Influence - Chapter 12: "Confession" [Brittany/Santana] [Glee] [fic]
Title: Influence
Pairing: Brittany/Santana, mentions of Puck/Santana
Rating: T for language and themes. M in later chapters for physical intimacy.
Spoilers: General season 1
Description: Brittany has spent most of her life being what people believe she is, and nothing more. She starts to realize that this isn’t working, and decides to do something about it. Brittana.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 (part 1) | Chapter 17 (part 2) | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 (part 1) | Chapter 19 (part 2) | Chapter 20 (part 1) | Chapter 20 (part 2) |
The last thing I ever wanted was to be treated differently. Santana didn't seem to get this memo, and from then on I was porcelain. She opened my doors for me, held my backpack, and carried my books. The rest of the Cheerios assumed I had a terminal illness when she barked ferociously at them for kneeling too hard on me in the pyramid. She escorted me to every class, a wary eye out for Karofsky, Matt and Mike. She diverted both of us any time we were in the same hallway, muttering expletives under her breath as we rerouted ourselves down a different hall or ducked into the girls' bathroom. It seemed like she was shielding me from every football player in school with the vain hope that none of them knew what I'd done. The only one she didn't flee from was Puck.
I watched her when he walked by us in the hallway. He would still raise his chin and make suggestive comments to her, but she didn't return the gesture. She remained stoic until he passed, rolling her eyes when she knew I was looking, and staring forlornly when she thought I wasn't. I knew in the back of her mind she regretted letting him go, knowing that she'd broken up with him unnecessarily. I didn't ask her if she missed him because of the power he brought her, or if she had genuinely enjoyed his company. Frankly, I didn't want to know the answer. Whatever it was, she didn't let me know if she resented me because of it.
But as attached to my side as she was, we didn't talk about what happened again. She substituted talking for proximity, and she started spending a few nights a week in my bed, sleeping with her arms wrapped tightly, possessively, around my waist. There was no sex, and the incomprehensible longing I felt for her touch drove me slightly mad for the first few nights she climbed under my blankets, naked and unashamed.
During the few waking hours we had in between arriving home from school and falling asleep with our limbs intertwined, she helped me with my homework and, occasionally, with whatever song we were working on in glee. She hated to admit it, but she enjoyed the singing and dancing as much as I did.
It didn't however, prevent her and Quinn from making various small attempts to derail both Mr. Shue and Rachel, per Sue's instructions. I didn't take much part in that. I was happy to dance in the background and enjoy a couple hours of singing while they plotted. I think she liked taking her frustration with her situation - with me, and with Puck - out on the diva and our instructor. I didn't revel in it the way she did, and instead spent my energy investing myself in the music.
The glee kids were, for all intents and purposes, the biggest losers in the school, but they were also the most genuine. No one ever held back, and the passion they had for performing was palpable. Despite Rachel's generally obnoxious demeanor, she was the soul of the group. Her voice carried when others' did not, and she led them when Mr. Shue lost control. Kurt and Mercedes had teamed up early, establishing what Santana had dubbed a "fag and his hag" relationship. I thought that they played off each other in the same way that Santana and I did, backing and protecting each other when it counted. Everyone seemed to have a strength, and despite Finn's horrible dancing, we came together as a group and blended our sound until it worked.
I fell into a casual rapport with the glee kids. They seemed to like my loose-lipped comments on things going on around me, courtesy of a consistent two-pill high. With Santana around so much and her newly developed need to sleep naked in my bed, I needed a regimen that left me sufficiently addled. The rest of the group took me for a simpleton, and neither I nor Santana corrected them. It was easier to explain away my spacey nature with stupidity than with drugs.
Ultimately, it was better to be an idiot savant than an addict.
It wasn't until a few weeks later, when Kurt asked me for help on a dance unrelated to glee club, that I realized that I had inadvertently assimilated into the group without Santana and Quinn. It was as much a surprise to me as anyone, and I think Kurt was a little put off my shocked expression.
"Should I take that as a 'no'?"
"Huh?" He had approached me after rehearsal, standing a lot like Santana did, with his hip cocked and his arms crossed over his chest. I hadn't had anyone other than Santana ask me for anything before, so the request confused me.
"It's just that you're the best dancer in glee," he said, continuing without explaining again what exactly it was he wanted me to do. "And I'm working on something... specific. It's not something for Mr. Shue, but I do a little of my own performing outside the group. It would be really nice if you could help me with the steps."
It took me a minute to process, and he patiently waited while my expression changed from surprise to confusion to realization and happiness. "Seriously? I thought all gay people knew how to dance. Those guys on Jersey Shore sure seem to, anyway."
He grinned. "Well, some of us need a little push in the right direction. I'm working on Beyoncé's seminal classic, 'Single Ladies'. I'd like to recreate the video with as much accuracy as possible."
It was a favorite of mine, and I knew the dance well. "Great!" I said cheerily. "I'll tell Santana and we can-"
"About that," he interrupted, putting his hand up to stop me. "I think it would be best if Santana didn't attend this particular event, if you don't mind. It's not that I dislike her... Well, yes, it's that I dislike her. And she isn't particularly fond me, either. You're a sweet girl, Britt, but she's not what I'd call friendly. I've heard enough gay jokes for one year."
I looked over at Santana, who was waiting for me by the door. She pointed up to the clock, indicating that it was time to go, and gave Kurt a vicious glare. I turned back to him, and he rolled his eyes, running his index finger and thumb over the front of his hair to smooth it. He was right, I supposed. She hadn't been very kind to anyone in the group thus far, and it showed as she stomped out of the choir room, throwing her hands up when I didn't follow.
"Okay," I agreed, slightly forlorn. "I can meet Santana later, I guess."
"Fabulous," he said, clapping his hands. "My place, tomorrow after glee. Tina will be joining us as well. We need a third to make it accurate."
Outside the school, Santana waited for me. "What did the little homo want?" she asked, venom on her tongue.
"He wanted help with a project," I replied, wincing at the slur. "Why do you hate him so much?"
"What's to like?" she laughed. "He's a loser. A gay loser."
"San, stop," I said firmly. "Don't call him that. He can't help-"
"He can help it," she cut me off. "He doesn't have to be gay. And he can certainly stop acting so gay in public. No one needs to see that."
It was the first time she'd been short with me in weeks, and it caught me off guard. I thought that she was overreacting, but I kept my mouth shut about it. "I'm still going to help him," I said slowly. "He asked, and no one's ever asked me for help before. I want to."
"Sure, B," she said nonchalantly, relaxing a bit when she realized how harsh her voice had sounded. "I was thinking about going over to Puck's, anyway."
That, more than her unexpected homophobia, surprised me. "Wait, I thought you broke up with him?"
She shrugged. "Yeah, so? We've been hanging out."
"Hanging out?"
"We get down a little. Just because we're having sex, it doesn't mean we're dating. You said it yourself, I get cranky when I don't get laid."
I didn't bring up the fact that she was cranky anyway, or that she'd had ample opportunity with me, and sighed. From the way she'd been looking at him, I should have suspected she'd go back to him eventually. The one facet of Santana's personality that she never could hide was her unending need for attention and recognition from her peers and betters. She followed Quinn around because Quinn was more popular than she was. She dated Puck because he was the hottest guy in school. She couldn't have cared less about the glee kids, because they couldn't get her anything she didn't already have. In fact, they could probably take more from her than they could give. It made sense that she would distance herself, and be angry with me for getting close to them. I didn't like the correlation, but she was my best friend. And what are best friends for, if not a little understanding?
She didn't say much else to me that night at my house. We did our homework in silence. I snuck off to my bathroom to take two more pills before she crawled into bed with me, her warm body pressing against my back. She held me in the dark for a few minutes before speaking.
"You should help him," she whispered, her chin on my shoulder. "Kurt. Lord knows he could use a few dancing pointers. I just... I'm your friend, B. Those kids don't know you like I know you. Just be careful what you say to them, okay?"
In my haze I didn't quite understand why she assumed everyone was out to get us, but I nodded. "Okay, San."
She nuzzled her face into my hair and then used the hand not wrapped around my waist to pull it away from my neck. She leaned in and kissed it, biting gently and sighing. "Goodnight, babe."
I thought back to the first night she had stayed with me, and the deep, unaided sleep I had experienced. Then I compared it to the deadened, dreamless repose I had with pills I was forced to take every night thereafter, just to get to sleep. Leading up to that point I'd been erratic with my medication. If I didn't see Santana, I could get through the day on one or two, but the longer she was around, the more I felt the need to be numb. Feeling was too much when she stood next to me, the back of her hand casually rubbing against mine. She hadn't noticed my unpredictable behavior because she was admittedly distracted with her own problems. Once she'd recognized that I needed her, though, her attentions returned to me in force. Jumping from one pill a day to four was no longer an option. I'd found a steady rhythm with two pills in the morning, at lunch, and before bed, returning me to a state similar to the one I'd been in when I'd first been stabilized on the pills at the age of twelve. It was enough to get me through her pinky-holding, or when she linked her arm through mine, or when she leaned against me in class. Especially when she stripped down in my room, draping her Cheerios uniform over the foot board, and walked around the side of my bed to crawl up behind me, naked, to sleep.
There, in my bed that night, I didn't feel the soft bites on my neck. I didn't feel her breasts on my back or the heat of her breath on my throat. I felt nothing, and it was a blessing.
"Goodnight," I whispered.
The next afternoon I spent two hours in the sterile white basement of Kurt's house, teaching him and Tina the steps to the dance. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about the conversation I'd had with Santana before glee, when she repeated her desire to spend her afternoon alone with Puck.
"He's been asking me for a week to come over," she'd said, filing her nails while we waited for Mr. Shue to arrive. "You're going to teach the gay kid how to dance. What's the big deal?"
The idea of her in his bed while I was here, dancing in a black unitard, made me nauseous. But I'd promised Kurt, and I despite the knot in my stomach, I found myself enjoying spending time with the two of them. It was, for lack of a better word, easy. I could feel with them, rejoin my head with my body and exist as a normal person.
"No, Kurt, it's hip-hip-hand, not hand-hip-hip," I said with a giggle as he pointed to his ring finger out sync with me and Tina. "Hip-hip-hand, tap-the-heel, wave. Here, watch."
I demonstrated once more, for the third time in a hour, as "Single Ladies" played in the background. He mimicked my motions, watching my feet and hands, a fraction of a second behind me. He lifted his foot to tap his heel and promptly tripped himself, falling to the floor in a heap. Tina snorted and paused the music, and we both helped him to his feet.
"This is more difficult than I originally thought," he muttered, dusting off his sequined vest and checking his matching gloves for debris. "It's a complicated routine. If you can get it, it should be easy for me."
"K-K-Kurt..." Tina warned, as she watched my face fall at the back-handed compliment. I was sure we'd gotten past that, at this point, but I tried to remember that this was Kurt, and he had a habit of saying things that were true without thinking about the way in which he delivered that truth.
Kurt realized his quick tongue had hurt me a moment later, and he snapped his mouth shut, wincing. "God, Britt, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just-"
"It's okay," I said with a sigh. "I know I'm not... I understand. But I like to dance. It's the one thing I'm good at. And I can help you be good at it, too, if you'd just relax and stop kicking your legs like a Rockette. This is Beyoncé, not Broadway."
He smirked and nodded. "You're right. Let's take it from the top. And this time, we'll start the tape."
By the end of a third hour in the Hummel's basement, we nearly had it down. He'd begun recording the whole thing, but for what reason I didn't bother to ask. He wasn't going to be entering "So You Think You Can Dance" any time soon, but I think he enjoyed having evidence of his talent around him, and on hand to share with others. He was a lot like Rachel in that way.
We'd just begun our final run-through, Tina and I in the background while Kurt rocked the dance out front in his own special way, when the music cut out unexpectedly from behind us. Kurt whirled faster than I'd ever previously seen him move, his eyes wide. His dad stood by the speaker, his worn baseball hat shielding skeptical eyes. I looked down at his feet and wondered if Kurt would have allowed Burt in with his dirty, scuffed boots if he'd been able to stop him from entering before he muddied up the pristine white room.
"Dad," he said, trying to hide the embarrassment and shock on his face. "You're home early."
"'Deadliest Catch' is on," Burt grunted, looking back and forth between Tina and I, then to Kurt in his skintight black ensemble. "What are you wearing?"
"It's a unitard," he replied quickly, out of breath and sounding slightly panicked. "Guys wear them to, uh, workout nowadays. Do sports. They wick sweat from the body."
Mr. Hummel took a few steps closer to his son, and reached out to slip his finger under the elastic neck of Kurt's spandex, allowing it to snap back against his skin. The sound rang out in the concrete room, and I winced, putting my arms across my chest defensively.
"F-F-Football!" Tina tossed out helpfully with a big smile, like she had said something extremely relevant.
Kurt looked at her, the surprise only heightening on his face. "Yeah, all the guys in football wear them. They're jock chic." He laughed nervously.
I watched the looks Mr. Hummel gave his son, dressed like a sequined ballerina in his contemporarily decorated bedroom, and I came to the conclusion that he hadn't seen much of Kurt this way before. I'd been under the impression that everyone knew Kurt was different. I only saw him in glee, but the way he reacted to his father's presence in his room was palpably different than anything he'd ever done in the choir room. At school he was confident, and he knew exactly who he was. Here in the basement, the presence of his father had reversed his attitude in a matter of seconds. He was a child, cowering nervously in the face of an unknown force. He was hiding in his own home, in the way that I was hiding around everyone at school. It was painful to watch, so I did what I could to help, following Tina's lead.
"Totally," I jumped in. "Kurt's on the football team now. He's the kicker, that's the smallest guy on the field, right?"
If Kurt had been nervous before, he was terrified now. He whipped his head around to stare at me in shock and I knew instantly that I should have kept my mouth shut. I thought it would make a difference, seeing how his father reacted to the news that his son was playing football, and not dancing to Top 40 in a sparkling vest and gloves.
"Yeah," he continued for me, his voice shaking. "Britt and Tina were just helping me with some... conditioning work."
"Hmm," Mr. Hummel nodded, a small smile crawling across his face. "You know I played in J.C. Before I busted out my knee popping wheelies on my dirt bike."
Kurt giggled, playing with the tie around his neck like it was choking him. "Cool. I guess we'll have something to talk about then."
His father nodded, his eyes darkening slightly. "So, one of you two his girlfriend?" The question was directed at Tina and I, and I suddenly saw why Kurt was so anxious. He reached out and grabbed Tina around the waist, smacking her ass with his glove and pulling her closer.
"But I'm not ready to be exclusive yet," he smirked, and I rolled my eyes. As much as I understood what he was trying to hide from his father, I couldn't help but laugh.
Mr. Hummel looked back and forth between Kurt and Tina, nodding skeptically, but not questioning his son. After a minute he exhaled. "Yeah, just keep the music down. I can't hear myself think up there." He headed up the stairs and the three of us began to relax, but he stopped at the landing and turned to us again. "And Kurt? Be sure to get me a ticket to your first game."
When he was gone Kurt turned to me and angrily threw his hands in the air. "The football team, Britt? Really? You couldn't have just stayed quiet? Now he's expecting to see me play, and there's not a chance in hell that I'm going to be able to follow through."
Tina took a few steps backward and grabbed her bag, stuttering as she gestured toward the stairs. She didn't like confrontation, and wasn't prepared to deal with the shouting that was about to ensue. "I-I-I'm g-g-gonna go..." And she fled, leaving me alone with an irate Kurt.
"I just-" I started, but he cut me off with a gloved hand.
"I know you think you're helping, but I can't do what you're suggesting. My dad is... my dad and I are very different. Telling him I'm on the football team was like telling him I'm dating Quinn Fabray."
I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to clear my head to say what I was thinking without screwing it up. "Kurt, I'm sorry. I thought I was helping. I know what you're going through, this hiding that you're doing. It's hard to keep the lies straight. If you really want to keep up your lie at home, you can't keep up like this without making some accommodations for your dad. Football will help. I'll help, if you want. You already kick like a Rockette, remember? It'll be okay."
His mouth was agape, but with a small smile creeping into the corners. "I think that's the most I've ever heard you speak, Britt," he commented, correcting his smile and feigning an angry stare once more. "What makes you think you know anything about what I'm hiding?"
I shrugged. I'd heard the slurs Santana had used for him, that poisonous tone she had when she dropped "faggot", "homo", and "gay" into sentences about Kurt. The reality of his situation was that he had friends at school who knew that he was gay, but everyone else had just assumed it to be true and he was okay with that. Here, in his own home, he was living that lie. We weren't so different, he and I.
"You're two different people," I said slowly, once again reaching for the clarity I needed to say what I was thinking. "In school, and here. That thing with your dad, that's not how you are with us. I've never seen you so anxious. The Kurt Hummel I know wouldn't have lied to his dad about dating Tina. He would have commented on his dad's out-of-date jeans and told him that his jacket needed to be dry cleaned. You're hiding, Kurt. And it's okay. I'm hiding, too."
Kurt took the tie from around his neck and tossed it in a chair as he sat down on the sofa against his wall. I sat down next to him, watching his expressions change from faux anger to silent resignation. He sighed, looking down at his hands. "You're the last person I ever expected to be having this conversation with," he murmured, inspecting his nails. "I'm not confused, you know. I know who I am. What I am. But I can't bear the thought of disappointing my dad. I'm all he has, and if he knew I was... if he knew I was gay, he'd be devastated. We have nothing in common, but at least we have each other. I don't want to lose that."
I smiled sadly at him, the sadness mostly for myself. He was right; he did have his father, despite their differences, and he had his friends who understood and loved him. What did I have? Santana, who treated me like porcelain and yet used me for sex, all while running back and forth to Puck when things got complicated. My mom, who worked too much and too hard, often leaving me alone in our house on the nights when Santana slept over. My little sister, who lived with our dad and his new wife in Akron. None of that felt like a comfort, especially when I was Half Out. And where Kurt had his certainty about who and what he was, I had confusion. And, most unfortunately, I also lacked the ability to articulate how confused I really was.
"Britt?"
"Yeah, Kurt."
"What are you hiding from?"
I hadn't even thought he would ask. I was just trying to be sympathetic, and here he was, actually curious about my life. Outside of my friendship with Santana, no one had ever asked me about myself before. I blinked at him, stumbling over my words, but grateful that I was finally getting an opportunity to say what I'd been thinking for as long as I could remember.
"I don't work the same way that everyone else does," I started, wringing my hands and looking out the small window at the top of the wall behind the couch, which opened up even with the grass outside. "My brain doesn't function properly. It hasn't since I was a kid."
Kurt smiled and patted my hands comfortingly, but with mild condescension. "That's not a surprise, darling."
"I've been on pills since I was twelve," I continued, trying to explain that this wasn't entirely about my malfunctioning brain. "Lithium, mostly, but they've changed things up over the years. And I've changed things up as well."
Kurt straightened and his eyes went a little wider as he understood what I was trying to say. "Wait, you're... so you're like, self-medicating? I never pictured you for a pill-popper, B. I might be impressed if I wasn't concerned."
"I have to," I stated simply. "I can't be around her if I can feel things."
"Be around who, Britt?"
I sighed. "Santana."
His eyes bugged and he nodded knowingly. "My god, I feel like someone just gave me the answers to Cosmo's sex quiz. This makes so much more sense. Absolutely brilliant."
I didn't have his words, but I knew he understood. "When did you know?" I asked, still looking out that window. "When did you know you were... different?"
He thought about it for a moment and wrapped his fingers gently around my palm. "I was probably seven. It was before my mom died, I know that. I knew I wasn't like the other boys. I didn't want to play sports or watch football with my dad. I wanted to have tea parties and wear clothes that didn't have grass stains permanently embedded in the knees. I wanted to kiss Noah Puckerman every single time he punched me in the stomach on the playground. My opinion of him has since changed, but there was still that lingering notion that I wasn't quite the same."
I nodded, switching my gaze to stare down at his hand on mine. "I'm different," I concluded. "I'm different, like you're different." I was trying to find that word, the one he'd used to call himself. It hadn't sounded so poisonous when Kurt had used it. Maybe if I tried again, I could say it, and it would mean something more.
"So you're..."
"I think I'm gay," I finished. The word clung to my tongue and lingered there. I could taste it rolling around in my mouth and I whispered it a few more times, acclimating myself to it. It felt real. Comfortable, even. "Gay."
"What does Santana have to say about this?" he asked softly, using his thumb like she did, rubbing the back of my hand.
"Santana's not gay," I stated, but still questioned it silently. "She's sleeping with Puck."
"But she spends all her time with you."
"She's my best friend," I countered, not sure if telling him about our nocturnal habits would be the best idea. "She protects me. It's just sometimes..." I didn't have the words anymore.
"The people we're closest to are the ones we're the most afraid of hurting," Kurt filled in. His voice was understanding, and I met his eyes. They were warm, and I smiled at him, realizing that I'd just said everything I'd been thinking and nothing had fallen apart. My life wasn't different because I'd said out loud what I was feeling in the deepest bowels of my soul.
On the one hand, it was really quite liberating. On the other, I was suddenly terrified that I had just revealed something that, until now, had been kept in the strictest confidence. Santana would kill me if she found out. She'd even told me to be careful what I'd said to the glee kids. She didn't trust them. But did I?
"Please don't tell anyone I-"
"I don't even know what you're talking about," he interjected with a smile, and I wrinkled my nose, confused.
"But I just told I was-"
"I was kidding, Britt," he said with a little shake of his head. "No one will ever hear this from me." He gave my hand a quick squeeze and stood. "It's getting late. I'm already behind on my nightly moisturizing ritual. You should get home, before Santana gets jealous."
I let out a small snort, knowing that she was off with Puck at that moment, and being jealous of me sitting in Kurt Hummel's basement was the farthest thing from her mind. But still I stood, gathered my Cheerios uniform and pulled on a pair of sweatpants from my duffel. I took off the heels I realized I was still wearing, and exchanged them for sandals. Kurt had already started his ritual by the time I was ready to leave, and he looked at me through his mirror while he wiped moisturizer across the bridge of his nose.
"Thank you," I said suddenly, watching him smile in return. "I had fun today." I waved before I darted up the stairs, to walk the six blocks back to my house.
Kurt and I didn't exchange any sort of conversation for the next week, but his 'Single Ladies' dance went over well with the football team after he won their game using the moves I'd shown him. I cheered the loudest of anyone when he made the extra point kick on Friday night, and the boys hoisted a previously pariahed kid up on their shoulders. I watched Mr. Hummel in the stands, and I don't think I'd ever seen a prouder man in my life.
Monday afternoon Kurt cornered me before glee rehearsal, pulling me into an empty classroom. He was positively glowing.
"Are you using a new product? Your skin looks like a baby's." I asked absently, running my index finger down his cheek.
He reached up and took my hand and smiled. "I told him, Brittany. I told my dad."
I stared at him for a moment, trying to remember what it was that he would have told his father. It had been over a week since we'd spoken, after all, and I was Half Out.
"I told him I'm gay," he continued, ignoring the fact that I'd completely forgotten we'd spoken. "You made me think. I was hiding, and my father is the only person I have in my life who would care if I lived or died-"
"That's not true," I interrupted. "What about Mercedes? And me."
"The point is, Britt," he went on, ignoring my question and not allowing his bright disposition to fade. "That I was hiding from the one person who was going to love me no matter what I told him. And I was doing it for selfish reasons. I told him I was gay and do you know what he did?"
I shrugged. "Did he buy you a rainbow? I'd totally want a rainbow if I ever told anyone. Ooh! What if we both got rainbows? We'd have a double rainbow!"
Kurt snerked silently and continued unfazed. "He hugged me. He told me he loved me and he hugged me, and that was it. I don't think I've ever felt that kind of relief before. It's amazing, Britt, knowing you're not hiding anymore. I know you're still struggling with this, but if you're going to tell anyone, don't you think Santana would be the one to tell? She can help you with your problems... both of them."
It was the first time anyone had told me the drugs were a problem, and I cocked my head, thinking about that. I hadn't seen it as anything other than normal. I'd been on them so long that it just felt natural to be fuzzy around the edges.
"I'm happy for you, Kurt," I said, giving him a quick hug, but suddenly desperate to be away from him. "But I'm not ready yet."
I left him in the classroom and headed for glee, more unsure than ever.
Chapter 13
Pairing: Brittany/Santana, mentions of Puck/Santana
Rating: T for language and themes. M in later chapters for physical intimacy.
Spoilers: General season 1
Description: Brittany has spent most of her life being what people believe she is, and nothing more. She starts to realize that this isn’t working, and decides to do something about it. Brittana.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 (part 1) | Chapter 17 (part 2) | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 (part 1) | Chapter 19 (part 2) | Chapter 20 (part 1) | Chapter 20 (part 2) |
The last thing I ever wanted was to be treated differently. Santana didn't seem to get this memo, and from then on I was porcelain. She opened my doors for me, held my backpack, and carried my books. The rest of the Cheerios assumed I had a terminal illness when she barked ferociously at them for kneeling too hard on me in the pyramid. She escorted me to every class, a wary eye out for Karofsky, Matt and Mike. She diverted both of us any time we were in the same hallway, muttering expletives under her breath as we rerouted ourselves down a different hall or ducked into the girls' bathroom. It seemed like she was shielding me from every football player in school with the vain hope that none of them knew what I'd done. The only one she didn't flee from was Puck.
I watched her when he walked by us in the hallway. He would still raise his chin and make suggestive comments to her, but she didn't return the gesture. She remained stoic until he passed, rolling her eyes when she knew I was looking, and staring forlornly when she thought I wasn't. I knew in the back of her mind she regretted letting him go, knowing that she'd broken up with him unnecessarily. I didn't ask her if she missed him because of the power he brought her, or if she had genuinely enjoyed his company. Frankly, I didn't want to know the answer. Whatever it was, she didn't let me know if she resented me because of it.
But as attached to my side as she was, we didn't talk about what happened again. She substituted talking for proximity, and she started spending a few nights a week in my bed, sleeping with her arms wrapped tightly, possessively, around my waist. There was no sex, and the incomprehensible longing I felt for her touch drove me slightly mad for the first few nights she climbed under my blankets, naked and unashamed.
During the few waking hours we had in between arriving home from school and falling asleep with our limbs intertwined, she helped me with my homework and, occasionally, with whatever song we were working on in glee. She hated to admit it, but she enjoyed the singing and dancing as much as I did.
It didn't however, prevent her and Quinn from making various small attempts to derail both Mr. Shue and Rachel, per Sue's instructions. I didn't take much part in that. I was happy to dance in the background and enjoy a couple hours of singing while they plotted. I think she liked taking her frustration with her situation - with me, and with Puck - out on the diva and our instructor. I didn't revel in it the way she did, and instead spent my energy investing myself in the music.
The glee kids were, for all intents and purposes, the biggest losers in the school, but they were also the most genuine. No one ever held back, and the passion they had for performing was palpable. Despite Rachel's generally obnoxious demeanor, she was the soul of the group. Her voice carried when others' did not, and she led them when Mr. Shue lost control. Kurt and Mercedes had teamed up early, establishing what Santana had dubbed a "fag and his hag" relationship. I thought that they played off each other in the same way that Santana and I did, backing and protecting each other when it counted. Everyone seemed to have a strength, and despite Finn's horrible dancing, we came together as a group and blended our sound until it worked.
I fell into a casual rapport with the glee kids. They seemed to like my loose-lipped comments on things going on around me, courtesy of a consistent two-pill high. With Santana around so much and her newly developed need to sleep naked in my bed, I needed a regimen that left me sufficiently addled. The rest of the group took me for a simpleton, and neither I nor Santana corrected them. It was easier to explain away my spacey nature with stupidity than with drugs.
Ultimately, it was better to be an idiot savant than an addict.
It wasn't until a few weeks later, when Kurt asked me for help on a dance unrelated to glee club, that I realized that I had inadvertently assimilated into the group without Santana and Quinn. It was as much a surprise to me as anyone, and I think Kurt was a little put off my shocked expression.
"Should I take that as a 'no'?"
"Huh?" He had approached me after rehearsal, standing a lot like Santana did, with his hip cocked and his arms crossed over his chest. I hadn't had anyone other than Santana ask me for anything before, so the request confused me.
"It's just that you're the best dancer in glee," he said, continuing without explaining again what exactly it was he wanted me to do. "And I'm working on something... specific. It's not something for Mr. Shue, but I do a little of my own performing outside the group. It would be really nice if you could help me with the steps."
It took me a minute to process, and he patiently waited while my expression changed from surprise to confusion to realization and happiness. "Seriously? I thought all gay people knew how to dance. Those guys on Jersey Shore sure seem to, anyway."
He grinned. "Well, some of us need a little push in the right direction. I'm working on Beyoncé's seminal classic, 'Single Ladies'. I'd like to recreate the video with as much accuracy as possible."
It was a favorite of mine, and I knew the dance well. "Great!" I said cheerily. "I'll tell Santana and we can-"
"About that," he interrupted, putting his hand up to stop me. "I think it would be best if Santana didn't attend this particular event, if you don't mind. It's not that I dislike her... Well, yes, it's that I dislike her. And she isn't particularly fond me, either. You're a sweet girl, Britt, but she's not what I'd call friendly. I've heard enough gay jokes for one year."
I looked over at Santana, who was waiting for me by the door. She pointed up to the clock, indicating that it was time to go, and gave Kurt a vicious glare. I turned back to him, and he rolled his eyes, running his index finger and thumb over the front of his hair to smooth it. He was right, I supposed. She hadn't been very kind to anyone in the group thus far, and it showed as she stomped out of the choir room, throwing her hands up when I didn't follow.
"Okay," I agreed, slightly forlorn. "I can meet Santana later, I guess."
"Fabulous," he said, clapping his hands. "My place, tomorrow after glee. Tina will be joining us as well. We need a third to make it accurate."
Outside the school, Santana waited for me. "What did the little homo want?" she asked, venom on her tongue.
"He wanted help with a project," I replied, wincing at the slur. "Why do you hate him so much?"
"What's to like?" she laughed. "He's a loser. A gay loser."
"San, stop," I said firmly. "Don't call him that. He can't help-"
"He can help it," she cut me off. "He doesn't have to be gay. And he can certainly stop acting so gay in public. No one needs to see that."
It was the first time she'd been short with me in weeks, and it caught me off guard. I thought that she was overreacting, but I kept my mouth shut about it. "I'm still going to help him," I said slowly. "He asked, and no one's ever asked me for help before. I want to."
"Sure, B," she said nonchalantly, relaxing a bit when she realized how harsh her voice had sounded. "I was thinking about going over to Puck's, anyway."
That, more than her unexpected homophobia, surprised me. "Wait, I thought you broke up with him?"
She shrugged. "Yeah, so? We've been hanging out."
"Hanging out?"
"We get down a little. Just because we're having sex, it doesn't mean we're dating. You said it yourself, I get cranky when I don't get laid."
I didn't bring up the fact that she was cranky anyway, or that she'd had ample opportunity with me, and sighed. From the way she'd been looking at him, I should have suspected she'd go back to him eventually. The one facet of Santana's personality that she never could hide was her unending need for attention and recognition from her peers and betters. She followed Quinn around because Quinn was more popular than she was. She dated Puck because he was the hottest guy in school. She couldn't have cared less about the glee kids, because they couldn't get her anything she didn't already have. In fact, they could probably take more from her than they could give. It made sense that she would distance herself, and be angry with me for getting close to them. I didn't like the correlation, but she was my best friend. And what are best friends for, if not a little understanding?
She didn't say much else to me that night at my house. We did our homework in silence. I snuck off to my bathroom to take two more pills before she crawled into bed with me, her warm body pressing against my back. She held me in the dark for a few minutes before speaking.
"You should help him," she whispered, her chin on my shoulder. "Kurt. Lord knows he could use a few dancing pointers. I just... I'm your friend, B. Those kids don't know you like I know you. Just be careful what you say to them, okay?"
In my haze I didn't quite understand why she assumed everyone was out to get us, but I nodded. "Okay, San."
She nuzzled her face into my hair and then used the hand not wrapped around my waist to pull it away from my neck. She leaned in and kissed it, biting gently and sighing. "Goodnight, babe."
I thought back to the first night she had stayed with me, and the deep, unaided sleep I had experienced. Then I compared it to the deadened, dreamless repose I had with pills I was forced to take every night thereafter, just to get to sleep. Leading up to that point I'd been erratic with my medication. If I didn't see Santana, I could get through the day on one or two, but the longer she was around, the more I felt the need to be numb. Feeling was too much when she stood next to me, the back of her hand casually rubbing against mine. She hadn't noticed my unpredictable behavior because she was admittedly distracted with her own problems. Once she'd recognized that I needed her, though, her attentions returned to me in force. Jumping from one pill a day to four was no longer an option. I'd found a steady rhythm with two pills in the morning, at lunch, and before bed, returning me to a state similar to the one I'd been in when I'd first been stabilized on the pills at the age of twelve. It was enough to get me through her pinky-holding, or when she linked her arm through mine, or when she leaned against me in class. Especially when she stripped down in my room, draping her Cheerios uniform over the foot board, and walked around the side of my bed to crawl up behind me, naked, to sleep.
There, in my bed that night, I didn't feel the soft bites on my neck. I didn't feel her breasts on my back or the heat of her breath on my throat. I felt nothing, and it was a blessing.
"Goodnight," I whispered.
The next afternoon I spent two hours in the sterile white basement of Kurt's house, teaching him and Tina the steps to the dance. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about the conversation I'd had with Santana before glee, when she repeated her desire to spend her afternoon alone with Puck.
"He's been asking me for a week to come over," she'd said, filing her nails while we waited for Mr. Shue to arrive. "You're going to teach the gay kid how to dance. What's the big deal?"
The idea of her in his bed while I was here, dancing in a black unitard, made me nauseous. But I'd promised Kurt, and I despite the knot in my stomach, I found myself enjoying spending time with the two of them. It was, for lack of a better word, easy. I could feel with them, rejoin my head with my body and exist as a normal person.
"No, Kurt, it's hip-hip-hand, not hand-hip-hip," I said with a giggle as he pointed to his ring finger out sync with me and Tina. "Hip-hip-hand, tap-the-heel, wave. Here, watch."
I demonstrated once more, for the third time in a hour, as "Single Ladies" played in the background. He mimicked my motions, watching my feet and hands, a fraction of a second behind me. He lifted his foot to tap his heel and promptly tripped himself, falling to the floor in a heap. Tina snorted and paused the music, and we both helped him to his feet.
"This is more difficult than I originally thought," he muttered, dusting off his sequined vest and checking his matching gloves for debris. "It's a complicated routine. If you can get it, it should be easy for me."
"K-K-Kurt..." Tina warned, as she watched my face fall at the back-handed compliment. I was sure we'd gotten past that, at this point, but I tried to remember that this was Kurt, and he had a habit of saying things that were true without thinking about the way in which he delivered that truth.
Kurt realized his quick tongue had hurt me a moment later, and he snapped his mouth shut, wincing. "God, Britt, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just-"
"It's okay," I said with a sigh. "I know I'm not... I understand. But I like to dance. It's the one thing I'm good at. And I can help you be good at it, too, if you'd just relax and stop kicking your legs like a Rockette. This is Beyoncé, not Broadway."
He smirked and nodded. "You're right. Let's take it from the top. And this time, we'll start the tape."
By the end of a third hour in the Hummel's basement, we nearly had it down. He'd begun recording the whole thing, but for what reason I didn't bother to ask. He wasn't going to be entering "So You Think You Can Dance" any time soon, but I think he enjoyed having evidence of his talent around him, and on hand to share with others. He was a lot like Rachel in that way.
We'd just begun our final run-through, Tina and I in the background while Kurt rocked the dance out front in his own special way, when the music cut out unexpectedly from behind us. Kurt whirled faster than I'd ever previously seen him move, his eyes wide. His dad stood by the speaker, his worn baseball hat shielding skeptical eyes. I looked down at his feet and wondered if Kurt would have allowed Burt in with his dirty, scuffed boots if he'd been able to stop him from entering before he muddied up the pristine white room.
"Dad," he said, trying to hide the embarrassment and shock on his face. "You're home early."
"'Deadliest Catch' is on," Burt grunted, looking back and forth between Tina and I, then to Kurt in his skintight black ensemble. "What are you wearing?"
"It's a unitard," he replied quickly, out of breath and sounding slightly panicked. "Guys wear them to, uh, workout nowadays. Do sports. They wick sweat from the body."
Mr. Hummel took a few steps closer to his son, and reached out to slip his finger under the elastic neck of Kurt's spandex, allowing it to snap back against his skin. The sound rang out in the concrete room, and I winced, putting my arms across my chest defensively.
"F-F-Football!" Tina tossed out helpfully with a big smile, like she had said something extremely relevant.
Kurt looked at her, the surprise only heightening on his face. "Yeah, all the guys in football wear them. They're jock chic." He laughed nervously.
I watched the looks Mr. Hummel gave his son, dressed like a sequined ballerina in his contemporarily decorated bedroom, and I came to the conclusion that he hadn't seen much of Kurt this way before. I'd been under the impression that everyone knew Kurt was different. I only saw him in glee, but the way he reacted to his father's presence in his room was palpably different than anything he'd ever done in the choir room. At school he was confident, and he knew exactly who he was. Here in the basement, the presence of his father had reversed his attitude in a matter of seconds. He was a child, cowering nervously in the face of an unknown force. He was hiding in his own home, in the way that I was hiding around everyone at school. It was painful to watch, so I did what I could to help, following Tina's lead.
"Totally," I jumped in. "Kurt's on the football team now. He's the kicker, that's the smallest guy on the field, right?"
If Kurt had been nervous before, he was terrified now. He whipped his head around to stare at me in shock and I knew instantly that I should have kept my mouth shut. I thought it would make a difference, seeing how his father reacted to the news that his son was playing football, and not dancing to Top 40 in a sparkling vest and gloves.
"Yeah," he continued for me, his voice shaking. "Britt and Tina were just helping me with some... conditioning work."
"Hmm," Mr. Hummel nodded, a small smile crawling across his face. "You know I played in J.C. Before I busted out my knee popping wheelies on my dirt bike."
Kurt giggled, playing with the tie around his neck like it was choking him. "Cool. I guess we'll have something to talk about then."
His father nodded, his eyes darkening slightly. "So, one of you two his girlfriend?" The question was directed at Tina and I, and I suddenly saw why Kurt was so anxious. He reached out and grabbed Tina around the waist, smacking her ass with his glove and pulling her closer.
"But I'm not ready to be exclusive yet," he smirked, and I rolled my eyes. As much as I understood what he was trying to hide from his father, I couldn't help but laugh.
Mr. Hummel looked back and forth between Kurt and Tina, nodding skeptically, but not questioning his son. After a minute he exhaled. "Yeah, just keep the music down. I can't hear myself think up there." He headed up the stairs and the three of us began to relax, but he stopped at the landing and turned to us again. "And Kurt? Be sure to get me a ticket to your first game."
When he was gone Kurt turned to me and angrily threw his hands in the air. "The football team, Britt? Really? You couldn't have just stayed quiet? Now he's expecting to see me play, and there's not a chance in hell that I'm going to be able to follow through."
Tina took a few steps backward and grabbed her bag, stuttering as she gestured toward the stairs. She didn't like confrontation, and wasn't prepared to deal with the shouting that was about to ensue. "I-I-I'm g-g-gonna go..." And she fled, leaving me alone with an irate Kurt.
"I just-" I started, but he cut me off with a gloved hand.
"I know you think you're helping, but I can't do what you're suggesting. My dad is... my dad and I are very different. Telling him I'm on the football team was like telling him I'm dating Quinn Fabray."
I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to clear my head to say what I was thinking without screwing it up. "Kurt, I'm sorry. I thought I was helping. I know what you're going through, this hiding that you're doing. It's hard to keep the lies straight. If you really want to keep up your lie at home, you can't keep up like this without making some accommodations for your dad. Football will help. I'll help, if you want. You already kick like a Rockette, remember? It'll be okay."
His mouth was agape, but with a small smile creeping into the corners. "I think that's the most I've ever heard you speak, Britt," he commented, correcting his smile and feigning an angry stare once more. "What makes you think you know anything about what I'm hiding?"
I shrugged. I'd heard the slurs Santana had used for him, that poisonous tone she had when she dropped "faggot", "homo", and "gay" into sentences about Kurt. The reality of his situation was that he had friends at school who knew that he was gay, but everyone else had just assumed it to be true and he was okay with that. Here, in his own home, he was living that lie. We weren't so different, he and I.
"You're two different people," I said slowly, once again reaching for the clarity I needed to say what I was thinking. "In school, and here. That thing with your dad, that's not how you are with us. I've never seen you so anxious. The Kurt Hummel I know wouldn't have lied to his dad about dating Tina. He would have commented on his dad's out-of-date jeans and told him that his jacket needed to be dry cleaned. You're hiding, Kurt. And it's okay. I'm hiding, too."
Kurt took the tie from around his neck and tossed it in a chair as he sat down on the sofa against his wall. I sat down next to him, watching his expressions change from faux anger to silent resignation. He sighed, looking down at his hands. "You're the last person I ever expected to be having this conversation with," he murmured, inspecting his nails. "I'm not confused, you know. I know who I am. What I am. But I can't bear the thought of disappointing my dad. I'm all he has, and if he knew I was... if he knew I was gay, he'd be devastated. We have nothing in common, but at least we have each other. I don't want to lose that."
I smiled sadly at him, the sadness mostly for myself. He was right; he did have his father, despite their differences, and he had his friends who understood and loved him. What did I have? Santana, who treated me like porcelain and yet used me for sex, all while running back and forth to Puck when things got complicated. My mom, who worked too much and too hard, often leaving me alone in our house on the nights when Santana slept over. My little sister, who lived with our dad and his new wife in Akron. None of that felt like a comfort, especially when I was Half Out. And where Kurt had his certainty about who and what he was, I had confusion. And, most unfortunately, I also lacked the ability to articulate how confused I really was.
"Britt?"
"Yeah, Kurt."
"What are you hiding from?"
I hadn't even thought he would ask. I was just trying to be sympathetic, and here he was, actually curious about my life. Outside of my friendship with Santana, no one had ever asked me about myself before. I blinked at him, stumbling over my words, but grateful that I was finally getting an opportunity to say what I'd been thinking for as long as I could remember.
"I don't work the same way that everyone else does," I started, wringing my hands and looking out the small window at the top of the wall behind the couch, which opened up even with the grass outside. "My brain doesn't function properly. It hasn't since I was a kid."
Kurt smiled and patted my hands comfortingly, but with mild condescension. "That's not a surprise, darling."
"I've been on pills since I was twelve," I continued, trying to explain that this wasn't entirely about my malfunctioning brain. "Lithium, mostly, but they've changed things up over the years. And I've changed things up as well."
Kurt straightened and his eyes went a little wider as he understood what I was trying to say. "Wait, you're... so you're like, self-medicating? I never pictured you for a pill-popper, B. I might be impressed if I wasn't concerned."
"I have to," I stated simply. "I can't be around her if I can feel things."
"Be around who, Britt?"
I sighed. "Santana."
His eyes bugged and he nodded knowingly. "My god, I feel like someone just gave me the answers to Cosmo's sex quiz. This makes so much more sense. Absolutely brilliant."
I didn't have his words, but I knew he understood. "When did you know?" I asked, still looking out that window. "When did you know you were... different?"
He thought about it for a moment and wrapped his fingers gently around my palm. "I was probably seven. It was before my mom died, I know that. I knew I wasn't like the other boys. I didn't want to play sports or watch football with my dad. I wanted to have tea parties and wear clothes that didn't have grass stains permanently embedded in the knees. I wanted to kiss Noah Puckerman every single time he punched me in the stomach on the playground. My opinion of him has since changed, but there was still that lingering notion that I wasn't quite the same."
I nodded, switching my gaze to stare down at his hand on mine. "I'm different," I concluded. "I'm different, like you're different." I was trying to find that word, the one he'd used to call himself. It hadn't sounded so poisonous when Kurt had used it. Maybe if I tried again, I could say it, and it would mean something more.
"So you're..."
"I think I'm gay," I finished. The word clung to my tongue and lingered there. I could taste it rolling around in my mouth and I whispered it a few more times, acclimating myself to it. It felt real. Comfortable, even. "Gay."
"What does Santana have to say about this?" he asked softly, using his thumb like she did, rubbing the back of my hand.
"Santana's not gay," I stated, but still questioned it silently. "She's sleeping with Puck."
"But she spends all her time with you."
"She's my best friend," I countered, not sure if telling him about our nocturnal habits would be the best idea. "She protects me. It's just sometimes..." I didn't have the words anymore.
"The people we're closest to are the ones we're the most afraid of hurting," Kurt filled in. His voice was understanding, and I met his eyes. They were warm, and I smiled at him, realizing that I'd just said everything I'd been thinking and nothing had fallen apart. My life wasn't different because I'd said out loud what I was feeling in the deepest bowels of my soul.
On the one hand, it was really quite liberating. On the other, I was suddenly terrified that I had just revealed something that, until now, had been kept in the strictest confidence. Santana would kill me if she found out. She'd even told me to be careful what I'd said to the glee kids. She didn't trust them. But did I?
"Please don't tell anyone I-"
"I don't even know what you're talking about," he interjected with a smile, and I wrinkled my nose, confused.
"But I just told I was-"
"I was kidding, Britt," he said with a little shake of his head. "No one will ever hear this from me." He gave my hand a quick squeeze and stood. "It's getting late. I'm already behind on my nightly moisturizing ritual. You should get home, before Santana gets jealous."
I let out a small snort, knowing that she was off with Puck at that moment, and being jealous of me sitting in Kurt Hummel's basement was the farthest thing from her mind. But still I stood, gathered my Cheerios uniform and pulled on a pair of sweatpants from my duffel. I took off the heels I realized I was still wearing, and exchanged them for sandals. Kurt had already started his ritual by the time I was ready to leave, and he looked at me through his mirror while he wiped moisturizer across the bridge of his nose.
"Thank you," I said suddenly, watching him smile in return. "I had fun today." I waved before I darted up the stairs, to walk the six blocks back to my house.
Kurt and I didn't exchange any sort of conversation for the next week, but his 'Single Ladies' dance went over well with the football team after he won their game using the moves I'd shown him. I cheered the loudest of anyone when he made the extra point kick on Friday night, and the boys hoisted a previously pariahed kid up on their shoulders. I watched Mr. Hummel in the stands, and I don't think I'd ever seen a prouder man in my life.
Monday afternoon Kurt cornered me before glee rehearsal, pulling me into an empty classroom. He was positively glowing.
"Are you using a new product? Your skin looks like a baby's." I asked absently, running my index finger down his cheek.
He reached up and took my hand and smiled. "I told him, Brittany. I told my dad."
I stared at him for a moment, trying to remember what it was that he would have told his father. It had been over a week since we'd spoken, after all, and I was Half Out.
"I told him I'm gay," he continued, ignoring the fact that I'd completely forgotten we'd spoken. "You made me think. I was hiding, and my father is the only person I have in my life who would care if I lived or died-"
"That's not true," I interrupted. "What about Mercedes? And me."
"The point is, Britt," he went on, ignoring my question and not allowing his bright disposition to fade. "That I was hiding from the one person who was going to love me no matter what I told him. And I was doing it for selfish reasons. I told him I was gay and do you know what he did?"
I shrugged. "Did he buy you a rainbow? I'd totally want a rainbow if I ever told anyone. Ooh! What if we both got rainbows? We'd have a double rainbow!"
Kurt snerked silently and continued unfazed. "He hugged me. He told me he loved me and he hugged me, and that was it. I don't think I've ever felt that kind of relief before. It's amazing, Britt, knowing you're not hiding anymore. I know you're still struggling with this, but if you're going to tell anyone, don't you think Santana would be the one to tell? She can help you with your problems... both of them."
It was the first time anyone had told me the drugs were a problem, and I cocked my head, thinking about that. I hadn't seen it as anything other than normal. I'd been on them so long that it just felt natural to be fuzzy around the edges.
"I'm happy for you, Kurt," I said, giving him a quick hug, but suddenly desperate to be away from him. "But I'm not ready yet."
I left him in the classroom and headed for glee, more unsure than ever.
Chapter 13