This fiction is for my best friend, to who I am really really soory, I completely screwed up and I'm a total idiot and I know sorry isn't good enough but I really hope you forgive me! I hope you like the story, I like writing it! Updates could take a while since the chapters are pretty long, but I'll try not to take too long! :D Please review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot line.

Chapter 1

I flopped down on the couch in the small apartment I shared with my mother and three little brothers. I was so tired it was unbelievable. I guess that's what happens when I stay out all night partying. You would think that by now I would know that when Puck, my boyfriend, said we would only stay a couple hours, he means only a couple hours after midnight. It didn't help that in Glee Mr Schue had been yelling at everyone for God-knows-what. It was probably something to do with Rachel. It's always something to do with Rachel. All everybody cares about now is Rachel, ever since she joined Glee last semester. I'm so sick of it! I'm so sick of her.

"Santana Lopez, get in here now!" yelled my mother from the other room. I winced as the loud noise made the pain in my head practically double. My mother was the most amazing woman in the world, and I love her to bits. But sometimes I really hate her. She was probably going to yell at me about last night, or rather, this morning. She hates it when I come home drunk; she says it's bad for my health. Says her, who drinks and smokes. At least I'm smart enough to stay away from cigarettes. And I don't do drugs, though most people think I do. I care about my body enough to not ruin it with drugs and smoking.

"What mom?" I sighed, dragging myself off the couch and trudging into the other room, where my mother was sat at the table, ironically with a cigarette and a glass of wine. She looked up from the magazine she was reading and smiled. I could tell that this wasn't her first glass from the slightly crazy look in her eyes. I knew there was something really wrong; no matter what, she never drank anything even slightly alcoholic before half past eight. It wasn't even four yet.

"Come sit with me, honey." She slurred, lifting her glass to her lips, ready to take a swig. I darted forwards to stop her.

"I think you've had enough, mom. What's up?" I asked, trying to disguise the rising anxiety in my voice. She stared at the glass as I took it out of her hands and set it down on the counter behind me. The wine sloshed over the side of the glass, spilling onto my hand, so I turned to wash it off. When I turned back, I was shocked to see the tears streaming down her face. I quickly wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly, waiting for the tears to stop. I knew not to say anything. I had learnt from experience that if I asked, she wouldn't tell me.

"I'm sorry Santana honey. Really sorry. It's just…" she trailed off with a fresh round of tears. I hadn't ever seen her like this before. Sure, I'd seen her crying, but I had never seen her this bad. I felt the tears soaking into my sweater, and silently cursed. This was my favourite sweater! Then I mentally shook myself. How selfish, worrying about a sweater when my mother is literally breaking down in my arms.

"Mom, what's wrong?" I asked gently, hoping for a straight answer.

"Your father died, Santana." I heard what she said, but I couldn't believe it. My father couldn't have died. Well, he's had cancer for three years now, and he's gotten worse and worse since he was diagnosed, so technically speaking he could have died. But he was my dad! My dad can't be dead! Nobody's dad dies when they're still a teenager! This isn't fair! I didn't even realise I was crying until I felt my mom wipe a tissue across my cheeks. Suddenly sober, she had stopped crying and was hugging me tightly, like I had been hugging her only a few moments ago. But, unlike her, I pulled away.

"No, no no no no! Mom, he can't be dead! He can't be dead!" I cried, pushing her back when she attempted to pull me back into a hug.

"Santana, I know this is hard, but-" she started to say, but I cut her off.

"No, mom! He's not dead! He's my dad! He told me he would always be here for me! He's can't be dead" she stopped trying to hug me when I shoved her away for the third time, instead just standing there, looking at me pityingly.

"I'm so sorry honey, but you knew this would happen sooner or-"

"No! Shut up mom, SHUT UP! HE'S NOT DEAD! You're a fucking liar! My father is still in the hospital! He's still fighting, mom! One day he's going to get better, okay? He promised me he would get better!" I screamed, now sobbing uncontrollably. She just stared at me, letting me get it all out, which angered me more. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was hit her. That smug cow, it was her fault he was dead! He was only diagnosed from cancer after she asked for a divorce. If she hadn't been so selfish he would never have gotten cancer in the first place! The doctors said he had had it for a long time, that it had nothing to do with stress or anything, but I know they were wrong. It was all her fault.

Without thinking, I reached out and slapped her. My first feeling was satisfaction. It just felt so good to get it out. But that quickly changed to horror as my anger evaporated and I suddenly realised what I had done. I had slapped my mother. I had slapped my mother! I slapped a hand across my mouth, shocked and ashamed at myself. She just stared at me, open mouthed, slowly bringing her hand up to rest on her cheek which was slowly turning red. It felt like time had suddenly slowed down, that we were all moving in slow motion, as my three little brothers, Jonah, Lucas and Peter, ran in to see what all the shouting was about.

I slowly looked from my mother to my brothers and back to my mother. From the confused but happy looks on their faces I knew she hadn't told them yet. And I knew there was no way I could stand to hear her say it again, so I did the only thing I could think of. I ran out of the house, down the street, to the park.

An hour later I was still in the park, sat alone on a cold metal bench, beginning to regret running out without a coat on. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. Hearing a high pitched giggle, I turned to see a little girl and what looked like her father running around with a little dog. Suddenly I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. Covering my face with my hands I let the tears fall. I cried for what felt like hours, although it could only have been a few minutes. I jumped, shocked, when I felt someone sit down beside me on the bench. Looking up, I was momentarily stunned into silence at the gorgeous blonde sat beside me.

She was tall and skinny, but not too tall or too skinny. She had gorgeous brown eyes and beautiful pink lips. I caught myself staring, and mentally shook myself. She's a girl I thought. I noticed.

"Hey. I'm Brittany. You're crying." She said. She had such a perfect voice. Not too high and girly, but definitely feminine. I smiled slightly at the way she said it, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to just start talking to a total stranger in the park.

"I know. I'm Santana, by the way." I answered.

"Santana is a pretty name. Why are you crying? Did your gerbil die? I cried when my gerbil died. Did your cat die? I cried when my cat died too. The vet said he died because he ate my gerbil, but I think it was because of the smoking." I laughed, something I would have never expected to do this soon after my dad had died. I thought she was joking to make me feel better, but I could tell from her expression that she was either a very good actress or she was being deadly serious.

"No, my gerbil didn't die. Or my cat. I don't have a gerbil, and I'm allergic to cats." She smiled knowingly.

"If you're sad you should get a gerbil. Monkey always cheered me up when I was sad."

"Monkey?" I asked, confused. She looked at me like I was stupid.

"My gerbil. Monkey."

"You named your gerbil Monkey?" I asked.

"Well, yeah. What else was I supposed to call him? Gerbil? Now that is a stupid name for a gerbil. It's like calling a little girl 'Girl'." I laughed again, finally stopping crying.

"Good point. Anyway, I don't think a gerbil, even a gerbil called Monkey, could help me right now."

"Why not? What happened? Oh my God, did your parrot die? My parrot didn't die. Yet…"

"No," I laughed again, "my dad died." She looked at me, biting her lip. She opened her mouth to say something, but shut it again. We sat there in silence for a minute or two, before I spoke again.

"What were you going to say? A minute ago, you were going to say something but you stopped. What was it?" she smiled slightly.

"I was going to ask if you were okay, but you're crying, so you're obviously not okay." I smiled again, feeling my eyes begin to water once more. Seeing me crying, she started panicking.

"Oh no! Don't cry again, please! I hate it when pretty girls cry! Look, you can share my dad if you want. He's over there by the swings, playing with my little sister." I smiled again through the tears flowing freely down my face. What is it about this girl that makes her so good at making me smile, even when I'm so devastated?

"Don't worry, you don't have to share your dad. I'll be fine. I'm just really stressed lately, and this was just the icing on the cake. See, my boyfriend has been really clingy and lovey-dovey lately, and I've been feeling really uncomfortable. My mom's been drinking more and more every night, and now my father is dead."

"You know what you need?" she said matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"A hug." She smiled, wrapping her arms around me. I knew this was weird, since I had only met her about ten minutes ago, but for some reason, it just felt right. And no matter whether it was wrong or not, it made me feel a whole lot better. So I hugged her back, and I didn't let go for a long time, until I felt someone stood behind me.

Pulling away, I turned to see the man I saw earlier, holding the little girl in his arms.

"Hey Britt, who's your friend?" he asked, and I realised that this was her dad, and the girl was probably her sister.

"This is Santana. I'm sharing you with her. And she needs a gerbil. Can we go to the pet store and buy Santana a gerbil dad?" he looked at me weirdly, but I just shrugged and he nodded understandingly.

"No, petal, we can't. Come on, we're going home."

"Wait a second dad. How are you getting home Santana?" she asked. I shrugged again.

"Walking, I guess."

"Don't be silly! We can give you a ride, right dad?" he looked dubious, but nodded anyway.

"If you're sure…" I said, not wanting to be pushy.

"Of course we're sure. Where do you live?"

"14 Davison Close. It's near the town centre, I'll give you directions if-"

"Oh my God! You live at 14 Davison? We just moved into number 21! We're neighbours!" she squealed, while I smiled slightly, looking to her father for confirmation. He nodded slightly, and I turned back to Brittany and smiled back.

"Okay, Santana, let's go. You know, I've only known you for a few minutes, but I already know we are going to be great friends! And Lord Tubbington is going to love you!" she jumped up, dragging me with her, and pulled me along towards the parking lot. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into, but I knew I was going to like it…

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