A/N: So after Tuesday's episode, Mash-Off, I just had a lot of feelings. And I wanted to express them in story-form. This is what I imagine Santana was feeling and thinking in the last few minutes, plus I added in some extra stuff - like what happened between her seeing the tape and the Rumor Has It/Someone Like You performance. I may add some more later, but I'm not sure. For now, this is a one-shot.

-o-o-o-

Santana Mother-Fucking Lopez. No one could hurt her. Especially not Finn Fish-Face Hudson. Right?

Except he knew something about her. Something she never wanted to tell. Something she was too afraid to tell. Something she had wished would go away since she first experienced it at age eight.

It was the reason she put up those walls. It was the reason that she refused to let anyone close to her. It was the reason she was a bitch. It was the reason she was so ashamed of herself that she could barely keep a single meal down.

She's gay.

And the fucking manatee knew it.

Worse than that, he told.

Everyone was going to know. Everyone was going to have their stupid suspicions confirmed. They would know she's a freak.

She sensed while the video played - while her life was torn away from her - that Burt, Sue and Will were staring at her. The office suddenly seemed to make her very claustrophobic. She couldn't stand their looks of pity; feigning sympathy, as if they could ever understand how horrible she felt.

"I can't believe this is happening!" Santana sobbed. "I haven't even told my parents yet!"

She took off down the hallways which had once awarded her strength, her body taking over while her mind tried to make some sense out of everything. None of this felt real.

It's not like she wanted to be closeted forever. Santana knew that no matter how much she wished her secret would go away - how much she wished she was straight - some day she would have to come out. Although the closet she had metaphorically stuck herself in was a pretty damn fabulous walk-in, brimming with style and oozing sex appeal, it was lined with sharp spikes and poisonous creatures, ready to strike down anyone who tried to get in - or out. The closet was a lonely place, and she didn't fool herself into thinking any differently. She wanted out - but not yet. She just wasn't ready. She couldn't take the whispers, the looks, the comments, the rejection. She wasn't prepared.

Fucking Finnocence. The stupid ape masquerading as McKinley High's golden boy had ruined her life in a matter of seconds, and although she wished it would blow over, she knew it wouldn't, and any glimmer of hope had been squelched when she saw the ad that was about to make its way onto television sets everywhere.

Great. Just. Fucking. Great. Every damn person in this god-forsaken place was going to know she was a freak, and there was nothing she could do about it. The one time she truly needed her power, she didn't have it. It had abandoned her when her "straight" disguise had been ripped from her skin so brutally in the hallways she once owned.

Hey Santana, why don't you just come out of the closet?

She shivered, remembering how the words had pierced through her soul. She had never felt such intense fear running through her veins as she did in that moment.

Maybe she was a coward, like Finn said, for projecting her feelings onto everyone else, but she couldn't help it. Santana hated herself for being gay, and she hated herself even more for pushing everyone away; for hurting everyone. She knew she'd been particularly harsh lately, but this? Did she really deserve this? Her whole life was crumbling before her and her heart felt as if it was exploding into a million pieces. She didn't know where to go or what to do. Everything changed and she couldn't even bring herself to pretend that she knew what to do.

She kept running until she found the quiet auditorium. Somehow, she managed comfort in the dark space, sinking into a chair in the far corner, away from the door so no one could see her. There she sobbed in silence, curled up in a ball, mentally beating herself up for making such a mess out of her life. She could scarcely breathe and her head was throbbing, until finally she passed out.

Brittany was the one who found her. Gently, she placed her hand on the Latina's shoulder, cooing, "San? San, wake up."

Reluctantly, brown eyes fluttered open, meeting with blue, and for a moment, she felt okay. Then she remembered. Her eyes burned with the threat of more tears.

"What's wrong?" Brittany asked. She wasn't used to seeing her girlfriend like this. In all their years of friendship, only a handful of times had she seen her so vulnerable.

Santana wracked her brain for a proper explanation, but all that managed to squeak its way out of her mouth was, "Some chick...overheard...and everyone's gonna know..."

"Know what?" The blond was pretty sure she knew, since the topic had always been touchy, but she didn't want it to be true. She hated the idea that being who she was could cause Santana this much pain.

"That I'm...that I'm gay," the brunette whispered in response. She took in a deep breath. "One of the candidates is using me to prove that Sue doesn't have any family values because she has a lesbian as head cheerleader. They're using me to ruin Sue's campaign, which means that tomorrow night, every fucking person with a TV is going to know, and it'll probably be on fucking YouTube, too, which means every fucking person in the world will probably know."

Brittany was going to reply that Santana should be proud of who she is, but as she opened her mouth, she heard a soft murmur.

"I'm scared."

She wrapped her arms around the smaller girl, who fell into the embrace. Tears dripped down Santana's stoic features, giving her away. All Brittany could think to say was, "No matter what, I'll always love you, Santana. You're awesome, and people will finally know that."

Silence struck for awhile, until Santana sighed, "My parents are going to hate me."

Tightening her hold, Brittany struggled for something comforting to say, but she had never imagined Santana could be broken like this, and she had never been good at putting puzzles back together.

Before any more words could be exchanged, the couple found themselves joined by Mercedes, who couldn't see the fragile state of her friends from her place across the room.

"What are you guys doing?" she exclaimed. "Mash-off is in twenty minutes and you're still in your cheer uniforms!"

Santana, who knew she should be on high-alert, but felt like her body was moving at a snail's pace, tried to fire back an insult, but all she could come up with was, "Calm your tits. We'll be ready when we're ready."

Mercedes rolled her eyes, walking closer. She began to see the tear stains on both her friends' faces and halted. "What happened to you two?"

"None of your business." Santana latched onto Brittany's hand and pulled her out of the room, muttering, "People in this fucking school need to mind their own fucking business."

Mercedes stared at them, perplexed. She had no idea Santana was capable of tears, unless alcohol was involved. "Be ready!" she called after them. It was all she could think of to add.

"Yeah, yeah," was the only response she got as the cheerleaders left.

Santana and Brittany found their way to the girl's locker room, where they had stashed their outfits. Brittany was lucky, she only had to fix her hair and dab on a touch of concealer before she was ready. Santana hadn't been so lucky. Her face was bright red - a dead giveaway that something was seriously wrong. Tears had dried to her cheeks, leaving marks. Even her supposedly waterproof eye makeup was running. She quickly scrubbed her face clean, pulling out her makeup bag and beginning the somewhat calming ritual of applying stage-worthy makeup.

Although she didn't need it, Brittany dabbed on more eyeshadow and mascara. Her hair took only moments, but she stalled in front of the mirror, wanting to stay by her best friend - her girlfriend. She knew better than to say anything and disrupt the calm. It would help nothing if the Latina were to start sobbing again.

Santana took in a breath, realizing how strange it felt that the world hadn't stopped when she saw the ad. It sure felt like it did. What felt like days spent in that auditorium was really only a couple hours, and she was certain time was moving even slower than her. It was like being on a really bad high; one that makes you paranoid and afraid.

It didn't take long for Santana to make herself not only presentable, but beautiful. She had been applying makeup for so long, it was second nature for her. She had it down to a science.

She moved quickly to release her tight high ponytail into a soft low side pony, pleased that it worked for her on the first try. She changed into her dress with three minutes to spare and they made their way back to the auditorium.

Mercedes' head snapped toward them as they walked in. She wanted to chastise them for cutting it so close, but instead she looked to Santana and asked, "Are you okay to do this?"

"I'm fine."

The absence of insult or even feigned certainty worried Mercedes greatly. Santana was obviously not fine. But they were shuffled onto the stage before she could determine what to say next.

Santana fell easily into the motions of the dance they had prepared, but written across her face were the telltale signs of the wrenching pain in her gut and chest. Her face contorted with emotions previously unfamiliar with expression.

She heard herself belting out, "Don't forget me, I beg..."

How true those words were. Her biggest insecurities held within a single line. Don't forget me. She hated the idea of being forgotten, being lost, being nobody. She couldn't handle the notion that perhaps this revelation would cause her to be forgotten; she would become nothing more than a label and the Santana everyone knew would be forever lost under its weight.

She sang the song for the residents of her state, for the teachers and students at McKinley, for her reputation...then she sang it for her parents, who reactions she had feared ever since admitting to herself her true feelings. They were strict and highly religious. She could practically hear them screaming at her in Spanish that she was an abomination, that she was going to rot in hell for what she was doing.

As she turned, brown eyed connected with blue, and she realized she was no longer singing for anyone but Brittany.

Her biggest fear was not being good enough. She starved herself; she got a boob job because she didn't feel good enough on the inside and so she did her best to compensate with her exterior. She put on a brave, strong face because no one was ever allowed to see the cowering little girl beneath. She was a bitch because if she pushed everyone away, no one could ever reject her. If she hid her true self with these venomous walls, she was safe.

Brittany was the only one who had ever broken through, and that absolutely terrified her. She was loved for who she was and she was adored for things she hated. Every piece of her that she had deemed unacceptable was not only accepted, but cherished and loved by a beautiful girl with a beautiful soul. And she didn't deserve it. What she deserved was a life of misery and loneliness, and it crippled her to imagine living that way, without her best friend, her first and only love.

She wasn't good enough. She felt like she was always on-edge, waiting to be discovered and abandoned. Brittany wasn't always the smartest girl, but she knew a lot of things others didn't because she allowed herself to see them. Santana couldn't fathom why she would waste her time with such a royal fuck-up. She'd been rejected before, and she could only wait until her only lifeline realized her mistake and rejected her again. Finn had been maddeningly right about that.

"Don't forget me, I beg!" she sang those words again, inwardly pleading with Brittany to remember how much they had managed to love each other, even when she inevitably left.

"I remember you said," she belted, noticing the beast moving to speak to his girlfriend from the corner of her eye. Mercedes sang her line, but that barely noticed, and as Santana moved to the front of the stage, she kept her eyes on Finn and Rachel. "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead..."

She barely had time to breathe before her feet landed on the ground beside the stage.

"What did you just say to her?" she screamed.

Finn looked at her, puzzled, as usual, and replied, "I said I thought you were great."

"No, you're lying." She was being irrational and paranoid, but she couldn't stop herself.

"No, he literally just said that," Rachel jumped in, unsure what the sudden conflict was about. This seemed different from their usual confrontations. More personal.

"Did you tell her too?" Santana accused, her voice cracking so slightly that only Brittany noticed.

"Santana-" Will attempted to interject.

"Everyone's gonna know now, because of you!" Santana cried.

"The whole school already knows, and you know what? They don't care," Finn tried, but the last sentiment was lost beneath Santana's outburst.

"Not just the school, you idiot! Everyone!"

"What are you talking-"

Finn's voice was halted by the rough sound of skin on skin; a small hand connecting with the ogre's face. Santana stared him down in silent rage. She could feel everyone gaping at them and she debated hitting him again, but she stopped herself when she heard Brittany's soft voice in her head.

"Stop the violence," the simple song rang through her skull, pleading with her to be the girl worthy of affection. She would have laughed if she wasn't so terrified. Although Brittany hadn't spoken, she could sense the sadness in her features.

Santana pulled back, still focused on Finnocence, glaring at him with the hate she usually reserved for herself. She found her way to her girlfriend and took her hand. The warmth of the fingers intertwining with her own drew her attention away long enough for her to silently plead with Brittany to leave with her. Too worried about the brunette to look back at her friends, the blond followed without a word.

The glee club was left still reeling in the silence of the auditorium, no one brave enough or stupid enough to chase after the girls.

As they disappeared into the hallways, Santana tried to regulate her breathing. The only sentence she could form was, "I'm sorry," to which she received only a nod and a squeeze of her hand, signaling that even if Brittany didn't like it, she understood, and she didn't hate her.

Yet, Santana sighed.

-o-o-o-

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