Santana sat in her circular chair with her journal in her hands, staring at the floor. This really was too much for her brain to handle. She'd lost her appetite and kind of felt a little sick. She only knew what she'd read in the journal, which was pretty much the bare minimum. She had been in therapy for anger issues. She'd lost her virginity to a guy she'd only been dating a few days. She's kissed and had sex with her best friend, then got her heart broken over it. And talked ill of Rachel more than once.
It was hard to determine which thing shocked Santana more. Saying she was confused, ashamed, and embarrassed at her past actions was an major understatement. How did she become that person? Though she could easily guess why she'd been placed in anger management, because the only thing she was ever angry about was her parents. There had been a time where they'd never missed anything in Santana's life. Where they were close and she felt unbelievably loved.
Tony took that with him to the grave, it seemed. Well, until now. Even though her Father had to go back to work, her Mother took time off to be with her. She's admit that it was nice to have her around again, but then again, her Mother was a bit smothering now. It was lucky that she'd even let her go back upstairs to eat her food instead of staying down there with her. But she does see that her daughter needs some time to adjust to things, seeing as how different they are compared to her last memory.
She wondered how much of what was in her journal that her parents knew Or her therapist. Santana had only read some passages from her Freshman Year of high school and that summer. There were three more years and a good amount of pages left. She wondered what other things she would find out about herself if she kept on reading. The curiosity was strong, but what if it just kept getting worse and worse? Her head hurt. This was all really too much. She wasn't equipped to handle this amount of stress.
Deciding to leave it alone for now, Santana hid the journal back under the cushion of the foot rest and got up, walking over to her window. Pushing the window opened, she sighed as she closed her eyes and sucked in some much needed fresh air. Doing that for a couple of minutes calmed her down and actually started to clear her mind, until her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. Taking it out she saw it was a text from Brittany, responding to her earlier question.
No surprise, her answer was very vague, and not even a real answer. She gave no rhyme or reason, so either she just didn't want to say why she hadn't told anybody that she wouldn't graduate, or there was no real reason at all other than being oblivious herself. Both could be very good possibilities, she never knew with Brittany. But all the years they've been friends, you'd think she would have confided in her though. Shaking her head, Santana, typed back a few word response.
A few minutes later, she got another one from the blonde, saying she'd be back later after her Mom made sure she'd done all of her summer school homework. Santana wasn't really sure whether she wanted company again, not just Britts. She needed some alone time to think. About the journal, her parents, and everything in between. Lying, she said that they couldn't hang out tonight because of family stuff. She hated lying to her best friend, but if she told her the truth, she'd take it the wrong way.
She didn't get a response to the last text she sent, so either Brittany was sad that she couldn't come over, or that she was busy again. Setting her phone down on her night stand, Santana sat on the edge of her bed. She was tired. Her head and body ached. It was barely into the afternoon and she was really to curl up in bed again and drift away. Dr. Holt had said that she would be tired for a while, if not forever, and that she should take every opportunity to rest after what she'd been through.
Propping her feet up, she pulled her polka dot socks off and let her toes breathe. Outside there was a loud rumbling that gained her attention. The garbage truck was pulling up to their neighbor's driveway across the street. The large, green truck stopped with an ear-piercing screech, making Santana cringe. That definitely wasn't going to held her head ache. As the man outside dumped the trash in the back, bringing the truck to life even more by picking it up and shaking the trash out, something happened.
The metal of the truck banged loudly, echoing through the neighborhood and Santana's mind. Suddenly her mind was back on the plane. Metal creaking, banging, and vibrating all around her as people and their belongings were being tossed in every direction. The Latina barely registered that she'd fallen to her knees, covered her hears with her hands, and was now screaming at the top of her lungs. The scene seemed to last forever, only stopping when she felt two arms wrap around her.
Maria had bolted up the stairs the second she'd heard her daughter start screaming. Her heart pounded in her chest, in time with her footsteps as she raced through her home. Bursting through the door, it took her a second to place Santana. She was was on the other side of her room, shaking on the floor by the window. Hurrying over to her, she could see that Santana seemed to be fine, other than her whaling with such fear and anguish, she hardly heard the sound coming through the window.
The garbage truck was outside and was sitting in front of their neighbors house, banging metal as it emptied a small trashcan. Clicking in her mind, Maria lunged at the window, closing it frantically, making the noise quieter and more muffled. She wasted no time then, falling on the floor next her her daughter and pulling her into a tight embrace. Caressing her back with one hand, she pet Santana's black hair with the other, all the while telling her that she was okay and that she was there.
As Santana's cries died down, Maria's shirt got damp with tears. Their bodies jolted with every sob that Santana let out, but Maria's hold on her never lessened. Eventually, her daughter grew quiet and let most of her weight fall onto her Mother. Maria didn't care as she started to rock them back and forth as she hummed Santana's favorite childhood lullaby. Neither knew how long they stayed like that for, but the sun was starting to set when Maria noticed that Santana had fallen asleep.
Roberto came home not long after. Maria waited until he came and found them, not wanting to wake Santana up. He gently picked her up off the floor and set her in the bed, where he covered her up with the blankets and turned all the lights off but the lamp of the nightstand. He waited until they were both back downstairs before asking what had happened. He was concerned for his daughter. When she told him that she was sure it was the noise from the garbage truck that set her off, he nodded.
"I was hoping something like this wouldn't happen, but Dr. Holt had talked to me privately about it before we left the hospital." Roberto sighed, sitting down on one of the stools at the counter.
"PTSD?" Maria asked.
She nodded, frowning. "What do we do?"
"There really is only one thing to do. We'll have to get her back in therapy."