"What's wrong with me?" you ask, staring at her open window.

"Santana?" She appears in the window frame. She looks confused and you can see her check behind her like someone is there.

Your stomach is warm and you feel lightheaded. The vodka is in every particle of your body and you're still fuzzy as to how you got here. You can feel the soft grass give under your shoes and you move your foot to the side so you don't fall over. "What's wrong with me?" You demand. You can feel yourself swaying, "Why don't you love me?"

"What are you talking about?" she asks, leaning on the windowsill, "Of course I love you."

"You bumped my ass," you yell, "How could you do that if you love me?"

Then everything fades out because you can see it. That stupid haircut rolling toward the window. He's there. You want to scream and yell and throw things. You want to punch someone in the face and cry for days.

But before you can choose which one you're going to do, flashing lights appear behind you. Fucking Brittany's neighbors called the cops. Of course she did. She used to call Brittany's parents every time you and her would leave the house after dark if you had permission or not. Why the fuck didn't you wear your Cheerio uniform? You could get out of this so much easier. Now you're drunk and yelling and underage and completely fucked.

When you look back at the window, Brittany's gone. Just fucking Artie staring at you from the window.

"Is there a problem?" the officer asks. You didn't even realize he had walked up to you.

You turn to him and do your best to not look as drunk as you actually are. "No."

"There was a call about a disturbance," he states, looking you over.

You glance at the neighbor's house and see the old lady peeking out from between her blinds. When she sees you looking her disappears. You sigh and look back at the officer, "I'll just go. I'm sorry."

"Hold on," he steps in front of you, "How much have you had to drink?"

You open your mouth to answer when you hear the eternally squeaky front door of the Pierce house open. Both parents and Brittany step outside.

The officer tells you to sit on the curb and wait for him. Once you do, he walks back to the Pierces. You're surprised that he doesn't handcuff you, but you are too drunk to run away.

You rest your forehead on your knees and wrap your arms around your legs. You never noticed how cold you were until now. The occasionally gust causes you to shiver, but you try to focus on the warmth the vodka is creating in your stomach.

You feel the weight of material drop on your shoulder. You don't want to know who's there, so you keep your head down. The blanket is warm and smells like the inside of the Pierce house, dredging up all kinds of memories you'd rather forget.

"Where are your parents, honey?" the soothing voice of Mrs. Pierce asks.

You shrug your shoulders and lift your head. You look straight ahead, but watch her out of the corner of your eye. There's a stray cat running through the bushes across the street. The lawn across the street is wet, the sprinklers were probably just on. You remember running through those very sprinklers with Brittany on a whim. You've never laughed so hard in your life. It looks like you never will again.

"Are you staying alone at home?" she asks you, her eyes stay on your face.

You shake your head. Everything's just so fucked. You're going to jail and your parents aren't in town to bail you out.

"Where are you staying dear?" she asks, placing a hand on your back.

You successfully stifle tears as you answer, "The Berrys."

You can tell that she looks surprised, but is trying to hide it. If you hadn't known her since you were little you would have fallen for it, "I'll be right back."

You drop your head again. You can hear them all talking behind you, but their words are blurred in the wind. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself. You hear Brittany add something before her dad takes over.

Finally you hear the heavy booted footsteps walk toward you and you prepare yourself for a night in jail. "Miss Lopez?" he asks, his tone less authoritative and more respectful, "Can you stand up for me?"

You sigh and stand. He walks the few steps to his car and opens the front passenger door. You look questioningly at him before you glance back at the Pierce family. They're all huddled against the wind. Mrs. Pierce is giving you a sad smile and Mr. Pierce has his arm around his wife. Your eyes fall on Brittany for a brief moment before you have to look away. There are tears in her eyes, a few escaping against the cold wind.

You sit in the passenger's seat and the officer closes the door. Inside the cab, there's a laptop open and flashing through the constantly scrolling reports. A bar of buttons hangs above the laptop. Once the officer is in, he instructs you to put on your seatbelt and then he puts on his own. He checks a little notepad in his hand before tossing it onto the dashboard and taking off.

You lean on the door as the darkened houses pass you. After a few blocks he says, "You know, I get it." You look over at him and raise an eyebrow. He chuckles at your look, "I caught me wife cheating on me with my partner." He flashes his left hand at you and you can see the tan line where a wedding ring used to be. "It sucks, but it gets better you know?"

"No I don't know," you lean back onto the window.

He smiles and runs his hand over his hair, "Well, you come find me in a few weeks and we'll talk." When he pulls to a stop you find yourself in front of the Berry house. In some ways you feel like this is worse that jail. Both of Rachel's dads are home.

The officer gets out of the car and opens the door for you. You get out of the car with the blanket still on your shoulders. You're glad that your car is still there. It means you didn't drive it anywhere in your hazy drunkenness.

He helps you out and walks you to the door. You look at him and hope that somehow he'll leave before the door opens. But the door opens before either of you can knock. Rachel's daddy looks at you both, assessing the situation. Drawing his own conclusions that are probably worse than what really happened.

"What happened?" he finally asks and his eyes land on you. They're soft and kind, completely concerned, "Are you okay?"

The officer smiles politely, "She was just out walking. I didn't want her to get too cold on the way back." He nods to Mr. Berry and walks back to his car.

Mr. Berry opens the door wider for you and once you're inside you almost make it to the stairs before he says, "Why don't you have a seat on the couch?" It wasn't really a question so you sigh and walk to the couch, bumping into an end table on the way. Of course he noticed. He's the father of Miss Perceptive. She had to get it from somewhere.

He sits down next to you and leans with his forearms on his knees, "I know that officer was lying. You're obviously extremely intoxicated, Santana."

The blanket gets tighter around you. You don't know if you did it or it just feels like it, but it makes you feel safer. "I'm sorry." That's pretty much all you can say at this point. You're starting to feel sick.

"Where are your parents?" he asks softly, although his tone makes you think he already knows.

You wish people would stop asking that. It just reminds you that Brittany was the only one that ever really gave a shit about you before Rachel and Quinn decided to take you in like a fucking lost puppy. You bow your head and tell him, "I don't know. Medical conference or symposium or something..."

He rubs his face and looks at you a little longer, "Why don't you go take a shower and we'll talk more later okay?"

You quickly nod, although you find that to be a bad idea because it shakes your brain around. Now you really feel sick. You barely make it to Rachel's bathroom before you puke. After you're sure that there couldn't be anything left in your body to possibly throw up. You heave yourself off of the floor and start the shower.

Once you're done shower, you throw up one more time. There's a little peace in you stomach now, so you fall into Rachel and Quinn's bed. You pick up the blanket that Mrs. Pierce gave you and pull it over yourself. You know that you can't sleep so you just stare at the wall. All the thoughts start to hurt your head so you try to force them out. After a while the fact that Barbra Streisand is staring back at you, creeps you out so you roll over.

You really want to call or text Quinn or Rachel, but they're on their non-date. You don't want to interrupt. Not now that Rachel has taught Quinn how to smile again. Quinn needs as much Rachel as she can get right now.

You already feel guilty mooching on their time together. You finally decide to go back to your house. You don't feel drunk anymore. Just sick. Of course you can't let Rachel's dads know you're leaving. They may try to stop you. So you look out the window and try to figure out how to get off of this second floor. There aren't any trees close enough to climb onto. Your best bet is to climb onto the roof of the front porch and drop from there.

And that's what you do. You roll your ankle and curse under your breath, but get to your car okay.

Your house is empty when you get there, not that you expected anything else.

With a heavy sigh, you walk up to your room. You change into some Cheerio sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt. You turn the heater on in the house and curl up in a ball on your bed under the blanket Mrs. Pierce gave you. It smells like their house. It reminds you of the time you spent in their house. The times when Brittany was yours.

You fell asleep and woke up with a killer headache. Then the doorbell rings again. You slowly get up and walk toward the window. You catch Rachel's eyes. She's still dressed in her theatre dress, looking up at your window in the light of the streetlamps. She smiles softly and waves.

You raise your hand in a small wave back. The doorbell rings again and Rachel breaks eyes contact to call to Quinn. Then she looks back up to you and points to the door. You nod and go downstairs to let them in. When you pull it open, they walk in without invitation. You don't care though. You're relieved that they're here. Way more than you'd ever admit.

Once it's closed you follow Quinn into the living room. You all sit in different places. You sit in the armchair, Quinn in the love seat and Rachel on the couch.

"Santana," Rachel says, "My dads told us what happened."

"So?" you ask, challenging. You're not going to let them, especially Quinn of all people, lecture you about irrational behavior. She let you dye her hair without looking at it first. Who in their right mind would do that? Especially with you?

"We just came to check on you," Rachel says.

There's a knock on the door before you can reply. You get up, happy to escape Quinn's studying gaze. When you open the door thought, you're not sure if it was worth it. Mrs. Pierce is standing there. She's smiling and holding a casserole dish covered in foil.
"I brought you some dinner," she says with a smile.

You look behind her. It must be almost ten. But you take the dish from her with a dumbfounded look anyway. You were just beyond drunk, yelling at her daughter in her front yard and she's bringing you dinner.

"You make sure to eat all of that. You're getting too skinny," she says with a warm smile and makes her way back to her car.

You close the door and make your way to the kitchen. You slide the food (Mr. Pierce's delicious lasagna) into the oven to keep it warm. You're definitely going to eat it when you feel less nauseous.

Back in the living room, Rachel has moved to the love seat. They're quietly talking to each other. When you walk in, Rachel smiles, "Who was it?"

"Mrs. Pierce," you sigh, "Brought me dinner. There's a lot in there. You guys can have some too."

"Thank you, but we already ate," Rachel stands up, "You ready to come home?"

"Home?" You look around, "I am home."

Quinn rolls her eyes, "Get your stuff. I'm tired."

You should be pissed off, but you're just so happy that you're not going to be alone tonight. You throw some of your clothes into a bag and get into the backseat of Quinn's car, which you note that Rachel is driving. Their hands join on the console between them and you're upset all over again. You miss that. With a sigh you sink back down on the seat the lasagna balanced on your knees.

As Rachel and Quinn change you get a plate out of the kitchen and gets some lasagna. You leave the dish out just in case someone else wants some. As you're eating by yourself at the dining room table, Rachel's dad walks in.

He sits across from you and you look down at your food, knowing that it's his turn to tell you that you're a fuck up too. He takes a sip from the glass of water that he brought with him. Then he says, "Santana, we need to talk."

You just keep staring at your food suddenly not all that hungry anymore.

"I know you're upset. It's completely understandable," he says, "Don't tell Rachel, but after my first boyfriend dumped me, I spent a week in my room smoking pot and eating Twinkies."

Your eyes widen. That's not something you expected from the balding, glasses wielding man. He chuckles at your expression, "I'm not your dad Santana, but I care about you. If you go out I won't stop you unless it's after eleven. You don't have to jump off of the roof. If you drink, don't drive. Call me or Rachel's daddy, or Rachel and Quinn. We'll pick you up and we won't judge you. The guest room is all yours if you want it. Just tone it down okay?"

You nod to him. It's really the first parental direction you've gotten in a long time and instead of resenting it you accept it. You feel a little less out of control now that you have some kind of authoritative direction.

He gives you a warm fatherly smile and affectionately grasps your shoulder before leaving you to your dinner. You're only alone for a few minutes before Rachel walks in. She's wearing some of her ridiculous 1950s pajamas, but you can't bring yourself to tease her about it. You're really tired and you just want to eat and go to bed.

She pauses, just looking at you before disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a glass of water that she sets in front of you. You force an appreciative smile. "How was your date?"

"It wasn't a date," she beams, "But it was wonderful." She gets a dreamy look on her face. "Quinn's so sweet."

You fake a gag and Rachel playfully pushes you with a laugh, "She can be nice."

"I know," you admit. You use your fork to slice off a piece of lasagna. "I think it's cool that she has you, you know."

"You have me too you know," Rachel offers.

You don't understand why after all these years she cares about you now, but you're thankful. You hide behind a quip because you're starting to get emotional. "I hope not the same way Quinn does."

She giggles, "No, but we're friends right?"

"Yeah," you nod. A month ago? No fucking way, but you're proud to call Rachel Berry your friend now.

She slips her arms around your waist and hugs you from the side. "Do you want me to wash that blanket on the bed for you?"

You quickly shake your head, "No. I…"

"I get it," she continues to hold you around the waist, "The one night I slept without Quinn, I wore one of her shirts to bed so I could feel her there." She pulls back, "It'll get better Santana."

"I don't think so," you huff, "I don't know if I want it to get better." You set your fork down and look down at the hands in your lap.

"Why don't you go upstairs and lay down?" Rachel asks softly, "I'll clean this up."

You numbly nod and make your way up to the room. You can hear Quinn still in the shower so you fall onto the bed and pull the blanket around you, bringing it up to your nose and inhaling deeply. There are so many memories in that house. So many kisses and caresses. So much love. You pull it tighter around you as the first tears slides down your cheek.