Dani lay motionless on the mattress, staring up unblinkingly at the white, plastered ceiling. In the back of her brain, a low voice suggested that perhaps she should move, but was ignored. There was too much to inhibit her: the pain, the shock, and the overwhelming fear of punishment if she were to disobey. The boy Blaine — he had told her that he was training as an EMT — hadn't specifically forbidden her to move, but she knew enough now that it was best to simply remain still. It wouldn't provoke anger, at the very least.

Dani's surroundings were so entirely surreal that she was consumed with a sort of frightened curiosity. It had been over fourteen years since she had been allowed to sleep in a real bed, much less alone in an entirely separate room. As she lay there, she took in the feeling of the mattress beneath her body, the warm blankets spread over her and tucked around her sides. The bedroom itself was fancy too, lined with oak-paneled walls and trophies, movies, instruments, and bookcases.

She had not seen a bedroom in many years.

Dani was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps — they were not the boy's; these were more rapid and anxious sounding, padding across the floor in bare feet. Was this someone, then, who lived here? Were they coming to kick her out? Surely they would; she had gotten blood on a towel when Blaine had examined her.

As the doorknob began to slowly turn, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly with a sinking heart. This was it. They had figured out who she was and had come to punish her at last.

Dani kept her eyes closed, her desperation giving way to panic as the unknown person approached the bedside. She listened carefully, hearing the rustle of expensive clothing as the person leaned down. Then, without warning, a hand landed on the sheets beside her head.

With a yelp of surprise and fear, Dani scrambled across the bed, getting tangled in the sheets as she put as much distance as possible between herself and her attacker. She was too frightened, even, to notice the throbbing pain that the movement drew in every part of her body. There was a sound of surprise, followed by further rustling.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" came the exclamation. "Slow down, sweetheart, it's okay." Dani paused in her escape attempts; the voice was vaguely familiar. However, she swiftly decided that this was no time to ponder her situation; based on past experiences, she figured on fewer than thirty seconds before the hitting started. If she didn't shut her mouth, it would be twenty-three at best.

She tried to run again, and actually managed to crawl out of the bed and stumble halfway to the door before the stranger realized what was happening.

The sudden feel of a hand on her wrist tore her senses away completely, and she flinched hugely, turning to fight before she actually saw the stranger's face.

Oh.

Oh.

Staring back at her with mixed emotions of worry and confusion were the most startling pair of brown eyes Dani had ever seen.

Santana stared at her with wide eyes, angular eyebrows quirked in a perplexed sort of frown. Dani hesitated on the verge of a scream, pausing at the sight of those eyes. They were warm, she noticed, slightly lighter around the pupils, and filled with anxiety. Upon seeing her startled expression, they grew slightly narrower in a response that Dani didn't understand, so she turned her attention to the rest of the stranger.

Dark jeans — slim-fitting, she noticed — and a pale beige shirt that accentuated curvy hips made up the stranger's attire. She was reluctant to look at her face again, and lingered on details in an attempt to procrastinate the inevitable. Eyes downcast, she took in the slender legs, the voluptuous curves hugged by the tight fabric, and found herself swallowing slightly, afraid. Beautiful women made her nervous.

At last, when she felt that she could prolong it no further, she raised her eyes to examine the face that belonged to this beautiful stranger, and her stomach did a double take.

Now she remembered. This was the young woman who had found her in the alleyway several hours before.

The bow-shaped, slightly chapped lips opened and spoke.

"What's your name?" was the soft inquiry. Dani started at the sound, and turned clumsily to run before the pain in her ribs and ankle abruptly caught up with her, and she sank to the floor with a sharp cry of pain. Immediately, the strange girl was beside her, crouching down to lean forward on the balls of her feet with anxiety flashing across her eyes. Dani flinched away in a move that was almost automatic, letting out another small sound, and, instantly, the stranger backed away.

"I'm sorry," came the low apology, voice slightly husky. Dani merely shied away, arms moving to cover her chest and abdomen as she attempted to hide her face in the wall. She would not cry. They would hit her if she cried. "I'm not going to hurt you," the stranger murmured, still taking care to keep her voice low and soothing. Dani did not trust her, not for one moment — that was the sort of voice that everybody used; the soft, melodic crooning as if to an injured bird. It was what they all said.

She had thought that she could escape from that here.

"Look, I'm Santana," the girl persisted, folding herself down to kneel at eye level. "I know you're freaked out — this has to be totally overwhelming. But you need to understand that we're not going to hurt you here." Dani didn't even acknowledge the words. Who was this Santana girl to pretend she knew anything about what she had gone through? If she did, she would have left her alone instead of trying to trick her into trusting somebody else.

"At least let me get you cleaned up?" Still, Dani refused to respond. The girl called Santana sighed, an action that sounded almost weary, and certainly defeated. "Fine. All right, I'll make you a deal — you listening?" She spared the girl a glance, long enough to see the lack of response, before continuing. "You can take your own shower and everything — the bathroom's right through there — but you need to let me clean the cuts on your hands, at least. Those could get infected and cause you problems. I mean, more than you already . . . yeah, let's just leave it at that. Okay?" Dani blinked, but otherwise didn't move — she didn't have any inclination to risk getting slapped. If she opened her mouth, it was surely what would happen.

Santana unfolded her lengthy legs, standing to her slightly intimidating height — taller than Dani, but still petite — and stretched.

"All right. The clean towels are folded on the shelf to your left as you enter the bathroom. You can take any one you want. Use the shampoo, the soap — whatever you want. I'll be back in a bit to take care of your hands." With that, she opened the door, maneuvering her way carefully around Dani's collapsed legs, and quietly shut it behind her.

For the longest time, Dani did not move at all. She remained completely still upon the floor, listening to the dull murmur of voices outside the little room, frozen with confusion and fright. But at last, the need to feel clean from the blood and pain grew stronger, and she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet by gripping the side of the dresser.

To her left stood the open door to the bathroom. When she had moved earlier, her mobility had been made possible by fear and adrenaline. Now, crossing the short space of rug to the bathroom required more effort than movement had taken her in a long, long time. Inch by trembling inch she crept slowly across the room, carefully testing each square of rug before she allowed weight to be placed on her injured foot.

At last, she reached the door to the little room, and shut and locked it hastily, before sliding to the floor again with a low groan of pain. Now that she was safe, it was time to assess the damage. Gingerly, she rotated her right wrist joint, only to stop immediately with a grimace. Okay, so that wasn't going to be any help. Next, she moved her hand slowly to her ribcage, prodding gently, as Blaine had done to her earlier. She could feel the cracks through her skin.

Closing her eyes in defeat, she allowed her head to fall back against the door with a thump. Great. Just great. Why had she allowed those men to take her away? This was supposed to be her break, her new beginning, but so far all it was turning out to be was a repeat of her childhood.

It wasn't fair. Everything good she did to try to bring her life back together only made things worse. She was past the point of feeling, now — what she had to do now was assess her injuries, do a little damage control, and get out of this apartment as quickly as possible before someone else tried to hurt her.

That thought reminded her of the men.

Ignorantly, she had assumed that she would be used to it by now — the relentless abuse, the beatings; the blatant, hideous insults. As far as she had been concerned years ago, she was only lucky to have not gotten pregnant. She had thought that it would be almost normal by now — a sickened, twisted version of reality, but reality nonetheless.

She had been wrong.

For some reason, this time was worse than all the others.

Maybe it was the fact that she had, for the first time since she was a little girl, had a bit of hope for a better life. It was like she was six again, arriving home from school with ever-fading faith that things would change, would be different, would be even tolerable. For the first time in years, she had allowed herself to hope, and had paid more dearly for it, it seemed, than all of the previous times before.

With this thought came a sudden panic that struck as swiftly as a slap across the face.

She needed to wash them off of her. She could feel them everywhere, hands and dirty mouths crawling all over her body. When she closed her eyes, she could hear them still, hear their taunts, feel their disgusting breath lingering on her face. She wanted them off. Now.

With a muffled sob, she scrambled to her feet, once more ignoring the pain in her ankle. Her clothes felt like they had been glued to her body with sweat and blood and a million other things that she didn't care to think about. Hopping in place on her good leg, she peeled off her stained jeans, ripping them off and casting them as far away as the small bathroom permitted. There was no need to remove her underwear; they had taken them along when they left.

She balanced carefully against the towel rack, attempted to unbutton her blouse before losing patience with her violently trembling fingers. She tore the garment vehemently from her body, hurling it in the same direction as her pants, as if by throwing them as far as she could she would be able to rid herself of the memories that clung to them like an ugly leech to pale, fleshy human skin.

Her bra followed next, and the broken chain of her necklace. She needed them off.

Stumbling blindly into the walk-in shower, she yanked up the handle, fumbling in her panic. She could feel them pressing in now, closer and louder and warmer than before. Their hands were everywhere, everywhere she didn't want them, and all over the rest of her skin. Even little places that ought not to have mattered, like the webs of skin between her fingers and the spots of skin above her ears, felt violated and intruded upon. She could smell their breath, laden with alcohol and cigarettes, feel it land on her skin in hot and steamy puffs and spread out in a burst of foul humidity across the nervous flesh. They were too close; even with her eyes closed she could sense them all over her fragile body.

She sat down, freezing water droplets pelting her battered skin, and she cried.

Santana pushed open the door to the bedroom, checking first to ensure that Dani was not still lying in front of it. Seeing that all was clear, she crossed the room in several swift strides, and rapped her knuckles quietly on the bathroom door. When no sound met her ears but the steady rush of falling water, she began to turn back, but halted at the sound of a low, muffled sob. She pressed her ear against the door, and called out softly.

"Is everything all right in there?" Upon receiving no response, she tested the handle, drew out her key, and quietly opened the door. At first, glancing hurriedly around the room, she saw nothing particularly out of place. But then her eyes fell upon the huddled figure in the open shower, and with a low gasp, she took a step forward, only to fall back in shock and horror.

Blaine had far understated the severity of Dani's injuries. Even from where she stood, Santana could see the bruises; tight blemishes decorating the girl's body from her thighs to her neck, mottling her pale skin various sickly shades of black and navy and violet and mauve. Her collarbone was bruised all across, while fingerprints showed clearly around the tendons in her neck. Limitless scars in varying degrees of recovery were scattered like pine needles across the expanse of her arms, shoulders, wrists, and thighs. Plastered onto the skin of her battered ribcage were scarred words that in the confusion of blood and bruises and water and tangled hair were completely illegible to Santana.

It didn't matter; she had seen more than enough to know that even without the prominent hipbones and haunted eyes this was someone who had been beaten within an inch of her life. Yet even still, even with the matted hair and swollen lips and dark shadows beneath her jawbone, she could see that there was a frail sort of beauty in the mere presence of the battered woman.

Despite the nauseating extent of it, Santana absorbed the scene rapidly, fighting down the rising urge to throw up, and was down on her knees beside the injured young woman before she even knew what her limbs were doing.

Not even minding the fact that she was still dressed in full professional getup, she crawled into the shower beside Dani, sitting down beside her under the deluge of freezing water.

"Yikes," she murmured, teeth chattering as she drew up her knees to her chest. "Aren't you freezing in here?" She didn't play dumb on purpose; the overwhelming intensity of the moment had caused all words to leave her, until she was merely left with dim-witted chitchat comments. As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt their ludicrousness hover in the chilled, humid air, raising eyebrows at her through the grey and yellow light. Sputtering at herself inwardly, she hurriedly took a mental backtrack, and approached the problem from a different angle.

"You're going to get sick if you stay in here, you know." Again, she mentally slapped herself; was it really going to be this hard? If she was ever going to make any progress in this situation, she was going to have to figure something else out. The woman beside her had not even moved in the past few minutes besides to shoot her a terror-stricken glance. How in the hell was she going to deal with this?

She decided to try a different tactic.

"Are you hungry?" No response was given. At least she wasn't screaming.

"Thirsty?" Same reaction; the silent woman merely stared at her with a look of pure fear in her stunning honey eyes. Santana bit her lip in thought, and for several minutes, there was only silence, the sound of the water pattering, and Dani's shaky sobs. Santana stared at her knees as the water ran in rivulets down her scalp and into the crevices of her neck, plastering her hair haphazardly to her temples.

After ten minutes of silence, she gave up.

"Okay, I'll tell you what. I bet you're tired, so I'll go put some new sheets on the bed and you can sleep there. I'll take the couch." And standing up before she could be discouraged again by the lack of response, Santana turned off the water, grateful when the flow eased to a tiny trickle, and stopped. On her way out the door, she took a towel down from the rack and placed it on the tile in front of the shower, taking one for herself, and left the room while frenetically drying her hair.

Dani remained a sculpture of chipped granite pain, curled lifelessly in a staring huddle against the shower wall.

She woke from fretful, anguished sleep hours later on the carpeted floor of Santana's bedroom, wrapped in the borrowed yellow towel.

A pair of sweatpants and a hoodie had been left folded outside the bathroom door. Dani had taken it as a test and ignored them; surely she was being examined, to see if she would be lured into their trap. Obviously, if she had taken the offered clothing, they would have punished her for it. Nice things never came without punishment, and while she was used to being disciplined, she wasn't accustomed to their particular methods yet, and didn't want to risk it being more painful than previous ones.

The bed, too, she hadn't touched, but rather had made herself as comfortable as possible on an empty stretch of floor, and had forced herself to ignore the sharp pain in her ribs and hipbones that the hard surface only made more unbearable. But she could live with it. She had before.

She was just considering testing the movement of her injured ankle when the door to the bedroom was swung open, and Santana, dressed in black yoga pants and a skin-tight baby tee, crept in. At the sight of Dani curled in an awkward ball on the rug, she let out an unchecked noise of surprise.

Dani flinched and shut her eyes, hoping that the blow, when it came, would be swift. But instead of the painful smack she was expecting, she heard only Santana's voice calling.

"Kurt! Kurt, I need you in here!" Dani yelped at the loud volume and raised her hands to cover her ears. Instantly, a slew of apologies came rushing from the brunette, only to be interrupted when a boy with expensive clothing and ruffled morning hair stepped in, large doe eyes completely bewildered. At the sight of Dani on the floor, he too made a small noise, though his was much softer, and with a gentler tone.

Dani relaxed somewhat. The night before, Blaine (whom she had trusted to be near her only due to his status of a doctor) had informed her that he had a boyfriend, Kurt, who was a singer, whom she could trust to be around her if she felt uncomfortable with the others in the house.

Dani had no problem with Blaine or Kurt being gay; she would have been the world's biggest hypocrite if she had. It was more the fact that she was uneasy; could she trust Kurt to be like Blaine, and not hurt her?

She didn't appear to have a choice, because just as she was wondering what to do, she found herself gently scooped up in the arms of the ruffled boy, and being placed carefully on the edge of the bed. Her scream of terror was cut off by Kurt, who, though he appeared feminine and picky, apparently had just as little patience as Santana, but displayed it in a slightly more soft-spoken fashion.

"We're not going to hurt you, okay? I'm just getting you into the clothes we left you. You're going to get sick otherwise," he reassured her carefully, looking her straight in the eyes with a kind look that she understood to be a temporary sign of safety.

Her scream was reemitted, however, when Santana attempted to draw near enough to help. Kurt turned sharply to the Latina, shooing her away with a brisk flapping of his hands as he chased her towards the door.

"Get the hell out, Santana, you're scaring her."

"But I — "

"Let me deal with it." After shutting the door behind the bewildered girl, he turned back to Dani, who now sat huddled on the bed in her borrowed baggy sweatpants and worn-out Cheerios hoodie. "I'll have Santana bring you a sandwich in a couple hours," he said quietly, his words somehow simultaneously firm and gentle. "You need to eat it, or we'll have to bring you to the hospital. I'm going to work; Santana won't hurt you, and she'll only bother you if you want her around, okay?" People seemed to be asking her opinion a lot, lately. She didn't quite know what to do with it; she'd never been asked what she thought before.

Understanding, she nodded. Kurt nodded back, and turned heel in the manner of a gay-boy that was extraordinarily striking.

"Get in the bed," he said to her, by way of parting. "And sleep."

Once the door had clicked quietly shut, Dani obediently climbed to the head of the bed and slid beneath the covers. The weight of the covers was so foreign, the feeling of the mattress so strange, that she wasn't sure she would be able to obey the second command, and sleep. However, as she readjusted, attempting to lie in a position that somehow lessened the pressure on her ribs, she caught an enticing scent in the pillow beneath her head — warm clothes, and rain, and some sort of expensive perfume. She inhaled deeply, and her tense muscles relaxed slightly of their own accord.

Somehow, in her haze of pain and fear and absolute disorientation, it was the comforting scent on the pillows that calmed her, and somehow lulled her into a restless sleep.