You have had an eventful week. There has been a nagging in the back of your mind after that day you saw that little girl in the park, but you have started to think that it was just a trick of your imagination, plus you literally haven't had time to give all that a second thought. You had a big gig with Pamela Lansbury, and it was a blast. You sang all the cover songs you know your fans love, but you also got to sing some original songs, written by yours truly, that hasn't been released yet, and your people loved them. Your band started just as a group of friends having fun, a few misfits that came together and decided that singing and performing was a good way of escaping reality for a few hours, but now you really are going big. Nowadays you don't play at half empty bars anymore, now you perform at small stadiums, some well known festivals, and even some very important people has hired you to play at their private parties. You never forget where you started, but you can't help to dream about performing at a sold-out Madison Square Garden. A girl can dream. Go big or go home, right?
But that's not the only big thing happening in your life at the moment. As proud as you are of your band's success, you are even prouder of the success you are getting on your own. You see, HummelPez Designs (yes, you put Kurt's name fist not only because it sounded catchier than LoMmel, but because he was the mastermind behind all your clothing lines after all, you are just the boss bitch) has been going on strong for a long time now. Everyone knows you, everyone wants to be dressed by you. But this year is special. This year will be the first of your lengthy career to participate in the New York Fashion Week. Which is, may I remind you, one of the most important fashion events around the whole world. Your designs will be seen not only on the numerous runways going on during the week, but also some of the best-known celebrities around the world will be attending the events dressed by you. Even some fellow designers will be.
Yet the pride you are feeling is totally comparable to the stress you have been going through. The fashion week won't happen for a few more months, but the prepping is being overwhelming. Meeting after meeting, paperwork, hiring new models to do the runways, enough requests to be dressed by you to last at least for a decade... Yes, you are overly stressed and the anxiety is taking a toll on you. But you are strong enough to overcome whatever may get on your way. You've always done it.
You are exhausted, so every night when you get home, you most likely pass out the moment you fall face first onto your bed. Tonight is not different. It's three in the morning, though, when you get the call.
Your phone starts ringing, dragging you viciously out of your slumber. You are alone in your bed, Dani has a night shift again, so she won't be coming home for a few more hours. Still half asleep you palm your night stand until you find your phone, and answer the call, dragging the device to you ear, without even looking at the caller's I.D.
"Hello?" you croak, your voice still hoarse from sleeping.
"Can I talk to Santana Lopez, please?" a voice replies. It sounds unemotional, almost robotic, and the noise you hear on the background sounds kind of familiar, but you are too asleep to dwell on it.
"This is she. Who's calling?" you ask slightly annoyed by being disturbed at this goddamned hour of the morning.
"Are you Brittany Pierce's family?" the voice asks again, ignoring your question, and you are suddenly completely awake. You haven't heard that name for over a decade, and most definitely weren't expecting to hear it ever again.
"Huh?" is all you muster to reply, hoping that this is some kind of stupid prank. Or that maybe your mind is playing tricks on you again and you simply heard the name wrong.
"Miss Lopez, I am calling from Saint Mary's Emergency Room" she finally answers your previous question, but you don't have time to say anything before she starts talking again. "Miss Pierce has been involved in a pretty serious car accident and you are listed as her emergency contact. We need you to come down here as soon as possible to discuss our course of action." she adds, and you stay quiet for a few seconds as your brain takes it's time to register all that's going on. This can't be happening to you. Why? Why has the universe decided to ruin you at the very best moment of your whole life?
You are about to tell this person to go fuck themselves, that you are not Miss Pierce's family, you even think of telling them that you don't even know her, but your tongue apparently has a mind of it's own, and you are verbalising a quick "I'll be there in half an hour" before you can do anything to stop it.
You get up from your bed still very confused. You can't understand how she has you listed as your emergency contact, while you have spent the last ten years of your life trying to forget her. You sigh tiredly as you throw on the first clothes you hands grab, being those some black jeans and a long sleeved white t-shirt. You forego your numerous high heels and stilettos, and go for your very comfortable, very unfashionable, running trainers. No need to show off at fucking three in the morning at a hospital after all.
You spend a few minutes trying to gather your bearings and getting yourself together as you quickly drink a cup of cold coffee. There's no way you are going to risk having a car accident of your own so you need all the waking up help you can gather. You got this, Lopez.
You leave your house and get into your car. You only use your car when you have to drive long distances, the traffic in New York is always awful and your patience is quite thin, so you usually rather walk or take a cab. Sometimes, if you are feeling adventurous you even take the subway. But now you are in a hurry, so you start your car and drive off into the night.
Half an hour later, just as you said, you are marching into the ER while you are tying your hair into a high, messy, bun.
"Hello. I got a call from here not so long ago. I'm here for Brittany Pierce." You say, almost out of breath as you approach the register counter. The lady sitting behind it looks at her computer for a moment before looking back at you.
"Ah, yes. Miss Lopez, we were waiting for you." She says kindly, offering you a sympathetic smile that you can't reciprocate. "Please, follow me. Dr. Holiday is waiting for you." She adds as she gets up and walks around the counter to meet you, and guide you further into Saint Mary's Hospital through a couple of closed doors.
When you finally are guided into what looks like a made-up office, a blonde woman, who must be in her early fifties, you guess, gets up from her chair and walks towards you with a kind smile on her lips. What's with all the smiling? Looks kinda condescending...
"My, my, I understand now why Miss Pierce would have you as her contact. You got quite the looks going on there." She says with a somewhat flirty wink and you can't help but raise both your eyebrows completely flabbergasted.
"Sorry. Not a good time to joke around, right?" She adds quietly with a slight southern accent. "I am Dr. Holly Holiday and I am taking care of Brittany. Uh...you see, her condition is pretty serious. Can you tell me what is your relationship with her?" She asks. You have the feeling she is trying hard not to offend you, but she is also surprised about you being her choice, since for what it may look like from the outside you two have nothing in common. Actually, now that you think about it, you didn't even know Brittany was in New York.
"We were... friends. Long time ago." You answer, trying not to let all the feelings that are bottling up in your throat show.
Dr. Holiday studies you for a moment. You both stay quiet as she scrutinises you with her big eyes. You feel really helpless, and even if part of you wants to turn around and leave without looking back, and forgetting all this even happened, another part of you is deeply worried. You need to know if she is okay, or if she is going to be, but you really can't get yourself to ask. Because, what if the answer is no? What if she is not okay? What if they called you because she is dead, and they need to know what to do with her body? That would explain all the fucking smiling going on. But how would you even know what to do with her? You haven't even thought about her for a really, really long time. And most importantly...how could you carry on with your life without her? Um...Lopez...what?
Dr. Holiday must sense your distress and decides to take you out of your misery.
"Brittany's state is very delicate, but we are hoping for a full recovery." She says and you let out a sigh you didn't even know you were holding. "We asked you to come because, as her emergency contact, we need you to sign off the paperwork to get her to the OR as soon as possible. She has an open fracture on her left leg, a completely messed up wrist that will need a whole reconstruction and..." Holly hesitates for a second looking into your eyes again. Something tells you that she doesn't like delivering bad news. "Brittany wasn't wearing her seat belt, so the accident caused a skull fracture. For what we have seen in the tests we have run already it's not very big, and apparently no damage has been caused to her brain, but she is in a comma. We need to fixate the fracture and we are honestly hopeful and very positive that she will be waking up. We can't say when will that be, or if there will be any brain damage that we can't foresee with our tests." She explains and you are not sure that you understand everything she's told you. Anyway, after blinking a few times, you reach your hand out so the Dr. can give you all the papers you need to sign, and you do it, most likely without even reading anything.
"Do what you need to do to save her." You mutter biting your lips, trying to hold back your emotions, but it's being proved to be more difficult the more time it passes.
"Have you understood what the situation is here?" Dr. Holiday asks cautiously.
"Can I see her?" You ask, ignoring Holly's question.
Dr. Holiday sighs but nods her head softly, gesturing you to follow her out of her office and up a very narrow corridor. For a moment you wonder how everyone is supposed to move around there, especially with he size of the hospital beds, but you soon enough notice that this is not a public corridor. It probably was, at some point, when the hospital was first built, but now it probably just serves as a shortcut between wings.
After a few minutes of silent walking, Holly Holiday stops abruptly in front of a door, and turns around to look at you.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" She asks. "It's probably going to be harder than you expect. It's not a sight for everyone." She adds, waiting for you to answer.
"I can take it." You say, trying to sound surer than you actually are. You are not sure, at all, if you are going to be able to stomach such a traumatising image, but at least she is alive. That's all that counts.
Dr. Holiday opens the door for you. "I'll be right outside if you need me." She mutters before stepping aside and letting you in.
You walk in the room slowly, and the first thing that hits you is the stern beeping of the machines connected to her. You can hear her heart monitor, you can hear the breather she is most likely connected to. You recognise all this sounds, your father was a doctor after all, you spent a whole lot of your childhood between hospital walls. But it takes you a while to rise your sight from the floor and look at her.
The sight breaks you instantly, but you can't help but move closer to her. You even wrap your hands softly around one of hers once you are by her side. She feels cold.
"Britt..." you whisper.
She looks lifeless, all tangled up in different cables and wires, a tube down her throat to help her breathe, covered in bandages and bruises. Thankfully her broken leg is covered, you are not sure you could take the sight of an open fracture right now.
The moment your eyes stop wandering all over her body and the attached machines, and you lock your gaze on her face, reality hits you like a ton of bricks. You see it all. You see yourself twenty years ago, holding her hand under the old oak tree in your garden, smiling like an idiot. You were an idiot, after all... I mean, a teenager. You remember how her lips felt pressed against your own. You remember the smell of her shampoo and her favourite perfume. You also remember her face when you broke up with her. You remember how it broke your own heart, but how it completely shattered hers. And you remember your dreams back then, with her. You remember dreaming about an idyllic american life. You wanted a big house in the suburbs, surrounded by perfect white fences, a perfectly mowed lawn, with white walls and red doors. You wanted a chocolate-coloured Labrador who would be called Chubby, just because she wanted so. And... And you remember... You remember wanting to have kids with her. And you really wanted them, not only because she fussed all the time about becoming a mom, but because your connection with her was that strong. You wanted two, she wanted seven, which lead you to a few arguments since you were having none of that, there was no way you would carry seven children inside of you. Not at all. Either way, you wanted the whole thing, the house, the dog, the children, the typical soccer-mom car...everything. And you wanted it with her.
You can't hold in a chocked cry that escapes your throat as you see all the images vividly in your mind. And all the feelings and emotions are too much. Way too much. So you do what Santana Lopez does best.
You flee.