I've had this idea in my head for ages, and thought I'd give it a shot and see what people think.

It's Santana-centric, and angsty, and contains references (and possibly flashbacks) to kidnapping and sexual assault.

But the fic itself is more about her recovery, and how she sees herself, as well as her desperate desire to simply be a "normal" teenager just like everybody else.

Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.

Chapter 1

I glance at myself in the mirror as my mother finishes brushing out my thick, dark hair. My eyes have been darkened by a combination of eye-liner and eye-shadow, and I smile rather childishly at how grownup I appear.

"Almost done, mi nina bonita," my mother says, smiling at me in our joint reflection.

I smile back, shifting my gaze between my mother and myself. She looks tired, and apprehensive, and I sigh and shake my head. Dr. Holland is always telling me that I can't keep taking responsibility for other people's emotions. If my mother wants to be nervous about my first day of high school, then I need to let her be nervous. As long as I don't let her emotions effect how I feel, myself.

"It'll be alright, Mami," I reassure her, turning around even though she isn't finished with my hair. "I'll be with Brittany or Quinn practically the entire day."

"Practically? Mija, I thought-"

"Relax, Mom. The whole day, whatever." I roll my eyes. Technically I'll be by myself for 8th period, but my mother doesn't need to know that. I can tell she's already on the verge of begging me not to go.

"Santana..."

"Maribel..."

She scrunches her nose at my usage of her first name, causing me to laugh. With the tension now gone, I turn back around so that I'm facing the mirror.

My mother continues combing through my hair, silently this time, and I relax even further. I have enough anxiety myself, I don't need to be taking on her's, as well.

"You're gorgeous, mija," she tells me, and I unconsciously stiffen at her unexpected choice of words.

"Honey? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

I shake my head quickly, but my heart is beginning to race inside my tightening chest. Suddenly the image staring back at me in the mirror is no longer appealing. No longer wanted. No longer safe. I don't look like myself anymore; I look like her.

"Santana, it's okay, you're safe. It's just me. It's just Mami."

"No..." I croak, still staring into the mirror, frozen. I'm not that girl anymore. I don't have to be that girl anymore. "No, no, no..."

I reach for the faucet and switch on the taps, cupping my hands beneath the water and bringing them up towards my face. I need to get it off. I don't want to be her anymore. Bending over the sink, I repeat this action, rubbing frantically at my eyelids with my fingertips.

"Sweetheart, that's not- Here, let me help you." My mother is panicking, but I don't have it in me to care in that moment. What's the sense in reassuring her anyway? I'm obviously not okay.

"Mami," I choke out, spluttering against the water I'd unintentionally inhaled in my frantic attempt to remove my makeup. Her hands are on my shoulders, pulling me upright, and I pray that my body won't react on instinct and strike out at her. It's been months since I've struck either of my parents.

"Mija, let me help you," she says again, pulling my hands from my eyes now. Before I can respond, I feel a cold, damp cloth being pressed gently to my right eyelid, causing me to jerk backwards in fright. "Baby, it's just me, it's just eye makeup remover. You're okay."

I nod, even though I don't feel okay. I know that my mother is safe, and that she won't hurt me. I know that I can trust her, even with my eyes closed. Of course, just because I know this, doesn't mean I'm okay with what is happening. I start to tap my bare foot against the tile, my hands clenching and un-clenching in front of my chest as I wait for my mother to finish taking the makeup off my face.

"Mami," I whimper as the seconds tick by, only slightly relieved when the cloth is pulled away. I can hear her rinsing it out beneath the still running water and hold my breath, waiting for her to place it against my skin once more.

"Here, baby, take this and rinse your face. Try not to open your eyes until it's all off."

I feel the wet washcloth touch my hands and instantly grasp onto it, bringing it to my face and scrubbing roughly. I need to get it off. I need to be clean. The cloth falls from my hands at the very thought of not being clean, and despite my mother's warning, I peel open my eyes in order to stare at myself in the mirror. Luckily, I'd managed to wash off the majority of the chemicals, and simply blink away the drops of water that still cling to my eyelashes.

"I'm so sorry mija, I didn't... I didn't know that makeup would be a trigger for you," my mother whispers. She still sounds on the verge of her own panic attack.

I quickly shake my head and stare down at my hands, which are now gripping the edge of the counter-top so tightly my knuckles have turned white. "It's not," I lie, because there's no way she can ever know about that. "I just... I'm not used to looking like this." I look down at myself, and the dress that I'm currently wearing.

"I can't wear this," I say, my voice shaky with the tears I've somehow managed to hold back. I can't look like this. Not in public. Not at school. Not ever.

"It's okay baby, I'll get you something else to wear," she tells me, before quietly excusing herself from the bathroom and back into my bedroom.

"Fuck," I groan under my breath, realizing that I hadn't yet stepped foot out of the house and already have had a near meltdown. This doesn't bode well for my first day back at school. Maybe my mother is right to worry? Maybe I should just stay home and continue to be home schooled? It's not as if I couldn't see Brittany or Quinn in the afternoons, or on the weekends.

No. That would just be letting him win, and that's the last thing that I want. This is my life now, and I'm going to live it how I want to. He can't control me anymore.

There's a knock at the doorway, and I somehow manage not to jump at the suddenness of it. It's just my mother having returned with a different outfit, and I smile gratefully when I see what she's chosen.

It's my favorite pair of jeans, old and baggy and worn in all the right places. They used to belong to Brittany, but she'd given them to me the summer before our freshman year. The summer before it had happened. I frown at the sudden connection and quickly shake away the thoughts. These were my comfort jeans, and the hell he's going to take them from me, too.

"Thanks," I say, as I take the clothes from my mother. I look down at the light gray t-shirt she'd also fetched, and nearly lose it again, but this time from happy memories. It's also faded and worn, and is from the cheer camp Brittany, Quinn and I had attended that same summer. There's no way she could have known this, but it's the shirt I'd been wearing when I'd had my first kiss; with Brittany.

"You're welcome sweetheart," she says, backing up towards the door. I can tell from the look on her face that she wants to discuss what had just happened, but she's respecting my need for boundaries, and I nod at her gratefully. It had taken nearly half a year to get to this point, and I wish there was something more I could do to show her how much I loved her.

"Mami, I..." I struggle for the words, but they just won't come.

"I know mija, it's okay," she jumps in, giving me a genuine smile as she continues to back towards the door. "I'll be downstairs when you're ready."

I nod because it's the only thing I can do in that moment. A few seconds later and I'm alone in my bathroom, my comfort outfit clutched tightly in my hands.

"You can do this," I say to myself, closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath. It's like what Dr. Holland says: I can do this. I just gotta take things one step at a time. And the first step, is to get out of this dress.

It's nearing 7 by the time I re-emerge from my bathroom, dressed in my new outfit, and with my hair tied up in a loose pony-tail. Without any makeup, I know I look awful. Like a nerdy twelve year old. The thick framed glasses don't help, but I just don't have it in me right now to try messing with contacts.

Whatever, it'll do. It's not like I'm trying to impress anybody. Or worse, attract anyone's attention. Sure, the old me would have jumped at the chance to saunter down the halls of William McKinley in a tight fitting dress and heels, but that's not who I am now. There's still a part of me that wants to look good, but for the most part, I just want to feel safe.

The first thing I notice is the blinking light coming from my cell phone, and I cross towards my bed and pick it up. Laughing, I roll my eyes at the notifications. 5 missed txts, and the day hadn't even officially started yet. I flip open my Motorola and quickly read the messages, my smile suddenly returning to my face.

Apparently Brittany was just as excited as I was for the start of the new school year, or more likely, at the fact that this year I'd finally be getting to attend with her. It was her senior year, and even though I was technically a freshman on record, my parents had managed to convince the school-board to allow me to take the majority of my classes along with, what had once been, my class.

I quickly tap out a reply txt, skipping over the part about my freaking out in the bathroom earlier. Brittany tended to overreact even more than my mother did, and I wasn't going to ruin the girl's excitement this morning with my issues.

"Santana! We need to get going if you don't want to be late!" My dad's voice shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

"Coming Papi!" I shout back, quickly tossing my phone, as well as my iPod, into my school bag. Dropping the bag onto my bed, I walk to my dresser and pull out a pair of socks, unraveling them in my hands as I return to my bed and sit down.

"Santana!"

"Gah! Papi! I'm almost done!" I spot my sneakers by the door and hoist my bag onto my shoulder, shuffling over towards them. Once I've slipped them on my feet, I take a quick look around my room just as a terrible heaviness starts to fill my stomach. As excited as I'd been all morning, I'm suddenly overcome with the desire to simply crawl back beneath the covers of my bed and forget entirely about the notion of going to school. I know it's irrational, but I'm afraid to leave. I'm afraid to leave, because what if it happens again?

"Santana?" My father's voice is no longer shouting. It's soft, and careful, and coming from my doorway. I glance away from my bed and over towards him, wincing when I see his sympathetic, worried expression. He's supposed to be my rock; my unyielding support through all of this. I don't need his doubts and fears as well.

"Papi, I'll be fine," I say, readjusting my bag onto both of my shoulders.

Thankfully, he just nods at this and motions with his head for me to follow him out of the room. I quickly fall into step behind him, willing myself not to look back as I exit my room and head down the stairs.

My mother is standing at the front door, and I falter in my step, half expecting her to suddenly change her mind and refuse to allow me to leave. We've been having this argument for the better part of the past month, but I've done everything both she, and Dr. Holland, have asked me to do. This was supposed to be my "reward" for following my treatment plan. And what better reward was there, then the chance to finally be a normal teenager?

"Santana, you don't have to do this. You can stay home with Iago and me. We can enroll you in home schooling again." She sounds like she's trying so very hard not to cry, and I can't help but feel guilty when I shake my head at her suggestion.

"No, Mami, you promised," I tell her, looking towards my father for support. I'm surprised when he doesn't immediately jump to my aid, but instead takes his wife into his arms and hugs her tightly. He then whispers something into her ear that I can't quite make out. Whatever it was, it seems to have worked, and a few seconds later she's pulling away from the embrace and turning to me, her face much more composed than it had been just moments prior.

"I'm sorry mija, but you can't fault me for worrying," she explains as she moves closer, raising her arms like she wants to give me a hug.

"I know Mami. It'll be okay," I reassure her this time, leaning forward to accept her hug. She's right though. I can't fault her for worrying. It's not as if something didn't happen to me the last time I'd left the house for school. Shuddering at the intrusive thought, I focus instead of the warmth and comfort of my mother's arms around me, and eagerly return the hug.

"Make sure you txt me in between classes. And please don't be afraid to call if you get upset and need to talk. Or you know Dr. Holland's number. She said she'd have her phone with her all day, just in case..."

I nod against her shoulder, knowing my mother simply has to get all of this out before she'll feel okay about my leaving. Even though recovery is supposed to be a selfish process, the last thing I ever want to do is worry my parents like that again. So I let her continue to embrace me, until we both jump at the sound of the car horn in the driveway.

"Come on! We're gonna be late!" my brother's voice shouts from the passenger seat of the family's Volvo.

It's still strange for me to think that my little brother is going to be in high school with me. And in the same grade, since we're both technically freshman. In my mind, he's still the pudgy little sixth grader he'd been before I'd been taken. Now he's a pudgy, medium sized ninth grader, who still seems to take great joy out of annoying me at every possible moment.

Out of everyone, Manny has treated me the least like a traumatized, fragile victim. It's not that he doesn't understand the severity of what I'd been through, but in his mind, my new found "issues" don't make me any less his big sister, and therefor it's still his duty to drive me insane whenever he can. He probably doesn't know this, but sometimes I like to hang around him in the hopes he'll say or do something irritating, or in some other way try to upset me. He's the only person in my life that makes me feel normal, and I hope that one day I can explain this to him, and find some way to thank him.

"Satan-a! Stop making Mami cry, and get in the car! You're going to make me late for the most important day of my life!" Manny shouts, and I can't help but chuckle as I roll my eyes and pull out of my mother's embrace.

My father has already headed out to the car, and I can hear him yelling in Spanish at my brother, who has begun laying on the horn again.

"And you're worried about me making it through my first day?" I joke, and my mother seems relieved at my efforts to remain unaffected by my brother's words. Even though I've explained to her numerous times why I don't mind Manny's taunting, she still gets upset at the boy when she's around to hear him do it.

"I love you, mi nina preciosa."

My mother's words startle me, but in a good way. "I love you too, mom," I tell her, backing towards the front door. I know if I don't make a break for it now, that we really will be late.

She seems conflicted, but eventually just clasps her hands in front of her stomach and nods at me. I take this as my cue to leave, and without letting myself dwell on the fear still coiled deep within my belly, I exit the house and head towards the family car.

According to the clock on the dashboard, it's now 7:22am, which means I have only 8 minutes to exit the car, enter the school, find and empty stuff into my locker, and then head to my first period class. Manny has already exited the car, having practically done so before my father had managed to pull to a complete stop. It's not that I've lost my nerve or anything, it just feels weird to suddenly take off, as if I didn't care about the struggles both my parents are currently going through.

Even though my dad is better at not smothering me, or making me feel guilty for wanting my space, I know he's just as nervous as my mother about this entire "going to high school" thing. Or more accurately, about me even leaving the house to begin with.

Because even though he'll never say it out loud, I know that he worries about it happening to me again. Which is ridiculous, since the odds of it having happened to me once, were pretty damn remote. It's not like we live in a densely populated area or anything. Lima, Ohio is pretty much the farthest thing you could get from a city. So the chances of it happening again? Definitely less than us winning the lottery...

"Are you going to be okay?" I ask, my hands fiddling with the straps of the bag in the foot-well between my legs. "Actually, is mom going to be okay?" I correct myself, knowing that between my parents, she's definitely the one I should be worrying about.

"Santana, the first night that you were missing, do you know what your mother said to me?"

I wasn't expecting that, and shake my head, staring dumbfounded at the man. Neither of my parents have told me much about the time that I was missing. Most of what I know, I've learned from my brother. He hasn't told me anything like this, however, and I can't help but wonder if I even want to know the answer.

"She'd said that she hoped you'd learned your lesson, and that when you returned, you'd stop being such a horrible, ungrateful, bratty child," he tells me, his voice breaking as the words roll off his tongue. I don't know what to say to this, and can only stare at him in shock. The one thing I did know, was that they hadn't reported me as missing until almost a week after I'd disappeared.

My mom and I had been fighting that morning, the result of which was me threatening to "leave, and never come back again," before storming out the front door. To be honest, I'm not even sure what we'd been arguing about, but I know that whatever it was, it wouldn't have resulted in my actually running away.

Apparently my mother had felt differently, and was convinced that I was simply hiding out at one of my friend's houses. And that I'd somehow managed to get not just my friends, but my friend's parents, to lie for me when they'd called checking to see if I was there.

It wasn't until five days later, when the school finally got around to calling the house, inquiring if I was still enrolled, that she'd finally broken down and agreed on calling the police.

"She's never forgiven herself, for believing that you'd simply run away in order to prove a point to her."

"Dad, it's not your fault, and it's not Mom's fault," I jump in, knowing that's where his train of thought is going. "I'd said I was running away. You know me. When have I ever not done something I'd said I was going to do?"

He's looking at me strangely, almost like he's struggling with himself over whether or not to accept what I'm saying, or to continue fighting me about it. I'm really hoping for the former, seeing as I now have only 4 minutes before I'm late for my first period class.

"It took us five days to start looking for you, mija. If we'd called the cops that first night, maybe... Maybe we could have saved you from having to go through-" He can't continue due to the fact that he's now crying, his hands pressed over his face as he tries to hide his emotions from me. I want to be shocked at the display, but it's actually a little comforting. My dad has never cried openly in front of me before, and I reach across the console to tug away his hands.

"Papi," I whisper, taking his hands into my own as I wait patiently for him to collect himself. I don't care that the morning bell has just rung, and that I'm now considered late. First period was my math class, so I really don't mind missing out on it. I just hope that Brittany isn't freaking out too badly at the fact I never showed up, or txt'd her to say I'd be late.

"I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to- I told your mother I wouldn't cry when I dropped you off," he says after a few more minutes of soft sniffling and the occasional hiccup. He hasn't looked at me yet, but his grip on my hands lets me know that he appreciates the support.

It's strange, in a way, that I'm supporting him when it comes to what had happened to me, but whatever. I love my parents, and I don't blame either of them for not reporting my disappearance sooner. Not that I ever plan on telling them this, but it wouldn't have mattered either way.

Before I can think of something reassuring to say to him, my phone starts going off, and I quickly let go of his hands in order to fish out my Motorola. It's Brittany's ring-tone, and I immediately flip open the phone and press it to my ear.

"Santana! Santana! Where are you? Class started, like, five minutes ago!" her voice is frantic, but hushed, as if she's trying not to draw too much attention to herself. It also sounds somewhat echoed, which means she's probably in a restroom somewhere.

I glance at my dad, but he just motions for me to respond. He certainly understands my best friends worry.

"Hey, Brit-Brit! Everything's okay! I'm just uh... I'm just outside in the car, with my dad. We were running late," I lie, knowing my dad would appreciate my not broadcasting to everyone his little breakdown. Not that anyone would really blame him for it.

"Are you sure? This isn't some sort of code is it? Like, where I'm supposed to know you're in trouble from what you say, and then-"

Her voice cuts off abruptly, before another one speaks up. "Ignore her, she's been watching too much Law and Order lately," Quinn says, and I can almost hear the rolling of her eyes in her voice. "But everything's okay, right? Where are you?"

"Like I said, we were running late. I'm outside with my dad right now."

"Don't lie to me San. You just didn't want to go to math class."

I laugh because I know she's kidding. I also appreciate the effort she's making to treat me as normal as possible. Next to my brother, Quinn is probably the next best person for that sort of thing.

"You're right, you caught me," I respond, shaking my head. I glance towards my father again, curious if he can hear what they're saying. If he can, he's at least making an effort not to appear as if he's eavesdropping. "Hold on one second," I say into the phone, before pulling it away and pressing my thumb over the microphone end.

"I'm gonna go meet Brittany and Quinn," I tell my dad, not wanting to elaborate on the fact that both of my friends have apparently decided to skip first period as well when I didn't show up. I don't want him getting the idea that this was typical behavior for the two, even though it actually sort of was.

Both of my best friends are on the Cheerios, which is the school's varsity cheerleading team. Quinn is actually the captain, and Brittany the second in command. It's a strange concept for me, seeing as all throughout middle school and cheer camp, I had been the second in command to Quinn. It kind of hurts, in a selfish sort of way, to know that while I was going through hell, my best friends were continuing on with their lives as if nothing had happened.

Which is unfair of me to think, since I know that neither of them had "just continued on with their lives". In fact, Brittany had almost been held back her freshman and sophomore years, due to her lack of effort in both homework and class participation. Or really, just showing up to school to begin with.

Apparently she'd blamed herself for my disappearance, since technically I was kidnapped while on my way to her house. I think she also felt guilty for not having called the cops herself, when I still didn't show up for school the following day. Or at least, for not trying harder to convince my parents that I honestly wasn't hiding out at her's or Quinn's houses.

"You're late," my dad replies, looking at the clock on the dashboard as if he's only just realized how long we've been sitting there. "Do you need me to walk you in so I can explain? I don't want you getting written up because I couldn't keep it together."

I quickly shake my head at the offer, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to myself by having him walk me to class. Or to the main office to get a late pass. "I'll be fine, dad. I can handle it," I tell him, though he doesn't look convinced.

"Alright mija, just please txt me once you get settled. When the teacher isn't looking, of course."

I smile at that and lean across the center console, wrapping my arms around him. "I will Papi. I love you," I tell him, as I slowly pull out of his embrace and open up the passenger's side door. Once I'm out of the car and my bag is slung over my shoulder, I turn and peek my head back in. "Have a good day at work. And try not to worry too much, okay?"

He looks at me incredulously and shrugs his shoulders. "I'll never stop worrying, Santana. But I will stop holding you up, and let you get to class." He laughs and winks as I slam the car door and step back off the road and up onto the grass.

For a moment I think he's going to just pull away, but instead he points at the front entrance to the building with his first two fingers, then points to his eyes, then back again.

"Really?" I ask sarcastically, even though he probably can't hear me with the door shut. He can read my expression though and nods, pointing back at the building. He wants to watch me enter inside before he'll drive away.

I roll my eyes, but have no reason to protest. It's actually kind of reassuring, knowing he's literally got my back as I turn around and make my way towards the front entrance of my new high school. Only, as soon as I get to the top step and am about to reach for the double doors, that anxious, dreadful feeling I'd had earlier returns.

My first instinct is to turn around and run back to the safety of my dad and the car, but I know if I do that now, I'll never be able to convince him, or myself, to let me try again. And my desire, or need, to go to school and be a normal teenager just like everyone else, is strong. Stronger than the current feeling in the pit of my stomach, at least.

Plus, I know if I wait any longer, paused at the top of the steps, my dad is going to think something's wrong and come try to help me. He wouldn't be helping me though, he'd be holding me back. And I don't want to be held back any longer. Not by my parents, and not by my fear. I can do this. I just have to take things one step at a time.

And right now, the first step is to open the doors to William McKinley High School, and finally enter inside.