The Hostage (Brittana)

11

Santana's POV
What? He's dead? No, that's not right. He's alive right now, at home. He can't be dead. How did he even die? Was is Brittany? She killed him. She must have murdered him. It's obvious.

She is looking at me, trying to work out my expression. I move closer and slap her across the face.
S-"You killed him. You bitch"
B-"Santana, I didn't"
S-"Yes you fucking did"

She opens her mouth to speak but I hit her again. And again, and again. She grabs my wrists and pulls them down between us.
B-"Santana, look at me. I didn't kill him."
I want to reply, but I can't. I want to cry, scream, hit her, run away, but I can't. My knees buckle and I hit the floor. I'm vaguely aware of Brittany talking to me, but I'm not listening.

I feel like I'm underwater. Last time I felt like this, I had just come out to my mom. She looked at me like I was a piece of shit, then called me a dyke and told me to get out of her house. I felt like the ground had been pulled from under my feet, and I was falling with nothing to grab onto.

Brittany shakes me and I look up at her. All of a sudden, I can hear again. She frowns at me, and pulls me off the ground. I try to stand but my legs won't cooperate. Brittany sits me on the bed and then sits on the far side, away from me. Her cheek is already starting to bruise, but I don't care. I can only feel pain, and sadness.

I can feels tears pouring down my face, and I'm shaking. Brittany looks at me worried. She turns towards me.
B-"Santana, I'm sorry, but I didn't kill him."
S-"I-I just wanna g-g-go home" I sob out. Brittany goes to speak, but nods.
B-"Okay. I'll sort that out for you."

She gets off the bed and walks out the room. I sit curled up on the bed, not even trying to wipe away the endless waterfall of tears. I rethink how I never even said goodbye, or I love you, to my father. I just stormed out. I'm such a stupid bitch. All he wanted to do was help me, and I threw it back to him because I wanted to go out and party.

I'm thinking about this when I hear shouting come from downstairs. Someone is banging on a door, and I hear gunshots. Not hesitating, I get off the bed and slide under it.

Brittany's POV
I walk downstairs quickly. Everything that just happened is...so.... I don't know. I really don't know. This whole thing is so fucked up. I need to get Santana home, to this Marie person. Then she can grieve, properly, and I can get on with my life. I'll arrange an exchange point, put Santana to sleep and she'll wake up back at home. Just like always.

I go to Quinn's room and knock on the door. I hear muffled whispers and scuffling come from behind it, and Quinn opens it to a crack.
Q-"Brittany? This isn't a good time, I'm bu-"
B-"Quinn, I told Santana."
Q-"Really? It didn't go well, did it?"
B-"Not really. I'm going to let her go home."
Q-"But we didn't get any money. Listen, I would let you come in but-"
B-"I know that Rachel's in there. I've given her plenty of time to get some clothes on. We need to discuss business tactics."
Q-"Right now? Britt, it's late."
B-"The sooner we get her home, the better. I can't cope with her being sad and angry."
Q-"You coped with me. And you don't get much angrier, or sad, than I was."
B-"It's different.Please Quinn."
Q-"Fine. You can come in and talk, but twenty minutes max. Then I'm getting my sweet lady kisses back on with Rachel."

I hear a groan come from behind Quinn and we both laugh. She opens the door wider and I walk in.
B-"Hi Rachel. You look better"
Rachel doesn't look better. Her hair is a mess and her lips are swollen. But at least she is wearing some clothes. Or, at least a shirt. She blushes red and gives me a small wave.

Quinn sits on her bed beside Rachel, and I sit at her desk. It's messier than normal, and I spot some of her drawings in between the books and lists. Quinn loves to doodle, and sometimes do proper pictures. I examine them until I see one of Rachel. Shes completely naked, and sitting on the bed with-yeah, we're not going to talk about it. I sit a book on top of it and face Quinn, trying to erase the image from my head.
Q-"Okay Britt. Go."
B-"So I propose that we arrange our exchange point in the usual warehouse-"