Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.

A/N: Thank you for reviewing, but pretty please review again! It's what drives me to update and continue on with the ff. Just like to recommend other ff's though – This Is For Real by Bazzer and What Boys Can't Provide by bobbieyoung. Seriously like these two at the moment! Anyway, I look forward to your guy's opinions of this ff.

Sincerely C x

My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as I park up at school. The jocks are tossing the nerds into the dumpster; I can't find it in me to care about them. I just sit and stare preparing myself for a day of acting, making sure that my mask is firmly in place.

I step out into the cool air; the sudden temperature drop is raising goose bumps across my flesh, as they become more prominent I run my index finger along my forearm just to feel it. No one will question my weird behaviour they just think its Brittany being Brittany.

"...I'm surprised she even knows how to drive a car." An errant Cheerio comments, I look up and see she is looking right at me, she is so self assured that she doesn't even turn away when I make eye contact with her. I'm trying to remember her name, Kelsey or Chelsea something like that, but she is so unmemorable that I can't seem to make the connection. I leave her sneering at my back as I walk towards Mckinley High.

The bell rings and I'm in the school building. I'm completely different here.

I'm no longer on the cheer squad but Santana is – she dreams of being the most popular girl at school. Instead, I work hard at maintaining this carefree exterior.

A wise person once said if I act happy then people will see me as happy, if I look at myself through their eyes then I can be happy. That's the method I employ here. I let people think I'm dumb, it allows me those moments of silence, those pieces of tranquillity that I can't find anywhere else.

I sense Santana walking in time with me, she never announces her presence with a word – I just know. We walk in time, my pace is kept slow and jovial now in comparison to the night before where I kept running and running until my legs felt like they could carry me no further.

I see out of the corner of my eye Santana getting bumped hard by some jock's shoulder. I don't say a word; I continue to smile as if oblivious to my surroundings and the sadistic nature of those who occupy these halls.

But Santana has plenty to say. She shouts and screams - her temper flaring, he's ruining her dream, fracturing and breaking this perfect picture that she's created in her mind. He brought her back to reality and there is always a price to pay for that.

I look on as she continues her rampage, tearing verbal lumps from him. I reinforce every word she's saying with a furrow of my brow letting them know they have destroyed my peace already and it's only been ten minutes since I set foot on the school grounds.

He turns to high five one of his friends, Santana turns to me defeated seeking some comfort. I take this cue to reassure her.

"He's a jerk" I tell her, I don't recognise this voice as belonging to me, it sounds strange to hear such honest words fall from my lips but I don't feel it at all. Words are meaningless.

I think Santana likes me better at school. At school I am her ideal version of Brittany, this is the "me" that she wants and I give it to her in abundance, she soaks it all up. She has asked me so many times why I can't be happy like this all the time. I thought she could see through and realise that even beneath the surface that darkness is still lurking, but she pretends not to see it and I pretend that it's not there.

It's as if it's some kind of carefully crafted game, handled deftly by both players.

I'm not sure if I want her to know that this isn't me, I don't want to shatter her dreams too.

Santana holds out her pinkie expectantly, I reciprocate quickly and this satisfies her. I don't feel any fire or security. It's just bone and muscle and flesh gripping tightly onto another. It's just simple contact, but I think she gets more from it than me.

An argyle sweater and white tights alert me to Rachel's sudden appearance in front of us. Santana doesn't even hesitate to begin hurling insults at her.

"Stop it" I whisper, the smile sliding from my face. She turns to look at me incredulously as I'm interrupting her habitually mean disposition.

Rachel is looking at me with something akin to awe. I don't like it, I feel as if I've been put beneath a magnifying glass, I'm being analysed by both girls now. Santana's face is unreadable, just like mine. I know she's confused as I don't respond anymore, or at least respond with any kind of emotion.

Santana is always asking me why I'm so detached. Why did I change? Why won't I talk to her like before? I give the same answer every time – I don't know.

"...so in conclusion we are meeting in the auditorium today after school and no miming this time. My vocal chords can't take the strain of carrying you all anymore." Santana snorted in derision at Rachel, clearly hoping that that would be enough to make her leave.

I just wanted to be alone right now. Sometimes it is as if she is babysitting me, watching me for any warning signs. I can't stand it. It makes me want to scream at her.

Last night, after the running and the phone calls and then more running, I waited for her to arrive at my window and climb into bed with me. For the first time in our friendship she hasn't come back to me and done as I expected her to. I know that I'm losing her because I'm pushing her away on purpose.

I'm slightly resentful of who she is, how she can be strong yet weak, sweet but vicious. She is my very own walking contradiction, my enigma. I'm a nonentity in comparison and the feeling makes my heart soar for her yet hurt painfully.

I don't know where I'm going. Or what I'm going to be doing. My pulse remains steady as Santana brushes the hair from my face. She's concerned, her eyes are asking me so.

I pull away from her touch not because I couldn't control overwhelming waves of passion and lust. I pulled away because she was being too familiar, and her actions were akin to that of a mother's.

I push her hand away.

I don't want her to touch me now. I wanted her to be there in my bed last night. I didn't want her to be affectionate to me, here in the hallway out in the open so everyone can see. If I'm honest I'm quite surprised by her actions, considering she has neither confirmed nor denied her sexuality to the masses that comprises of the student body.

"Brittany have you forgotten how to leave again?" Rachel said in that exasperated tone. I waited for Santana's retort, but she didn't bite, instead she was looking away from me her shoulders dipping low as if she was caving in.

"Something like that" I say, I don't really acknowledge either girl with a goodbye, I just walk quickly on.

I am just about to walk through the door and into my history class, until I feel fingers tug at me gently. She's come for me and with a firmer grasp pulls me away, until the watching eyes of each student and the prejudice comments seep into the distance.

Cool metal is pressing down the length of my back, Santana's hands are pinning me down making sure that I can't go anywhere. She is so close to me, and I want this, but I don't want it – do I? I'm panicking, I don't know what decision to make.

"I can make you smile again." Her voice is barely a whisper, the words slide warningly against my ear, it's seductive and I almost forget for a moment.

"Let me go." There are those words again; I feel the previous determination that emanated from her wavering. She pulls back, and I didn't realise she had gotten so close to kissing me. She pulls back and I see tears in her eyes.

"Don't cry." I command it, my mouth feels cold as I speak the words aloud, and there isn't an ounce of caring in them. She leans forward again and I tense, she presses her lips to my cheek softly and I almost feel it, a twinge of some sort – a twinge of compassion now resides in my chest.

She backs out quickly, trying desperately to stem the tears, threatening to roll down her cheeks.

I want her to hurt the way I do, in a way I blame her, I blame her for who I am now. I slide myself down the metal door, finally realising that I'm in the girl's restroom. I put my head in my hands and cry, it's the first time I have allowed myself to pity her, to pity me too.

Everything is so hard, so angular and if I could label myself that is exactly how I would represent my inner mind right now. I'm trying hard to stop myself from remembering, but I can't, it rewinds back to that exact moment I became like this.

I start gasping, the fear having such a good hold around my throat as if it's choking me. I try and breathe but it won't let me, my lungs are aching and my chest hurts. I slow down again, my shallow breaths become deeper, more controlled. I place my palms flat on the tiling and push myself up.

Quinn's gaze is wary and I didn't even notice her standing there. I force out a smile and think quickly of something inane and Brittany-esque that would satisfy her open curiosity.

I gesture wildly at the floor.

"I just found out Santa isn't real." This seems to appease her as she strides over she starts to hug me, but I stand still, not even moving to engulf her in a hug back. All I want to do is leave. She lets go and rubs my arm reassuringly.

"You still get presents though!" She exclaims half-heartedly. I nod furiously in response, not trusting my voice to continue this facade. When I realise no more is going to be said I leave quickly, I almost turn around and walk back in when I see Santana laughing with Puck, her fingers travelling repetitively up and down his bicep.

I feel sick, a strong nausea that makes me want to run. But I don't, I continue to stand and watch from afar as my world breaks.

I watch and feel so many emotions all at once it shocks me – I haven't felt this much and this confused since the night I changed.

I feel tears and it surprises me. She looks up and smiles slightly, Puck's head swivels round and following her gaze finds me on the receiving end of it. His stare is so concentrated and piercing that it makes me ill and bare.

I wrap my arms around myself as if I was naked, keeping some semblance of modesty. I bow my head and walk away. But I can still feel him on me, that look that made me so uneasy.

A single tear falls. They all see through me.

They all see it.