Kurt

Kurt strode forward and held the Latina closely to him again, feeling her hugging him back. He whispered into her ear. "Take care of yourself will you?"

She nodded against his shoulder and he pulled back. He needed to call Quinn, he needed to find out how to help Santana. But he didn't want to just push the Latina into spilling to him what had happened to her.

Rachel

Rachel was next, she did the same pulling the tall girl towards her and holding her just as tightly. She pushed her phone charger into Santana's hands. Santana clutched to her tightly in return and Rachel held her tighter in response.

"Promise me you'll be okay…okay?" Rachel whispered. She didn't feel right letting Santana walk away again. But she could sense the desperation to leave coming off the Latina. And she just wished she knew why.

"Okay." The rushed whisper from her old classmate made her feel a little better. Not much. But a little.

They stepped apart and Santana looked at both of them desperately trying not to cry. She couldn't. She had to get back to Brant and act her ass off that none of this happened.

"I'll call in two days."

And the two sensed the Latina's reluctance at walking away.

Santana

She was glad Rachel had bought her a round trip ticket and she headed back towards her house. If you could even call it that. She didn't want to call it that, but she had been living there for a year now. Despite her previous rush at getting back, she felt her feet slowing down as she walked towards the abandoned warehouse. She even took the time to smoke a cigarette sitting on the stairs of an old store. Now that the temptation of staying at Rachel and Kurt's confortable apartment was gone she was prolonging any way she could.

But she had to get back soon. No one wanted to be the poor soul caught weaponless and alone at this time at night. She ducked under the cut wire of the fence to get towards the house and trudged her way in. Not surprised at all that Brant was the first one to greet her.

"Well if it isn't my little trouble maker." If he meant it as a term of endearment, she felt no endearment. A year ago she had a snarky retort on her tongue. But she had learned to bite her tongue. So she ducked her head down.

"Sorry Brant. I lost track of time and wandered too far. It was a bit of a hike back."

She felt the incriminating phone against her chest where she had tucked it in her bra and expertly wrapped the charger around her bra tucking the plug in her other cup.

"What happened the last time you missed curfew trouble maker." He whispered in her face.

Santana would never understand how Brant expelled nothing but cold air. She felt his breath on her face but it was a cold rush. He smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey. She was sure she smelled just as much like cigarettes as he did. But he smelled damn near like he rolled around in an old ashtray.

She nodded, "you cut me off."

The vivid memory of the withdrawals cut through her like a cold blade. The drugs had started when he promised it would numb her pain, and it helped her. It helped her get through the day without hating herself so much she did something stupid. And just like that he had control over her. He got her hooked to the one thing she needed that he controlled.

The Latina had desperately tried to quit by herself, not wanting him to hold anything over her head. But without any friends or family to aid her. She hadn't been successful. She had made it through a week and a half before her body had given in. And she had gone back.

"You don't want that again now do you?" His cold breath brushing her cheeks again.

"No." She whispered back not even trying to hide the hate in her voice.

"Well go to bed then, I'll be right there prize winner."

She tried in vain not to gag. She never let herself ignore her Mexican third eye. Desperation will make you do delirious things. She walked into the biggest room in the warehouse with a tattered old mattress. She shuffled to hide the phone and charger in a pile old blankets on the floor. Brant seemed to prey on that type. He had an eye for it. Much like Santana's Mexican third eye detected creepers, his third eye detected weakness.

Flashback…

Santana walked around the streets of New York. She had hitch hiked and had turned down some creepers that had set her Mexican third eye on high alert. One of those creepers were two guys in a truck headed to Iowa. But she had finally managed to get a ride from a couple that were driving for a family reunion in upstate New York. New York. She always loved New York. She always wanted to go to New York.

She had managed to snag a job working as a barista at a quaint coffee shop. The hours were alright, the money was decent enough to feed her, but to house her? Not at all. Not in New York anyway. Even the tips didn't help much. And she was tipped well. Busy customers on their way to work didn't mind sleepily tipping the kind pretty barista. They ate that shit up. She managed not to tell off any of the grumpy customers after her first warning. She had almost made a woman cry because she was complaining about her coffee. Santana had to reel in Snix a bit. Her supervisor had been kind enough to let her crash on her couch. Kristen had been so nice, she was a pretty cool boss too. But after her first week Kristen's husband had apparently gotten relocated. His company had wanted him to start up a new branch in Delaware. And they had moved.

She had nowhere else to stay. She got a new supervisor and offered to close daily for them. She had taken to sleeping at the coffee shop. Offering to open and close for them. Saving up money and hopes that her countless tiring hours would allow her to at least get a shitty apartment. But no such luck. Her manager had found out she was sleeping at the shop and fired her because it was against protocol. It had been as she was leaving the coffee shop with nowhere to go and no job to tend to that Brant found her.

And it was one fucked up coincidence that the one time she met him she was at her weakest. He had a cocky smile on his pasty pale face. It wasn't the delicate pale that Brittany was. It was a sickly pale that made her eyes hurt when the sun rays hit his skin. They say you can tell your deepest darkest secrets to a stranger. And she had run into a stranger that seemed to care.

"You okay? You look a little down…"

She thought for a second to tell him to 'fuck off,' but when she opened her mouth she had sighed and told him she had gotten fired and that she had no place to stay because she had been fired for sleeping in the coffee shop.

His smile was what tipped her Mexican third eye. There was a joyful glint at her story, only for a second but she sure as hell saw it. But then it was gone and that concerned look was back.

"Look, I know it's New York. And it's a city full of creepers, and psychos. But if you need a place to stay tonight. A bunch of us live in this abandoned warehouse." He rattled off an address. And she was on high alert.

Okay stranger in New York City walks up to you and tells you to go to an abandoned warehouse. Not a good idea. This is how people end up dead.

"It's a bunch of us that don't really have anywhere else to go. So if by the end of the day. You still need a place to crash. You know where to find me."

He turned away from her and continued walking down the street. The Latina scoffed and shuffled in the opposite direction before realizing she had no idea where to go. She didn't have a house to go to and mourn the loss of her job. And she didn't have a job to go to and avoid the lack of a home. She wandered around the city for the rest of her day. Stopping by any shops with help wanted signs up front but with no luck. She was lucky as is that Kristen had taken a chance on her. And by the time the sun was setting she made her way cautiously to the address she had been given.

Santana shuffled her feet as she hid around the corner. She had already managed to duck into the shadows when two dirty looking guys walked by earlier flipping through what she knew to be a stolen wallet seeing as they took the cash and tossed the leather pouch aside. Finally she saw someone walking towards the large abandoned building, a young girl. Trusting her more than any of the other people she had seen in the area she called out.

"Hey!"

The girl turned towards her.

"Do you live there?"

The girl walked up to her.

"What's it to you chica?"

"It's Santana. And who are you? Wannabe hipster? Or just homeless?"

She couldn't help it. Snix didn't like her tone, but to her surprise the girl cocked and eyebrow and smiled a little at the comeback.

"Emily."

"So Emily…you live there?"

"Yeah. Did Brant send you?"

The Latina shrugged having no idea who the hell Brant was.

"6'8. Muddy eyes. Pale as the Pillsbury dough boy's ass?"

Emily snorted at Santana's description.

"That's him alright."

"So…lots of people just crash here and it's cool?"

The Latina was not a fan of how weak she sounded, but she couldn't remember the last time she prepared herself for such a conversation.

Emily quirked an eyebrow at her, "it's a place to sleep isn't it? You got anywhere else to go?"

Fair point.

And the Latina followed still tentatively behind the girl.

Present day…

Santana lay back in the bed still in her jeans and shirt and closed her eyes willing herself to go to sleep. Another reason why the drugs had become so prominent in her life. She couldn't sleep without them half the time. Her mind reeled with thoughts of her parents, her abuela, of the Glee club kids, the Unholy Trinity, and most of all, Brittany. She found it so easy to hate herself where the blonde was concerned. She hadn't even said goodbye. She had just fled, ran away like a coward. And now the girl she loved more than anything was no longer in her life. She curled up like a ball on her side tried to keep her tears at bay.

The mattress shifted a little and she knew Brant was behind her. It didn't long for him to start running his hands up and down her torso. She didn't respond. She really did not feel like lying back emotionless and catatonic while he had his way with her. Definitely not tonight. But that wouldn't stop him.

She felt him lying behind her and felt his arousal push stiffly into her back and his hands roughly palmed her breasts. It had been like this for months. Shortly after her arrival and shock of finding out what Brant did for a living he had taken to her as his new play thing. Officially relieving Emily of that role. Emily ever so thankful hadn't spoken to Santana since.

She felt him pushing her roughly onto her back and knew there was no use in fighting him off any longer. The Latina lay back already with a blank stare in her eyes and she felt him roughly tugging her jeans off. She kept her hands at her sides as her body shuffled against the rough mattress and heard his belt buckle coming undone. She heard the crinkling of a condom and allowed herself a small sigh of relief that he wasn't going to do this unprotected again. When he did he would send on of this guys to get the Plan B pill, it was like he made sure no one wanted to carry his baby. All the girls took it if he insisted, none of them wanting to be pregnant in their current living situation. Although Santana had put up a fight the first time he had wanted her to take the pill. She had just been looking for a fight to pick with him after itching to do it for a few days. She had been held down like a frantic animal at the vets while he forced the medicine down her throat. All it went was to remind her how helpless she was and how much power he had over her. She was cut off for a week from everything, which meant scavenging for food like a stray dog.

His rough hands gripped at her body and she felt her shirt being lifted as well. He pushed roughly into her and she tried not to make any sound. When she let on that she was in pain he mistook it as pleasure and was even rougher. So she lay back and felt as he pulled himself in and out of her. His rough hands brushed all over her body and he bit harshly at her chest. The Latina in turn bit the inside of her cheek as he moved frantically inside her. His movements became jerky and she knew he was close already. Thankful that he was going to finish soon and would leave her be to her misery she continued to stare at the yellow stained walls. His groans filled the room and she felt absolutely disgusting. With one final thrust he groaned loudly and she felt him for rigid above her for a few seconds before labored breaths reached her ears and he bit her skin roughly for a few seconds before pulling himself out discarding the condom and rolling over to go to sleep.

In the silence of the room and his heavy breathing the Latina finally let it show. She controlled her breathing as tears fell down her face. She pulled up her jeans and put her shirt back on curling up on her side again. She tucked herself into her own body and the only thing that helped her go to sleep was the inkling of hope hanging in the air. Rachel and Kurt were in New York. They were going to reach out to Quinn. She had someone. And not only that. She had a phone. She could leave Brant. Leave this house. She knew she could have left, but she didn't have anywhere else to go.

She eventually drifted to sleep, the heavy emotions of the day taking toll on her, and above all, the hope coaxing her into a peaceful slumber.

The sun shone in and Santana felt her body shift to avoid the rays. The stale air of the warehouse reached her nostrils. It was one of the things she missed that she never noticed before. The smell of a home. Of comfort. She missed waking up in a welcoming bed. The kind of waking up that she did as a teenager. The kind where she didn't want to leave the comfort of her bed. She opened her eyes and to her relief found that Brant was already out of bed. She shuffled into the shattered pipe that was their water source. It used to annoy her. The sound of water trickling on the floor would keep her up all night. But she managed.

She got ready as best she could before throwing on the same pair of jeans and a shirt she grabbed her hoody before stuffing Rachel's phone in her pocket and headed out only to be stopped by Garrett. He was Brant's right hand man, and on days when Bran was feeling especially generous Santana's body would be at Garrett disposal as it was to Brant. If she didn't hate Brant so much, Garrett would make for a close second.

"Hey hot mama."

"Shut it shit eater."

She wasn't so timid around him. Sure he was Brant's guy, but she wasn't in the mood and Garrett had thick skin, went well with this thick skull.

"Aw, come on. You know you miss me."

He leaned in his hands gripping at her waist. She twisted out of his grasp both out of disgust, and fear that he would feel the phone nestled in her pocket.

"I'm going out." The Latina ground out as she walked towards the door.

"Alright fine, but Brant's got you lined up with a guy at 6 tonight."

Santana visibly deflated. She hated the life she had made for herself. She hated the person she had to become. She turned to face Garrett, greasy hair galore. Seriously, he gave Mr. Shue, and Blaine a run for their money. But she knew it wasn't gel in his hair, it was just oil from the lack of him showering.

"Where's Brant?"

"He's in Ariel's room."

The Latina shook her head. Just because Brant liked to call her "his" play thing didn't mean it was an exclusive relationship. He stalked around the warehouse for quickies with everyone. Another reason to be grateful for when he used condoms.

She walked through the warehouse taking the creaky stairs and taking precaution to where the phone was before opening the door to Ariel's room. She was a runaway, and Santana saw the beauty in the girl, she much like everyone else here had nowhere else to go. It was no surprise at all that she found Ariel curled up staring blankly at the wall in front of her and Brant naked shuffling with his clothes.

He paused to look at her but didn't say thing as he slipped his jeans back on.

"Garrett said you have a 6 o'clock for me." Her arms were crossed defensively at her chest but her voice was strong.

Brant looked up at her and smiled that stupid half smirk he did.

"Yeah, some kid hanging out on the wrong side of the track. Wants to lose his virginity. Come on trouble maker. He shelled out his allowance. That's 200 bucks for a quick fuck."

Santana ground her jaw, she knew she wasn't going to see the money. Brant controlled all the money around here. Whether it was for more drugs for everyone at the house, or for himself. He kept the money "safe" in his words.

She had to say though. It wasn't bad. Considering the people he set her up with, some kid trying to swipe his v-card wouldn't be that bad.

"Fine. But I'm going out."

He smirked at her again before handing her a ripped piece of paper with an address to a grimy motel on it.

"Don't be late troublemaker."

She hated the nickname. He had donned her that after she had lashed out at one of the "clients" with Snix juice.

She just pocketed the slip of paper and left, she didn't want to stay any longer lest he want a blowjob after his quickie. She ignored Garrett's calls after her and walked out making her way across the block before turning on Rachel's phone and sent a text to Kurt's phone.

The previous evening…

Kurt

After Santana had left him and Rachel were quick to put on the coffee. He felt a sudden pang of guilt. Maybe they should have ordered some for Santana. She had looked so tired, so skinny. They were in for a long night.

It didn't take long for them to be huddled over the phone wondering how the hell they were going to break the news to their old friend. Quinn had a particularly rough time leaving Lima for Yale. While they all had dreamed of leaving the town behind, Quinn was leaving Brittany as well. The head Cheerio had been reluctant, unsure of how her blonde friend would fair. Brittany wasn't able to move on, while her fellow Glee club members worked hard to graduate and applied to college, the blonde had allowed herself to fall into a funk. She never stopped attending school, but she stopped trying. She didn't bring crayons to class to draw pictures or even attempt on tests. She no longer turned in homework assignments donned with the colorful scribbles of crayon. Quinn had been unable to come to terms with having to leave Brittany. It was Brittany herself that refused to let Quinn ruin her future. She had pushed Quinn to leave, and told her that if she didn't graduate at the top of her class at Yale that Brittany would stop talking to Lord Tubbington. A threat that to any passerby would seem strange, but to Quinn, she understood the severity of it.

They pulled on Quinn's number and dialed putting it on speaker sitting side by side with their hands clutched in one anothers. After three rings the feisty blonde picked up.

"Really Rachel. I know you want me to visit you in New York, but I didn't think you'd enlist Kurt in on this as well."

Rachel knew she had been pestering Quinn to use the ticket she had gotten her and spoke up hastily.

"Quinn, it this isn't about the ticket. Although I don't know why you haven't made the visit yet."

"Rach. I'll come up on fall break. Okay? A full week of me in New York."

Even in Rachel's head she could see the placating nod that Quinn often made when negotiating. She nodded to herself, happy that she was not disillusioned into believing they had become friends after bonding in Glee club before Kurt nudged her to remind her of the heavy news they had to share with the blonde on the other end.

"Quinn. Rachel and I have something to tell you. We really…don't know how to say this…"

Kurt paused to brush the non-existent lint off his designer jeans. Anything to delay the uncomfortable conversation of telling the blonde her best friend was alive, and clearly in trouble.

"Guys, I thought we've been over this. The whole hag thing? Not gonna work Rach."

They two sitting on their couch traded a look of exasperation at this being the second time they were accused of having a relationship.

"Quinn…it…it's something…or more someone I saw in New York yesterday. You may want to come up this weekend instead."

The lack of Rachel's usual confidence behind her tone caught the blonde's attention.

"What's going on?"

"It's Santana. We think she's in trouble."

They relayed the events that happened earlier to their friend, and even Quinn knew the lack of vicious vicious words meant something was definitely up with her Latina friend.

"Wait…we need to tell Brittany."

"No! Quinn, please. That was the one thing Santana was very against. I don't what she's dealing with Quinn. But Santana seems to think Brittany can't know. Just-just for her. Please don't tell Brittany yet. She has my phone. She'll check in to let us know she's okay. But maybe you should come to New York and we can…help her."

There was a pause on the other line and Rachel and Kurt knew Quinn was deciding how much she wanted to tell Brittany and how much Santana needed her not to know. They knew from experience that the Yale student was often hard to stop when she set to do something.

"Quinn. She begged us. You didn't see her. Just don't tell Brittany yet, and when you come, you can see her for yourself. And talk to her. Just don't do anything until you see Santana for yourself, please."

The diva pleaded for Santana's case. It was true. It was like a harsh slap in the face seeing the Latina. The way her eyes had sunken in, that tired look. It scared her, and shook her to the core. That was the look of someone tired of living their life.

"Okay. Fine. I-I'll be there next weekend."

They exchanged goodbyes all three shaken by the news before hanging up.

Quinn

She stared at her phone, her best friend was alive. She had hoped that the Latina was happy and healthy, but she knew it was a bit of a reach. Hell, she had even joked with her conscience. That maybe the Latina had found herself a hot sugar mama and married and was living happily. But she knew deep inside that the only one for Santana had always been Brittany. And Santana had been unceremoniously kicked out of her house with almost nothing. In the items she had found in the trash at the Lopez's house she had found only a few articles of clothing missing. Nothing but a few choice pieces of her wardrobe before she was felt to fend for herself. And New York. How her Latina friend had ended up in the toughest city to survive in she would have no idea.

She stared at her phone and found her fingers had subconsciously brought up Brittany's phone number. She wanted to call the blonde. She wanted to tell her Santana was alive. That she was going to see her. That they knew where she was. But she thought about Rachel's words.

"She begged us."

Her fiery friend never begged. What was going on?

She slowly typed out a message.

Hey B. How are you? I miss you. –Q

She wanted to talk to her friend and vent and rant. But she knew she couldn't. So she settled for what Brittany was best at. Making her smile. And she would try her best to make Brittany smile. Her blonde friend had stayed with Glee, after a promise she made Quinn to stay with the group and work hard to graduate this next year. Mr. Schue and Sue Sylvester had promised her that they would help tutor Brittany. She had asked them privately before leaving for Yale, she would take care of Brittany as best she could. She had taken care of Brittany in hopes that one day Santana would come back. And now more than ever, she would be able to see them happy again. She just wanted to see Brittany smile, and she could picture the smile Santana always had on her face whenever Brittany was around. She was friends with two people that were meant to be soulmates, and she wouldn't let anything keep her two friends apart.

With that she started packing for a weekend away. Tomorrow was Friday, if she left right after class, she could be at Rachel and Kurt's by sundown.

Present Day…

Santana

The Latina squinted as the sun hit the city concrete. It may have been cold in New York for fall, but damn, she wished she had a good pair of sunglasses. Who was she kidding, she wished she had her old wardrobe. She missed being Santana Lopez. She missed strutting around confidently knowing she looked hot.

She glanced around her before pulling the phone out sending a text to Kurt.

Did you call Q?

She didn't have to wait long for a reply. She felt around her pockets for her cigarettes. She had realized early on that if she was hungry she just had to smoke a cigarette and sometimes the hunger would dissipate.

Yes, we called her. She's coming down this weekend. Will you be free to come meet us?

The Latina wasn't sure if it was the cigarette or the sentence that left a bitter taste in her mouth. Will you be free to come meet us. It wasn't like she had a busy schedule. Fuck, she had nothing to do, but she was treated like somebody's fucking property. Like Brant could just put her on the shelf after playing with her and expected her to be there when he came back. She had all the time in the world, but couldn't make any plans for herself.

I don't have the money to come over. I don't know if I can just leave.

She took several minutes to conduct the text. She hated the way it sounded either way. Having to tell them she was so fucking broke she couldn't buy a god damn ticket to see them. Telling them her time wasn't for her to schedule. She knew she was being vague, but she couldn't tell them…anything.

Santana, please. I'll come be at the save convenient store tomorrow. Meet me there at 3. Please.

The Latina looked at the phone. She wondered what she could do. She could go, and disappear on a Friday night. Chances are Brant already had her booked with someone. Spending a night in the comfort of Kurt and Rachel's apartment sounded amazing, but what happened when she returned? Would she return? What would they say? What happened if she went into withdrawal and Brant wasn't around to give her something? She shook her head and dug her nails deep into her skin. She had started doing little things to herself when she felt her head getting carried away. The bit of pain brought her back to reasonable thinking. How could she let her addiction to drugs overpower her desire to see her friends. It was her pride. She couldn't let them know what she was doing to survive. She dug her nails in harder and mentally kicked her own ass.

Shut up, you want to leave this life behind? You need to let them help you. You want get better and see Brittany. You better up your game.

Giving herself a mental lashing she typed out a response.

I'll be there.

She turned the phone off and tucked it away. She made a list of things she missed, things she missed so much that it overpowered her pride. Things she wanted so bad that she was willing to overcome her stupid pride to ask for help.

She mentally tortured herself to make sure she showed up tomorrow.

I miss the feeling of a home.

I miss the soft touch that shows someone cares.

I miss singing.

I miss a nice hot bath.

I miss not feeling like shit.

I miss the way Brittany smelled. Fruity, and like a soft teddy bear.

I miss the kissing Brittany.

I miss holding Brittany in my arms.

I miss watching her sleep and looking at every detail on her face.

I miss Brittany.

I miss Brittany.

I miss Brittany.

She continued the mantra as she made her way back to the warehouse. Just a little before the sun began setting. She got ready on autopilot as Brant didn't even pretend to not leer at her. She didn't have the energy to feel disgusted. She put on one of her old dresses and grabbed her heels. She walked up to Brant and he handed her exact change to take the subway to where the motel was. He leaned in the unsettling cold breath sweeping across her face again.

"Come back by 9. With the 200."

He pulled her into a rough kiss. Her face contorted to show her disgust but he didn't care. After thoroughly choking on his tongue she pushed back against him before he finally let her go. Wiping her lips in annoyance she headed towards the subway still with the mantra playing non-stop in her head.

I miss Brittany. I miss Brittany. I miss Brittany.

She arrived just in time and knocked on the door and a nervous jittery kid opened the door. He was probably only a year younger than her. But she had given up on being a teenager a long time ago. The young boy led her towards the bed seeming way to eager. If it had been any other situation she may have laughed. She may have laughed at how he blew his load while kissing her, how his kisses were like being pecked at by a hungry bird, how he used three condoms before finally getting it right. But all she felt was empty. She sighed wanting him to get it over with while he gave himself a mini pep talk in the bathroom. It was over quick. After all, this was the guy who just blew his load kissing. He pushed in and she let him do as he pleased. He pushed in and out of her and she closed her eyes slipping deeper into depression with every push of his hips. He squeaked before she felt him stiffen above her. He rolled off of her somewhat dazed and she sat up and began dressing herself again. She held out her hand. She wasn't sure who hated this moment more. Her asking for money after sex, or him having to pay after sex. But as he handed her the money they made no eye contact.

She left afterwards wanting nothing more than for it to be tomorrow already. Her mantra had paid off. She was more than ready to leave all of this behind.

"Congrats. You're a man." She quipped sarcastically as the door shut behind her and the tears were stinging at her eyes already.

The ride back to her station as quiet. It was late after all. She felt a few leering looks casted her way. But whereas before she would thrive off of them and get a confidence boost, now she just felt uncomfortable and objectified. She couldn't decipher what looks were people checking her out, and what looks were people imagining fucking her. And more than ever she just wanted someone to look at her like they wanted to hold her. She wanted to be held.

She stepped dazedly off the subway and headed back towards the warehouse not surprised at all that Brant was first to meet her. He had that stupid grin on his face and held his hand out for the money. She all but threw it in his face before heading back to the room she hated to share with him. He walked in tucking the money away.

"You know troublemaker. Remember that Mexican drug cartel Fernando? He's coming back in town next week. He really liked you. He's gonna pay big, so you better be up to par."

The Latina shivered at the memory. It made her somewhat thankful for what had happened earlier that night. Dealing with random kids wanting to swipe their V-card was nothing compared to the Mexican drug trafficker. He had been rough. She still remembered his voice, it was thick and greasy. And he kept calling her "cariña."

Flashback…

Brant was standing next to a man that looked greasier than Garrett. He was old. At least in his 40s, and was one of the big drug traffickers and had helped Brant out. Brant was more than willing to return the favor when Fernando set his eyes on the younger Latina. She remembered his beady eyes as they bore into her. She was uncomfortable as it was but Brant had gladly pushed her into the other man's arms.

Brant had left them alone and noticing her tenseness around him the slimeball had tried to call her "cariña," as if it would help ease her nerves. Instead it just remined her of her father when she was younger. He had once doted on her, before he lost all interest in her. Like so many people in her life she was put on the shelf in her father's background and he never came back to play with her.

Fernando had wasted no time and had her back up against the wall groping her body roughly. She had told him off in Spanish not to touch her with his ham hands. And he did not take well to it. She was pressed against the mattress with him over her before she knew it. He had held her hands above her head with a grip so tight she felt the bruises developing already. He freed himself of his pants and pushed into her roughly and she couldn't help the cry of pain. He seemed to feed off of that as approval and was fast and rough with her. He took to inflicting pain on her when she refused to make a sound. She had retired to lying their silently letting him have his way with her until he finished but he had wanted a reaction from her. Unlike Brant he seemed to have more stamina. And round after round she felt him use her body to his liking. He gripped at her leaving bruises, he bit her and left marks. At some point he dug into the skin on the inside of her thigh with a knife drawing blood. When she cried he dug deeper until she was whimpering as he lay wet sloppy kissed down her body. When he pushed into her again his hips dug into the cuts and she cried and tried not to cringe when he licked at her face tasting the products of her despair. By the end of the night he had his fill and was sated, he had satisfied his sadistic desires. And she remembered laying on the bed broken and too scared to move.

Present day…

Santana knew more than anything she was leaving. She sure as hell wasn't coming back to have to "entertain" Fernando.

Brant grabbed her body and pushed her on the bed. She hated it. As if she didn't hate herself enough, he needed to remind her that she was his. After every client Brant would be particularly rough with her. So he could prove to himself above everything else that she was still his. Santana lay back the mantra still playing non-stop in her head. She was too damn tired to fight. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would leave, and she would never come back.

Brant held her hands to her sides as he thrust into her. His groans made her nauseous and she bit back the bile. Nipping harshly at her neck she closed her eyes.

I miss Brittany. I miss Brittany. I miss Brittany.

He bit particularly hard down at her skin by her neck and she felt the skin break before letting a whimper out. It only caused him to double his efforts and she prayed her would finish soon. He finally grunted before he moaned out her name making her feel sick again. Rolling off her to pass out Santana turned to put her clothes back on. She felt gingerly at her neck and looked at the small trace of blood found there.

At least it's proof that I'm alive. Proof that I'm not living in some horrible fucking nightmare and I won't wake up.

She turned to see Brant sleeping already and curled up as far away from him as she possible could. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day that would make all the difference in her life. She would leave this all tomorrow and never look back. After tomorrow she would work until she was bone dry to be the kind of person that deserved Brittany Susan Pierce.