A/N: Yes, I know I already updated this story today, but I just was so eager to post this chapter so…here it is. Thanks for reading, as always. xxx


At the age of three her Abeula had explained to her that one day she would meet a man who was perfect for her. She would fall in love and would get married, and have children. She had been told that this was what people always did, and that it was the right thing to do, and Santana had believed her.

At the age of six, her class had been reading a story in school about a mother and a father and a daughter and a son. Santana, questioning as always, had asked if all families were like that. The teacher had answered by telling her that some families had more than one son, or no sons at all, while others might have six daughters, and ten sons. When Santana had said that that was not what she had meant, that she had been asking whether all parents had to include one boy and one girl, the teacher had looked at her strangely, and had abruptly said,' Yes Santana, why would you ask such a question?' And if she was honest, Santana didn't know.

At the age of eight Santana had told her mother that the girl who sat next to her in class was very pretty, and that she wanted to be her best friend forever. Her mother had looked at her, and told her that she was the prettiest girl in the world and she didn't need to be jealous of anyone else. She also told Santana that it was important to make friends with girls because they were kind and nice, not because they were pretty and looked beautiful. She had told Santana to look for the beautiful qualities in boys, not girls. And Santana had sincerely accepted her words, without question.

At the age of ten, Santana had been watching the news with her Abeula when the gay pride parade had appeared on the screen. Her Abeula had grabbed the remote disgustedly, flicked the channel, whilst muttering rude words in Spanish under her breath. She had then turned dramatically towards Santana, and said very slowly, 'Santana. You must never be like that.' She then turned away and focused back on the TV, with Santana only left to think about her words, alone and confused.

By the age of twelve, Santana knew that she was different. She didn't know why, and she didn't know how, but she just knew. While most of her friends were giggling about holding hands with boys, she just wished she could hold hands with her. With Brittany. She didn't tell anyone. She just accepted that it was a phase, and stuck to making sure she giggled at the right moment, and blushed about the right guy. It was easy. For a while.

When she was thirteen, she said the word aloud. Lesbian. It tasted bitter in her mouth, and weighed on her so heavy and so darkly, that it took over her entire body. It got caught in her throat, and made her feel so sick and upset that she tried to bury it beneath everything else. For most of the time it stayed there sensible and forgotten, but occasionally it would slip out and scare her, a worry so deeply seeded that she could convince herself it wasn't true.

When she was fourteen, she cried herself to sleep for the first time. It wasn't the last time.

When she was fifteen, she wondered if she'd ever accept herself. She doubted it. She hated it so much. Sometimes the worry took over her so quickly and so suddenly, that she would have to go and lie down. Other times the lies just fell off her tongue. But she couldn't lie to herself forever. She knew that.

When she was fifteen, seven months and 3 days old, Brittany kissed her. And she knew. She couldn't lie anymore. But she still felt sick at the thought of being one of them. It was wrong. And a sin. Wasn't it?

When she was sixteen, she said it. "I think I'm a lesbian." It was into a mirror, and no one else was there, but it was still scary, and she still shook as the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could force them back in again. She couldn't hide anymore. She felt like all her feelings were going to burst out of her any minute. But she had to hide. Oh god she hated herself. Why? Why me? She had asked countless times. But she never got an answer. She was so alone. So alone. And sometimes she wondered when someone was going to come and find her.

At the age of sixteen, one month and 73 days old, Santana had had sex with Brittany. It had just happened so naturally that she hadn't had time to think about it. She hadn't meant it to. But it had happened. And she had loved it. It had been the best day of her life. But it had also been the worst. Back at her house, she threw up so violently that she had collapsed in a state on the floor, lying in a puddle of her tears for over the three hours before her mother had found her and tucked her up in her bed, muttering concerned words about having a fever and working too hard. Santana didn't regret what she'd done. But she regretted telling Brittany it didn't mean anything. And she regretted enjoying it. And she regretted feeling as if she had finally found the person she was meant to be. Because she hated that person. And she hated what it had done to her. And she felt guilty for the feelings that lingered in her heart every time she saw her face. And she felt ashamed of herself for wanting to do it again. Because it was a sin. It was. And she wasn't meant to be like this. She wasn't meant to fall in love with a girl. But she had. And now she couldn't fall back out of love again. It was like some sick joke, and she really couldn't wait to hear the punch line. There had to be punch line. She couldn't live like this forever. Oh God, please not forever.

Help me.

"Are you kidding? Its better when it's without feelings."

"Sex isn't dating." "If it was Santana and I would be dating."

"I'm not ready for that kind of public announcement."

"I'm afraid of what people will say behind my back."

"You said that I play for another team on your ridiculous melted cheese show."

"Is that supposed to say Lesbian?"

"I love you Santana."

"Why don't you just come out of the closet?"

Please help me, God. Please.


Review! And I will keep the story rolling :)