These were not the sweet lady kisses she was familiar with. They were tentative, slightly reluctant. As she pressed her lips to the other girl's lips again she forced herself not to think about the difference. She tried to focus on the one she was with. She squeezed her eyes even tighter and let her hands be her sight. But as her fingers parted the short hair of the girl in front of her with ease, the thumping of her heart became too loud in her own ears. She broke away from the evening's tease and walked over to the window, drawing back the thick old fashioned curtain. She stared down into the dark alleyway with weary eyes.

"You need to leave."

The young girl seated on the queen size bed didn't even question it. Her face was frozen in a dopey expression with glossed over eyes and a faint smile. She teetered a bit as she stood to take her leave. She readjusted the spaghetti straps on her simple black dress and crossed to the door of the room. The toe of her platform shoe met the door before she expected it to and she giggled as she caught herself on the wall beside it.

"Good night, Sandra" she softly whispered as she slid out the door and closed it behind her. She couldn't help but shake her head at the other girl's name slip. She hadn't wanted to be alone but she should have known better. Raising her head slowly, she lost herself in her reflection. Her brown eyes sparkled more than usual as she let herself reminisce about the previous holiday. Her last day at home.

She sat tucked between her brothers with her entire family sitting in the den watching a pregame show that she had no interest in. She had been gripping her midsection tightly for days but no one had even noticed the change in her. Her mom had asked if she needed aspirin a couple of times but nothing more. Her morning routine had tensed recently and it had been no different that Thursday. As she pressed small dabs of concealer to her face, she could almost feel herself grating away a level of skin with the force she was using. But she had to be perfect. She had to look the part even if she was everything but on the inside. She barely breathed during mass that morning as she felt eyes silently judging her without even knowing her. When she finally arrived home and stripped down to change into jeans and a jersey, she took a moment for herself.

"I truly am sorry, Santana. George of the jungle and I both offered to withdraw from the race in hopes that the tape would never see the light of day but Salizar is convinced that this platform is guaranteed victory. I hate to say he's probably right."

Every day was longer than the previous day. She was always waiting for the bottom to fall out. She had considered telling her parents up front. But the consequences of that were too drastic to even consider. She realized that maybe she could just wait for her parents to find out then flat out deny it. "It's politics, mama. His daughter is just mad she didn't make the Cheerios." She had practiced it a thousand times in her head but she didn't think she had enough resolve to make it believable. She had even tried it with Brittany once who had simply smiled at her and encouraged her to believe in herself and be honest. That was when she realized she needed weeks, not days to prepare herself for the crash. She knew that if she let her mind drift away to Brittany for even a second, the secret would show in her smile. Her life was over and she had no idea what to do about that fact.

The chatter in the room had suddenly died down. Her ears began to buzz as the familiar campaign speech projected from the surround sound system. "Why don't you have a husband, Sue? Is there something you're not telling us? Sue Sylvester. So many questions."

She could feel her brothers shift on either side of her. She couldn't force herself to return their gazes. If she was going to deny it, she had certainly passed that point by looking guilty at that very moment. Her head still down, she glanced toward the couch where her father sat. His feet separated as he placed the soles of his house shoes firmly on the ground. Her eyes slowly followed his ascent as he stood to his full height. In a room full of siblings, cousins, uncles, and grandparents, she only saw him and the fire in his eyes. She held on to the slightest hope that the tears in her own eyes would temper the inferno in his.

"Papi I-"

"Es verdad?" She sat silently with her mouth open.

"Es la verdad?" He repeated.

"Please…" The tears were uncontrollable.

"ANSWER ME!" His voice boomed through the room, gaining the attention of Santana's mom and aunts cooking in the kitchen. As they filed into the room Santana softly nodded her head yes. Her father's face broke for a moment as he looked like he himself may cry along with her. But it was only for a moment. He returned to stone once again as he issued a final command.

"Get out of this house."

"Miguel! What is going on?" Her mother rushed over to the couch with a look of confusion. Santana looked up but could only shake her head as the tears continued to fall. She looked back at her father again and a slight whimper escaped his throat. Her mother looked from face to face in the room seeking an answer. All too eager to please, her youngest cousin Ricky grabbed the DVR remote and looped back to the commercial. Santana began to sob as the shocked seven year old backed up into the waiting arms of his father. Hearing the words again gave her father the strength that Santana could not find in herself. His voice was low but powerful.

"No quiero decirlo otra vez."

"Daddy. Please don't do this." She stood up and began to walk toward him.

"No eres mi hija."

She grabbed the fabric of her shirt at her chest and bunched it up in her fist as she tried to catch her breath. She looked from face to face as they all looked away except her oldest brother. His eyes were sympathetic but he didn't dare speak against their father. She had shamed the family name. She knew the rules of the house. She was expected to fit into God's norms, society's norms, and a size 2. Always. To argue with him about it would help no one. She ran through the small path the group of women had created at the entryway and up to her room. It didn't take her long to grab the two bags that she had kept hidden for the day this would happen. She looked at herself in the vanity mirror over her dresser once more before leaving home for good.

She took the spot on the bed that her nightly visitor had recently deserted. Here she had resided for over 3 weeks. She had lasted only 3 days in school after the holiday. Truth was, everyone in school hadn't known. Perhaps they had suspected but the pizza shop owner's confirmation gave them the ammo necessary to torture Santana in ways she couldn't defend. Brittany had been wrong. Santana couldn't possibly beat them all up. Not in a school that had already suspended her for a simple slap. After a quick detour to an ATM, she had gone straight to Brittany's that Thanksgiving afternoon where Mrs. Pierce had welcomed her with open arms and a loving smile. Every day Brittany stood by her, comforting her, defending her, telling her she was proud of her. Every evening she held her while she cried herself to sleep. When Santana told her she deserved better, Brittany sincerely asked "what's better than the best?" A week later, Santana kissed a sleeping Brittany on the forehead early in the morning, loaded her bags into her car and drove to the first no name hotel she could come across. She hadn't looked back until today. She had aged so much in just a few weeks. She wasn't eating. She barely got out of bed. The only time she allowed light into the room was at night and it was mostly just the reflection of headlights off the highway. She had meant to take a couple of days to create a game plan. Maybe get her GED and find a job. The cash advance she had taken off her credit card wouldn't last too long and she didn't want to take a chance of seeing if her father had cancelled the card. She thought maybe she could pull herself together. Maybe she could finally breathe easily with no secrets and move on with her life. Hopefully become a responsible adult that any parent would be proud of. Twenty four days later, she was still where she started. A young girl with a broken spirit in a dimly lit room and no one to turn to. She reached over to the nightstand drawer and grabbed two of the three contents inside of it. A small bottle of clear liquid and a sandwich bag with white powder in it. She had stolen a mix of pills from the medicine cabinet, some from her parents, some from when her grandmother had spent time at the house recuperating from surgery, and crushed them into a fine powder. This was supposed to be plan B if plan A never took off. She was older now, not better, and lonelier than ever. She watched intently as the pills dissolved into the vodka. She began to laugh and cry at the same time because she had no idea if this would even work. What if she survived?

As she calmed her nerves, the reflection of the light on the third item in the drawer begged for her attention. She pulled the cell phone out of the drawer and held down the power button. It hadn't been on since she left Lima. She was sure that her father had disconnected it but as it came to life, the reception bars showed full strength with no "SOS only" warning. It had to have been her mom's doing. She tossed the phone on the mattress beside her and pressed the lip of the warm bottle to her bottom lip. She tasted salt as she began to tip the bottle upward but it was just a lost teardrop. Her phone began to vibrate and sing different tunes all at once.

"Shit!" The liquid splashed out of the bottle and onto her face. More determined than ever, she repositioned the bottle and took two large gulps before acknowledging the burning in her chest. The phone continued to make noise. She could see the warnings on the top of the screen. Texts, voicemails, missed calls. She took another swallow, ignoring the alerts. It began to sing again. But it wasn't a broken tune. It was a phone call and it was Brittany's ringtone. She began to cry as she thought of the last time she had seen her. Her face so peaceful as she slept in the early hours of the morning. She hadn't even said goodbye. She let the phone keep ringing as her swallows turned to sips. She reminded herself that it was for the best. Brittany would let go once she was gone for good. She would have a better life. She dried her face with the palm of her hand and tried for larger swallows again. Her head was beginning to hurt from the cries she had been holding in all day. She picked up the phone and opened the text screen. Not even reading the missed messages, she tapped to compose a new one. She typed in a street address and a plea- "don't let her find me like this" and pressed send after selecting the recipient.

She walked into the bathroom to clean herself up. She didn't want to leave the world looking like the tragedy she felt like. She washed her face and held the cold towel to her face for a few moments longer than necessary. She returned to the bed and the half empty bottle. She pulled back the comforter on the bed and climbed in, tucking herself in. She turned the bottle up as high as she could and let it pour straight down her throat. Another fourth gone. She began tapping the screen of her phone with no real intent. She hadn't even noticed the green button she pressed on an incoming call. Before she knew it, she had pressed speaker as well and a soft voice was coming through.

"Santana? Are you there?"

She began to choke so there was no pretending she wasn't.

"Santana. Please."

…

"Merry Christmas, Brittany." She could hear her gasp on the other end and…sniffle? Was she crying? Had she made her cry? How many times had she cried over Santana since she had left? She clenched the bottle in her hand tightly to try to divert the pain from her heart to anywhere else. She then realized what was in the bottle and instantly felt ashamed of what she was doing and put the bottle on the nightstand. Brittany took a deep breath before answering.

"You left me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Without a goodbye. You just left me."

"I know, Brit. I was wrong."

"Are you in Tribeca?" Santana laughed even though she knew she shouldn't.

"No. I'm not in Tribeca."

"Then come home." Her voice was serious.

"Britt, I can't come home."

"Why not? Did you find a better place to live? Do you have a job? Are you happy? Is there… somebody there?"

"What! No! I'm alone. I'm just… I can't come back to Li-"

"Santana! Stop it! Come home now. You left for no reason. And everyone is worried. Everyone. Hiding that part of you wasn't cowardly but what you're doing now? It's... You didn't run away from the pain. You're still hurting and now, so is everyone else. I told you it would get better and you didn't even give it a chance!" Her voice softened. She had never sounded so deflated. "San, I love you."

"I love you too, Brittany." Her voice cracked. This wasn't supposed to happen. There was no reason for Brittany to have called back after her earlier call had been ignored. Puck must have told her about the text. I'll kill him, she thought to herself. You have to be alive to kill someone, she thought again.

"Just come home. I miss you."

…

"Santana? Santana!"

"I'm- I'm here. Britt. I'm here. I'll see you soon, okay? I'll come home."

"Soon? You promise?"

"I love you, Britt. I promise. Good night." She ended the call without waiting for a response. She opened the text screen as quickly as possible as her eyes blurred. "cjangr if plans. hosputal. Find me"

She dialed the 3 digits, pressed dial, and waited.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I've ingested a lot of vodka spiked with prescription painkillers and I need an ambulance at some hotel an hour north of Lima. Fast."

She forced herself to get outside into the cold air to try to keep herself awake. She collapsed to the icy concrete and gripped the wrought iron banister.

"Miss? Are you still there? Miss? Help is on the way. Can you tell me your name, miss?"

She pressed the phone to her face. It took effort to speak.

"My name is Santana. Yours?"

"We have an ambulance on its way, Santana. Can you tell me the name of the hotel please?"

She squinted at the blinking sign. She hadn't noticed the name before but it was blazingly bright at that moment

"I think it says The Guardian."

She could hear the operator typing it in. Her face felt hot even though it was below 30 degrees on the balcony and she was wearing nothing more than skin tight jeans and a tank top. Her eyes refused to stay open any longer.

"Okay. We have your location, honey. Just stay with me, okay? Just stay with me."

"Mmhhmm. You still didn't tell me your name."

"My name is Brittany."

Santana couldn't resist the urge to laugh.

"Of course it is. Well, don't worry, Brittany. I'm staying. I promise you I'm staying."