Over the next week, Brittany spends most of her time on her computer and texting Santana. Honestly, she's a little afraid to leave her house, because she has no idea if Tommy is in town or not. The last thing in the world she wants is to run into him.
Despite Brittany's insistence that things are okay, Santana can tell that they're not. Her texts come pretty much nonstop, which doesn't bother Santana so much as it worries her. Their phone calls are longer, too. When she was at Rachel's, they'd talk for about half an hour before bed, but now, she calls at least twice a day, and conversations at night last until one or both of them are too tired to keep talking.
The Friday before Christmas, Brittany's mom wakes her up. "Brittany. Come on, we have your consultation in an hour."
"What?"
"Your plastic surgery consultation. Get out of bed. I'm sure you need to shower first."
"I don't want that. I don't want surgery."
"You don't know what you're talking about. You haven't even talked to the doctors."
"No, I'm not going."
"You will go." She takes a deep breath. "Just go to the consultation. Then, if you don't want to have the surgery, well, obviously I can't force you."
"Fine." That doesn't sound so bad. She can talk to the doctor and pretend to listen, and then her mom will accept her not having the surgery. When they get into the examination room, the doctor tells Brittany to take off her shirt. She hesitates. "I thought this was just an appointment to talk."
"I need to take pictures, and then we can agree on a size," the doctor tells her.
"B-but I'm not sure if I w-want to do this. Mom, you said I didn't have to."
"Brittany, take off your shirt. It's just a consultation. We can talk about this at home."
Brittany slides off the table and lifts her shirt over her head.
"Bra too. Nurse, ready the camera."
Brittany's hands shake as she slides off her bra. She doesn't know how to stop what's happening. Her mom watches as she stands in front of a screen, and the man says a lot of things she doesn't understand or can't hear because of how uncomfortable she is as he palms her breasts, drawing dashed lines across her chest and circles around her nipples. As he presses his fingers into the lines of her abdominal muscles, he mentions that a little liposuction to further define them wouldn't hurt.
She spends the entire session trying not to cry. When he shows her the pictures of what her chest would look like if she were enlarged to a D cup, she doesn't even look. Brittany doesn't care. She just wants Santana. Why can't her mom understand that she doesn't want bigger boobs, that she just wants someone who loves her the way she is? She has that person, just six hours away. She'll see her soon.
On their way out, her mother mentions that bigger boobs would probably help her get a job in dancing. It's never been more clear to Brittany that her mother has no idea—nor does she care—who she is or what she does. All she wants to do is get home, crawl into bed, and call Santana. Unfortunately, her mother has other plans, which involve running a million errands all over town. Brittany keeps her distance from her mom and responds to Santana's texts as she receives them, not wanting to worry her.
Santana can tell that something is wrong. The blonde's replies are short and lack any sense of who Brittany is. However, whenever Santana asks if she's okay, Brittany just says she'll call when she gets home. Finally, at 9 PM, Brittany gets home and immediately takes a shower, scrubbing desperately at the faded marks still not completely wiped from her chest. Before she even gets dressed, she falls into bed and calls Santana.
"Hey, baby. You're finally home."
"Yeah, I came home and showered. Today sucked, Santana."
Santana can hear Brittany's voice break a little. "What's wrong, Britt? What happened?"
"My mother made me go to a consultation for the boob job she still wants me to get."
"Fuck, Br—"
"I told her no. She said if I went to the consultation and still didn't want them, I wouldn't have to get them, because she can't make me. So I'm not doing it."
"Okay. Are you okay, though? You sound so sad."
"It just felt awful being there. He drew all over my chest and told me that I should get lipo to make my abs better. Then, my mom kept saying how it would help me get a job. She doesn't know anything, San. I don't need help. I'm a good dancer."
"He touched you? Was he completely professional? He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"He didn't hurt me. And he was professional. I just hated having all my flaws pointed out and examined."
"You don't have any flaws, B. You're beautiful and amazing. Your body is perfect. So perfect."
"I love you."
"Oh baby. I love you too," Santana says gently. She wishes she could be there to hold Brittany, to comfort her.
"Will you stay with me until I fall asleep? Unless you're busy. Are you with Quinn? I'm sorry if I'm bothering you."
"Not at all. I will stay on the phone with you as long as you want. I love talking to you." Santana puts her controller down and mouths "sorry" to her brother, who waves her off. After she's back in her room and in bed, the conversation switches to much more pleasant topics. Brittany starts to think of things they can do on her birthday, but Santana tells her not to worry about it; she already has everything planned out. They talk about what Santana did that day, how her brothers are doing, what food they ate, every little thing they can think of. Eventually, Brittany stops talking, and Santana can hear her deep breathing through the phone. She can't bring herself to hang up. If she closes her eyes, it almost feels like they're back at school, and Brittany is in her arms. Eventually, the sound of her breathing lulls Santana to sleep.
Brittany spends the next two days in her room watching movies on her laptop, leaving occasionally to get food and water. She barely hears her dad come and go, and hasn't said more than a few words to him since coming home. On Christmas Eve, at her mother's orders, she joins the family for an early dinner, which is awkward. Her mother and sister talk to each other while ignoring her.
After dinner, her mother calls her into the kitchen to help with the dishes. When they're finished, she turns to go upstairs, but her mother stops her. "Tommy's coming over tomorrow for Christmas dinner. Do you have anything presentable to wear? You can borrow something from your sister if you need to."
"I can't see him." Brittany feels panic building in her chest. "He can't come here. I don't want him near me." She starts to back up.
"He's coming. And you will do your best to make yourself look nice."
Brittany shakes her head back and forth. "No. You can't do this."
"Brittany. Stop being so stupid. You can't do any better than him. Do you understand that?"
Brittany's breath catches in her throat. Talk, Brittany. Now is not the time to freeze up, she yells at herself. Finding her voice, she screams at her mother, "No! I don't want anything to do with him!"
For a brief second, her mother's face displays shock. Brittany almost never stands up for herself, and she has never raised her voice. Then, anger and hatred flash across her mother's face, and she slaps Brittany across the face so hard she feels her neck strain with the force. "You're an idiot! What do you think your little dance degree is going to do for you? You'll leave school and become a stripper. Nobody will ever put up with you. That boy is a saint. You take this opportunity now, because I refuse to take care of you for the rest for your life! You've been a burden for 18 years, and I will not continue to carry that around."
Try as she might, Brittany can't stop the tears pouring out of her eyes. She doesn't have any response. All she can do is struggle desperately to keep the sobs at bay, but she's failing. For the first time in a very long time, she finds herself crying in front of her mother.
"Pull yourself together, Brittany. He is coming to dinner tomorrow. Now get out of my sight, you ungrateful idiot, and find a way to cover that up." With that, her mother walks away.
Brittany can't stop crying long enough to catch her breath. She forces herself to walk up the stairs and into her bedroom. Finding her phone, she takes a deep breath, hits number one on her speed dial, listens to it ring, hears a click...and gets Santana's voicemail message. Forcing herself to talk through her tears, she leaves a hopefully-coherent message, then collapses on her bed, sobs racking her body once again.
Santana hears her phone ring. She knows it's Brittany, because Brittany has her own ringtone, but before she can pick up, her brother yells at her to finish the game they're playing. As soon as the round's over, she grabs her phone, seeing that she has a voicemail. Her heart stutters. Pressing play, she hears, "S-San? Call me? Please?" The words alone would have caused alarm, but Brittany's broken voice tells her that something is very, very wrong. She doesn't have time to dwell on how mad she is at herself for not picking up the phone or how horribly that voice hurts her. Instead, she immediately calls Brittany back, then hears nothing but muffled sobs.
"Brittany? What's wrong?" More sobs. "Brittany, please." Santana starts to panic. "Baby, are you okay? Please, tell me what's wrong?" She can hear Brittany trying to regain control of her ability to speak, so she just waits, occasionally telling Brittany to take deep breaths, her own panic mounting higher and higher.
After a few minutes, in the smallest voice Santana has ever heard, Brittany speaks. "M-my mom invited T-Tommy to dinner. Tomorrow n-night." Another sob breaks from her body. "S-Santana...San, sh-she hates me. My mom h-hates me." She lets out a distressed wail.
Santana is already looking for a sweatshirt. "I'm coming. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"You d-don't have to—"
"Stop. Brittany, I promised I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe. And you are not safe. I'm coming to get you. You need to let me keep my promise."
"Okay." She sniffs.
"I will be there as soon as possible. Okay, baby? I want you to pack your stuff and stay in your room. If you have to leave a note, you can do it on your way out after I get there. I need you to text me your address as soon as we get off the phone. Okay?"
"Okay."
"I want you to keep texting or calling me, whichever. I just need to know that you're okay. Can you do that? I love you, baby, and I promise I'll see you soon."
"I love you too." Brittany isn't going to try and protest anymore. She wants Santana, needs her, needs help to make the pain stop. After hanging up, Brittany does as Santana said and starts to pack her things.
Santana is freaking out. She's putting every ounce of effort into keeping her anger down. She should've known that something would happen, should've insisted that Brittany come with her for Christmas, should've just told her mom that they would spend Christmas at school. The Latina reminds herself that she can't think about all that right now. She needs to focus on fixing this, but she can't find her keys. With her hoodie on backwards and shoes in her hand, she runs down the stairs into the kitchen, where her mother is sitting. "Where are my car keys?!" she yells too fast for anyone to understand her.
"Mija, slow down. What are you looking for?"
"My keys. I need my damn car keys. Is anyone blocking me in?"
"Santana, what's wrong? It's Christmas Eve, that's family time."
"I need to go get Brittany. Right now." She's almost screaming as she turns rapidly from left to right. Her keys have to be here somewhere.
"Stop. Right now. Santana, stop. What's wrong?"
Taking a deep breath, Santana forces herself to stop spinning. She knows she needs to calm down and do this right, or she could cause more problems for herself and Brittany. "Brittany has this ex-boyfriend. He's abusive in literally every way you can think of."
"That's true, Mami. We saw him before Thanksgiving. He hit her, tried to kick her, and said a lot of things to her that I don't want to repeat to you. We beat him up," Miguel cuts in from somewhere behind her. Maribel's eyes widen.
"Brittany's mom is having him over for dinner tomorrow. She's trying to force them back together," Santana continues.
"Why doesn't she just tell her mother?" Maribel would protect her children from anything; surely this woman would do the same if she knew?
"Her mother knows, Mami. She knows everything."
Maribel puts her hand over her heart, trying to fight back tears. "Okay." Santana goes to look for her keys in another room. "Santana, I don't—"
"I'm going to get her, Mami. If you don't want us to come back here, I'll take her to my apartment at school, but I am not leaving her in a place where she has nobody." Santana tries to keep her voice down but fails.
"Mija, calm down. Of course Brittany can come here. I just don't want you driving so worked up."
"I'm okay. I promise. But I need to leave now. She needs me. I need to go."
Miguel throws her a set of keys. "Take my car, sis. Tank is full. It's blocking yours in, anyways."
"Thanks." She throws her shoes on and turns to leave.
"Santana, wait. Here." Santana turns back to her mother. "Take my credit card. I want you to keep the tank at least half-full at all times. Text me to keep me updated. Okay?" Santana nods. "Do I need to call the police and have them sent there, Mija? You need to be honest with me. If something happens to her or to you, none of us will ever forgive ourselves."
"No, I think she's okay. For now. She's in her room, and I told her not to come out until I get there. If I see anything at all, or hear anything from her, I promise I will call the police."
Maribel nods. She trusts Santana to do what's best for Brittany. "I don't want you to drive back tonight. Once you get her, stop at a hotel, okay? And make sure you eat tonight. Put it all on the credit card." She hugs Santana. "Keep her safe, okay, Mija? Text me as soon as you have her and let me know she's safe."
"Of course, Mami. Of course I will." Santana hugs her back. "Thank you." It feels like a big thank you—a thank you for always protecting her the best she can, a thank you for now helping Santana protect Brittany.
She's on her way out when Miguel grabs her arm. "Do you need me to come?"
"No, he's not there. Right now, I think she needs just me. It'll be okay, and if it's not, like I told Mami, I'll call the police."
He nods and lets her go with a pat on the shoulder. "Good luck, sis."
As soon as she jumps into her brother's car and adjusts the mirrors and seat (her feet didn't even touch the pedals), she enters the address Brittany texted her into the GPS. Six hours. She texts Brittany her ETA of 11:30 PM and starts driving, trying not to speed too much, because the last thing she needs is a cop stopping her and delaying her arrival.
From Brittany: Thank you.
The very un-Brittany response causes her to creep a little faster. True to her word, Santana stops as soon as the car hits half a tank and fills it back up, then texts her mother to let her know she's fine and got gas. She texts Brittany, who just responds with "I love you." It's better than "Thank you," but still not Brittany.
Brittany finishes packing, leaving just her coat out. It's a stupid coat. It isn't even for winter. But it's the only one she has, and her mom didn't buy her a new one like she said she would before school. Why can't she buy her own coat? Why can't she be smart enough to go to school and work like a lot of other people do? Then, she could afford her own winter coat, and she wouldn't have to wait for her mother to buy her one, which she clearly never will. She doesn't want to be such a burden. She's a burden to everyone, especially Santana, who is now driving six hours on Christmas Eve, all because she can't deal with her own family and her own problems. Stupid Brittany.
When it sounds like nobody is upstairs, she goes into the bathroom to get her things and wipe her face. When her mother hit her, her ring left a cut on her cheekbone. There's also some bruising, and she considers trying to cover it up, but she won't be able to hide it from Santana for long anyways. Plus, she's just too tired. So she just grabs her things, goes back into her room, and curls up on her bed.
At 10:30, she receives a text from Santana saying she's about an hour away. Getting up, she writes a quick note on a piece of paper she finds.
I am leaving for the rest of break.
Brittany
Unable to stand being inside the house anymore, she takes her bag, goes out onto the porch, and sits down on the steps. It's freezing outside, so she curls into herself as much as possible. Putting her head on her knees and leaning against the railing, she unintentionally falls asleep.
Santana pulls up to the house indicated by the GPS. It's much larger than her own. She's about to call Brittany to say she's here when she sees someone sitting on a porch with a bag. Instantly, she knows it's Brittany; she'd know her from any distance away. When she gets out of her car and closes the door, though, Brittany doesn't move, and panic starts to rise in her throat. Running up the shoveled path, she realizes that she's asleep. It's freezing, and the blonde is shivering in her too-thin coat. Crouching down and gently placing her hand on Brittany's shoulder, Santana whispers her name, speaking steadily louder until Brittany startles awake.
When their eyes connect, Santana sees how red and swollen Brittany's are, how defeated she looks, and finally, the cut on her cheek surrounded by bruising and swelling. Anger and sorrow overtake her body, and her eyes sting with tears. "Baby," she whispers as she reaches out to gently touch Brittany's cheek. When her fingers connect, she feels how ice-cold Brittany's skin is. "You're freezing, Brittany." She gently stands them both up and pulls Brittany into a hug. Santana holds her for a moment, needing to feel Brittany in her arms as much as Brittany needs to be there, before grabbing her bag and walking her to her brother's car. When they get into the car, she quickly takes Brittany's freezing, shaking hands tightly between hers, rubbing gently to warm them. "Are you hurt, Brittany, like 'need to go to a doctor' hurt?"
Brittany shakes her head no. "It's just a cut," she whispers. She sounds stilted and hollow and not at all how Brittany normally sounds...but God, does it feel good to hear her voice. Santana quickly texts Maribel to tell her that she has Brittany, they're safe, and they're on their way to a hotel for the night. As she drives, Brittany grabs her hand and pulls it into her lap, playing with her fingers. Other than the movement of her hands against Santana's, she is completely still and quiet for the entire drive. They get about half an hour out of town when Santana finds a decent hotel. When she pulls in and turns off the car, Brittany looks at her in confusion.
"My mami made me promise that I wouldn't drive back tonight, so we're staying here. Is that okay?"
Brittany quickly nods. How stupid of her. She didn't even think about how long the drive is. Of course they aren't driving back tonight.
Once they check in and get to their room, Santana sets her bag down, then looks up to see Brittany standing there with her head down, playing with her fingers the way she does when she's nervous. "You're safe now," she says to her quietly. "I have you, Brittany. You're safe, and I love you so much."
