The Anatomy of a Broken Heart //Completed//

22. Santana

My little Chevy Malibu was waiting for me in the same spot I'd left it the day before. Caleb didn't walk me to any more classes after fifth period, even if we shared French. I thought about just ditching it and hiding out somewhere simply to avoid it, but I figured the snoops at this school would take notice. He sat next to me and took notes, while I pretended he wasn't there and just listened as Madame Izadi tried to teach us how to order lunch in Paris. When class was over I gave him a look and instead of following me to Calculus, he just gave me an awkward hug and let me go.

Maria had texted me earlier telling me she was going to stay for rehearsal and that I should just go home and make sure dad got fed. I figured I'd just pick him up a burger and headed towards the local Walmart that housed a McDonalds. I wanted to pick up a few things for myself anyway. Strolling through the pharmacy section, I made my way down the isles towards the hair dye section. The blonde was just so much trouble and I didn't have the energy, or the money, to maintain it. Besides, I liked how I looked better as a natural brunette.

Deep rich brown. That seemed like a pretty color. I picked up two boxes and a deep conditioning treatment. At home, I gave dad the burger and fries and made him promise me he wouldn't tell Maria about it and his toothy smile was enough reassurance that he'd keep quiet. I went to my room and prepped the bathroom before I attacked it with wayward hair dye. I wasn't very good at keeping a firm grip on the bottle so I usually ended up reenacting a scene from a murder movie-complete with clear plastic bags and blood splatters. The blood being the hair dye, obviously. I wasn't some Dexter type axe murderer. Although I sometimes thought I would be if it weren't for the fact that I'd be caught in a matter of hours and have to spend my life in some prison with Lesbian Lesley and her band of dykes. Or was that only real on Mexican telenovelas?

By the time I was done, my head looked as if it had been submerged in tar. I scrubbed at the stains I'd gotten on my arms and cheeks with alcohol until it was clean and cleaned up the murder scene. After about forty minutes, I showered, washing off the dye, watching as it cascaded down my body and down the drain. I washed until the water came away clean.

Though I was a natural brunette, I'd been blonde for so long, I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see. Certainly not the girl who looked back at me from the mirror that hung over my sink. This girl was younger and afraid. This was the girl whose mother had abandoned her and who'd run away from home and who'd been nothing and had nothing.

And I couldn't stand to look at her anymore. I combed my hair quickly and practically ran from the bathroom. My stomach grumbled in hunger, having only the soup I drank during lunch as sustenance, so I raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and walked to the kitchen where I'd left the nuggets I bought from McDonald's. Dad was in there, throwing away the bag his food had come in. When he heard me walk in he turned around and stopped dead. His hand went up to his chest and though his voice was so low, I could hear the name he whispered.

"Vanessa."

He spoke mom's name like a half curse. Still, I could hear the hope. He recovered quickly and tried to laugh it off. "You changed your hair, little fish."

My eyes were steady on his, my hands clasped tightly at my sides. I could feel my nails digging into my skin while I tried to regain my composure. "I did."

"You look lovely. Just like your mother." He gave me a sad smile, but I didn't return it. Instead I busied myself with the food I no longer wanted to eat.

"I'm not her."

"No. You aren't. You're so much better than she ever could be."

I hated when he talked about her and me the way he did. I know he saw a lot of her in me and I know it hurt him, but it made me just want to break everything around me when he did that.

The front door opened and Maria came inside, fighting to catch her breath, wrapped up in her jacket.

"Hi daddy! It's freezing outs-" She gasped and her eyes landed on me. Here we go.

"You looked just like...someone else." She changed course mid-sentence as she caught my death stare. "I like your hair better like this." The door shut behind her and a cold draft hit me hard, making me shiver. "I haven't seen you like this since..." she shrugged letting the sentence die away.

"Okay. I'm going to eat in my room." I picked up my food and gave dad a soft kiss before I walked up to my room, leaving them behind, no doubt talking more about my favorite subject ever. I climbed onto my bed and snatched up my phone.

Just my luck. I had a couple missed calls from mom and like ten texts demanding why I hadn't answered. One even threatened that if I didn't pick up, she'd call Maria. Not likely, bitch. She didn't even have her number.

When mom first called me last year begging me to see her, I was excited. I was sure she wanted my help with dad and to come home, but the first thing the burn out did was ask for money. When I told her to go to hell, she said she would speak to Maria instead. I made her promise to never contact Maria and I'd get her the cash. Apparently, those were the wrong words to say, because she latched onto that threat, forcing me to get her cash whenever she called. Greedy hag.

I hit the call button and brought the phone up to my ear. It rang twice before a raspy voice answered.

"Where've you been?" mom demanded.

"Busy," I replied curtly.

"Well get unbusy, because I need to see you."

"I don't have any money. They've cut my hours short at work."

"Don't give me that bull shit, Santana. I know you've been saving. I just need like fifty dollars."

Those fifty usually ended up being 150.

"When are you going to get a job and handle your own crap? What happened to that dude you were living with?"

"Who Willy? Ugh, he's old news, baby. So can you come out tonight?"

I thought about it for a bit. My hair was still wet and it was cold as hell outside. All I wanted to do was sleep or read or not see her stupid face tonight. "Tomorrow. At eleven at the diner."

"Fine. If you're not there, you know what happens."

When I hung up without saying goodbye, the tears were already burning a hot trail down my face. She hadn't called for weeks. The longest she'd gone without calling and though I hated to admit it, I was starting to worry. But as always, her call had left me furious. I became Santana, the little girl I'd seen in the mirror. Santana, the obedient child to a neglectful mother who I was still afraid to disappoint. At this point, I'd be putting on my shoes and sneaking out the window and climbing into the Malibu and driving to Jasper's. But I didn't get to do that anymore. I'd lost my privilege and I'd lost my refuge. So I just lay in bed letting my blood freeze, letting my body grow stiff, until I became a corpse, until I died. But it didn't happen. I didn't die. I woke up to the bright sun and to my heart still beating and to a text from Caleb.