A/N: And I'm back! I hope I haven't annoyed people too much by waiting so long to continue this series but I'm hoping this will make up for it. This is the sequel to Spilt Coffee and it's set about just before Theatricality. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to tell everyone to disregard the things that happen in season 2 since, despite the fact that it's so good (caugh*Britney/Brittany episode*caugh), it won't fit in with the rest of this series, which is going to span on for a quite a few more fics past this story that I'm uploading now.

Hope you enjoy!

. . .

"I'm here again, a thousand miles away from you . . ."

Pieces by Red

Santana closes her eyes as she carefully slips her normal cheerio's uniform on, back determinedly turned away from the dusty and slightly cracked mirror in her room. It's become routine by now – don't rush or you might feel the pain, don't look at the mirror until you're completely clothed or you might see something you wish you didn't, keep your ears peeled for the heavy footsteps that you don't want to hear – but no matter how much of a routine it is, how much of a habit, it never feels normal. It never stops hurting. Never.

She thinks it should, though. She thinks, or more accurately wishes, that it wouldn't bother her so much anymore, that the memories and the abuse would cease to matter after a while. It would be so much easier that way.

But, then, Santana's life has never been easy, so why start now?

The task of dressing herself completed, Santana finally opens her eyes and turns around to face the mirror. Not a trace of anything. Just like always.

It wasn't so bad last night – mostly because Garry was too drunk to do more than knock her into the wall once or twice – so there's no need to wear a long sleeved shirt under her Cheerio's uniform to hide any of the more obvious bruises that she sometimes gets. In fact, last night was practically a good night, as far as nights here go. She even managed to get away and lock herself in her room before he could get his disgusting, greedy hands under her top.

That's what worries her.

Her stepfather had just come back from a week of being away on work yesterday and it was painfully obvious from the moment he stepped through the door that things had not gone well. Santana hadn't asked – she never said more words than was absolutely necessary to survive when it came to Garry – but she'd listened in on the conversation he'd been having with her Mum, safely hidden behind the rickety and unstable banister of the staircase.

Of course, when she says 'work' what she really means is that Garry went up to New York City to sell Cocaine to some of his more well-paying clients. Drug dealing is the only job he's had for years now, ever since he was fired from the police force six years ago (not that that last part should come as a shock to anyone – who wouldn't fire him?).

Her mother knows all about Garry's 'business' as well, which isn't all that surprising since she's one of his top customers. That's how they met (how romantic). The only person in this house who's not supposed to know is Santana and, well, that went out the window the first time he tried to dose her up with coke – apparently it was supposed to make her more 'willing'.

It didn't.

Apparently, things didn't go as well as planned up in good old New York as, so sadly, another drug dealer had moved in on Garry's territory since the last time he was there and hardly anyone wanted to buy from her stepfather anymore.

How heartbreaking.

Anyway, needless to say, he isn't too happy about it and Santana knows, she just knows, that this isn't going to work out so well for her. When Garry's angry he likes to use his fists, more specifically, he likes to use them on his stepdaughter and since last night was a Drunk night, tonight will probably be the best time for Kick The Shit Out Of Santana night. She can hardly wait. Who knows, he might actually kill her this time.

Usually, when it looks like things are going to be this bad, she'd just go over and stay with Brittany but her best friend's in Holland with her parents and little sister so that's a no-go. So, with that out, there's really no where else she can go. There's no way Santana's going to rock up on Mr. Shu's doorstep or, god forbid, Berry's and there's absolutely no way in hell that she's going to run into the arms of Puck and Quinn, not while they'd know exactly why she'd be doing it; Santana mentally shudders at the thought.

Everyone else in Glee pretty much falls into the category of 'Never In A Million Years'.

Well, it looks like she's going to have to find some random boy to shack up with after school. It could be fun.

She sighs, fixes her hair for the last time, and struts out of the room. Whilst passing her step-father in the hallway, she tries to ignore the creepy smirk he sends her way. 'Tries to' being the operative words.

. . .

Santana lets out a breath as she stares at the door of Kurt Hummel's house. She hates the idea of asking the little queer for help but the only guys she had been able to get a hold of –which, considering her, was quite a few – were all busy for the night; figures. At first, she'd juggled with the idea of just going back home, taking up whatever Garry had to dish, and then falling into bed for a good night's sleep.

The Latina hates to admit that she was too scared to even reach the driveway of her home.

Letting out another sigh, Santana reaches up, about to knock, but hesitates.

God, she is such a wimp.

Frowning at that thought, she lets her knuckles come down in a swift, impatient rap. It's pulled open in seconds by a ruffled and confused looking Finn Hudsen. Santana, who has no idea about how the Hudsens moved in with the Hummels, frowns in bemusement, silently wondering whether Kurt has finally managed to win the footballer's heart.

That's something she'd almost pay to see.

It seems unlikely but so is the idea of her standing on Kurt's doorstep so she doesn't dismiss it completely. In fact, she blurts out the question with a disbelieving scowl. "So, what, are you and Fancy like screwing now?"

Finn's jaw drops, his eyes bug, and for a second she thinks he's actually going to keel over and die. That or he's auditioning for the rule of one of those plastic clowns at the fairs that have you put balls down their throats. She doesn't know which one is more believable.

"Huh?" he asks after a moment, too dumbfounded to work up any other kind of response.

Santana rolls her eyes; typical. "What are you doing at Kurt's?"

"Me and my mother moved in," he responds, still looking quite shocked.

She raises an eyebrow questioningly. "You mean it's really that serious between you guys?"

Now he's even more confused; poor guy. "What?"

"Never mind," the brunette tells him briskly, remembering that there are more important things to be discussing at the moment; like sleeping arrangements for example. "I need a place to crash."

"Oh." They stare at each other for a moment longer, Finn's still quite clearly not getting it, until she glares at him pointedly and realization dawns in his eyes. "You mean here?" It comes out as a kind of horrified squeak that, up until now, Santana only thought Rachael or Kurt was capable of; Finn's masculinity level just dropped significantly in her eyes.

"Yes, here." He still seems to be looking quite astonished and she rolls her eyes, realizing that she's going to have to speak to the actual man around here if she hopes to get anything done. "Where's Kurt?"

"Sleeping over at Mercedes. He said something about a pedicure." Finn makes a face, probably imagining the horror of a night he would have had if he had been invited. "Tina and Rachael are there too."

Santana hates to admit it but there's a kind of emotional twist of the heart at the news that even Rachael Berry was invited to some idiot sleepover but she wasn't. it's completely stupid and irrational of her since she probably would have turned the invitation down anyway since there's no way in hell she's spending the night with a bunch of losers that act like they've come straight out of the Sound of Music, or, in Mercedes and possibly Tina's case, Hairspray.

Then again, Quinn wasn't invited so maybe they just have something against Cheerios who've slept with Puck. That or they're forming some sort of secret society for girl losers which, if that's the case, she definitely doesn't want to be involved.

"I need a place to stay," Santana states or rather demands. She doesn't care that Finn's been avoiding her like she's a leper ever since they slept together, she is getting in this house and, god damn it, she is getting the best bed to sleep in, even if that means kicking Finnocence out of his own. "And you're going to let me stay here."

"But . . ."

"Ah uh. No buts," she interrupts before pushing past him into the house. Finn's so flabbergasted by the whole thing, he doesn't notice in time to stop her. The Latina glances around the hallway inquisitively, trying to get a read on where things are. "So, where's your room?"

He stares at her for a moment, shutting the door behind them, and it's clear that he's in shock. "Why?"

She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly; such an idiot. "Because, Finnocence, I need a bed to sleep in." And there's no way she's sleeping in Kurt Hummel's; she does after all have a reputation to uphold. At least Finn's on the football team, and not to mention straight, so there's really no need to feel any shame in sleeping in his bed. And if he really has a problem with it then she can just screw him and guilt him into letting her have it.

He looks too shocked to talk and Santana nods her head, taking that as a sign that he understands her demand and accepts it, before continuing her walk down the hallway. "Now, show me where it is."

A/N: Poor, poor Finn; I bet he wasn't expecting that.

I'm afraid Brittany won't be in much of this story (sigh) but she will show up eventually, whence upon I will provide you with much needed Brittana.