, it was only Brittany who had ever told her she was beautiful with enough sincerity that Santana could believe her.
"You're beautiful," she returned earnestly, sliding in bed beside her and relishing the warmth of Brittany's body against her own. She breathed in rhythm with Brittany, their heartbeats nearly beating as one, her chest rising and falling in slow near unison with hers.
She barely noticed when their cat, Mila, padded into the room and jumped on the bed, until she walked across their chests, that is. Santana squawked, not wanting to swat at her, but the weight of the cat's body and the slight sharp dig of her claws against her bare breast had hurt, and she tried to curl further into Brittany to shield herself.
"Ugh, foot of bed only, Cruella Kitty!"
Mila gave an indignant yowl but did as directed, bathing herself with dignity. Santana settled back down once she was sure Mila wasn't going to use her as a scratching post, looking up at Brittany.
"I love you," she said back softly. "I know I'm safe with you. Sometimes I might not know it right in the moment, but I know it deep down. You do keep me safe."
88
Santana put off writing about the night of her rape for a few days after her promise to Brittany that she would go through with it. It seemed there was always some reason she could come up with that it wasn't the right day, or the right time, or she was too tired or too busy or, when she was truthful about it, just didn't feel like it. But when Saturday night rolled around and there were no plans for them the following day, she had finished all her work for the week, and she could come up with no further "legitimate" excuses, Santana committed herself to getting on with it.
Brittany wanted to know what had happened. Brittany deserved to know, after everything that Santana had put her through in "dealing" with her. And out of everyone, Santana trusted Brittany more than anyone with her story.
Still, it was so hard to get started.
That evening, Santana didn't eat; she couldn't. She toyed with her food and fidgeted and gripped Brittany's hand, and when Brittany tried to encourage her, she almost burst into tears. After a few minutes she was able to get out that she was planning to write about the night of her assault, and she felt too nauseous and keyed up to be able to choke anything down. Even sitting at the table while Brittany ate had been difficult for her, and when Brittany finished, Santana had almost been relieved to move with her to the couch.
Brittany gave her full reign to decide how she wanted to position herself. Santana couldn't figure this out at first. She finally chose to use a notebook instead of her laptop; typing her story on the same laptop she used for schoolwork felt somehow distant and impersonal and vaguely wrong, as though it were lumping what had happened to her in the same realm of school projects without any real significance emotionally. She felt like she needed to write the words with her own hand, in her handwriting, as though they would somehow come out in a way that would be an emotional catharsis more fully this way. She started at first to take her usual seat on Brittany's lap, but quickly figured out that she couldn't write a single word in this position. Even without Brittany directing attention at her, she was too aware of the possibility of Brittany looking down to read what she was writing, and having her so closely in contact with her felt overly stimulating.
Eventually Santana chose to sit on the opposite end of the couch from Brittany, her back against its arm, with her feet in Brittany's lap, so she was having some sort of contact with her for comfort and reassurance of her presence there for her without being quite so close. Once she started writing, it was difficult once more to get going. She kept crossing out lines and writing over them, wanting the writing to be perfect, "professional," and emotionally distant, as though she were writing a paper for class instead of an experience from her own perspective. But in the end her hand started scribbling the words faster than her brain could edit and keep up with, and she began to write exactly as her thoughts came.
Several times while writing Santana had to stop, rolling her face up to the ceiling and trying to control her quickening breathing and the tears stinging her eyes. She clutched the notepad against her chest, giving herself a physical reminder that she was home, she was safe, and used the five senses exercise Kate had given her to ground herself to the present. Mila, seeming to sense her emotional state, jumped on the couch and sat on her knees, purring, and this helped her further too.
It was nearly an hour before Santana had finished writing the last of her words. Unsure if any of it made sense or was even legible, she thrust it at Brittany, her voice hoarse.
"Here. Don't look at me when you read it."
She knew that was probably sort of impossible to both read something and look at someone while doing so, but she felt a strong urge to say it all the same.
Santana's words:
I know this should have a title. Every proper story does, I've never come across so much as an internet blog without a title, but I can't think of one for mine that wouldn't be something like the night I don't talk about, or the night I don't want to remember but can't forget, or something lame and cheesy and melodramatic like that. The night my life (and body) got fucked just doesn't have a great ring to it either so I think I'll just not give this a title and just go on like it has one because I'm already stalling enough anyway.
I wasn't happy, the night it happened. I hadn't been in a long time, but that wasn't exactly unusual. My girlfriend, the woman I'd loved for almost half of my life, had broken up with me, and I didn't know if I'd ever even talk to her again. I'd never loved anyone else and I couldn't imagine that being possible, and definitely I couldn't see someone else loving me. But as miserable as I thought that was, I had no idea what hell life could really become. I had a job, even if it was at a bar, and I was going to school and living with two of my best friends, even if they were enormous dorks. I was sad, but I wasn't scared. I didn't know any reason that I should be, in spite of going through a lot of shit that had hardly lead me to being a trusting Mary Sunshine kind of girl (those bitches are annoying anyway, let's be real).
I didn't think anything could happen to me that would make me truly scared. Now, I'm scared every fucking day of my life. Now, it takes all my will and a ridiculous amount of support from multiple sources for me to just have a normal day with normal adult activities. Sometimes I wonder if it's my karma, because of all the petty, evil little jabs and taunts I threw towards people back when I was a bitchy, insecure cheerleader in high school. Everyone says no but I still don't always believe that's true.
It was a Thursday, and it was supposed to be another lame day at my lame job at the lame bar, Above the Clouds. I was supposed to be serving drinks and hustling and putting up with drunk bullshit for tips, the usual bar wench crap, nothing I couldn't handle and hadn't every night for the past year or so. Except there was this one guy who came in. I still don't know his name but I'll never forget his face. He's made that impossible. I could recognize him from the way he moved, the way his breath smelled, how rough his skin felt, even if I couldn't see him. I would know. I'll never not know him anymore, even without a name. Somehow that's scarier. Boogeymen in movies might have faces, but how often do you know the name of the person who wants to hurt you?
He just seemed like a normal guy, just a typical asshole like so many guys at bars are. Blue baseball hat, name brand of an outdoors sporting store across the bill. Stupid sagging jeans showing the top of his briefs. White, scraggly goatee, dark hair, not very tall, but kind of broad. Not muscular, but he had wide shoulders and some gut, beefy hands and arms. He was alone, which sometimes is better in bars because guys in groups want to show off and get loud and handsy. But he didn't need a group of dicks to act like one.
He started off with the kind of shit I was used to, calling me babe and senorita, racist and sexist all at once. I ignored it because that was my job and if I could pretend gritted teeth was a smile, I would get a tip. Besides, I'd given out about as many fake numbers as fake tits in Hollywood. I could always buy him off with that. But then the comments got worse, asking me shit about sexual positions and landing strips, and then he outright grabbed my boob and squeezed, like it was some kind of dog toy he expected to squeak.
Maybe I messed up then, I don't know. I don't even remember what I said to him, except that it was not exactly an example of customer service handling of the year. I'm pretty sure I threatened his balls. I know I insulted his manhood. And I told him that I was a lesbian.
I don't know which of the above was what set him off. Maybe all of it, maybe none of it. Maybe it would have happened even if I batted my eyes and flirted and gave him a fake number and let him keep pawing me up. Maybe I should have just gotten my manager to throw him out, but maybe that wouldn't have worked either and he would have waited for me to get off my shift outside. Maybe I should have been nicer. I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter what I could have done or should have done because I didn't.
I thought he left after I embarrassed him enough for him to curse me out and back away. I was wrong. When I went to check the bathrooms later that night, which we were supposed to do every hour to make sure they were clean and no one was passed out inside, he was watching me, and he waited until he knew I was in there alone. Then he followed me.
I didn't have time to say anything, at least not a full sentence. I couldn't even follow what was happening quickly enough to realize what he was going to do. I thought at first he was just going to yell at me some more, maybe threaten or grope me or try to make me apologize, maybe flash his dick at me. But my brain wasn't working as quickly as his hands were. I couldn't even tell him to get the fuck out or yell for help before he had pushed the metal trash can under the bathroom door's knob, locked it, and pushed his hand over my mouth.
He grabbed me. He was bigger than me, he felt rough and hard and mean, even though I couldn't see his face. He had his hand over my mouth, and when I tried to bite it, he squeezed his arm around my ribs so hard I felt them strain. He kneed me in the chest, and while I was trying to breathe, trying to scratch him or buck him away, he threw me down to the ground and held me there. The floor was sticky and smelled like urine and stale beer, and I could feel his breath, hot and sour against my face. I still remember exactly how evil he sounded when he told me that he would kill me if I didn't shut up and lay still. I believed him. I still believe him. I think I would be dead, if I had kept fighting him.
I can't forgive myself for that sometimes. Sometimes I think it would have been better to die fighting instead of live with letting him do what he did. Sometimes I feel like such coward, and like nothing but scum, his scum, for making that choice.
He had his hand around my neck and my vision was going dark, making red and black spots, and I couldn't breathe. I didn't want him on me, heavy and harsh and hating. I didn't want him to tear off my clothes and leave me naked and exposed to him and the bright lights of the dirty bathroom. I didn't want him to hit me and shake me and hold me down until his hands left black and purple stains on my skin and I couldn't speak without rasping for days. I never even wanted to speak to him, but now I can't go a day without remembering how I felt my soul tearing with my skin when he thrust into me. And I never can forget what he told me, verbal injury added to the physical.
He told me I was worthless, nothing, worse than a bitch or a whore. He told me he was doing this because I deserved it, that he was doing me a favor. He told me he was fucking the gay out of me, that this was what I got for turning him down, and I was lucky if he let me live.
And then he was finished. I don't know how long it lasted. It could have been five minutes or five years. I don't remember what happened after, who got me up off the floor or to the hospital or who called Rachel, but someone must have. I don't think I want to remember. My brain is full enough without more. All I know is he left me there, bleeding and broken and more alone than I've ever been in my life, and all I could think of then was I wished he had killed me.
I still don't know what to call this. But that's what happened to me. Sometimes I think I should just get over it, it was nearly ten months ago, and I'll probably never see him or hear from him again. But it isn't true. I still see him at night, in dreams. I still see him in the faces of strangers in crowds. And every time I hate myself, I think maybe there's a reason I should. Maybe he saw it in me too, and maybe I got what was coming to me.
8
In the days after the discovery of Santana's clothes, Brittany tried to be as gentle with Santana as she possibly could, making sure the apartment was a safe place for her, taking extra time with her in the mornings and at home before they had to go to their classes and dance, being extra loving whenever possible. She was extra-grateful when the weekend rolled around, giving them the freedom to spend time together without having any commitments.
However, on Saturday, it seemed like Santana was extra-tense over something, even though Brittany couldn't figure out what had set her off. They had no plans to do anything tomorrow that could be anxiety inducing, and Santana had seemed okay earlier in the day. Sitting beside her as they ate, or as Brittany ate and Santana played with her food, she could feel the anxiety rolling off of her in waves. She gently tried to comfort her, promising she was okay and reminding her that they were safe and that she was there, little comforts that usually made a difference.
When Santana finally confessed that tonight was the night she was planning on writing about her assault, Brittany was stunned, her surprise showing blatantly on her face. She'd assured Santana she didn't need to rush herself or do it by a certain time, but she could tell that Santana's mind seemed to be made up about the decision and Brittany knew when Santana decided something, there was little she could say to change her mind. And so she didn't, instead gently encouraging her, sitting on one end of the couch and letting Santana figure out where she wanted to sit. She watched her shift around in her lap before climbing out of her lap, experimenting with different positions, listening to her body in a way that impressed Brittany. Brittany, for her part, was trying hard to pay attention to the movie she'd turned on the TV, even though every part of her body was on high alert, attuned to Santana when she finally settled.
She kept her eyes on the TV, save for a few times where she saw Santana stop her work, blinking up at the ceiling. Brittany had been rubbing Santana's feet and legs in her lap while she wrote, massaging the joints of her ankles to sooth her. "It's okay if you need to take a break, Babe," She hushed when Santana paused, letting her decide if she wanted to continue, which she did, each time.
It felt like forever until Santana was finished writing, Brittany taking the book out of her hands, nodding when Santana asked her not to look at her. Her heart was in her throat, and part of her wanted to never read this, to live in her ignorance forever. But she knew she couldn't. She couldn't stay ignorant and let Santana carry the weight of that night forever. And so she began to read.
She read about how Santana hadn't been happy, because of her, how part of her still believed that it was karma that had done this, making Brittany swallow the tightness in her throat and blink back tears as she went. Santana had always had a good memory, but even Brittany was stunned with her attention to detail, remember the type of hat he was wearing and the sequence of events. Brittany only realized she was crying when she tasted salt on her mouth, wiping with one hand to brush the tears off her cheeks, her eyes never straying from the pages even though she desperately wanted to look up at Santana. She kept going, reading about how he'd been so fast in blocking the door, following Santana into the empty bathroom. Multiple times, Brittany had to pause, her eyes screwed shut, thinking that possibly, she was going to be physically ill if she kept reading. She was determined to make it to the end though, knowing she owed it to Santana to get to the end, to finally understand every memory she had from that night.
Even in their worst days, Brittany had never felt heartbreak like this before, knowing this had happened to Santana, knowing someone had found her and had to take her to the hospital alone and Brittany had been a world away and never even known any of it had happened. A sob cracked through her chest at the last paragraph, at how blatantly Santana admitted that she maybe had it coming to her, and then she dropped the book, turning to Santana instead, no longer able to keep her out of her arms for one second longer.
Pulled her towards her, she dragged her into her lap, Santana seeming more small and fragile than ever. Brittany was crying for so many reasons, because she was sorry, because she hated that Santana had to live through that, because she was so sad that Santana felt like that about herself. She was tripping over her own words, muttering some broken combination of "I love you so much, I'm so so sorry, I'm sorry, I should've, I'm so sorry," her arms wrapped so tightly around Santana's.
Santana watched Brittany anxiously, dreading and yet needing to see her reaction as she read her words. She didn't quite touch her, but she did hover close, not wanting to read her own writing along with her, but wanting desperately to know what part she was at with every passing moment. Every time that Brittany showed visible, stark emotion in her expression, every time her body tensed, every time she swallowed or blinked or took a deep breath, Santana wanted to demand that she tell her what she was thinking, immediately. She wanted to apologize for hurting her with her words, by somehow tainting Brittany's world by letting her in on her experience, by darkening her world a shade closer to Santana's.
And when Brittany started to cry, somewhere in the middle of her reading, Santana almost lost it. She wanted to throw the book off Brittany's lap and tell her to forget it, that it was too much to ask of her, that she didn't want Brittany to ever have to feel sad, especially if she was the one causing it. She wanted to hug her and comfort her and tell her to forget it all, go back to the hour before when this wasn't a part of her own understanding. But her hands stayed frozen in her lap, and although her stomach churned and her shoulders tensed until they nearly touched her ears, she stayed still, letting Brittany finish.
As Brittany finished, beginning to sob, and reached for Santana, Santana let herself be pulled onto her lap, glad to be at last propelled into permission to touch her. She wrapped her arms tightly around Brittany, kissing her face repeatedly, wiping her tears, and tried with frantic words to stop her flow of apologies.
"Stop, no, Britt, stop, please don't cry. It's okay, it's not your fault, don't be sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you read this. It's too much. I'm sorry, please don't cry. I love you too. I'm okay. Please Brittany, I'm okay, please don't cry."
Brittany felt a tense rush of relief when she finally had Santana in her arms, warm and safe and loved. If Brittany just kept holding her right like this, no one could ever hurt her. She wanted to keep holding her right like this. School and dance and letting Santana out into the real world didn't seem like things that Brittany cared about anymore, not when she could be so hurt. Not after Santana had put up with so much. It didn't seem fair to her, for Santana to have to endure the Hell she went through in that bathroom and then also have to deal with the consequences and fear and memories every single day? It was sick, and twisted, and Brittany hated it. She hated the pain Santana had endured that night and then had to deal with every day and night after. For 10 months, nothing about Santana's life had been easy, and to Brittany, that was the most unfair thing in the world.
She shook her head, holding Santana as close to her as she possibly could. "No, San. I'm glad I read it, I-I had to, I wouldn't have wanted to keep going and not known everything I just -," Brittany paused, taking a deep breath and swallowing, letting her eyes flutter shut as Santana peppered kisses to her face in an attempt to calm her along with a steady stream of comforting words. If Brittany hadn't been so shaken by what she read, she would've smiled at how easily their roles had shifted, how naturally Santana was comforting her when she'd always second guessed her own abilities.
"You're not okay," Brittany protested over a fresh wave of tears, sniffling. "I hate that that happened to you and I hate that it still makes you think you deserve it," She said weakly, deflated and exhausted over how sad she was for Santana and the shitty hand life had dealt her. "And I know you're going to say it wasn't my fault and I know it wasn't, but if we had been together, it wouldn't have happened. If I had been in the city I could've met you at the hospital and it would've been different." She repeated, blinking to clear her eyes. "And I'm so, so sad I wasn't." Brittany confessed, "And I know you don't blame me or hold it against me but it still makes me so sad," She shook her head, wishing that she could go back and undo it. "And I'm so, so sorry, Santana."
"Shh," Santana murmured, continuing to stroke Brittany's face, wiping her tears away as quickly as she saw them come. She kept her other arm tight around Brittany's waist, rubbing her hand soothingly up and down her side. Her throat choked as she kissed her again, first her forehead, then both cheeks, then her lips. "Shh. I hate it too, baby, we can hate it together. It wasn't your fault."
She felt herself calm down a little as she slipped into the role of the comforter, needing the task of this to settle herself as well as Brittany. She ran her fingers over Brittany's hair, kissing the side of her head.
"I don't want you to be sad. I'm okay. I'm going to be okay," she said, and for the first time, saying this out loud for the first time, she almost thought it could be true some time. "I love you, Brittany. I'm sorry too. It's not your fault."
Brittany watched Santana's face, her chest still heaving from her crying, watching Santana consider how she answered the question. It was so out of left field for her, Brittany couldn't be sure if it was something Santana meant or if it was something that had merely fallen off her tongue because she'd heard Brittany soothe her with it so many times. She sniffled, bringing her hand up to wipe her cheek, purposefully not looking at the notebook she'd dropped on the floor, knowing, even if she tried not to think about it, the words she'd read would stick with her forever.
And even though it upset her and ripped her heart to shreds to even picture Santana going through such pain, she was ultimately grateful Santana had told her, knowing that Santana hadn't had a choice - she'd been raped and then forced to live with those memories forever. It woud've been unfair for Brittany to choose to continue living without truly understanding what had happened, without truly understanding how Santana felt about everything. She knew that she couldn't really comfort her or help her if she didn't fully understand, although it wrenched her heart out to even picture Santana, her beautiful, perfect, Santana, being taken advantage of like that. Brittany would always choose to know, even it was painful, because she could never subject Santana to that fate alone.
She felt Santana squeeze her waist a little and waiting, dragging in deep breaths, blinking away the remaining tears that clung to her lash line as she listened to Santana answer, knowing she was answering truthfully by how unsure she sounded. It was honest and it was raw and it was even a little bit hopeful, and it made Brittany's heart stutter. It wasn't a definitive yes, but it was a maybe, it was the first glimmer of hope Santana had shown, and it meant everything to Brittany. It was so significant, such a big step from those times Santana cried that it would never get better, that it would never be over, that Brittany felt her eyes prickle all over again.
"You're amazing," She blurted out, more stunned and in love with Santana in that moment than she'd maybe ever been. "I, after everything, everything that happened, you're the strongest person I've ever met," She said, a tear tripping its way past her lower lash line and sliding down her cheek. "I can't believe you said that," Brittany repeated softly, as it if she spoke too loudly she would shatter the reality and make it not come true. For Santana to have endured the worst possible thing that could happen and still feel like she could be okay was nothing short of a miracle to Brittany, and she knew it was a strength that had come from Santana herself.
Santana ducked her head, flushing, and yet a smile curved her lips. She didn't feel like she was amazing. She felt like she was barely hanging on most days, even moment to moment on the really hard ones. She didn't feel amazing, but she did feel that if Brittany believed that about her, maybe she wasn't as messed up as she thought. Maybe she was doing ok, if not perfect. At least sometimes.
"I'm not that strong," she deflected, flexing her arm to show the utter lack of a bicep in its thin outline. "I know I used to throw around like I could kick ass, and I never said this by the way, but come on. Friggin' Quinn could throw me down when she got in that psycho crazed state she hits every few months."
She softened, her hand touching Brittany's face again as Brittany continued to shake her head in awe of her. "I sort of can't believe I said it either. I'm probably wrong, but maybe not."
Brittany smiled, wiping her eyes again when Santana smiled, her breath still coming out a little shaky, grateful she and Santana were pressed together where she could feel the grounding weight of her, reminding her that she was safe and unharmed. She was still emotionally reeling from everything she'd read along with the happiness of Santana's reassurance laced into her sadness, a complex web of emotions that she knew was likely only a small bit of what Santana had to deal with on a daily basis.
"You know I didn't mean it like that," She said, bringing her hand up to poke at Santana's muscle. Santana was right, although she rarely admitted it, she had always been the smallest and least-strong of the three, despite the fact that she often packed the biggest punch with her mouth. Brittany had always been grateful that, among the three of them, she had been the tallest and strongest - it had worked in her favor whenever Santana and Quinn got into it in the locker room or made like they were going to really fight each other. That, and she liked being taller and stronger than Santana, like she could curl around her when she upset, even in the early days of their relationship, and make things okay, like she could shield Santana from everything had in the world.
Brittany smiled as Santana's fingers brushed across her face. "I don't think you were wrong, you don't say things you don't mean, not to me." Brittany said softly, quietly dismissing Santana's self doubt. She knew that wasn't necessarily true, Santana was notoriously hot-mouthed and had spent half of high school trying to convince Brittany it was just sex, but that had all changed so long ago, and Brittany knew for a fact Santana had been honest with her in every moment for a long, long time, especially now, especially talking about things like this. In therapy, she always thought long and hard about her answers, and even when Brittany asked her simple things sometimes, she thought about her response before she said anything, always checking to see how she really felt now rather than giving an answer Santana thought everyone else wanted to hear. It was a beautiful change in Santana, and Brittany was grateful she'd been there to witness it. "I think you're scared to believe it but you really do believe it." She murmured gently, taking a deep breath to try and steady herself.
Santana smiled back at Brittany, still anxious to comfort her. It always been unsettling to her to see Brittany upset, and sometimes it drives her to a state of rage that has at times become threats of violent revenge if she feels that other people have caused it. Upsetting Brittany herself has always made Santana furious and guilty with herself, and that feeling has only increased with time. Above all, when Brittany is upset, Santana wants to fix whatever made her upset, and now it's no exception.
"Maybe you're right, it's too much work to try to lie to you," she acknowledged. "You see through it anyway. No point in trying."
She snuggled close to Brittany's chest, pulling Brittany's arms around her more closely, and looked up more seriously into her face. "I guess maybe I'm scared I might try and I can't. Or maybe...I don't know. I don't know why it feels scary to think of, but it sort of does," she admitted.
Exhaling, she continued to search Brittany's eyes. "That was a lot for you. Reading that. I know you said you wanted to, but it still makes me feel bad to make you that upset."
Brittany smiled, knowing Santana was right, and the same went for her. She couldn't keep things from Santana even if she ever wanted to, Santana was so attuned to her body and face, she'd pick up on the slightest change, the slightest flicker of emotion would give Santana pause. In the very same way Brittany knew Santana, Santana knew Brittany.
"Nobody expects you to do anything," She reminded her, knowing most of the pressure Santana felt in her life was pressure that Santana was putting on herself. She let her fingers brush across the fabric of Santana's shirt, letting the steady, soothing motion calm her, a habit. "There's no rulebook for this sort of thing." Brittany said, wanting Santana to let go of the feeling that she had to hit milestones, measure up to things. "It's just you and me and however you feel. Even Kurt and Rachel don't really know anything, and nobody else in the world even knows something happened," She said.
She could tell Santana was looking at her hard and she let her, letting her take in all of Brittany's features and study them, knowing her eyes were probably red from crying, feeling the salty tear tracks drying on her cheeks. "I did want to. And I knew it would be bad I just-" Brittany trailed off, swallowing the lump in her throat, "I guess it's impossible to prepare yourself to read something like that about the person you love," Brittany confessed. "I had, ideas, I guess, and I knew it was bad based on what you've said to me and what Kurt and Rachel could tell me when they called but I just-" She shook her head. "I just wish I could've somehow protected you, and I know I couldn't have, even if I'd been the city, I know it was impossible for anyone to know it would happen I just… I can't stand the thought of somebody saying those things to you. And-" Brittany paused for a second, knowing she'd be crossing the line in the sand, the one that only she was allowed to cross, the one she'd realized she still had permission to cross the day she came back and Santana let her touch her and say things in a way that she didn't allow Kurt and Rachel to. "And I know you believed them. Even if maybe you don't now, I can tell that you did, at one point. And-and maybe you still do." She said, almost too quiet to hear.
"I expect me to do things," Santana responded softly to Brittany's reminder, even as she curled herself smaller onto her lap, resting her head against her shoulder. "I want to make my own rules. I want to do better. I want to BE better. I don't care what other people expect, I want to do things and be things for me. I don't like who I've been this year. I don't want to be her anymore."
She bit her lip as she continued to eye Brittany, carefully taking in her every gesture and expression. She's trying to read in between the lines of what Brittany is saying and how she truly has been affected.
"It was...yeah, it was bad," she said quietly, honestly. "It...it was really hard. And scary. It still is. But it wasn't your fault, and you couldn't have done anything."
She stiffened when Brittany edged closer to the rawest parts of her inner wounds, her eyes darkening, and her body seemed to draw in on itself, making itself a smaller possible target from harm. She knew Brittany wasn't trying to hurt her, that it was her way to gently push Santana to voice her feelings and thoughts, to make her face them and put them out into the air. But this one is still hard to even think, let alone admit aloud.
But Brittany had been brave to read her words tonight, and Santana owed her continued honesty. She nodded very slightly, but didn't speak. She's afraid of how her voice might sound if she tried.
She did still believe what the man had said to her. Not all the time, or even most of the time, but a part of her still does sometimes, in especially bad moments on especially bad days. And that part is enough to truly hurt.
Brittany nodded in understanding, knowing Santana was being honest, was baring part of her soul in her confession that she had expectations for herself. "I know, Babe, but sometimes I think you're too hard on yourself," Brittany answered truthfully, her voice lullaby soft. She flinched when Santana said she didn't want to be that person anymore, tilting her head against Santana's temple gently. "I love who you've been this year," She said quietly, because it was true. "I hate that you've been unhappy, but you're you, and I love every part of you, and I know you've worked so hard all year," Brittany admitted. Even from the first day at the loft, Brittany had pushed Santana, and she had let her. Santana had let her, and even though Santana's levels of comfort and trauma were ever-changing, Brittany loved every part of her.
When Santana stiffened in her arms, knew she she'd struck a nerve, calling Santana out on her darkest beliefs, catching her gentle nod. She knew it- she'd always known it. Since her very first days at the loft when Santana had told her what the man had said. Santana had a way of getting stuck on things, and Brittany knew she was stuck on this, that she believed it.
"It's okay," Brittany heard herself murmur, leaning her chin down so she could connect their lips in a kiss, gentle, tender, not seeking anything, just trying to press love and comfort against Santana's mouth. "I know," She whispered, because she did, knowing, from the very first moment Santana told her, that the words had lingered for a reason.
Sighing, she shook her head gently. "I know I couldn't have done anything, but it was still important to me to read those words. I had to know, San." Brittany confessed, "It wouldn't be fair to me to keep going to therapy and helping you unless I understood everything. I want to understand everything, because I love you. I want to be able to deal with it with you, and it's not something you should have to carry," Brittany said, her voice whisper soft. "I hated reading that, but I would never prefer any other option," She promised, her voice a little stronger, "I want to know everything about you, always. Even the dark parts."
"I can't get better without being hard on myself," Santana replied, her voice still holding a note of bare honesty.
This is truly what she has always believed. She has always pushed herself with everything from academics to cheering to Glee to her appearance, everything has always been about being the best, being at the top. To be unable to have control of her own emotions, her own bodily responses, is nearly unbearable at times for her, and unacceptable.
She hears Brittany tell her that she loves who she's been this year and exhales through her nose, believing her, but disbelieving of how this can be. She can see very little about herself this year which is loveable or admirable; to Santana, all she can see is the glaring flaws of her changes, of her depression and fear, her changed routines and needs and her perceived weakness.
When Brittany kissed her, giving her understanding, love, and comfort all at once in the gesture, Santana's body eased slightly, and she sighed, leaning more fully into her. She listens to her words, sighing again, and accepts them, turning to wrap her arms tight around Brittany. Suppressing a yawn, she realizes as her body releases some of its pent up tension along with it how tired she really is. Writing and remembering everything had lead her to weariness she hadn't even understood until now.
She tried to hide her face against Brittany, not wanting her to see the droop in her eyes or the sag she knows her face tends to take on at the cheekbones when she's tired. She doesn't know if she can handle going to bed after writing about that night. She's certain nightmares will take over.
Brittany nodded, understanding what Santana meant. In a way, she was right. Santana was a hard worker and a ton of Santana's success had come from that hard work - Cheerios, her grades, her social status. "I know, and you're right, sometimes. But you don't have to push yourself all the time," Brittany urged softly. "This isn't like trying to nail a stunt or something, Babe, you're recovering every single day, even if it seems like tiny things," She promised, wishing, even if only for a little, Santana could give herself a break. She knew Santana was frustrated on days she felt extra clingy or emotional, even though Brittany had told her anything she felt was okay.
She knew Santana was programmed an entirely different way, but she hoped, silently, that continued reassurance would help Santana slow down a little, or at least stop putting pressure on herself. Santana was getting better everyday, which had been amazing to watch, but she also knew that Santana was putting heavy pressure on herself to get better so fast, and already thought of the assault as something that happened 'a long time ago' in her mind even though not even a year had passed.
Letting Santana bury her face, Brittany leaned back against the cushions with Santana's arms around her, gently rubbing her back as she turned all this information over in her mind. She was still so wrapped up in everything she'd read in the notebook, trying to recall each fact, certain words and moments sticking out for her. She knew, even though it had broken her heart, that she wanted to read it again, she owed it to Santana to read again and memorize every detail. Brittany was committed to this being a problem they tacked together, both of them bearing the weight of the memory instead of Santana having to keep that dark secret to herself.
With the comforting weight of Santana against her chest, Brittany dozed off slowly on the couch, not fully giving way to sleep but letting her eyes fall shut for a few minutes as her head rested against the cushions, knowing Santana was probably doing the same against her chest, both of them emotionally exhausted from Santana's confession. Sitting up a little, she yawned, patting Santana on the back. "Lets go lay down, Babe," She coaxed, holding Santana to her with one arm and reaching down to pick up the notebook with the other arm, very deliberately setting it face down on the coffee table. She knew she'd have to come back to it at some point, but for now, she just wanted to sleep and not have to think about it.
Leading Santana through their bedtime routine, Brittany discarded her clothes, as she'd been doing for the past few nights, reveling in the feeling of being close to Santana as she got under the sheets and blankets, trying to remind herself that Santana was with her right then and safe and unharmed.
"Yeah...but some days I'm recovering more," Santana murmured into Brittany. "And some days I'm going backwards. I know you don't think so, but it's true."
She groaned and griped incoherently when Brittany started to sit up, patting her back, even as she knew she had been close to drifting off to sleep. "Don't want to. Comfortable here."
Still, she let herself be helped up by Brittany and guided into the bathroom. As she readied for bed with her, she hesitated, then stripped down to her underwear again, curling close to Brittany under the blankets. She covered most of Brittany's chest with her own, feeling the steady beat of her heart as a comforting lull, before whispering against her neck.
"I'm scared I'll dream about it. Because I thought about it so much writing. I don't want to go to sleep really."
Brittany hummed at the feeling of Santana's chest pressed against hers, tugging the blankets up to make sure they were both warm and covered, feeling the warmth of Santana's skin against her own, her arms wrapped around her. Their lives were certainly not perfect, and so many times, Brittany felt angry that Santana had had to go through so many more hardships than the average person, it wasn't fair to her and it never had been. She knew each day brought a host of situations that might upset Santana or scare her, and she knew that their fight was far from over. But laying with her, their legs tangled together, their hips and ribs and shoulders fitted together, Brittany felt like it was the closest thing to perfect she'd felt in a long time.
"I know," Brittany hushed, feeling Santana's eyelids flutter against her jaw. "I wish I could make it so you wouldn't have to think about anything for just a night," She said softly, her hand rubbing up and down Santana's side. "But you wrote about it, you put it on paper and you thought about it in your mind and nothing bad happened," Brittany reminded softly, knowing Santana still harbored fears about thinking and saying things about her assault, as if that would make them happen, as if that would make her feel that pain all over again. "Even if you have a nightmare, I'll pull you out of it like always, and then we'll lay just like this, where no one can hurt you," Brittany hushed, even though she hoped that Santana's night was nightmare free, that she could sleep through the night and feel well rested. She knew her comforts only went so far when Santana's nightmares were so vivid that they felt like reality.
She let her eyes flutter shut, focused on rubbing Santana's side, trying to coax her into a calm enough state to sleep, their bodies warm and heavy under the blankets. Brittany stayed awake until she felt Santana's on breaths turn into deep, heavy pulls, steady inhales and exhales that Brittany could feel against the skin of her neck, before she too fell asleep, drifting off toward unconsciousness.
When Brittany woke up in the middle of the night, it was usually because Santana was shrieking or crying, typically being startled out of her sleep to find Santana mid-nightmare. Now, when Brittany felt herself awake in the dark, she realized it was silent, feeling the weight of Santana still sleeping soundly beside her. She realized her chest was heaving and she was wide awake, even though the clock on the nightstand told her it was after 3 in the morning. Wiggling a little, she tried to get her body to settle again, to fall back asleep somewhat quickly, but it was nearly impossible- the moment she'd woken up, her mind had been flooded with visualizations of Santana's story again, and she quickly realized she was far too awake to even think about sleep.
Sliding as stealthily as she could manage, Brittany slipped out of their bed, clicking on the lamp. She froze beside the bed, her hand on Santana's head, making sure Santana didn't wake up when she'd gotten up and that she settled, knowing she had to be quick. Pulling an oversized t-shirt over her head, Brittany silently turned the doorknob of their bedroom, slipping out to the living room. She didn't even bother turning on a light, knowing she'd be back in bed in a second, weaving through the dark until her fingers brushed the coffee table, and, a moment later, the soft paper of the notebook. She grabbed it, tucking it to her chest as she darted back to their bedroom, shutting the door again.
Crawling back up to the pillows, Brittany leaned back on them, scooting herself under the blankets again. She sat, her knees up to her chest with the notebook against her thighs, throwing one of her arms over Santana, rubbing her body through the blanket as she began to read Santana's confession again, wanting to make sure she didn't miss anything the first time, needing to commit every word to memory.
Santana nodded her understanding of Brittany's words, the gesture very slight against Brittany's head. Her muscles relaxed into Brittany's touch, and despite her only apprehension of falling asleep, her eyelids are heavy, drooping and difficult to keep open. She let them stay shut after fighting briefly, and her breathing began to fall into rhythm with Brittany's stroking hand.
Santana slept for several hours with relative peace, too worn from the mental and emotional effort of her writing and then Brittany's response to it to have very active dreams. When she starts to drift awake several hours later, she does so because she is feeling Brittany's arm around her more loosely than usual, and becomes aware that she can't feel her body pressed up against hers as closely as she's accustomed to. Squinting, becoming more alert, she lets her eyes adjust to the dark, one arm reaching out for Brittany and startled when she hits her knees instead of her full body.
"Britt?" she questioned, struggling to sit up. Seeing that Brittany is sitting up in bed, one arm around her, she rubbed at her eyes. "Why are you up?"
Then she saw the notebook on her lap, and her stomach dropped. "You're reading that again. Why are you reading that again?" She continued to eye her closely, trying to make out Brittany's expression.
Reading the confession again by lamplight, Brittany bit her nail, her brow furrowed in concentration. She didn't cry this time- she knew what she was getting herself into, even though she found herself having to swallow a few times, feeling like her insides had been hollowed out with dread as she continued, having to go back and read the same line a few times now and again. Strangely, the worst parts of it, for her, weren't even the physical descriptions of what happened, but instead were the little areas that gave way to Santana's own thoughts- her describing how unhappy she'd been from their breakup, admitting that she had no idea how she'd gotten to the hospital, how she truly believed her attacker may kill her, how she still wished she'd fought more, how she confessed to hating herself in the wake of her attack.
Brittany knew it was silly of her to think that Santana could stay asleep through the night without feeling Brittany's body against her. Even when they were both in bed, sleeping, when they rolled away from each other or when Santana's body began to tremble from a nightmare that wasn't severe enough to rouse her, Brittany felt it, only able to settle again when she'd pulled Santana close to her once more. Sitting in bed, she felt Santana roll toward her, tucking her face against Brittany's hip, slinging an arm over her, expecting to feel her body but colliding with her legs.
"It's okay," Brittany hushed when Santana startled, blinking, her face twisted into a half-sleepy expression that Brittany thought was adorable. She moved the arm around her, reaching to cup Santana's face as she rubbed her eye, adjusting to being awake. Everything about Santana's body was heavy with sleep, but Brittany felt her jaw tighten when her eyes registered the notebook on her lap. "I couldn't sleep," She admitted, meeting Santana's eyes, which were much more alert and perceptive than they just had been a moment ago. "I just- I kept thinking about it, and I wanted to read it again because I want to make sure I know everything, and so I don't forget anything." Brittany admitted softly.
Santana's eyes softened, and she sat closer against Brittany, sitting shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. She reached for the notebook and closed it, gently but firmly, and then slid her arm around Brittany's waist, resting her head against her shoulder.
"Brittany," she said softly. "I don't want this burned into your brain. I don't want you always thinking about this and upset about this. I know you want to understand and be here for me, but you have to sleep now." She kissed her shoulder, then her neck, rubbing her hand over Brittany's side. "I love you so much for wanting to understand, but just you wanting to is enough. You don't have to memorize it. You don't have to torture yourself."
She kept rubbing her hand over Brittany's side, pulling her closer against her. "Can you lay down with me? I can rub your back and try to help you sleep."
Brittany let her take the notebook from her as they sat side by side, already having read it once through and halfway through her second reading. She took it off her legs and placed it on the nightstand, shifting back towards Santana as Santana slid her arm around her. This was rare, the two of them awake at such an odd hour of night, both calm and relaxed instead of the nighttime peace shattered by Santana's screaming.
She let her eyes shut, listening to Santana's words, resting her head on top of hers. Brittany knew Santana was right, there was no point in knowing every last detail of what happened, of knowing every moment of the events that took place. As much as she wished for it, she knew that no matter how much she knew, it wouldn't give her the power to go back and undo anything that had taken place. "I know," She said softly, her voice quiet, but unwavering. She did know, as much as she felt that she owed it to Santana to know everything, as if knowing everything would help ease the burden of Santana's own memory.
Brittany smiled as Santana rubbed her side, nodding when she requested Brittany lay down. "For you, anything," She said, half joking but half completely serious, pulling away from Santana to pull off the oversized t-shirt she'd put on when she'd gotten up. She tossed it somewhere off her side of the bed before leaning over to flick out the lamp again, plunging them back into darkness. Obediently, she laid down next to Santana, on her stomach, her cheek on the pillow, head turned toward Santana. "It just feels weird not knowing things about you," Brittany admitted, also revealing a twinge of regret about the breakup. "Like, we've pretty much been together every single day since high school, it was just so weird not knowing every single thing, even the bad things," Brittany added softly.
Santana was relieved when Brittany obeyed her, turning off the light, taking off her shirt, and lying back down on her stomach. She lay close against her, her hand slowly beginning to stroke down the length of Brittany's back. She caresses over the planes of her shoulders, down the trail of her spine, and over her flank before starting back up, using gentle but light pressure with her rhythmic movements of touch.
She nodded slightly as Brittany told her that it was weird not knowing things about her. She could understand and agree. It was one of the things that had bothered her during the time they broke up when she first graduated high school, that she didn't know what Brittany was doing every moment, that maybe she wasn't entitled to know anymore. It had been hard too when Brittany was on tour and she didn't know every moment of her day, when Brittany was too tired or busy to tell her. And then of course, after they broke up again, she hadn't known anything at all about Brittany's life that she couldn't find in the news.
"Yeah," she acknowledged. "It's weird not to know stuff from your life too. But you know, I don't know everything about my own life either. I don't remember everything about that night. So if I don't know everything, how can you?"
Brittany hummed with gratitude when she felt Santana's hand against her back, applying exactly the right amount of pressure as she skated her hand across her shoulders and back down. Folding her arm under her cheek, she looked up at Santana as she acknowledged her reasoning and sympathized with her, blinking as Santana confessed that not even she knew all the details about her own life. It wasn't a surprise, Brittany had known that Santana didn't remember anything from the hospital or how she'd gotten there, but hearing Santana confess to it pulled it into a new light for Brittany.
"I know, and you're right," Brittany said softly. "I just feel like, the more I know, the more I can help you, even if I guess it doesn't change anything really," She confessed, getting her thoughts out rather than trying to make any concrete point. She went silent, considering Santana's point about the fact that Santana didn't know about Brittany's life either, and there was probably more Santana didn't know based solely on the fact that Brittany had been traveling almost the entire time. "I wish I could've brought you on tour," Brittany said with a wistful smile.
She knew it had been impossible, and she would've never asked Santana to put her life on hold for her- mostly because she knew Santana probably would've done it without hesitation. "I mean, I think school is the best thing for you, and I would've never wanted you to have to come with me and just sit around while I was dancing, but I think you would've loved it." She mused, in the past tense. Now, their lives were so different, Brittany couldn't imagine traveling every week, much less bringing Santana with her in such crowded, different environments, but it made her want to show Santana all the places sh'd been, one day.
"I guess I'll just have to take you back to all my favorite cities," Brittany said with a soft smile, opening her eyes to meet Santana's. "You'd like London the best, I think." She decided. She knew Santana would love every city, that the cities would call to Santana's inquisitive side and she'd probably be in heaven learning about all the history and landmarks of each place, things that Brittany knew Santana had a deep appreciation for, even if it was a side of herself she rarely showed to other people. "We can go after you graduate," Brittany yawned with a grin.
"You always help me," Santana reassured Brittany, keeping her voice low. She skated her hand over Brittany's warm, smooth skin, lightly digging her fingertips into the muscles of her back and sides. "You don't have to know everything to help me. You just have to be here with me. You just have to be you."
She just needed Brittany to love her. That was all she had really ever needed, was for her to love her, to give understanding even if she didn't agree.
She exhaled as Brittany told her that she wished she had taken her on her tour, biting her lip briefly, and nodded, acknowledging that she too wished that had happened, as much as she knew it wouldn't have worked out. "Yeah, that might have been cool. But maybe it wouldn't have been, you know? Maybe while you were rehearsing, or while I went for a run or something, it still might have happened. Who knows. Maybe things are just supposed to happen and so they do, know matter what."
She smiled back at Brittany tentatively, returning her eye contact. "That would be nice. You can do that one day." She thought about it, considering. Graduation was a little less than a year. Would she be okay to travel in that amount of time?
"I hope so," she said quietly. "I hope I'm ready by then."
Brittany grinned at her from where her head rested on the pillow. "You make it very, very easy to help you," Brittany said, and she meant it. She knew Santana got frustrated with herself in a way that Brittany could never understand, knowing they both saw Santana's upset moments in completely different regards. For Brittany, she hardly had to think when taking care of her, shutting down her mind and letting her body react to Santana, always one step ahead, knowing what the look in her eyes meant, what she wanted when she made a certain sound, when she needed to be held and when she needed to hold Brittany's gaze.
"Maybe," Brittany said wistfully, "But I don't know if things like that are destined to happen, San. I think you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," She said softly, not wanting Santana to ever think this was something that had been written in the cards of her fate. Thinking about Santana's graduation seemed so far away, but it filled Brittany with a swell of pride, a thrill of excitement to picture Santana in the purple NYU graduation gown. Silently, she hopped busy things like crowded ceremonies wouldn't phase her a year from then.
"Even if we don't go to Europe, we can go on a trip," She promised. "You're ready now," Brittany said swiftly, even though she knew what Santana meant by her statement. "We could rent a car and drive all the way down the coast and stop in places like North Carolina by the beach and eat peaches in Georgia," Brittany smiled, effortlessly transitioning her sights to something that sounded so much easier, nicer, almost. "And it would be just the two of us and we could go all the way to Florida, and just stop wherever we want," Brittany giggled, "Or we could drive north to Niagara Falls, but that's like, a way shorter distance from here," She shrugged, "But we have to celebrate you graduating somehow. And we have to celebrate you finishing Junior year, although maybe it's too late for a trip, because you only have a few weeks left." Brittany mused.
Santana rolled her eyes, inwardly disagreeing with Brittany's declaration, but she didn't argue. She didn't think she was easy to help at all; she didn't think she was easy to love or even like. But Brittany believed it, and she knew she couldn't dissuade her.
She shrugged, her hands slowing against Brittany's back as Brittany refuted her words. She didn't know what she believed about destiny or fate, but sometimes she did feel that she believed things happened for a reason, even bad things. Usually Santana believed bad things happened because people deserved it, and good things happened because people fought hard to make it happen; she had been taught as much by her abuela. Only gradually over time had she begun to see exceptions. It was when it came to herself that she still tended to revert to this old thinking.
Santana thought about Brittany's suggestion, smiling slightly. Summer was coming up, and she would be starting an internship soon as she passed the interview and application progress. She didn't think the idea of a road trip sounded awful. In fact, it sounded pretty nice.
"That could be good," she agreed. "Road trip. You and me. I guess Mila would have to stay with Rachel and Kurt, she probably wouldn't like the car. Do you think she would survive with them?"
She genuinely has her concerns about that; she could see Rachel trying to feed her vegan cat food and Kurt refusing to clean her litter box.
"It's June soon," she said slowly as a new idea struck her. "I don't know if this is a really bad idea. But I've never been to a pride parade before. That seems like a crime for a lesbian in New York. But...I don't know, am I ready for something like that?
Brittany beamed as Santana entertained her idea. "I'm sure Auntie Rachel and Uncle Kurt would love cat sitting, Rachel is like peak cat-lady, I already know she has to love cats." Brittany giggled. "They're clean and not noisy and won't jump on her and get her dirt and rip her tights, right Mila?" Brittany picked her head up, glancing somewhere towards the foot of their bed where Mila tended to end up every night, slinking into the bedroom. "Plus, Mila's good at hiding, if she's tired of watching movie musicals with them she'll just hide under the bed," Brittany grinned.
Rolling over onto her side so that she faced Santana, Brittany propped her head on her elbow, listening to her preface her idea with saying it might be really bad, her eyebrows raised in amusement. She had no idea what Santana was going to say, but Pride had been the last thing she saw coming, she hadn't even thought of June as upcoming Pride, which she guessed she should have. She and Santana usually didn't participate in things like that, existing in their own little world, although, as Brittany considered it lying next to her, it sounded like a good thing, a great thing even. Besides Kurt and Blaine, Brittany and Santana hadn't known that many other gay couples or really had friendships with them, not noticing it because they'd always had each other and always been surrounded by accepting people.
Brittany was already excited about the idea before Santana finished speaking. "Of course you're ready for it," Brittany said, leaving no room for doubt, although Santana looked very, very uncertain. "I've only been to Pride once, in Amsterdam, but it was so fun." Brittany laughed, catching Santana's eyes. "In a good way. I think we should go. There's a parade the main weekend, right? We can go, that will be perfect for you. It's outside, it's not really in any one space," She shrugged her shoulder. "We can watch the parade and see how it is and how crowded it is, we can stand toward the back and leave whenever we want," Brittany promised, knowing Santana had been the one to bring it up but also knowing she needed a little boost of reassurance. "Even if we don't want to watch the parade, we can always just walk around, I'm sure restaurants will be doing things and there'll be stuff in the park or something that could just be fun to walk by and see, and you know i'll be right there with you." Brittany reminded, outlining Santana's different options, wanting to sound noncommittal incase Santana didn't get enough sleep the night before or was having an off day.
"Oh, you're right, she totally is," Santana agreed, brightening in the way that making fun of people could always cause her to do. "We can drop off an old robe and hair curlers while we're at it, just in case Rachel forgot the starter kit set to being the crazy cat lady. And Mila, you totally have permission to rip her tights and chew on her sheet music," she grinned in the cat's direction. "I'll wait to hear about those little adventures."
Santana could tell from Brittany's expression immediately that she loved the very impulsive, on the fly idea she had thrown out about going to Pride. As Brittany described the circumstances, reassuring her of all the possible safety circumstances and ways they could make sure Santana would feel safe, Santana dropped her eyes, not totally convinced, but also not wanting to disappoint Brittany when her eyes were so bright and enthused from the idea.
"Um...okay," she said with reservation, giving a slight nod. "I guess we can try. Just don't be...don't be bummed out if we end up missing some of it. I don't know if I'm ready for everything Pride brings out, I hear it can get wild."
Brittany could tell that Santana wasn't sure about the idea, even though she was the one who had brought it up. She'd done it before, floated an idea past Brittany when Santana herself wasn't sure how she felt about it, usually looking to Brittany for further guidance or reassurance about how Santana thought she should feel. Brittany, for her part, always tried to help Santana navigate her own feelings about the situation or offer validation when she saw Santana doubting herself.
"San," Brittany said, still propped up on her elbow next to her, waiting patiently until Santana looked up at her. "We can try, that's it. We can stay towards the back of the crowd or watch the parade from a little ways away so you have space if you decide you want to go," Brittany said, easily smoothing over Santana's worry, rounding her sharp edges. "Pride does get crazy sometimes, but I'd never take you into the middle of it," She promised, "We'll stick to the edges and we can just walk around and see some things," Brittany said vaguely, "We can even just stay int this neighborhood and walk around, all the neighborhoods probably do small things. And if you don't like it, we'll come back here," She finished, settling back down against the pillows and rolling onto her back so she could pull Santana against her, wanting to further settle her.
Santana continued to ponder the possibility, her lip caught between her teeth. She nodded slightly, as much to herself as to Brittany as she thought through the escape plans she could have for herself, if something or someone bothers her about the parade. Staying on the edge of the crowd would help. Being near Brittany of course would help, and so would going over what the pride schedule of events was before hand and what she could possibly expect.
Most people at pride would be welcoming and affirming of her, but what Santana feared was the people who might show up without those supportive and positive intentions. What if they saw her holding Brittany's hand and tried something against her? Would they be safe? Surely being in a crowd of LGBT supporters and identifiers would make them safer than going somewhere alone, even if she didn't know the people she was surrounded by.
She could try this. She wanted to try this.
"Okay," she exhaled, crawling over Brittany to lay atop her chest again, wrapping her arms around her waist and settling her head against her shoulder. "We can try that. I want to try it with you."
