Lover Dearest 2/20
A/N: From this point onwards, each update will be a flashback.
Chapter One: I wish we could stay here, forever alone.
It was the night before the first day of senior year, and Britt was staying over.
We were having dinner with my silent, stone-faced parents, who were utterly indifferent to us. Physically, their bodies were there, but for most part it felt like absent presence. It didn't bother me, though: there were so many boundaries that separated us, physically and emotionally. I was so used to fending for myself that my parents just felt like strangers I shared a house with. Sometimes I even preferred it when we ignored each other like this; talking led to arguing, which usually escalated to deafening shouting matches between my father and me.
Brittany, though, was another matter. Her gaze kept flicking up from her plate to the two adults in the room, her eyes looking back and forth at them quizzically. "San, are your parents zombies?" Brittany used to ask me when we were children, and I could almost hear the question running through her mind. Tonight, though, right after dinner, she asked another question in her signature toneless voice:
"San, are you adopted?"
I felt my breath hitch slightly, and I glanced at my parents briefly to observe for any reaction. Secretly disappointed when they didn't respond in any manner, I answered with a short, "No."
"Oh." She replied. For a moment she said nothing, then in a lower voice she whispered, "Then I don't get it. Why don't your parents ever talk to you?"
I looked at her then, and her eyes were filled with so much concern it filled my heart with painful longing. "It's complicated, B."
"How can it be so complicated?" She countered, pouting. "You're the awesomest girl in the world. If you were my child I'd talk to you, like, all the time."
Her words twisted my internal organs in sheer agony, but I kept the pain locked deep inside. I didn't want to upset her. So instead I smiled at her logic, before joking, "Seriously? You want to be my mom?"
I didn't mean it, but her expression automatically faded into one of sheer horror. Before I could reassure her that I was just kidding around, she leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek. "I'm sure it would be great to be your mom, San." She whispered into my ears. "But that's not at all what I want to be for you."
I felt my cheeks reddening, before she laid another soft kiss to the shell of my ear. When she pulled back, her face was shining with pure adoration, it was difficult not to throw myself into her arms and kiss her senseless.
"What. Was. That."
The sound of my father's crisp voice pulled me back into the real world like a stone crashing into tiny pieces after a fall from a great height. I suddenly felt afraid, afraid to see his face, afraid to look him in the eye. "Santana." He said, his voice now as cold as ice, creeping over me like a cloud, seeping into my bones. It sent alarm bells ringing in my head.
"Yeah?" I croaked, trying to find the courage to meet his gaze. I could feel Brittany's fear, and I wanted to shield her from the hell I knew was about to be unleashed.
"Dammit! Look at me when I talk to you." He snapped, slamming his fist into the table. My mother said nothing, keeping her eyes set on the table before her. Beside me, Brittany jumped in her seat, startled at his sudden outburst.
"Papa," I bit back a frustrated sigh, shutting my eyes. "Papa, please. Don't."
"Don't you dare tell me what to do in my own house!" He roared, rising to his feet. I leapt to my feet as well, fury boiling before I could control it. Our gazes locked, his expression ugly.
"San." Brittany whimpered beside me, clutching the table with her hands. She hated aggression. I felt conflict growing in my head: protect Brittany or defend myself? "San." She repeated in a smaller voice. I made a decision then. I couldn't help it.
"Go to my room." I murmured from the corner of my mouth, breaking my staring contest with my father to look at her. She was looking at me with an expression that clearly said no-way-in-hell-am-I-leaving-you-with-this-crazy-guy. "Brittany." I pleaded, dropping my voice and softening my face. I reached over and touched her cheek. "Go to my room, please."
She looked close to tears, but she nodded and stood up quickly, before dashing towards my bedroom. When I looked back at my father his face was red with anger and I could almost hear the expletives exploding in his head.
I let his angry words wash over me like tidal waves, his perfect Spanish echoing across the house. Sin, sin, sin, he repeated over and over, until even the walls seemed to be screaming the word at me. Whore, bitch, tramp, slut. He said so many things, and although I could feel the sting of humiliation and heartbreak numbing me, I chose to remain silent while he continued on his tirade.
I only responded when he mentioned Brittany. When he growled that stupid blonde is turning you into a dyke I blew up like a dam breaking under pressure, yelling back at him. He seemed sickly satisfied that I was fighting back, so he continued to insult Brittany in condescending Spanish before I slapped my palm across his face. When his fist connected with my cheek, I fell against the table, and my mother looked away. When I regained my balance, I stumbled towards my room.
She was sitting on my bed when I locked the door behind me, breathing heavily. When I looked at her, the tears streaking down her face and the sadness dimming her eyes, I felt like my entire spirit was being crushed.
"Don't cry." I murmured, rushing to her, wrapping my arms around her. "Please, please don't cry."
Brittany continued to sniff, letting out little whimpers, but she put her arms around me and pulled me closer, so her face was pressed into my stomach.
"It's okay," I repeated over and over, running my fingers over her yellow hair. "He can't hurt you. I won't let him hurt you. You're safe, B, I promise."
She pulled back abruptly and peered up into my face. When she saw the bruise there, she touched it lightly with the tips of her fingers, saying in a tiny voice, "But he hurt you, San. He hurt you." I almost replied that I was used to it. But when she added, "And it was my fault. All my fault," my heart broke.
I embraced her tightly. "B, it's not your fault, alright? My father is a fucking judgmental asshole. That isn't your fault, alright?"
Later on, when we were both settled in the bed, her hand went searching into the darkness before they found mine. She entwined our fingers together, holding on tightly. For a long moment she said nothing, but just as I was able to drift off she muttered, "I want to graduate this year."
My eyes flew open, and even in the darkness I could see the resolve shining in her eyes.
"I want to graduate this year." She repeated, her voice louder, stronger.
"You will." I reassured her, squeezing her hand in mine.
Her eyes lingered over my face, before she whispered, "I need to graduate."
I didn't know what she meant, so I held my breath and waited for her to continue. I watched her swallow, before she added in a considerably softer tone,
"I want to get away from it all, San. All the judgment and stuff. Especially in this stupid little town."
I propped myself on one elbow, frowning. I wasn't sure what she meant by "it all," but I knew it wasn't in my place to ask. "You'll graduate." I whispered. "I'll help you, B. I promise. You'll graduate. I swear on it."
She smiled then, and it felt like a rainbow appearing in the morning after a night of storm. "Thank you, San." She said softly, closing her eyes. "You're my best friend." She added, drowsiness already injecting into your voice. "Love you."
Only when her breathing had evened out in the way that made me know she was really sleeping did I finally whisper, "I love you too, Brittany. So much."