Chapter One

"Honey, you've got a package!"

My mom's voice filtered through my bedroom door. I glanced up from my textbook, mentally running through the possible things I could receive in the mail. I don't think I had recently ordered anything from Amazon..

I shifted, rolled off my bed, and walked out of my room. I could hear my mom clattering around downstairs, doing whatever it was she did. She was probably cleaning things that didn't really need to be cleaned while drinking her eighth glass of wine.

The box was resting on the bottom step. It was plain and brown, and even before I read the shipping label I knew where it was from. I let out a little sigh and picked it up. It was remarkably light.

"I'm never going to stop getting these," I said, to no one in particular. My mom was in the dining room, arranging the dishes in the china cabinet.

"Oh, really, dear?" My mother said, with her back to me.

I looked at her for a second before I just shook my head. I knew she wasn't listening to me.

I started tugging at the clear packing tape that held down the folds of the cardboard box. It made soft ripping noises in the relative quiet of the living room.

I didn't expect to see the little plush unicorn there. It was mixed in with a few items of clothing, a CD with a cracked case, and a notebook with a white crease down the front of it. The unicorn was white with a rainbow mane and huge blue eyes.

It isn't mine. It's Santana's. It's something Brittany gave Santana a while ago.

I didn't really acknowledge the feeling I got when I saw the thing. It was something Santana had kept close to her for the first few weeks at Atherton, but gradually it migrated to the space between her mattress and the wall, shoved down there – either accidentally or on purpose – and forgotten.

Clearly Santana had forgotten about it, or else she would have taken it with her when she left. Unlike me, Santana had known she was leaving Atherton at the break. I didn't. So when I made the decision to transfer back to McKinley after the New Year, my parents had had to get the staff at Atherton to pack and ship my stuff to me.

There are things I'm certain I'll never get back. And then there are things I never expected to get in the first place.

Santana's Brittany unicorn is one of them.

"That's cute, dear. What's his name?" I looked up at my mother, who was hovering near me. I could smell the scent of red wine on her, more overwhelming than her flowery perfume. She was wearing a longsleeved dress with flower print, and her hair was up in a perfect bun. Her face was flushed and her eyes were glassy.

"Mother, really?" I lifted an eyebrow. She always talked to me like this, patronizing – as if I was still a child.

I think it's easier for her that way, to still imagine me a little kid. Better than the alternative.

She made a little noise in her throat and turned away from me, and I immediately regretted being so cold to her. It would have been kinder to play along, act like the toy was something I treasured. It would have made her happy.

I'm not very good at that lately, making my mother happy. Or anyone, really.

There was a brief moment where I considered calling her back, trying to connect to her by pretending to be something I'm not. Part of me really wanted to, since it was the pattern I had been clinging to with my parents for so long. But the moment passed, and I didn't. My mother drifted back into the dining room and it felt like there was a widening gulf between us. I didn't try to stop it.

I walked back up to my room, holding the box in my arms. I sorted through the clothes and hung up the ones that were clean. I flipped through the notebook and threw it away. The CD was Santana's, so I opened a drawer in my desk and put it in there with the rest of the things that were hers that I still had.

I held the unicorn, debating. Really, I had a few options. I could put it in the desk drawer and wait to give it to Santana, just like I was holding on to the rest of her things. Or I could give it to Brittany. She might want it back.

I ran my thumb over the embroidered eye, feeling the texture against my skin. I briefly brought the toy to my face and inhaled, and closed my eyes when I was met with the smell that reminded me of Santana. I dropped it away from my face and sighed. I walked over to my bed and sat it down on top of my pillows.

It's weird and twisted, I know. I probably shouldn't be cuddling up to a stuffed animal that another person gave the person I love, before we were ever involved. The unicorn obviously represented the feelings Brittany had for Santana, or vice versa. It was special to both of them.

I guess I'm a masochist. Well, no, I don't guess. I know I am. Why else would I have put myself in this situation, again?

I spent last year watching the person I love fall in love with another person. That would be Finn and Rachel. And the whole time, I had a bastard baby growing in my belly and I felt trapped and chained to a life I felt I had no way out of. The idea of giving the baby up for adoption really only came to me when I realized I had no other option – because I liked my life, I liked being sixteen and popular and pretty, I liked being a teenager. I wasn't ready to be somebody's mom. And when Finn finally realized the baby wasn't his, and he fell into Rachel's arms, that sort of was the final straw for me. No way could I raise a baby with Noah Puckerman. I didn't want to raise one with Finn, either, but Finn was the better of the two choices.

I was glad then and I'm glad now I made that decision. My daughter is being raised by a responsible and successful woman, and she'll have a life I could never provide for her. My head knows all of these things, and logically it should make it okay. But everything happened so quickly, even though it felt like I was pregnant forever. Sometimes my heart still feels like it's playing catch up with my mind, and it aches and hurts and misses the baby I never got to hold or love.

I don't really dwell on it. I honestly think my mother thinks more about my daughter than I do. Sometimes, at night, when I go to the bathroom or go to get a drink of water, I can hear her crying in her room. At first I thought it was because she misses my dad, or maybe even my sister, who almost never visits. But once I saw her door cracked open and I looked in, and she was clutching a tiny teddy bear she'd bought for Beth before I knew she wanted me to keep her. She hadn't really had a chance to give the bear to Beth, and I think it bothers her.

We don't talk about it. We don't talk about anything important in my family.

What was I saying? Oh, right, about me being a masochist. See, I watched Finn fall in love with Rachel, and I was helpless to stop it. And even though I wasn't really in love with Finn, I did love him. It hurt to see him find happiness with someone else.

I love Santana. I'm more in love with Santana than I've ever been with anyone in my life, and it's just psychotic for me to feel that way when not only have I always known she was in love with someone else, but that she was too afraid and delusional to admit it to anyone, including herself.

I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess. I know that the situation is a clusterfuck and one day it's going to blow up in my face.

I'm a little used to that by now, though. It won't surprise me when it happens.

I checked the time on my phone and sighed, realizing it was getting late. Just the fact that my mother was still downstairs, pretending to dust or clean or whatever, meant she probably would spend the rest of the night chugging wine from the bottle and crying. I'll wake up tomorrow and she'll be passed out somewhere weird, like in the kitchen in front of the oven or in the bathtub.

I don't blame her. I guess it's hard to be judgmental about anyone when I've made my share of mistakes in life, and I'm not even an adult yet.

I closed my textbook and slid it into my backpack, zipped it up, and walked over to set it by my door.

I clicked the lamp off in my room and pulled my comforter down, and slid beneath the blankets.

Now, in the dark, I didn't feel so weird about holding the plush unicorn against my face and smelling it. It helped me feel closer to Santana, somehow. I knew that Santana had probably done the exact same thing to it that I was doing, over countless nights. It was something that Santana loved, and so I loved it, too.

Thanks to Santana, getting dressed for school is now something of an Olympic event. Before, whenever I went to McKinley, I was on the Cheerios and therefore had a mandated wardrobe. And while I was pregnant it wasn't like I had a whole lot of options. But my regular wardrobe had been mostly discarded over the months I spent as Santana's roommate, and now it felt like every day was a constant struggle to choose something that sent the right message.

It was easy before, because my clothes were all just different variations of the same thing. A long skirt, a loose blouse, and a cardigan. The colors, fabrics, and print might vary, but generally they were all the same. Now, I had to choose between skirts – not the kind that went all the way to the ankle – or jeans, shorts, capris. I even had some khakis and slacks. Then there was the whole shirt situation. You never really know which is going to be the right choice. A baby tee with a v-neck in a pastel color? A regular t-shirt with a college logo on it? A double layer of tanktops? The choices are endless, really.

I shouldn't have let her throw away my clothes. This is just frustrating.

I wore dark skinny jeans and a pale pink t-shirt that made me feel like it was hugging me in all the wrong places. I still felt a little awkward in my body since I had Beth, and it was almost a year ago. Being pregnant changes you – no matter how old you are. My boobs are bigger and more saggy, and I doubt they'll ever go back to the way they were. My hips are definitely wider. My thighs are chubbier. And I have this fine networking of stretch marks over my lower stomach and my hips that nothing will ever change.

It's like a brand, applied directly to my skin, for the whole world to see. I might eventually drop the extra pounds and I could get cosmetic surgery to return my teenage boobs to me, but I'll never be able to get rid of the stretch marks. I had a few before I got pregnant, I think every girl does, but the ones I have now are very indicative of pregnancy. And I read in a magazine that even plastic surgery can't do much for stretch marks. I'm doomed to have them for the rest of my life.

I guess it's not that big of a deal, if I can find people who don't care or don't notice. Santana never seemed to. She was always too preoccupied with paying attention to other parts of my body, but I still felt gross and awkward whenever I felt her hands running over the places I knew I had them.

It's different with Santana, though. It could be because she's a girl, and I assume she'd be less judgmental of things like that. But then again, that doesn't make sense, because girls are probably doubly judgmental about body issues like that. And I know Santana notices girls' bodies and judges them about them. Last year, her and Brittany gave Mercedes hell about losing weight so she could stay on the Cheerios. Santana is like a mini-Sue when it comes to counting calories, carbs, and maintaining the proper muscle:fat ratio.

I've even heard rumors that Santana is anorexic. That was last year, while I was pregnant and I felt as fat as a cow, though. I didn't really blame Santana when I heard the rumors because I felt disgusting and I could only imagine what I would do if I had control over my body and keeping it thin. I know now that Santana isn't anorexic.. she just has a skewed idea of healthy food intake, and that's both because of Sue's brainwashing and because of society.

I'm not as a picky about stuff like that nowadays. I try to find pleasure in simple things, and food is one of them. I like food. Hey, who doesn't? That doesn't mean I don't still feel strange when I look at myself in the mirror sometimes. Like maybe that isn't my body reflected back at me. Where did my body go? It hasn't felt right since before I got pregnant.

I managed to avoid my mother on the way downstairs and out of my house. I glimpsed her lying on the couch in the living room, a wet rag over her face and a glass with water on the coffee table. I didn't know if she was awake or asleep, and I didn't bother to check. She'd be miserable and hungover so there wasn't a point, anyway.

I drove to school and tried to mentally prepare myself for the day. It was only Wednesday, so I knew I had to get through today and two more days before I had the weekend.

I used to love going to school. I anticipated it almost the same way some people might anticipate getting money or jewelry. That was when I was still young and obsessed with popularity and labels and had everything figured out.

Something they don't tell you: the older you get, the less you know, and the more you realize that, the worse it is.

Why doesn't anybody explain that to you? I think it would have helped me out a lot to hear it at fifteen.

Not that it would have made a difference, I'm sure.

I pulled into the parking lot at McKinley and just watched the students going about their business. It was early spring and everything was so green it almost hurt to look at it. The football players were goofing off in one corner of the parking lot, and another group of kids were laughing at a Youtube video playing on somebody's phone.

It doesn't feel like I belong here anymore. I feel sort of like a ghost, someone who just drifts through the hallways and exists, never really touching anything.

I got out of my car and grabbed my backpack. I mentally made a beeline to the doors that would avoid direct contact with anyone who might want to talk to me.

"Hey, Quinn!"

No such luck. I glanced over to the form next to me.

It was Brittany.

"Good morning."

She smiled at me and I had to smile back at her. She looked cute and glossy and put together this morning, in her Cheerios outfit, with her hair up in a ponytail. It gave me a slight pang to see her wearing it, when I wasn't, but I ignored it.

"Did you do anything fun yesterday?" Brittany asked.

I shook my head no, and we entered the school building together. "What about you?" I asked.

Brittany tilted her head and seemed to think about it. "I gave Lord Tubbington a bath. He got a little grumpy about it, but I think it's because he's going through the DTs and doesn't know how to cope."

I smiled at Brittany, not entirely sure if she was being serious or joking. She showed me her forearms and they had a few ragged-looking cat scratches on them. I made a grimace. "Ouch."

"Yeah, he was being rude. I forgive him though." Brittany scanned the hallway, looking for someone. "Oh, there's Artie. I told him I'd show him how to play Bingo this morning. Bye!"

Just like that, she was gone.

Things were awkward between Brittany and me for the first few weeks I came back to McKinley. But Brittany has a way of bulldozing past awkward barriers and it hadn't taken us long to find a rhythm again.

Just like when I first went to Atherton and I had to learn how to be friends with Santana separate from Brittany, I had had to learn how to be friends with Brittany separate from Santana. It was much, much easier with Brittany. She was simple and straight forward, and we had just enough in common that things were easy.

Sometimes I think she goes out of her way to be friendly towards me, though. Like she wants to make sure I realize she's not mad at me. Which is fine. If I could think of a way to do that to her without being too obvious or too weird, I'd do the same thing.

Everyone in the glee club is a little weird around me now, though. They all talk to me in quiet voices and with soft, guarded faces, like they're afraid I'm going to have a mental break down at any moment. I could understand them acting like that around me while I was pregnant – I mean, I was completely hormonal and homicidal. Now, though, it's just annoying.

It's not like I'm the only one who lost Santana.

We all did.

And I really don't think any of them know about me and Santana being more than friends, besides Brittany and Rachel. Well, which means that it's really up in the air about what the other kids know. Brittany's mind is a little fragmented and it's possible she could have said anything. And Rachel is a huge blabbermouth. I wonder if she told Finn.

I don't care. It's not something I intend to worry about right now.

And if anyone was going to say anything about it, I imagine they would have done so already.

The next person who decided to try to talk to me was Mercedes. She is both easier to deal with than Brittany, and also harder. Mercedes has a brain that follows a path of logic that I can usually relate to, so our conversations tend to make more sense than any I have with Brittany. But Mercedes isn't as uncomplicated as Brittany, which creates unique problems between us.

"Hey, girl," Mercedes said, in that soft, delicate tone of voice that practically everyone talks to me in now.

She watched me shuffle textbooks into my locker. It was barren. I hadn't put up any of the usual things because it felt weird to come here, mid-year, and put up pictures of me in a cheerleading magazine when I'm not a cheerleader anymore. I didn't want to put up pictures of me, Santana and Brittany because that was just too painful. And the one picture of glee club I have is a little useless, since three of the members aren't attending McKinley anymore.

"Hey." I didn't look at her. I usually didn't try to drag out conversations with her.

"Are you coming to glee today after school?"

I shrugged. I wasn't sure yet.

"What about the God Squad?"

Mercedes had opened a club for Christians early in the year. I think she and the new guy, Sam, were the only two people in it.

I shook my head.

"Are you sure?" Mercedes bit her lip and gave me a heavy look. "We'd really like to have you—"

"Thank you." I cut her off, and then closed the door to my locker. "But I don't have time."

Mercedes was quiet for a minute, and then she nodded.

Rachel had also tried to get me to join the celibacy club again, now that Miss Pillsbury was captaining it.

I'd pretty much rather punch myself in the face.

I gave Mercedes a small little half smile, to let her know I wasn't just brushing her off. Well, I was, but it's not personal. I really don't have time.

I barely make it to glee club anymore, and really, that's just because it would be more stress not to go. I make an appearance twice or three times a week, and it keeps the glee kids off my back.

I don't sing anymore, though. They somehow got themselves through regionals – I really don't know how, because they didn't have me, Santana, or Kurt – and were preparing for nationals in New York.

I can't bring myself to think about preforming. I'm not going to say that the idea is traumatic for me or anything, but let's be honest. Last year, I went into labor at regionals. This year, our sectionals with the Atherton show choir ended in Santana going into some kind of emotional coma for weeks.

It also reminded me too much of her.

I walked to my first class and Mercedes drifted away.

I spend most of my days like this, now. Making superficial conversations with people that I used to care about, trying to figure out a way to get from one hour to the next. Evading the worried looks and platitudes, the whispers and the concern.

I was left pretty much in peace until lunch time. Then the only person at this school who seems determined to grind me down into nothingness found me.

"Teen Mom!"

I let out a resolute sigh and turned around to face her. I was clutching a lunch tray that had a sloppy serving of chicken and dumplings and a roll on a styrofoam platter.

"Coach." I tried to be polite, even though there wasn't any point. These exchanges were never pleasant.

Sue Sylvester sneered at me, disdain written all over her face. "I don't see how you have the hubris to walk around my school after the indignation you've wrought on yourself. You should be hiding underneath the rock that houses the other social rejects, like those who participate in the A/V club."

I nodded, brooding in silence. These things were better if I didn't allow myself to be provoked.

"I still can't believe how I went out of my way for you – and for what! You're ungrateful and mentally unsound. I should petition to have you committed."

I pressed my lips together and repressed a sigh.

"Sue!"

For the first time in a long time, I was grateful to hear Mr. Schue's voice ring out over the din of the lunchroom.

Coach Sylvester turned to him, and I quickly walked away.

I tried to find an empty table, but there wasn't one. Reluctantly I wandered over to where Brittany was seated with a handful of girls from the Cheerios, and also Tina and Rachel.

It was still weird to me to see Cheerios eating with people like Rachel, but I guess things were a little bit more relaxed.

Maybe it was only because I was the captain that such strict lines were held between the classes of students.

"Hello, Quinn." Rachel was giving me her patently annoying smile.

I nodded to her and started shaking up my juice container.

"Are you coming to glee club today?" Rachel asked.

I narrowed my eyes and tried not to sigh. "I might."

Brittany looked at me over a mouthful of applesauce. "Are you going to see Santana today?"

It got really quiet when she asked.

Tina and Rachel both looked at me, almost on bated breath.

I glanced around at the three of them, trying to digest the sudden silence, and then nodded. "Yes, I am."

Brittany just watched my face, her own expression open and curious. Sometimes I wish I could read her mind. Well – scratch that. Somehow I think being able to read Brittany's mind might be extremely confusing and slightly frightening. I just mean, I guess I wish she and I had the sort of relationship where I just knew what her faces meant, or that asking her wouldn't end up in her giving me a slew of words that tangled together into sentences that made no sense to me.

"I think it's so nice that you're so devoted to her," Rachel said finally.

In true Rachel fashion, she said probably the most obnoxious and untimely thing. I didn't stop myself from rolling my eyes and scoffing this time.

"Yeah. Tell her we all miss her." Tina said, without looking at me.

I wanted to tell her that if they wanted Santana to get a message, they very well could tell her themselves.

I didn't, though. Being hostile wasn't worth it.

"Tell her I love her." Brittany said quietly.

I looked at her and tried to read her expression again.

She was staring down at her tray and wasn't eating anymore. Her face looked a little downcast, but that could mean so many things. I try not to put my own interpretation on how Brittany feels, because I'm often wrong. Her downcast face could just mean she was contemplating the likelihood of a dragon battling against Pikachu and who would win.

"She knows that already, Britt." I said into the tense silence around us.

Brittany nodded and broke open her dinner roll.

"I'd come see her myself, but," Brittany looked up at me and her eyes were hesitant. "You know. Her dad.."

I nodded. I wasn't exactly sure what the situation was, but Santana's dad really didn't like it when Brittany visited.

It was hard to find a time around his schedule, because he worked as a surgeon for the E.R. at the hospital where Santana was. So he was unpredictable and he often checked in on Santana during his shift.

In the beginning, Brittany hadn't cared. She'd been almost as reluctant as me to spend any time away from Santana. But one too many encounters with Doctor Lopez had scared Britt away, and I didn't blame her.

He is kind of intimidating.

"I'll text you and let you know if he's working tonight, if you want to come up." I offered.

Brittany nodded.

I was grateful when lunchtime ended. It was exhausting trying to find ways to talk to these people, who used to be my closest friends.

I didn't end up going to the glee club meeting. It was all full of the excitement of nationals and I knew I'd spend the whole time impatient, ready to leave so I could go visit Santana. The first few weeks back in Lima, I hadn't spent any time away from her that I possibly could. Eventually, though, as the weeks turned to months, I realized I couldn't spend every second cooped up with her in a hospital room.

It wasn't healthy, and people were beginning to notice.

I didn't really care about that, but my mother started talking about how I might need therapy and so I made myself spend time at glee club and occasionally come home for dinner, just to give the pretense that I wasn't completely obsessed with my 'friend' in the hospital.

It definitely wasn't fooling any of my friends, but it kept my mom from calling in an army of shrinks.

By now, Lima General is a hospital I'm intimately familiar with. Santana has been here since mid-December, and it's the end of March. Next week is spring break.

Some of the nurses and aides recognize me. They give me friendly little waves and nods whenever I walk by.

It's hard for me to be here, because of Beth. It's harder because of Santana, though.

She's in the long term I.C.U. wing. I think if it weren't for her dad being a surgeon at this hospital they probably would have moved her to a facility that provides care for people in her condition for the long run.

I knocked briskly on her hospital door and then opened it. I knew there probably wouldn't be anybody inside.

Even after all these months, seeing Santana lying on a hospital bed still ties my stomach into nauseous knots. She's only gotten smaller and more fragile as time went on. Her skin is now pale, no longer really tan, and her hair is brittle and seems less full. Her eyes look sunken and she has pallid bluish circles beneath them.

It's her lips that bother me the most, though. They're probably the most striking feature she has, next to her eyes. And they've always been plump and healthy looking, naturally a vibrant shade of pink. Now they're pale and colorless, and they look like they're shrinking on her face.

It doesn't matter to me, though. I walked over to her and sat my backpack down on one of the chairs they have pulled up next to her.

I take a moment to check my cell phone, send my mom a text, and make sure nothing too important is going to happen in the next few hours. Then I turn my phone on silent and shove it deep inside my backpack.

I carefully slid my body into the bed next to Santana's, and noticed how it was easier to do now than it had been a week ago. Santana was losing weight, even though the doctors promised they were giving her enough food and muscle stimulation. It was obvious just by looking at her, but even more so lying next to her on the thin, hard mattress of her hospital bed.

I didn't hesitate to pull the blankets up around us and shift until I was curled against her. She didn't smell like Santana anymore; instead, she smelled like iodine, the anti-microbial soap they use to sponge bathe her, and the weird, peculiar scent of hospital that is slightly nauseating.

I was careful with her, because she had a series of IVs attached to her left side. I always slid in beside her on the right, but I didn't want to pull out a catheter or mess with the monitors that tracked her brain and organ functions.

I spent a moment just looking at her face, and watching her. She looked like she was sleeping, and most of the time I convinced myself that she was. It made it easier to get through the day, to think that she's just asleep and will eventually wake up.

I rested my head on her shoulder and just listened to the way her chest breathed in and out, and the way her heart pumped. Everything sounded normal inside of her. I could hear the persistent beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor and the other gadgets that translated what was left of Santana's life into mechanical data.

It didn't take me long to fall asleep. I wrapped my hand around hers and held it while I drifted off.

"I know. But it's not enough." I watched Santana get into her car quickly and drive away.

I watched her drive away and thought that I would do whatever I could to fix it between us when we had the time.

Turns out, we wouldn't get any more time.

I didn't see her crash. She was too far ahead of me, and it was full dark by the time I pulled onto the highway. Santana always does drive pretty crazy when she's upset.

I should have remembered that. I should have stopped her.

I might not have even seen her car if it wasn't for a rabbit darting across the road. I had tapped my breaks in order to avoid it, and something about the way my headlines reflected on the snowy highway cast a reflection on the trunk of the car sticking out of the side of the road.

I might have kept on driving, if I hadn't recognized the bumper sticker.

I think about that all the time. I think about how a crazy string of events led me to finding Santana wrecked into that snow bank, and how if I hadn't, she would probably be dead.

I skid my car to a halt, my stomach jumping in terror at what I saw. I didn't want to believe it. My mind was furious and blank all at once. It felt wooden and automatic for me to put my car in park, turn on my flashers, and then slowly open the door and walk back up the highway.

The closer I got, the more sure I was. My heart felt paralyzed in my chest and I had to swallow back wave after wave of nausea and panic. With shaky, trembling fingers, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

"9-1-1 operator, what's your emergency?"

"There's been an accident."

"What type of accident?"

"A car wreck."

"Are there any injuries?"

I had to swallow on that one. "I don't know."

"All right miss. What's your location?"

I did my best to describe to them where I was. The whole time I was just staring at the car. It was dark and quiet. Too quiet, really.

"Are you able to check the car for occupants?"

I don't know why I felt so weirdly calm. I walked closer towards the front of the car, and had to use my fists to shove snow away from the driver's door. The front half of the car was wrapped around the guard rail, and snow covered the roof.

I pressed a hand to my mouth to steady myself when I finally saw Santana inside. Her head was lolled to one side and she was clearly unconscious. I knocked on the glass and nothing happened.

"Yes, the driver's inside but she's…" What? She's what? "She's hurt I think."

"Okay. Don't try to move her. Paramedics are on their way."

I hung up the phone and began to furiously kick and dig at the snow, trying to get it away from Santana's door.

Once I found the door handle, I pulled on it, only to find that the door was locked.

"Fuck!" I screamed, even though nobody was there.

Santana turned to look at me, slowly. There was blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth and her eyes were clouded over. The sight made my heart pound and my stomach clench.

"It's not enough, Quinn," She said, and I could hear her perfectly even though the car door was locked and the window was up. "You don't love me enough."

"No," I whispered, horrified. "No, I do love you enough, Santana. I do!"

"It's not enough.."

I was jolted awake by the firm hand of someone pressing against my shoulder.

By old habit, I went absolutely still instead of flailing out. My heart was pounding in my ribcage and my lungs were constricted around sobs that wanted to fall out, but couldn't.

I looked up at the face of Jackie, one of the nurses that regularly attended Santana.

"It's getting late," She said, apologetically.

I just nodded and rubbed my eyes with one palm.

Jackie was a middle-aged woman with curly red hair and bright lipstick. She always reminded me a little bit of Lucille Ball.

"Dr. Lopez came in about an hour ago." Jackie told me.

I looked at her and then shrugged, slowly.

It was creepy to know he saw me sleeping in the same bed with his daughter, but then, I'm sure it's not the first time. He was always polite and cordial to me, even though he was brusque and distant. I had seen him be downright rude to Brittany though, and I wanted to try to make sure I never got on those terms with him.

"Thanks." My voice cracked because I had been sleepy.

I didn't feel rested. In fact, I felt more exhausted than I did before I went to sleep.

I had that same dream almost every night. It was a pretty accurate memory of what had happened the day I left Atherton, but of course Santana hadn't looked at me or talked to me. No, she'd stayed motionless and still on the other side of the window, and I spent twenty minutes sobbing and pounding against the glass, trying to get her to wake up.

I had felt more powerless and hopeless in those twenty minutes than I ever have in my entire life. I couldn't stand the thought that Santana was slowly suffocating, or maybe bleeding to death, or hell, even just dying, only about a foot away from me and I had no way to get to her.

They ended up having to use a torch and some giant machine to get Santana's door off. I watched them load her up onto a gurney and her body disappeared inside the EMT.

I knew, then, that she was still alive. They told me that much. I didn't find out exactly what was wrong with her until much later, and that was only because I had gone a little crazy on Santana's mother.

Jackie checked Santana's chart, scribbled something down, and then threw me a tired smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, kiddo." She turned to go.

I sighed and looked at Santana once again. I waited until I heard the heavy hospital door click shut before I reached up and drew my fingertips along the definition of her lips, tracing them gently.

Her skin was cold. It always is. It's still a bit of a shock to me, but I'm getting used to it. I ran my fingers over her cheekbone and then down her jawline, finally brushing against her neck. I pressed my fingertips against her pulse point and felt the blood thrum there in a steady rhythm.

It was reassuring, even though the computers beeped out the regularity of her heartbeat. I still liked being able to feel that it was working, instead of just seeing or hearing it.

"I have to go," I murmured to her. The words were so quiet they were like a whisper. "I'll come back tomorrow." I shifted away from her and stood up.

I looked down at her on the bed. Her head was slightly tilted to one side, and the fingers of her hand were spread apart on the sheet. I reached down and tugged the blankets back up around her shoulders, and then smoothed them down.

"How much longer, Santana?" I asked, even though I knew she wouldn't answer me. "This is getting really hard for me, here. I need you to wake up soon."

She gave no indication that she heard me. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, gently, careful I didn't leave any lip gloss smudges. I squeezed her hand one more time. "I love you," I whispered it to her.

I turned to go. I checked again to make sure her cell phone was plugged in and within easy reach, right by her bedside table.

It's silly, I know. But I imagine if she woke up from a three month long coma that she'd want to be able to get in touch with people as soon as possible.

Funny, how that fragile little device – nothing but plastic, glass, and wires, really – made it through the car wreck unscathed. But Santana, who is the strongest, most stubborn person I know, is rendered helpless and barely alive because of some glancing blow against her head.

It's ironic, wouldn't you say?

I really hate irony.

A/N: Hey, guys! Here it is. Sorry it took so long. I'd be happy to answer any questions you have on my tumblr - missmandamargo dot tumblr dot com.