AN: To my fabulous seven reviewers: thank you! I so appreciate you taking a moment to let me know your thoughts and stuff. And to everyone else, I apologize for taking a while to update. But hey, it was the end of HP and all. Not to mention, I was traveling, so… I promise to try and get the next chapter up as quickly as possible. Cheers!

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I wasn't sure I'd ever seen eyes like that before. I'd always said Quinn's eyes were the coolest I'd ever seen, but so suddenly, that wasn't true anymore. As this girl I knew nothing about stared back at me with those stunning, crystal blue orbs, I found myself completely speechless.

I wasn't expecting that.

I probably looked like an idiot. Not that she was in any position to judge. But I literally couldn't stop staring at her. Or maybe gaping was the more appropriate word. Even through the tears, she was most beautiful girl I'd ever met, and we hadn't even been properly acquainted. Granted, introducing myself through the bars of a cell probably wouldn't be considered very proper.

But honestly, she was breathtaking, and my musings from before came back tenfold now, as I just stood there watching her.

How did someone who looked like that end up here? It didn't make a lick of sense to me.

I realized the whole staring-thing had gone on a bit too long when the girl just sniffled loudly and once again buried her face in her arms, hiding herself from me. I wanted to tell her to look at me. I wanted to tell her that she could trust me. I wanted to tell her that she wouldn't be harmed.

But I figured that last one would become a lie at one point or another.

So instead, I simply stepped closer, raised my left hand and wrapped it lightly around one of the iron bars.

"I'm Santana," I said softly, my brown eyes so intent on her curled figure.

I'd noticed before, back when I saw her in the foyer, that she was tall. Even now, with her limbs folded and wrapped around herself, I could see that she was slender and long in all the right places. She wore a rather silly pair of shorts. White with blue stripes, and polka dot socks that stopped just below her knees. Her shirt was loose fitting, dipped beneath one shoulder, and I wondered if it was supposed to be worn that way or if the neck had been ripped or stretched. Nevertheless, the entire ensemble looked like that of a six year old, and yet, it somehow seemed so fitting of this girl. I'd never be able to pull of a look like that, but I couldn't really have imagined the blonde in anything else. It was… precious, almost. Sweet, like her pretty face.

It only made my heart clench that much more when I remembered what would most likely happen to her.

It took a minute, but eventually, she lifted her head again and swiped at her cheeks a little too quickly. As if she didn't want me to see her tears. As if she were embarrassed. I didn't blame her at all, though. I was pretty sure that if our positions had been reversed, I would have been bawling.

"My name is Santana," I repeated, my voice a little more confident with hope. Exactly what I was hopeful for, I wasn't really sure. "What's yours?"

Again, she took her time in responding. I simply stood there and watched as her watery, nervous eyes looked left, then right, then left again, as if observing her surroundings closely. As if she feared that she would be punished for talking.

I hated that I pitied her. Pity was such an awful emotion and I felt it was inappropriate to feel towards another human being. As if, by pitying this girl, I was admitting that I was in a far better place. Which, of course, wasn't false. But it just felt wrong. It felt not like gazing in on another person, but rather, an animal. As if this cellar was actually a zoo and I'd come to press my face in on this poor, captive creature. She was completely helpless, and I didn't want to feel sorry for her, but I did. I simply couldn't help it.

My ears twitched when the girl finally stuttered, obviously struggling to get her tongue to work in my presence.

"B-Brittany."

I nodded, acknowledging that I'd heard her feeble voice and making a mental note never to forget that name. For the briefest second, I dared to look away from those dazzling eyes. Her right cheek was marred, bright red with the tiniest twinge of blue appearing just above the bone. A mark left by my father and his incurable anger. No doubt the first of many.

"It's good to meet you, Brittany."

What a stupid thing to say. In any other situation, it would have been perfectly appropriate. I'm sure that, in any location other than this one, I would have been perfectly pleased to make this girl's acquaintance. But if never meeting her would have spared her this imprisonment… Well, that was certainly the favorable option. I silently cursed myself for sounding so silly.

I heard her try to speak again, pulling me from my own berating, and I found her gaze once more.

Fuck, even through the bruise and the tears, she was so remarkable.

"Where am I?"

Fair question, I figured. Although, I was more than ashamed to admit to this girl that she was in my house. Embarrassed to divulge the fact that this cellar was a part of my home.

"This is my family's estate," I explained to her, avoiding the word home altogether, although it didn't seem to help as much as I thought it might. I still felt guilty. "Upstate Ohio," I added, silently hoping that it wouldn't make much of a difference. Silently hoping that this blonde hadn't been ripped too far from home.

"Ohio?" she breathed, her blue eyes dropping from mine to stare sadly at the dirty floor of her cell.

The look on her face made me assume my hopes were wrong.

"How far from Pittsburgh?" she asked, so quietly I nearly missed the question entirely.

So she was from Pennsylvania. I sighed, disappointed that she had, in fact, been quite uprooted from her home and the family that she may or may not have had.

"Um…" I paused for a few seconds, trying to calculate in my head. "A couple hundred miles, maybe?" I wasn't really sure. It was far… But it could have been worse.

She fell silent again, and as I continued to just watch her, I slowly sank to the floor. It was cold and dirty, but I couldn't find it in my heart to care about the well being of my shorts. If they got ruined, dear daddy would just buy me another pair anyway.

It was depressing to consider the deafening silence that settled over us just then. Normally, a stillness like this between two people would be comfortable. Sometimes it was like that with Quinn when she came over. She'd sit and catch up with my latest gossip magazines while I painted my fingernails black or trimmed my own bangs. Sometimes words simply weren't necessary. And sometimes, it was nice.

But this silence, this stillness, was unbearable.

I looked down at my hands, my fingers clutching tightly to the red apple I'd plucked from the kitchen. I absentmindedly began to twist the stem, going slowly through the alphabet with every turn. It popped off on the letter k, making me grimace. Of course. My head was instantly filled with thoughts of Karofsky. Anymore, I really couldn't stand the guy. He would always be nothing more than a pathetic oaf to me. Granted, I did owe him a lot. As much as he owed me, I figured. Sleeping with him ensured me that I most certainly did not like sex with boys, while sleeping with me ensured him that he most certainly did not like sex with girls. We never told anyone, of course. He was too much of a homophobe to accept that he was homosexual, let alone come out with it. And while I'd come to terms with my own doubts, I definitely wasn't ready to let the world know that I had more in common with Ellen than our fabulous wits.

Wanting to rid myself of the wretched fruit as much as I wanted to help the girl named Brittany, I slowly stuck my arm through the iron bars and offered her the apple.

"Want it?"

She looked as nervous about accepting food as she had about talking. Her blue eyes darted everywhere, before settling back on the apple. I noticed the way her body twitched. I sensed my brown eyes grow the slightest bit darker as she licked her lips. It was obvious that she wanted it, but the closer I studied her, the more attuned I became to her thoughts. I wondered if she was too afraid to move in order to take the fruit from me. I wondered if she was too apprehensive to show herself.

I immediately decided to tend to my own suspicions, even if they were dead wrong.

"Here," I said softly, before tossing the apple across the cell.

Her movements were surprisingly graceful, considering she'd lost her footing so easily before, up in the foyer. Those long arms unfolded immediately, slender fingers forming a glove to catch the apple just as it reached her. She paused then, her perfect blue eyes finding mine. A message of gratitude was sent without words, just with that one look. I nodded my head softly and felt my heartbeat increase inside my chest.

Helping her was no longer just something I wanted to do; it was something I had to do.

I half expected her to start devouring the apple like a starved animal, but perhaps that was just what the suspense-movie-scenario had made me believe. Instead of being ravenous with the offering, the blonde took a moment to study it, turning it over in her slender hands once, twice, three times. I watched with mild fascination as she finally lifted the apple to her pink lips and bit into it. The crunch of the skin breaking sounded obnoxiously loud in our silence, but I welcomed it.

As she ate, I once again let my gaze wander up to the makeshift window above her cell. I tried to deduce where I would find it from the outside, so that I might come back and sneak her as much food as I possibly could. There was a part of me that assumed my father would feed her nothing but bread and water. The other part told me to stop turning everything into a bad horror flick.

Something sounded from the top of the stone stairwell just then, causing both of us to start. My head snapped over my right shoulder, my heart jumping into my throat. Fuck, how long had I been down here? I quickly looked back to Brittany, my voice dropping in volume and noticeably panicked.

"Brittany, quick, give me that," I said, holding my hands through the bars and gesturing towards the half-eaten apple.

"What? Why?" she questioned, unmoving. "Who's coming?"

"Please, give it back. If he sees you with it, he'll know someone was down here."

If my father found out I'd visited his new pet, he'd make sure I'd never be able to do it again.

She must have sensed the urgency in my voice and in my expression, both of us aware of the slow footsteps descending the staircase. At last, she stood, and I followed. In a flash, she was in front of me. Close enough that I could smell the faintest hint of her last perfume. I tried my best to ignore it and snatched the apple out of her hands.

"Santana, please." Her voice was shaking and when I found her gaze, those beautiful blue eyes were glistening again with fresh tears. She looked terrified. "Who is that?"

"Listen Brittany," I started to explain quickly, my voice hushed. Her hands were wrapped around the bars between us, her knuckles white. I lifted my empty hand and set it carefully on top of one of her own. "You can't tell him I was down here, alright?"

"Him who? What does he want?"

She sounded so scared, but I didn't have time to answer her questions.

"Don't tell him you saw me. Otherwise I won't be able to come back. Do you understand?"

She'd dropped her gaze and was shaking her head slowly. All I could do was hope that she wouldn't say anything as I darted away from the cell and ran as quietly as I could to the opposite side of the cellar. Around the corner were stacks of crates and barrels. I was far too worried to concern myself with what was inside them as I tried my best to catch my breath.

After several seconds that seemed to last for hours, I faced the stone wall and edged myself to the corner, daring to look around with just one eye.

Brittany had retreated to the back of her cell once again and had taken up her previous position on the floor. As I'd expected, my papi came stumbling slowly down the remainder of the stairs, followed closely by Will. I bit down hard on my lower lip as I heard Brittany start to cry.

"No… Please…" she begged as my father stepped in front of her cell and stuck a giant old key into the door.

"Please, just leave me here!" She was getting louder with her fear and I cringed. It really was a scene from the worst sort of film.

All I could do was watch, frozen and mortified, as he staggered into Brittany's cell and advanced on her quivering figure. I could tell that he'd been drinking and my heart bled for the poor blonde.

His hands were at her arms, ripping at her hands and skin to get her on her feet. She fought valiantly. Continued to plead with him to leave her alone. But as soon as his strong hand wrapped around her thin wrist, there was nothing more she could do. He tore her from the cell and began to trudge back towards the staircase. Brittany whimpered and looked over her shoulder, right at me.

I could have sworn my heart stopped.

All I could do was quickly lift my hand and hold my index finger up to my lips. A silent gesture for her to keep our secret.

She looked beyond broken. Her cheeks glistened with so many tears that I felt desperate to wipe away. But I was as powerless as she was.

Actually, that was a lie. And as the three of them disappeared up the stairs, Brittany's cries and pleas fading into the sound of the cellar door closing, I felt the first tear glide slowly down my own cheek.

I wasn't powerless.

I was just selfish.

If I really wanted to, I could have fought alongside Brittany. I knew in my heart that what my father was doing was wrong, and that the blonde didn't deserve it. Even if it would have done little to no good, I could have tried. But I didn't. Instead, I just stood aside and let him take her.

She was so beautiful, and he was about to ruin her.

I turned abruptly on my heels and slid down the dusty wall, landing on the floor in a bit of a heap as the overwhelming weight of it all washed over me.

My birthday. Today was supposed to be a good day. The best day of the year, even. I was supposed to be pampered and spoiled and loved to my heart's content. Instead, I felt devastated and helpless and so very guilty.

I sat like that for quite some time with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I continued to cry for myself and the fucked up life that I'd been forced to live. And I cried for Brittany. A part of me was thankful that I'd found myself left behind in the cellar. Down here, I couldn't hear a thing. It was deadly quiet, and even though I wondered, even though I couldn't help but be curious, I was so grateful that I didn't know for certain. That, even if what I thought was happening was, indeed, happening, I didn't have to hear it.

My left hand instinctively went to my pocket with the sudden urge to text Quinn, but I quickly realized that I'd left the stupid device up in my bedroom. I bet she called. She probably left a snappy voice message. Judging by the dimming light coming from the windows, I guessed it was getting to be evening time.

Puck would be expecting me. I never got back to him about the party. I hadn't said I would go, but I hadn't told him no either. And in Puck-land, the absence of a no was as good as a yes.

Even though the mohawked boy would probably be disappointed, and even though Quinn would most definitely be upset with me, I really couldn't bring myself to care. My birthday and the party and my crazy friends all seemed so insignificant now. All my problems, even the animosity between my father and myself, just seemed so small.

All I could think about was Brittany, and how desperately I wanted her to be okay.

I wasn't even sure how much time passed before I finally heard the door to the cellar open again. I listened closely at first and thought that I only heard one pair of footsteps. Could that be right? It couldn't be. Brittany couldn't lock herself into her cell, for Christ's sake.

Unable to quell my curiosity, I once again peeked around the corner, unknowingly holding my breath in my sore lungs.

It made sense now why I'd only heard one set of footsteps. My father was nowhere to be seen. Will was the only one walking, carrying a sickeningly limp – and utterly naked – Brittany in his arms.

It took every bit of strength not to lunge from my hiding place right that instant. I wanted to run into that cage with them, before Will had the chance to lock it. I wanted to touch the blonde, wanted to hold her close to me, even though I didn't really know her at all.

But I couldn't compromise my position. No one could know that I'd snuck down here. I needed to be able to come back.

So I waited. I waited impatiently, tapping my fingers quietly against the stone wall, while Will laid Brittany out on the dirty cot in her cell. I waited some more as he closed and locked the door behind him. And then again, until at last he disappeared up the stairs.

My steps were quick and quiet as I made my way to the third cell and peered anxiously inside.

He'd laid Brittany on her side, facing the wall so her back was to me. I opened my mouth to call to her, then closed it silently when I actually observed her body. The fact that she was naked was affirmation enough. Papi had obviously done exactly what I'd expected him to do, and the realization sent my stomach to the floor. At first, I'd thought maybe she was unconscious, but now I knew she wasn't. Her shoulders shook with her faint sobs, which I only heard because I was listening for them. The hip that I could see was beat red, much like her cheek had been. I assumed that there would be a nasty bruise in the coming days.

But the worst, most horrific part of it all was the glistening red liquid smeared between her thighs. I felt my breath leave me with one horrified exhale.

Blood. She was bleeding. My father, my papi, made this girl bleed.

I felt sick to my stomach. I felt its contents rolling with the threat of rising and forced myself to look away.

How could he? How could I be related to someone who would do this to another human being? How could something so tragic and wrong take place in my own home?

"Brittany?" I whispered hoarsely, my throat suddenly painfully dry.

I forced myself to look back, although I kept my gaze at the back of her blonde head. Her hair was even messier than it had been before. A rat's nest, and I halfheartedly wondered how she'd ever be able to get a brush through it. Then I remembered that it was irrelevant, that she wouldn't have access to a brush in quite some time. If ever.

"Brittany?" I tried again, a little louder.

Again, she didn't answer.

"Brittany, I'm so-"

"Go away."

The words were broken and sobbed. My breath caught in my throat. My eyes welled with tears and I felt stupid for crying. How dare I shed a tear and consider it justified when she'd just been raped. My stomach rolled again, and I actually laid a hand across my abdomen, hoping to physically make it stop.

I didn't leave. I thought about it, but then I considered a reversal of our positions. Even if I told someone to leave me alone, I felt like I might not have meant it. If Brittany were trying to comfort me, I think I might have let her. And so I stayed. Once again, I took a seat on the grimy floor, crossing my legs and leaning forward to rest my forehead against the wrought iron bars.

Several minutes passed with nothing but the sound of Brittany crying quietly. I tried my best not to look at her.

And then I sang. The words were in Spanish, an old lullaby that my wet-nurse and nanny used to sing for me when I grew restless or fitful.

I wasn't sure if it would help, but I hoped it would. Through the bars, Brittany seemed so distant. So entirely unattainable. Unreachable, not only physically, but emotionally.

One way or another, I would find a way to change that.