A/N - I'll start off with a massive 'THANK YOU' and 'I LOVE YOU' to each and every one of you who are sticking with this little story that's become something I didn't think it could and those who are alerting/favouriting/reviewing because you guys just put the biggest smiles on my face and it makes me really happy to know I have such support from you all on this. I would have updated earlier but somehow I couldn't log in and this is the first time FF has let me so here we are with Part 4. I really hope that you enjoy this and that you can understand where I'm going with it and hopefully not hate me too much. I really do promise that the next parts are going to be super tense and (fingers crossed) really good and 'wanky' as our beloved Satan says. (The song used in this part is 'I Should Go' by Levi Kreis which you should go and check out because it's amazing and I hope you find it fits with what Sebastian is feeling.) Okay here we go, enjoy x


It was so difficult to keep her eyes open. Nothing would stay in focus and the pounding in her head and the ringing in her ears didn't make her want to pay attention. She wanted to sleep. Just sleep

Nevertheless, someone was talking to her, forcing her to stay awake. A wave of nausea came over her as she tried to remember who was with her. Was it Brittany? Brittany always took care of her. Sweet, innocent Brittany.

Images of the blonde passed through her mind, jumbling together to make some sort of multi-coloured rainbow. She wished they would slow down: it was making her even dizzier. Suddenly only one image remained. Brittany kissing Artie.

Oh. That's right. They weren't together anymore. So who was holding her hand and practically yelling in her ear.

She wished they would shut up because none of this was making her feel any better. Opening her eyes slowly and with much difficulty as they felt like they had weights attached to them, she garbled something along the lines of, "Shut your whiny voice up."

A narrow face. Soft looking brown hair. Green flecked eyes. Sebastian. Sebastian was saving her. Because she knew that she didn't feel well and that something was wrong. But all she wanted to do was sleep.

"Let me sleep." She whispered and leaned her head on his shoulder, although the action felt like it had taken all of her strength just to carry out. Her body was responding too slowly and, if the pounding in her head didn't make it difficult to think, she would have been worried about what that meant. Was she dying?

Sebastian wouldn't let that happen. She was sure of it, just as sure that they were more than enemies through the kiss they'd shared. She was safe.

Frantically, he crashed open the front door with a limp Santana in his arms and screamed out for his mother. His mind was rushing at a mile a minute and he had no idea what to do now. Get Santana home. That had been his objective. He felt useless and fearful not knowing what to do.

'Keep Santana alive.'

Yes. Yes, good. That was next. He felt like a child, only operating in single sentences but he wasn't sure if his heart could take much more than that. Behind whatever wall where Sebastian kept all of his feelings locked away – ones that he never used: care, hope, worry – he could feel them threatening to break free.

"MOM! HELP ME!" he screeched again, barging into her study and gently placing Santana down on the couch with shaking hands.

Turning from whatever paper she was studying, Dana Smythe took one look at her son, eyes full of emotions that she hadn't seen in years, and at the coffee colour skinned girl on her leather couch, before kick-starting into action.

"What happened?" she asked, reaching out for the girl and checking her pulse.

Sebastian couldn't think, couldn't speak. He just stared blankly at Santana, who looked nearly lifeless on the couch and fell to his knees.

This is my fault. All my fault.

"…suspected severe reaction to Rohypnol…"

"…urine samples came back positive…"

"…date-rape drugs at Deefiile…"

"…staff being questioned…"

Sebastian only took in snippets of the information that he had been told. His mom had called ahead to the hospital to tell them she was coming in with a suspected drug spiking victim and to have the necessary equipment ready. She'd told him that he'd done the right thing by bringing Santana to her but he could tell that she was lying. 'Should have brought her straight to the hospital', he'd heard one of the nurses murmur under her breath.

Now they were alone, just he, looking horrendous with sticking up hair and haunted eyes and Satan, clad in a study hospital gown and lying motionless on the bed. She was sleeping. Just sleeping. He knew that, but she was too still, too – for want of a better word – dead looking.

Reaching over, he tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear and took her hand. It wasn't meant to go like this. They were supposed to have gone somewhere (not that it would have mattered) and had wild, passionate sex and be done with it. Fineto. Goodbye. Done.

Santana wasn't supposed to have taken a spiked drink and ended up here, making him feel things that he didn't want to. He wanted to be angry at her and shout at her for making him care, but one look at her gorgeous face and he knew that he couldn't.

It was the look of curiosity filled with long lost hope from his mother that was really getting to him. That was what he had been most dreading from all of this: the looks from his parents (if they ever found out) because maybe, just maybe, their son could still be normal. Could still be that perfect, rich little straight boy that they'd always dreamed he'd be.

They'd put him through hell, never actually admitting to his face that they were disappointed but when he began to get referred to as 'the boy' as if he had some sort of disease, he'd known that they were never going to accept him. Parent issues, isn't it so clichéd that that would be the reason he was a sarcastic bastard.

He sighed and rested his forehead against their intertwined fingers. He couldn't be that boy for them. Just because some narcotic lesbian had managed to make him care, didn't mean that he was straight and could go out on all of those prearranged dates with the daughters of his parents friends.

"Why'd I have to meet you, huh? Couldn't you have just stayed away?" he whispered, knowing that she couldn't hear him and wouldn't for around about another six hours until the drugs left her system.

He's felt blinding rage the moment his mother had told him that Santana had been drugged. He wanted to find the person, the sick, twisted motherfucker who had done this as beat him to a pulp. The police had been alerted and the club was in lockdown. His mother had assured him that they would find the person, and that they would pay for it.

The American legal system wasn't punishment enough for the person who had done this to Santana. Yes, she wasn't in any danger now, but if Sebastian hadn't been there to take care of her, some guy (or girl) could have easily preyed on her and done unspeakable things to her. And who knows what she'd remember when she awoke? Would she even remember kissing him? And how had she managed to drink something spiked anyway? Sebastian knew that she was smart enough to not leave her drinks unattended.

Questions for when Santana was awake to give them answers. There was no use in fretting over them now. He just wanted to see her smile. No, not even that. He wanted to see that smirk on her face matched with her bedroom eyes. Wanted an insult to pass through her lips. Wanted to kiss her again.

He was screwed.

Suddenly a song appeared in his head, among the confusion and the pain and he knew that he had to sing. This was how the Warbler's sorted something out wasn't it? Stupid gay-face Kurt had sang about his dead bird, or so he'd heard. Well now was as good a chance as any to get his feelings out and Santana sure as hell wasn't able to hear him. No one to listen. No one to judge.

Quietly he began, barely more than a whisper, but he squeezed Santana's hand as if needing it to be the lifeline to get himself through this mess.

"Here we are, isn't it familiar?

Haven't had someone to talk to in such a long time.

And it's strange, all we have in common,

And your company was just the thing I needed tonight.

Somehow I feel I should apologise,

'Cause I'm just a little shaken by what's goin' on inside.

I should go, before my will gets any weaker,

And my eyes begin to linger longer than they should.

I should go, before I lose my sense of reason,

And this hour holds more meaning than it ever could.

I should go. I should go.

Baby, I should go."

The lyrics used to be meaningless to him, some guy pining over another guy's girl, but now they meant more than anyone else could know. Santana was exactly like him, someone who was cut from the same cloth and knew what it was like to feel like an outsider. She was a bitch because the world had brought her up that way. She was someone who could understand the enormity of the indecision that battled within him.

He didn't know what to do with any of what he was feeling, not without talking to Santana, and even that would be difficult. Sebastian didn't talk about things, he wasn't good with fragile comments and meaningful words. Feelings were something that weak people had.

But what he was feeling didn't feel weak, and no weak person could ever deal with the anger and fear. Watching Santana pulling in breath after breath he could feel the old Sebastian melting away, no matter how much that scared him to the very core.

"It's so hard keeping my composure,

And pretend I don't see how your body curves beneath your clothes.

And your laugh, it's pure and unaffected.

It frightens me to know so well the place I shouldn't go."

He was going to have to grow up, going to have to deal with what he felt for her. What would be the point in all of this, if, after they fucked, they realised that it was just the chase, the excitement, the forbidden aspect of it all that had made them attracted to each other. What would the point be in baring his soul and allowing someone in for once if it wasn't going to mean anything.

"I know I gotta take the noble path,

'Cause I don't want you to question the intentions that I have.

I should go, before my will gets any weaker,

And my eyes begin to linger longer than they should.

I should go, before I lose my sense of reason,

And this hour holds more meaning than it ever could.

I should go. I should go.

Baby, I should go."

What were his intentions? Yesterday it had been to possess her. Now… He almost felt like laughing at himself, a person couldn't develop feelings in as little time as a day. Love – although it definitely wasn't that – at first sight didn't exist. He'd hated her.

But had he really? With her dark features, had he just instantly realised that this was someone dangerous to him – dangerous in ways that he maybe hadn't even thought about – and singled her out as someone to destroy?

And now, after what they'd been through, he didn't want to hurt her. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay and kiss her. He wanted to kiss her so badly.

It went against everything that he believed in about himself. Not that he was gay. It wasn't about that. Caring for someone. Wanting to protect and make them happy. These weren't things that he did. Not even for Santana, he couldn't.

"I don't mean to leave you with a trivial excuse.

And when you call tomorrow, I'll know what to do."

He had to leave, clear his head and re-evaluate the situation. He didn't want to leave Santana alone though because couldn't escape the feeling that something terrible was going to happen to her.

Her parents were on their way though, he could just wait until they arrived. She'd be safe with them. All he could feel was guilt but he had to leave. Santana would understand.

"I should go, before my will gets any weaker,

And my eyes begin to linger longer than they should.

I should go, before I lose my sense of reason,

And this hour holds more meaning than it ever could.

I should go. I should go.

Baby, I should go."

He pressed one more kiss to her cool lips and let their hands fall apart, it would make no sense to complicate things for Santana between her parents and her. Because was their anything there to complicate?

'Stop. Just be thankful that she's alive. Figure it out in the morning.'

Sighing again, he stared blankly at the ceiling and wished that everything would just sort itself out.

It was Monday. She'd woken up around midday on Thursday and had spent the entire day been interrogated by her parents and the doctors. It hadn't exactly been easy waking up with a splitting sore head and no memory of how you came to be lying in a hospital bed. She remembered the terror and icy feeling of fear when she'd first looked around at her surroundings.

Everyone had been relieved to find that she'd managed to recover so well, had even been able to give the police if not a detailed recount of her time at Deefiile, then a useful one. She'd had three shots from the barman directly and then a gulp of a girls drink she'd been dancing with. Apart from receiving a swift scolding about the dangers of drinking unknown substances, the police officers had been rather kind.

It was probably because they thought she would go into shock over the whole situation. The nurses hovered outside her room like nervous birds waiting for her to have an emotional breakdown. She'd been released on Sunday morning, the doctor telling her that she could go to school if she felt able but to take it easy. No Cheerio's practice for at least a week.

She still couldn't believe she'd been drugged. It was one of those horror stories that you always heard people talking about and never expected it to happen to you. If it hadn't been for Sebastian…

Speaking of, she hadn't heard from him since. She'd been told he's brought her to the hospital and stayed with her until her parents had arrived. She didn't want to think about his reasons for staying, but after their kiss, it made a lump rise in her throat.

A song, vaguely familiar and hauntingly sorrowful, had been the main attraction in her dreams for the past four nights. Sometimes she could hear herself singing it, three guesses as to who to. Other times it was the cock-sure asshole that wouldn't leave her mind.

Now it was worse because before she could easily have thought of some reason to hate him. Now she was indebted to him, he'd saved her.

She didn't know what to do with that.

She hadn't texted him and had received nothing in return. Maybe he'd decided that it was all one big mistake and he'd only saved her to save his own conscience. Something about the way his mother, her doctor, had recounted the story, made it seem otherwise.

It wasn't as if she liked him. They had chemistry, obviously, but that didn't mean that she wanted to spend time with him. The eyes that darted towards her phone every two minutes were only checking the time. She wasn't waiting for him, Santana didn't become some floozy from a romantic novel waiting for the hero to swoop in and give her life meaning.

She'd seriously considered going back into school on Monday as no one there knew what had happened: she'd asked if her name could be kept out of any reports in the newspapers and her parents had spread the story that she'd been stricken with chicken pox. Stupid, she knew, but she didn't want to have to deal with their sympathy. She knew she was already going to be facing a hard enough time with the whole 'Bartie' thing anyway. But upon opening her eyes, she'd been swallowed by a feeling of complete dread and exhaustion. She didn't want to face Brittany and her pleading eyes or Artie and his sad but smug smile. In truth all she wanted was…

She couldn't want him. If Sebastian was ignoring her then it meant he's decided that whatever they had was pointless and pathetic. It was. His absence still made her eyes burn and her throat close up.

Stupid Sebastian.

Resigned to staying in her bed all day, she pulled the covers up over her head and tried to muffle the tears that dripped down her nose.

'Turn around.'

'Don't do this.'

'You can't go in there.'

'What are you going to do? Break in? Great way to gain her forgiveness Seb, first class. With brains like that it's no wonder that it's taken you an entire weekend to figure out that it doesn't matter if you like guys because you like Santana. Genius.'

'Stop.'

Sebastian ignored all of the voices in his mind and stared resolutely at the dark brown oak of the Lopez residence's front door. A curving gold 'L' knocker stared back at him. He didn't actually know why he was risking being late for his morning classes, or why he'd driven from Dalton to Lima just to see if Santana was in or not.

Well, he did. But he was trying not to think about the reasons. Focus on breathing and blinking.

Was she even in? Had she gone to school today despite needing bed rest? If he knew her – which he didn't – he'd say she'd have gone just to give a 'fuck you' to the doctors. He laughed lightly at that thought. Brilliant, stubborn Santana. He'd thought he was going to lose her and now, because of his general ass-iness, he probably had.

He needed to see her, of that he was certain. Everything would make sense when talking to her, he'd be able to tell her that he wanted to continue with…their kiss. The kiss that had left him arching into his mattress more times than he could count.

Gulping, he rapped on the knocker and took out his phone.

From Sebastian: I'm outside. Let me in.

Seventeen seconds passed, Sebastian didn't think he breathed throughout any of them.

From Santana: Are we in a Swedish vampire film now?

From Sebastian: Just let me in Satan.

From Santana: Nothing for days and you want inside my home?

He heard banging around upstairs and smiled to himself, she still wanted to see him. That was a start. Footsteps sounded on stairs and he could vaguely make out a shape in one of the frosted glass windows in her door.

From Sebastian: Been missing me?

From Santana: Miss the sound of your incessant whiny voice? I don't think so.

From Sebastian: I doubt you can even remember the sound of it.

From Santana: Well I haven't heard it since before waking up in hospital.

From Santana: Without you...

Those three little dots held everything that he was afraid of.

From Sebastian: I can explain.

From Santana: Three words every girl wants to hear.

From Sebastian: I have food. We needta talk. Need tosee you.

A soft laugh. He hated the way his heart sped up at the sound. The door handle shook and the door swung open.

Clad only in an oversized 'Paramore' tee-shirt with her hair falling in messy waves, she leaned against the door and smiled, "You better have food."

He mutely held up the bag of donuts he'd grabbed on his way over and simply took her in. She was just as perfect as the last time, her toned legs gleaming in the watery sunlight and lips a deep cherry red. Except the puffiness of her eyes and the innocent, vulnerable look about them.

"Going to stand there all day after you begged to get in? By the way, little piece of advice: don't give up the day job because making up words isn't really working for you." And with that she plucked the bag from his hands and sauntered back up the stairs.

'Well move then you idiot.'

They were just going to talk. That was all. He wasn't sitting on the edge of her bed looking like he'd stepped off a runway and inhaling a sugary donut because he liked her. He felt sorry for her. Had to.

Still, Santana pulled her bed covers up so that they covered most of her body, before taking a donut. He'd brought her food, not great food, but a sign of compassion none the less.

When was she going to stop lying to herself?

"So? Just here to see my bedroom or?" She began, not entirely trusting her voice anymore because the situation seemed too familiar, too nice and too easy to sink into. She could see them playing video games together and arguing about what to watch on T.V. She could also see him naked and writhing beneath her.

His eyes flashed suggestively, "I'd had seen it sooner or later. You can't resist me Satan."

"Please, I'd rather face the mutts in Hunger Games rather than have anything to do with you."

Lies. Lies. Lies. Her mind chanted, and she tried to ignore the way that the morning sunlight glinted off of his pale skin, illuminating (just for once) the boy behind the façade.

His hand reached out to take hers but she shuffled away, finally realising that they were going to have to talk about the giant elephant in the room.

"Why didn't you text me?"

"Why didn't you text me?

The same question from both mouths, hung in the pregnant air. Santana was scared, scared to move in case he ran away again, scared to ask herself why she hadn't had the courage to reach out to him, scared to understand the fury running through her at his accusation.

"You rescue me. Sing to me. And then leave? What am I meant to do with that Sebastian?" she asked him, refusing to back down. At the end of this, something was going to be resolved, even if she had to force it from herself.

She had to know what this was, if it was just a game to him then fine she'd play. But if it meant more…

"I don't know. I couldn't come back." His eyes were filled with something, regret? She didn't understand, what had happened that had made him so distant?

"Why not?"

Two words. And it just burst out of him.

"I didn't know what to do okay. How am I meant to go from smug, gay bastard to live-saving, Santana liking, emotional train wreck? What could I do?" His face looked pained and Santana could see that he'd obviously been wrestling with himself over this. 'Santana liking'. He'd admitted it. Gone were the doubts over if it was okay to like a girl if your gay. He wanted her.

It terrified her. "And you don't think that waking up in that hospital with strange people poking around at you and finding out you've been drugged is difficult? Even without the whole you and me thing, I could have used someone to help me. And I had/have no one."

Sebastian looked like he'd been punched in the gut. She didn't want to hurt him and didn't want his sympathy. But he looked so forlorn and torn up that she began to doubt what her motives were for going on the offensive.

It was because she couldn't face the reality.

As hard as she tried to hide it, she needed someone. And Sebastian had let her down. The thought settled deep in the pit of his stomach and disgust seeped through him. He had been selfish and scared and ran away from someone who needed him.

The first person who'd ever actually needed him. And he'd ran.

"You have me." But even as the words hit his ears, he heard the futility of them, Santana had her guards up again. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' or something like that. Maybe his likeness of Santana to Satan wasn't so far off now.

"Didn't seem like it. And why would I want you anyway?" She crossed her arms over her body protectively, but Sebastian could see how much he'd hurt her.

He scooted closer to her and dismissed his ingrained sense of 'don't show your emotions', "Because I'm the only person that knows how lonely it is when you push everyone else away and pretend like you don't need anyone else."

His parent's opinions didn't matter to him anymore, it wasn't like they influenced anything else in his life. So what if he liked Santana. That didn't mean that they could control his life now. He was still going to like guys. After Satan.

"I don't need you."

Sweet words and baring emotions weren't going to make her see, that's not how she operated. Sebastian could feel his frustration building, why couldn't she just understand?

"Don't pretend like you don't feel it too. The mighty Satan's emotions are running wild, so what does she do? Oh, that's right, let's just act like a bitch because I'd end up disappointing whoever it is that helps me anyway. Better to hurt them now rather than later. Well, it doesn't work on me."

He was breathing heavily and was dangerously close to losing himself in her liquid eyes that flashed angrily, "You think you are so special Smythe. You're nothing but a guy who can get his dick sucked so he'll try and get it anywhere else he can."

Trying to beat each other. Always a game.

"You can't keep your girlfriend interested longer than the time it takes her to put on socks in the morning."

Teasing. Hurting.

"You don't know anything about Brittany."

Truth. Reality.

"Well is she here now? Cause I don't see her. No, I see me, a guy who actually isn't put off by your personality trying to make you see that I want to help you."

"I don't need you." Instead of the hard accusation that had came earlier, it was a breathy moan, a denial purely in spite. They were inches from each other. Facing off and neither yielding.

A breath passed between them, both hurt and angry and oh so wanting.

Their lips met and every worry went out of the window. It didn't matter that he'd left or that she was being stubborn. They were kissing, hands intertwined messily in hair and clutching at material. Tongues battled and gave in, while a hand roamed along bare tanned flesh.

He lost himself in everything that was Santana, once again feeling her body pressed against his but this time knowing that she was responding and would remember it. He savoured the way her lips tasted and the dull pain of her biting of his bottom lip. The way her pupils had dilated so that they looked almost purely black and the little hitch in her breath as he pushed her down onto the mattress, his body moulding to her curves.

Everything was tasting and touching and breathy moans. Santana wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer towards her, as if she was afraid that he was going to let her go. Not a chance in hell.

Sweat was beading at the nape of his neck but he found himself not caring when she began to whisper dirtily into his ear. His cock was straining in the tight confinements of his uniform trousers and he was aching for friction but he became sidetracked with Santana's lower tummy. Her skin was so soft and as he sucked against her neck, his hand slipped lazily along her pantie line where he could already tell she was wet.

A hand pushed his hand away and forced him to pay attention, "Wait. Wait. Have you ever actually done this before?"

He looked at her like she was sprouting an extra head, "Sex? Why no, I really wonder what it's like, I mean I've hear that birds and bees really enjoy it!"

She hit him hard with her pillow, "But with a girl?"

Oh. She thought…

"Threesomes are a fantastic practice. You really should try them. It's like where the guy gets to fuck and get fucked at the same time. I know how everything functions if that's what you're worried about."

Of course he'd been with girls before, just not on their own, he didn't know how he'd get it up without a guy being there. Somehow, he didn't think that was going to be a problem with Satan.

"Not worried. Just concerned that you won't be able to satisfy my big needs. I have a very demanding, rather large libido." Her hands trailed along the waistband of his trousers and dipped to cup him through the material, and his brain was ready to short circuit.

All he could look at was her eyes, her beautiful tantalizing eyes. Theoretically, he knew he should be paying attention to the glorious orbs that pressed against his chest but they weren't what made Santana herself. Her eyes did. They showed him everything that she couldn't, wouldn't say.

"I-" But her finger was placed over his lips, her face scrunching in concentration.

Then he heard it, "San? Santana are you here? San?"

The colour drained from Santana's face as she whispered the one name that Sebastian didn't ever want to hear, "Brittany. She's here." She bolted into a sitting position and stared at the door like it was a wild lion.

"How did she get in?" he whispered furiously, working his lips around her finger, "I thought you had broken up."

Guilt passed across her features and she shook her head, "She has a key, for when we needed to be…discreet. And not officially."

That almost made him laugh. Almost. But with a growing hard on and Santana so close to him, he wasn't in the mood to laugh, "Not officially? What, do you need cake and banners or something? Your Glee club really knows how to celebrate pain, but I mean it must be used to it by now."

It was the hurt that flickered in her eyes that made his blood burn. He wanted to hurt the girl that made Satan feel this way and he was ready to bound out of the room before she whispered, "Get in the closet."

"What?"

"Get in the closet."

"Again I go with: what? Are you insane? I'm not hiding in your closet!"

Her pleading eyes turned on him, "Just please Sebastian, she can't see you. Get in the closet."

He couldn't resist those eyes.

If he had been in different situation the irony of Santana stuffing him in a closet would have made him peel with laughter. But, when surrounded by the sensual scent of her clothes in a cramped wardrobe, he didn't really find anything funny.

And he was so hard.

"Santana?" A hesitant knock on her bedroom door and suddenly Brittany was in her room, looking slightly sheepish and scared while Santana tried to hide the wetness of her panties with her long shirt.

"What are you doing here Brit?" She didn't want to see her. It was better that she just accepted that they couldn't be together. She didn't want the awkward break-up conversation.

"I came to see if you were okay, Mr Schue said you had pox. Is that like when you collect boxes?"

Why did Brittany have to be so adorable? No. She wouldn't feel sorry for her, it was she that was in the wrong. The hurt and pain of rejection burned within her, and she didn't want to hide anymore. She wanted the truth.

"Don't act innocent Brittany. Why didn't you just tell me you wanted to be with Artie?"

She twisted her hands together and looked at the ground, "I didn't want to hurt you. I love you San."

A harrowing scoff escaped Santana's lips as she processed how Brittany saw their relationship: it was okay to be with other people because she'd been with Santana while dating others. This was her fault. The thought made her numb.

"I want you to be happy Brit. But I can't be around you anymore. Not yet. You cheated on me."

"You said that it wasn't cheating when it was with Artie." Brittany countered and Santana's heart sank, this really was her fault.

But why should she feel bad for something she hadn't done? Why was she trying to be perfect and understanding, when she wasn't? "Things changed. I came out."

Brittany narrowed her eyes and delivered her ultimate blow, "And now you're crawling back in with that Warbler."

No. She knew nothing about Sebastian. She didn't even know she'd been drugged. Brittany didn't care about her anymore.

"You don't know anything about Sebastian." As she realised that she used the same sentence mere minutes ago, she compared her reasons for it.

She'd defended Brittany because it was what she always has done. And because no matter what happened, Brittany would always be her first love.

She'd defend Sebastian because…

'What's the end of that sentence Santana?'

Brittany's hands were on her hips and her cheeks were flushed in anger, "You were with him when I got hurt. Don't lie."

"And you were kissing Artie when I dropped everything to visit my girlfriend." Santana shot back. When did they become these people? This just proved that they weren't good together.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care."

Tears were filling Brittany's eyes but Santana couldn't find it within herself to care. She still wanted Brittany to be happy, but she didn't have to accept it any more. She didn't need her.

"Do you like Sebastian? Is that why you said his name?" Brittany sounded resigned now, but still her curious self even in the face of their break up.

She let the anger build within her, forgetting that he was a literally two metres away and snarled, really just wanting to be alone, "Sebastian means just about as much to me as you do right now. Nothing. Get out Brittany, go be happy with Artie, just leave."

"San-"

"Please."

She still had one thing over Brittany: control. And Santana was done with it, done with pretending like they could work together. She was doing the best thing for them both. Tears would come later, right now it was a case of getting Brittany out so she could just collapse into bed nurse her wounded pride.

"I miss you San."

"You should have thought about that before jumping back into bed with that four eyed loser."

Brittany shook her and just turned away, walking out of the door and – Santana hoped – out of her life at least for now.

She should feel something. Wrecked with heart ache and tears, that's what happened after break ups right? But she didn't.

And if that didn't say everything about her, Santana didn't know what would. Falling less than gracefully back into bed, she burrowed her head under her pillow. One less person to worry about. Got to count for something.

"I mean nothing?"

Shit.


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