"Yeah well, who would have thought being fluid can make you feel so stuck."

"Santana…"

"Get off me."

End Locker Scene

Tears cascading freely down her cheeks, the once Top Dog of McKinley High clutched her leather jacket tightly as she tread down the school halls. Her heart sank more and more heavily for every step she took whilst her eyes were almost blinded by the tears that fell. No thoughts were formed as she reached her black Volvo; only feelings were storming inside. Rejection, disbelief, humiliation but best or worst of all, feelings of loss wage battles in her entire being. Operating in autopilot, out of sheer practice, she drove the 15 minutes ride to Lima Heights in silence. She stopped crying for the time being. But her dark brown eyes were unseeing, almost life-less. She arrived home.

No greetings were necessary in the Lopez Household. Her parents were barely there anyway. The Zombie Santana was only brought back to life as she switched the lights to her kickass den.

Memories of her once best friend flashed back in mind; Brittany asking her to talk about fucked up feelings so as not to confuse her. Brittany asking her to talk to an adult and of course, she did say yes eventually. She had had enough of the comparison of Brittany with Artie and her. She's better or so she thought…

She walked toward her bedside table.

How could she ask her to open up? Then, she offered her heart but how could Brittany break it unwittingly with that boy? Brittany was supposed to be simple and easy to manipulate.

She sat in front of the vanity and remembered Brittany's hurting and confused look at that very same chair a few days ago. Santana shook her head.

Brittany was not a robot she could dictate instructions to. Britt is, was, the constant in Santana's life. The only one who would accept the bitch Santana really was and continue to adore her and let Santana adore her without fear of rejection.

Her eyes landed on the black scrunchie she used to use to pony her hair.

The Cheerios.

"Stick, Dumb Blonde, Q, front and center." Coach Sue beckoned.

Sweating and panting from their killer routine, the Unholy Trinity reached the field stage in record time.

"You, three, managed not to disgust me with your splits and tosses for the entire practice season. I'd rather risk choosing barely experienced freshmen than any one of these grannies whose high splits match that of cats frightened by loud bangs, you get the spot for the top triangle in the pyramid. Stick, Left. Dumb Blonde, Right. Q, Center. Your sugar sweet innocent looks and that virgin smile of yours would fool institutions in Lima to give us more money for nationals. You're Head Cheerio. Now hit the showers before you reek and disgust me too."

The devil in tracksuit left as the trio grabbed their bags and walked towards the locker room. Quinn was silently basking in her victory. She did not smile stupidly, of course, but there was twinkle in her eyes equivalent to a very well-placed smug. Santana and Brittany were walking a few steps behind her. The Latina's shoulders were tensed and teeth were clenched like a rabid dog about to attack. Brittany placed her softly in San's arms, drawing circles with her thumb. This gesture pacified her a bit and then Brittany kissed her cheek briefly, smiling as she says, "Sanny, you'll always be my top cheerio."

Santana knew from experience that Quinn Fabray would always price more than she could be. She was a WASP, after all. The Lopez's were noveau-riche and not to mention part of the minority of Loser Ville Lima, Ohio. She practiced harder than Quinn. She was Coach Sue's most loyal ally, 2nd only to Becky. Yet, she only got what she wanted when Immaculate Quinn Fabray became Juno. Then, HBIC postion was easily snatched by Q the minute the bitch went back to size zero and Santana's boob magically became cup C. She did everything she could but she would never be enough.

But, in her best friend's eyes, she weighed more than anyone could ever be. That brought her back to reality. Santana stared back at her reflection and once again, felt empty. It was too painful but intangible and the only thing she can do was cry. She took out the water bottle she habitually kept in her bag despite her Cheerio stint having ended. She drank half of the bottle, but the liquids that were expelled from her body were much, much more than that. Briefly wondering if this was what a fish felt out of water, she desperately drank the other half, only to vomit everything out. Even her body was against her; soon enough, her head was betraying her as well. There was too much pain but Santana knew that no one could comfort her now. Eventually, she succumbed to sleep as the raging emotions tired her out.

The Next Day

Santana slept in 'til the afternoon, a feat she was not able to do in years. Luckily, it was a Saturday and with no Cheerios practice in mind, she was practically free to enjoy her weekend. She methodically brushed her teeth and took a shower with no plans to go out. But the Head Bitch in Charge inside her methodically told her not to sulk. Walls were needed to be rebuilt fast. She was about to delve deep in thoughts when…

Baby, baby, baby… no.

Shit, that was her boyfriend calling.

Thought you'd always be mine. Now, I'm gone and I'm all…

"Sam." She spoke with unveiled irritation towards her so-called beau. Their relationship was fake. There was no point to sugarcoat it between them. But, Sam, for all chivalric things he did, kept on trying to be a good boyfriend.

"Hey, Santana, I just got out of practice. What are you doing?"

"I know. It's 3pm. What do you want, Sam?"dodging the question she would have a lame honest answer to.

"Uhh… Some guy in the football team, Jared, is having a house party tonight. You want me to pick you up? 8?"

Hmm… She thought it over. Jared was one of those decent guys just like Sam, that guy only made friends with those as charmingly (nauseatingly) nice as he is. So the party would for sure be not as badass as she likes them but safe enough as she needs it now.

"Ok. 8. Don't be late."

She quickly closed the phone not even bothering to hear Sam's quick goodbye and love you. That boy was too dorky for her liking then again so was Britt but that was another thing.

Five hours went by quickly with 3 home works and 1 project in tow. Yes, she studies, she may not be as intellectually gifted as Quinn but Santana was not manipulative without the needed wit. 30 minutes before 8pm, she readied herself for the party. Gauging herself in the mirror, she wore a purple tube dress just mid thigh short and her hair was tied to a lazy lose pony with just light make-up as if to point out that she did not need to do much to look good. And yes, she did look good effortlessly so.

Soon enough, there was a polite knock in her door. Opening it she found Sam who was holding out a yellow rose for her.

"A yellow rose stands for friendship." Sam quickly explained, afraid the girl would lash out at him for offering an innocently sweet gesture.

"Yes, I know, Shakespeare. Your offer is illogical though."

Sam raised his eyebrows in question until she kissed her hard. To an onlooker, Sam and Santana may look passionately in love with each other as their kiss deepen and moans grow louder but between them, it was a kiss of sheer hormones. Both reciprocate the other's need to feel wanted. They then stopped. There was more of that saved for the future. A practice for the show.

The duo reached the party 20 minutes late but before they entered, Santana had the misfortune of seeing Artie in the glass windows, being wheeled around by her no less than former best friend. Mentally berating herself, she forgot that detail, decent guy's party equals decent and loser attendees. Tears threaten to fall her eyes once again. She needed to feel something else other than the pain bubbling inside her. With brute force, she brought Sam back to his car. Reaching it, she immediately sucked lips with him, wanting all air to be snatched away from her lungs as despair creeps in her nerves. They fucked at the backseat, with no words spoken or names uttered, just grunts and moans as primal needs were satisfied.

Feigning sleep, afterwards, Santana was carried by Sam back to her large but empty house.

Casual sex used to be one of Santana's walls and now, it stands taller than ever.