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Warning: this chapter contains some sexual violence.

Some days it's hard waking up.

Not like how it used to be hard; like when Santana and I would stay up really late doing stuff and then we would have cheerios practice the next morning and all I wanted to do was press my body closer to hers. That was hard. But now it's different, because its hard waking up and realizing that you are living in a nightmare.

I don't know why they gave Santana patrol duty and not me. She's been gone a week now and every morning I wake up, I just want to cry. It's not that I think she's not strong enough, she's mad buff, obviously. I just don't know if I am. I'm not strong enough to stay here and wait. They were supposed to come back yesterday.

Waking up to the sound of Sue's sirens has gotten somewhat more manageable I suppose. It was actually really funny the first week, because Santana would always hit her head on the top bunk when they went off. Then we would laugh. Sometimes it was the only time during the day that we would. It's strange to look at how much things have changed. Santana and I used to laugh all the time: at Rachel, at Finn, at Rachel and Finn together, during our tickle wars that I would always win. I loved to tickle Santana. It was pretty selfish of me, but her laugh is totally, without a doubt, the must beautiful thing I have ever heard, and when I was tickling her there was no holding back; her face would scrunch up and I wouldn't be able to stop myself from kissing it. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't think Santana minded the tickling so much, because it would always lead to other…stuff. We would always have to be quite though, in case our parents were home. But now? My mom is dead. My mom is dead, my dad and sisterare missing, and Santana doesn't know where her family is either. Mercedes is dead. Mercedes is dead and so is Mr. Schue. So is Sam's dad. Everyone is dead. And I can't laugh when Santana's not here. And some days it's really hard waking up.

Today pretty much starts out like all the others. With sirens.

Without Santana next to me, I really have no reason to stay in bed. I guess some people would think that's a good thing. Jeremy was our wake up 'buddy' (as he liked to call it) for the first week we were at FLW. I don't think anyone actually told him to do it, and I got the feeling that he just didn't want us staying in bed longer. There really is nothing better than waking up to Santana's mouth molding itself to mine, but then we would always be interrupted by Jeremy knocking on the door. It got annoying pretty fast. Santana was pissed by day one, and she told me to watch out for him. She thinks he doesn't like gay people. He probably wouldn't have liked glee club at all then. Still, I think Santana was right about him, because he hasn't come by my room now that Santana isn't around, and he keeps asking when she'll be back while we are on guard duty. It's killing me to see Santana go back to how she was before Finn forced her out of the closet. Don't get me wrong, I hated Finn for what he did, and I still do, but I loved Santana being open about who she really is. Do I think she could have done it all by herself? Definitely. It's only been a couple weeks but we hardly ever hold hands unless it's night out, or if we're with friends. I'm still not positive what's going on with Sam and Kurt either, but they have both been looking really sad, even though Sam is doing a lot better now. Right now he's working part time in the kitchens with Quinn and I don't think he minds being out of the action for a while.

I don't know how they chose our jobs, but, other than Jeremy, I really don't mind guard duty. The whole base is fenced in twice, with barbed wire on the top, but there is also a sort of wooden boardwalk, held up by metal scaffolding, that I get to walk on all day that's just on the inside of the fences. There's not too much that goes on because the perimeter sweeps have been getting rid of most threats. Still, every once in a while a couple zombies sneak by and I have to use the rifle that has become a permanent fixture on my back to deal with them. It's not a big deal though, turns out I'm pretty awesome with guns. Otherwise, it's nice to see the base from above, with everyone moving about super fast down below me. I think I would get confused if I had to be one of the people running around and delivering things all day. Santana comes and picks me up at breaks and at the end of the day so that I don't get lost. Well, that's what she says anyway. I know that she can't stand being apart from one another any more than I can. That's why this patrol mission is killing me.

A little over a week ago Graven told Puck and Santana that it was their teams' time for a longer patrol. They were essentially broadening their circle and looking for survivors, as well as eliminating clusters of zombies that were identified by the scouts earlier in the week. Well, that's what they said anyways. I asked if I could go with them and I was told no, because I wasn't on patrol. I even filed to be moved to patrol, but then Coach Sylvester called me into her office. I don't know how, but she somehow managed to bring all her cheerios trophies with her to the base, as well as her giant bouncy medicine balls, which she made me sit on. It's funny, because a month ago that would have seemed normal, but when I was sitting there across from her a week ago, I felt like a grown woman being asked to sit in a baby's crib.

"Brittany," said Coach Sylvester.

"Coach," I said. She was just sitting there without saying anything.

"Why do you want to be transferred to patrol?" I thought it was weird that she didn't acknowledge the fact that we were in a military base, a few states over from Ohio, during a zombie apocalypse. But then again, she isn't exactly normal. I mean, she had managed to find an army green tracksuit.

"Because Santana is in it."

"Ah," Coach had stroked her fingers along her chin and sending me a piercing look, before, "I won't let you switch."

I was so furious that I got up off her medicine ball and screamed "Why?!"

All she said before dismissing me was, "Because you'll die out there."

When I had met up with Santana later in the day I was so frustrated that tears were pouring down my face. When I told her what had happened she didn't say anything. It was unfair, I was one of the best shots here; one of the other guards in my squad had even commented on it. Santana nodded but still didn't say anything. Finally I asked that she say something, and when she finally looked up, there were tears in her eyes.

"How can I be angry with coach when I was secretly praying that they wouldn't switch you? How can I be angry with her when all I can think about is how happy I am that you will be safe?" Santana's face was contorted in a mix of guilt and pain, but then I saw it, behind all of it there was relief. I didn't speak to her for the rest of the day. I would rather die with her tomorrow, than walk the wooden boardwalk alone, without her returning. It wasn't fair. I cracked that night when, in silence, Santana pressed her body flush to mine; her mouth pressed to mine, two fingers pumping in and out. Then, all I could say was "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Sam's waiting for me at breakfast. He gives me a small smile, which I try my best to return. From the look on his face I failed. I always fail at things.

"I saved us a table," he says, motioning me over to where I see Kurt sitting next to Quinn.

Quinn hasn't been looking too hot either. I know it's bad, but with my mind always on Santana, I manage to forget that Puck is out there too. I wonder what is going on between Quinn and Puck. I almost asked at dinner if they were trying for another baby, but then Santana grabbed my hand really tightly under the table, so I stopped, even though I could she was trying hard not to laugh.

Everyone is pretty quite this morning. It's nothing new really.

"How's guarding going Britt?" Sam asks me. He's almost always the one that can get me to talk, at least a little bit anyways.

"Killed a zombie yesterday," I say with a mouth full of stale cereal.

"Oh?" Sam says, and I can tell he's only pretending to be interested so that the table doesn't return to how it was a minute ago.

"Yeah," I say, "I've been practicing to see how many fingers I can shoot off before I actually kill them, but then I was told off for wasting bullets."

It really wasn't a fun day at work yesterday.

Kurt looked somewhat green at that and pushed his half-eaten cereal away from him.

"Are you going to-?" Sam motioned to the bowl.

"Go for it," Kurt sighed and waved his hand without looking up.

I don't get them. If the person I really liked was here, if Santana was here, I would probably be getting her off under the table or something. But now Sam is fine and I haven't seen him or Kurt flirting at all.

"Ok," I say slowly once my cereal is done, "This is kind of awkward, so I'm going to go now. See you all at dinner?"

Quinn looked up, surprised, as though she only just realized I was there, Kurt nodded, and Sam looked sad but understanding.

I showed up to work almost an hour early. The sun hadn't completely risen yet, and some of the high-intensity lights they had showering the outside of the base for nighttime guards were still on.

After checking out my gun I ascended the stairs to the wooden boardwalk. This was the eighth day in a row that I showed up this early. I want to be the first one to spot the patrol cars when they come back. The sun is only just rising and I can see the paint numbers reflecting off the thousands of tents in the distance…I'll be passing by them soon enough when I begin my shift. For now I'm content sitting on the walkway, with my legs dangling below me, gun in my lap; staring at the road leading to and from the base. All was quiet. I couldn't help but sighing.

"Rough morning already?"

It was Jeremy. I had to hold myself back from sighing again. Now it was a rough morning.

Instead of replying, I just shrugged, hoping that he would get the hint and mosey on down the boardwalk to the main gate where he was supposed to be anyways. But no, since it seemed everything was acting against me, Jeremy lowered himself so that he was sitting right next to me. Really close. He was smiling. His teeth are worse than Lord Tubbington's. Thinking of Lord Tubbington makes me even more sad.

"What's wrong Brittany?"

I stare at him, wondering how honest to be.

I settle with saying, "My friend is gone."

"You mean Santana." I weigh the pros and cons of lying, but then I remember how Santana told me I was a really bad liar. Or maybe she was just saying how she could always tell when I'm lying. I can't remember. Settling for 'honesty is the best policy,' I nod my head in confirmation.

Jeremy purses his lips into a thin line and all I can think about is how glad I am that he isn't smiling at me any more. He looks deep in thought.

"How long have you and Santana been friends?" he asks.

"As long as I can remember," I reply. It's true, I can't remember my life without Santana in it.

He nods, "That's probably why you seem real comfortable with one another."

I don't know what to say, because that's obviously not the only reason that Santana and I are comfortable with one another. My throat tightens a little bit, and all of a sudden I feel hot. I hope I'm not getting red. That happens a lot when I'm nervous.

After a long period of silence with me neither confirming or denying anything, Jeremy says in a quite voice, "You got a boyfriend Brittany?"

And there it is. My eyes widen and I can't help but notice that there is no one else around. His eyes are glinting and they look cold and mean; so very unlike Santana's warm, chocolaty ones. My heart beats faster and faster. I think about the gun that is in my lap. He wouldn't be silly enough to try anything…would he?

"Cat got your tongue?" Jeremy smiles, but it doesn't look nice at all.

"I—" my voice falters, "No."

"No?" he questions, and I notice how his body is leaning closer to mine so that I can see all the freckles on his cheeks. He's a lot bigger than I am.

"Walters!" a sharp voice comes from below us, and I see our commanding officer, an older guy named Al, calling out from the ground.

Jeremy looks down.

"Come down here son," Al shouts, "Your shift started 5 minutes ago! And unless you want to do burpees instead…"

Jeremy huffed and uses his arms to push himself into an upright position. I look up and see that he has become silhouetted in front of the sun. I have to shield my eyes.

"I'll be seeing you Brittany," Jeremy says, and with that he is gone.

I let out a shaky breath that I didn't realize I had been holding in, then after a minute I slam my fists furiously down on the planks beneath me. "Fuck!" I hiss, trying hard to keep my tears from falling. Sometimes I can be so stupid.

I look up and see a figure approaching the base from a distant house. I press my eye to the scope of my rifle and am immediately aware of its jerky movements and unnatural gait. Taking a deep breath, I press my finger against the trigger and watch in satisfaction as the figure drops to the ground.

Zombies I could handle. It's those of us that are left that scare me.

I decide to go check out the Hub on my lunch break. Santana was with me when I entered my mom's information into the list of deceased a couple weeks ago. As I did, the reality of what I was doing came crashing down upon me. I couldn't find my dad or sisteranywhere on the black monitors. As a way to cheer me up Santana suggested that we write a message to Rachel.

Hey Hobbit, (Rachel… says Brittany)

It's your two fav cheerios here giving you a shoutout from FLW. That's right, we made it and are once again under the watchful eye of one Sue Sylvester. Kurt, Puck, Sam, and Quinn are here too. They say hi probably. Look, we were really happy when we found out you made it to New York (way to be totally predictable by the way.) If you have time we would love to hear how you managed to get that done because right now the only standing theory is that you sang your way through the zombies, as people seemed to reject my theory that you were too small for them to notice in the first place. Brittany wants to know how you are doing, and I guess I do to. Did anyone else manage to make their way out there?

Well, we have to go…Britts and I are in charge of blasting the zombies' brains out.

Like,

Santana and Brittany

I did feel a little bit better after that. I felt even better when Santana dragged me into the bathroom for an impromptu make-out session five minutes later, whispering between breaths how proud of me she was.

Rachel's response came three days after Santana left.

My dearest friends in Fort Leonard Wood (I'm assuming that's what FLW stood for, as you didn't bother to clarify.)

I do admit that it brought a smile to my face to hear from you two. Why does it not surprise me that you would be together at the end of all this. (If that's not fate, I don't know what is.) Santana, I appreciate that throughout all this you have not managed to damage your impeccable wit. If you had, I believe that would have been more of a sign that the apocalypse had arrived than the zombies that like to creep up to the base at night. As I must point out once again, you really aren't that much taller than I am, so, if that's something you are insecure about you might want to talk to somebody about it. You will find that my dads and I make a very good team when put in difficult situations and a combination of my copious amounts of hair spray as well as dad's favorite crème Brule torch proved to be very effective as a flame thrower. Zombies don't like fire, you know. Once we figured that out it was more or less smooth sailing to New York. Something about picturing the two of you holding guns makes me shudder, though I suppose if I were to entrust any two people with such devices, it would be a better decision than some of those trigger-friendly boys. Speaking of which…I haven't heard from Finn. Have you? If you find anything out I would really appreciate any news, as I've been more or less in the dark over here. I'm glad to hear so many of you have found one another, and, while I do enjoy my dads and I's nightly ritual of star spotting (I'm almost positive that Patti LuPone is bunking 7 tents to the right and 15 rows up, and just last night I could have sworn I saw Cher leaving the bathroom at approximately 9.17pm), I admit, I am lonely without my friends. You would think that after 15 years without friends it would be no trouble going back, but…I've probably embarrassed myself now. Anyways, I wish you the best, and know that I will be thinking of you.

Stay safe,

Rachel Berry

I shared Rachel's message with everyone that was left at the base and we all managed to smile and laugh at how some things never change. Still, frowns of concern were back once we got to the end of Rachel's letter and Quinn stood up pretty quickly after I was done reading, saying that she was going to write to Rachel as well, not soon after that, Sam and Kurt left to do the same.

Now, as I stand in the Hub, I stare at the black monitors that I have become so familiar with; lists of deceased officially crossed the five million mark yesterday, with the lists of unknown over ten times as large. The list of people accounted for is pitifully small, and we have gotten to a point where we don't get more than one or two more new people into the base per day, even with the added efforts from scouts. The same thing is happening at all the other bases: Hood, Lewis, Bliss, Pendleton, Palms…the list goes on.

I pass by a uniformed officer and see the stars on his uniform. I stand straighter and give him a small salute. He nods his head and says "Private," in acknowledgment before continuing on.

One of the hardest things to get used to here are all the different words and groups that the army has. Everything is so regimented and ordered, and unlike anything I have ever experienced, except maybe for the cheerios. Anyways, Santana and I were originally pretty impressed when everyone was calling Puck "Private Puckerman," but then we realized that was just what they called the lowest ranked person in the army and we weren't as impressed anymore. Still, Santana said it turned her on to hear people call me "Private Pierce", so I don't mind that as much. Mostly I think that by trying to organize everything, it all gets more confusing. Santana is in a squad, and Graven is their Staff Sergeant, I'm in a different squad and Al is my Staff Sergeant, but Santana and I are still in the same platoon… then there is a company, battalion and brigade. Santana was helping me learn everything when she left. Apparently, that's also how they organized our housing, I guess it's all by rank. Jeremy is a Specialist, since he was already here before the infection. His bunker is actually quite far from ours (something Santana likes to make note of every time he decides to give us an early morning wake up call.)

A lot of things here are hard to get used to, but one thing I like is that people seem to respect me based on my performance, and not on things like grades or tests. We do have physical tests and training lots of mornings, but I'm really good at that stuff and I think people are surprised, not because they think I'm stupid, but because I'm a woman. There aren't many other women here, mostly, it's guys like Puck: young, strong, and who like blowing things up. I don't mind though, because except for people like Jeremy, I'm generally left on my own.

I realize I have been zoning out and snap back to reality before checking my watch. I have ten minutes left of break. I quickly scan the message boards and without finding anything new I turn around and jog back to my post.

Most civilians stop working at 1700 hours (or 5pm, as a normal person would say,) but only about 50% of military personnel ends their shift then, and I'm lucky enough to be part of that group. Still, as the clock rounds the hour I don't leave my post, and, as I did earlier, I decide to sit down on the wooden planks instead. Once again, after only a few minutes, my solace is broken, as someone approaches me. To my surprise, I see that it's Quinn. She gives me a small smile.

"May I?" she asks, gesturing next to me.

I nod and she sits down. We sit there for a while without speaking; just watching the sun set. Quinn grabs my hand and holds on to it tightly.

"Are you ok Quinn?" I ask after a minute.

She shakes her head, no.

"Do you want to talk about it," I venture.

She sighs and looks up for a bit, before, in a shaky voice, saying "Yes."

I let her take her time.

"Is it weird that I have never felt more at peace with myself than I am now, or, at least than I have been since I got here?" I don't answer. It's not really my place to say. She continues. "I mean, before news got out about Site Zero, I was such a mess. I had pretty much accepted the fact that I was always going to be screwed up for the rest of my life. I never felt comfortable as Lucy, and, if possible, I felt even less comfortable as Quinn. After I had Beth, how could I go back to being a normal student when I had never been one to begin with? Then the infection happened, and, I don't know…it took fighting for my life to realize what my life was even worth to me. I wanted to protect my mom, and I wanted to see my friends again. Coming here I finally could become myself. I had never fit in as a teenage girl, but here, I didn't have to pretend to be one. And then Puck…I don't know, I think something similar happened. I saw glimpses of the man he could be when we would talk about Beth, but he was still a little boy on the inside. But now? He has helped me so much. I felt like things were finally as they should be, and then they left."

Quinn trails off. I didn't know what to say. She looks hopeless.

"They're coming back," I tell her, but even as I say that I look up and see the motionless landscape surrounding us.

They have to come back.

"I want to believe that Britt, I do," says Quinn, and her voice cracks.

I lean in and squeeze her into me; arms wrapping tight around her. She begins shuddering violently as broken sobs wrack her body.

It's close to seven by the time Quinn and I leave and I tell her that I will meet her for dinner after I return my gun and change from one tan shirt into another. Another long patrol squad is leaving and as the gates open to let them leave, I close my eyes and send out a silent prayer that they return safely. I don't know when I began praying, but I've been doing it a lot in the past few weeks, it seems a lot less boring than it used to, and a lot more important. Anything that would help them come back…

By the time I get to our barracks, the sun has pretty much completely set. I have become used to navigating our tiny room in the dark. I strip off my shirt and grab one of Santana's shirts. I inhale deeply and pull it on, feeling slightly more comfortable. The top bunk looks just as pristine as it did the first day we arrived.

The clothes that we had on when we arrived at the base the first day were finally returned a couple days ago, though army personnel weren't allowed to wear 'street clothes' except for on days off. I got one day off a week, though I still had mandatory physical training in the morning. Santana typically had the same day off, though she would be given two more on top of that when she returned. It really was exhausting, and I've found that most days have begun to blur together as I walk the fenced off perimeter for upwards of 12 hours a day. I find myself nodding off, and mentally shake myself awake, remembering that I promised to meet up with everyone for dinner. I'm hoping that things won't be as tense as they were at breakfast.

By the time I reach the dining area, everyone is already sitting down.

"I got you dinner," Quinn says and points to my plate. Tonight is pasta with a tiny dish of canned peaches.

"I love these," I say, and I can't help but eating my peaches first.

Sam grins at me, "Me too." I notice his bowl of peaches is empty as well.

"Here," Kurt says, and moves his peaches towards Sam, who looks both surprised and pleased.

"How's the hospital?" I ask Kurt and he sighs in response.

"Ok," he says, "Busy as always. Seems like the only thing that this base isn't lacking in is wounded soldiers and civilians. Still, it's been fun hanging out with Robert, and his wife has come in a few times as well. She's a hoot. I guess they were here before the infection. They're in one of the small houses here, and I guess they're also housing a couple civilians as well."

We spend some time talking about work. Sam and Quinn share some news about drama that occurs amongst the kitchen staff, and we all share a few tidbits about who we believe to be sleeping with whom. Kurt says that he received another message from Rachel today, and she informed him of her efforts to erect a stage next to her tent.

"Ok," Sam says, getting up, "Quinn and I need to go help clean up," he makes a face and I find myself giving a genuine smile for the first time today. The two of them say goodbye and leave Kurt and I to sit at the table.

"Kurt?" I ask the other boy, and he looks up questioningly.

"What's the deal with you and Sam? You were like totally into each other and now your like an awkward baby sea turtle struggling to make it to the ocean." The look in his eyes says that he doesn't get it, even though he doesn't say as much.

"Blaine's family contacted me," he says quietly, "Just last week. They asked if I knew anything about where Blaine might be."

I was confused, "Why would you know where he is…why don't they know?"

Kurt takes a deep breath, "Because he went looking for me the day we left Lima."

"What?!" I couldn't believe it.

"Yeah," Kurt looks miserable, and I think I begin to understand. "He, uh, I guess he wouldn't leave with his family until he found out where I was…if I was ok. He never came back. And the whole time we were leaving, I hardly thought about him once." Kurt looks furious with himself and I can see the guilt eating him up.

"Kurt," I say, and I try to be as reassuring as possible, but it's really hard, and I feel like I'm really bad at this, "Things were crazy that day. They're still crazy. Things haven't stopped moving. It's not your fault. You never could have known."

"He told me that he thought we were soulmates; that I was the love of his life," Kurt cries, "He was so sure about it, and I just wasn't. We were so young, we are so young. I had no idea how he could be so certain about that, and then, when I saw Sam run off to save his dad I felt a spark of something, like maybe, just maybe, that could be it."

"I told Sam," Kurt continues, "and now we're in this weird place. I can't just keep doing what we were doing, knowing that Blaine is somewhere out there. Maybe dead, maybe one of them, and it's because of me."

"But Kurt," I say, I need to say something, "Blaine made his choice, but you can't stop living your life because of that. You have the chance of something really good here with Sam. Punishing yourself for something you had no control over won't do anyone any good."

He nods glumly and sniffles.

"I'm sorry Santana isn't here," Kurt says after a while.

"Yeah, me to."

"I really do love that girl," he adds.

"Yeah, me to."

It was an exhausting day. But still, I felt surprisingly better after talking to Quinn and Kurt. I feel lucky to have such good friends. It's because they are so good that they hurt so much.

When I'm back in our room I make a feeble attempt to close the door before flopping face down on the bed. It still smells like Santana. I debate whether or not it is really in my best interest to get up, change, and brush my teeth. On the one hand, minty toothpaste is delicious and the army sweats are surprisingly soft, on the other hand, this bed is so, so comfortable…my eyes close slowly.

I must have fallen asleep, because a while later I open my eyes as I hear the door to the room opening. I feel so groggy, but I can't help the way my heart skips; still slightly lazily. Could it be?

"Santana?" I ask and squint my eyes. Everything is so dark. The door closes. And locks.

Then the person comes closer and I see.

It's Jeremy.

I try to get up, but in an instance he is on top of me; pelvis and legs pining me to the bed, one hand grabbing my wrists and the other hand covering my mouth as I let out a strangled noise of protest.

"Shhhhh," he hushes, as I continue to struggle.

"This is what you and your girl like to do, isn't it?" he was grinning and I can see every one of his teeth sticking in every direction, "Every morning, waking up together. Didn't think I knew, did ya?"

I feel so unbelievably weak. I struggle to free my arms, but his hands act as pincers on my wrists.

"Do you know why we are in this fucked up situation Miss Brittany? Why this world is experiencing a fucking apocalypse?" Jeremy asks, face pressing close to mine and hot breath washing over me, "Do you?" he shouts.

I shake my head as tears start forming in my eyes.

"It's because of sinners like you and your little girlfriend." He drops his voice to a whisper, and it's filled with malice, "We're all getting punished because freaks like you don't know how to be normal. Because freaks like you don't know the difference between right and wrong." He emphasizes this by grinding his pelvis hard into mine, and I can feel him growing. I gag.

"That Santana," he practically spits her name, "Does she like acting the man? Is she the one that did this to you? You know, I can show you what a man really feels like." He's rocking his body against mine and I am fighting to breath, and fighting to move, to escape what I am sure must be the blackest of nightmares.

"I saw you, you know," he says into my ear, "With that blonde girl this afternoon. Is she another one? Huh? Do you enjoy playing the field? Corrupting young minds and violating all that is pure? Well, I have a little lesson for you."

He quickly moves his hand down from my mouth and begins to unbuckle his jeans, I begin to cry out, but just as I do he moves his mouth to cover mine. His mouth is hot, and foul and all I want to do is die. I just want this to end, to black out, to not remember. With all the strength I have I knock my head forward into his. I see stars, but, I notice, his lips are no longer on mine, and I feel the grip on my hands lessen. He curses loudly, just as I manage to wrench my hands away. I try to shout, but it is muffled from his hand coming to slam hard down onto my face. I roll my hips, and forcefully bring my knee up into his groin. Jeremy cries in pain and anger, fingers tightening painfully on my arm and my neck. It's getting harder to move.

And then, Jeremy is being dragged off of me. White dots are clouding my vision as I hear screaming and the distinct sound of breaking bone. I try to take a breath but everything hurts. Then there is a low groan and everything is quiet for second before arms wrap around me, I tense. But these arms aren't hard or rough…

The blackness I had so desired just a minute earlier begins to wash down upon me.

"Baby," a voice whispers, barely reaching my ears.

Santana.

Santana is back.