A/N: I'M SORRY. I haven't updated since last fucking year. Sorry, seriously. I have writer's block. And yeah. That's my sorry ass excuse. Love you all!

(Santana PoV)

Quinn walks in with her Cheerios uniform on, watching me calmly in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Her mood was imperceptible. Was she ticked? Amused? A bitch? I expect her to have some snide comment that I can slap her with.

She just plops on the chair next to me, eyes wistful. Reminding me of softer Preggo-Quinn. She put her chin in her hands, knuckles making dents in her cheek. She blinks often, and ignores me watching her.

"I ought to thank him someday," she says.

"Thank Artie? For what?"

She gives the barest of smiles. "You. You're so changed, but I don't think in the usual bad way a boy changes you. I became badder with Puck. You became gentle. I like it, but I'm not sure if it's right. Like it's not you."

I bring my knees to my chest, shivering at the cold hospital temperature. "I'm still not completely sure. It's like he made me be a half moon. The dark part and the light part, so it's all good."

"Oh god, that's going to be another Twilight book, isn't it?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

Then Quinn and I are laughing together; an event that probably made history right there and then.

You happy, Artie? You're making me be friendly to fucking Quinn.

He still wakes up now and then, but with enormous headaches.

Screaming headaches.

He just starts to scream.

I watch him, tears in my eyes.

"Help me," he whispers.

"I can't," I mouth back ruefully. The nurses usually whisk in and pump in some morphine, sending him back into dreamland. His dad goes to work a lot, and I go to school. It's not neglectful; whenever Artie is awake and not screaming, he insists that he's "done it before, and can handle it again'. He still refuses to talk to me besides pleading for help, and it kills me on the inside. I guess what I did was pretty shitty. But the past is the past, right?

"No," Kurt tells me when I ask. "In Artie's fragile, fucked-up mind, it's kinda the most sucky thing that's happened recently, so it's in the present."

"What about the car crash? That's more present, and way more sucky."

Kurt shrugs. "Not necessarily. The car crash, in a sick way, was the norm. Having a girl smash his heart? Also normal. But having a girl purposefully try to twist his emotions just out of disgust out of having slight feelings for him? Unacceptable."

"Well, I'm sure you're certainly not helping him forgive me," I grumble. He gives me a condescending smile.

"I'm unbiased, but I may have slipped in a few colorful insults."

I give him my signature middle finger, the first time it's seen the light in weeks.

It's a Saturday night, and instead of at a party, I'm sitting on the edge of Artie's bed, playing solitaire. The lonely heart's game. Artie's breathing is slow and steady; his glasses resting on the end table. He has really long eyelashes.

An ace finally lands, and I happily bring it up to the top of my messy pile.

I should be agonizing over the deathly boredom, but I'm kind of just calm.

The night is breathing with Artie; not trying to disrupt the peace.

He doesn't scream this time.

He doesn't even open his eyes.

But he does wildly flail his arm around, searching for something. Breathing quick, labored.

I grab his arm, trying to bring it down; calming it in a way.

His hand just clutches my own; desperate.

Then his body lapses back into relaxation, still holding my hand.

The nurse with the pink hair and nice eyebrows taps in.

"Visiting hours are up, Santana," she tells me. Yup, I'm here so much the nurses know me by name.

I lift my arm an inch, showing that Artie's hand is still laced with mine. "I don't think he's letting go anytime soon."

She smiles close lipped, sighs, then shakes her head. "Okay, tell you what. I'm not kicking you out right now. But if Dr. Hale comes in here, scoot your ass outside, and say that you completely disobeyed me."

"Of course."

Then she leaves, eyes sparkling.

Artie's still asleep.

Whenever I try to let go of his hand, it just closes around me tighter.

Rachel Berry's meetings are about as pointless as wearing socks with sandals. I know, not my best biting analogy. But I'm tired and haven't insulted someone in days, ergo being way out of touch. Her outfits match her room, mismatched pink and plaid spotted everything. Even if I wasn't a priss like Hummel, I at least knew when something wanted to make me vomit.

Quinn silently sat next to me on Berry's pink couch. She doesn't say a word, and she doesn't even look at me. Which is good. I've been getting pity looks all day. From everyone. Except Sue, who's been pushing me even harder ever since I stopped wearing the Cheerios outfit everywhere. Did you know that we're not even required to wear it to school? They just do because it makes them feel all high and mighty. God, if I was ever like that, someone needs to beat me repeatedly until my face looks as bad as Rachel's.

"Fellow glee-clubbers," Rachel begins. Could she maybe refer to us to something besides 'glee-clubbers'? Doesn't that break grammar rules or something? "I think we need to have a chat about Artie."

Shit. My nails rake into the armrest next to me.

"Santana, despite your recent changes to your wardrobe and studying habits, I still believe that there's something going on here," Rachel says.

"What?" My throat closes, unable to come back with a spitting remark about how Rachel's head is so full of air she can't think straight.

"We think you're manipulating him for...sexual reasons," Rachel says.

"We? WE?" I snap. I look wildly around the room. My stomach sank as everyone around me nodded in agreement. Tina's eyes failed to meet mine, Puck's jaw set in a threatening manner, and even Brittany was watching me in confusion.

I can't even speak.

Quinn speaks for me.

"That's ridiculous, Rachel. Did you even bother to think about how Santana is feeling? She's been visiting Artie for weeks! I don't think she's even thinking about sex; the boy's in a hospital for Christ's sake!" she says, eyes burning with rage.

"I agree with Quinn, Rachel. This is a new low," Mercedes says. "I think you're just still boiling over Finn and her."

"What? No-" Rachel stammers. "I'm trying to make you seem that she's trying to hurt Artie again! She's trying to get in his pants then tell the school so she can make him feel bad! This has nothing to do with Finn-"

"Really, Rachel?" I ask, finally speaking up. "I don't care about Finn. That was months ago! I could care less about that awkward Frankenstein!" I expect Finn to look hurt, but he's actually mad at Rachel too.

"Not everything has to be about Santana's sex life, Rachel," Finn says. "We've both moved on. Can you?"

"This isn't even about Artie, is it?" I ask.

"This is about you and your little petty revenge," Quinn continues on for me. "You were just trying to have us all turn on her, right?"

"I-" Rachel's still trying to look at the people who originally agreed with her. But some of them are even starting to look doubtful of her actions.
"Look, Rachel. Santana might be a pain in the ass and kind of a bitch, but she's not heartless," Quinn says. "And she certainly isn't trying to break Artie's heart. I think you're jealous that she actually has a relationship, unlike you, who just has to claw your way through other's lives!"

"WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THAT SHE'S ALL MANIPULATING YOU?" Rachel shouts.

"They don't, because they know I'm not like you," I say. My voice stays low and steady, opposite of Rachel's. Making me seem actually sane. "I am in love with someone and you just can't stand that I may have changed and you can't seem too. You will always be the same awful person, but I can and will better myself. Because he's worth it."

And with that, I get off of her stupid couch, and stomp out of her fucking house. I descend down into the large driveway and into my car. I don't even bother to start it. I just lay my forehead on the steering wheel and cry.

I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.

Quinn opens the car door and plops in the passenger seat, slamming the door.

"I hate her," she growls, voicing my thoughts.

We stay there, in my shit car, for a while.

"Why? Why did you defend me? I thought you loathed me," I say.

"I still do, in some parts." She unties her hair, and places the hairtie in my palm. "It's yours. I found it in the locker room the first day after your..." she gestures to my pants and t-shirt ensemble. "..change. I was confused on why you didn't leave your hair tied up, but I figured you would want it later, so I put it in my bag. I found it three days ago again. It made me realize how different you are. I'm still not sure if this is the real you, or you changed just for him, but it made me wonder. Wonder if deep down you were a good person."

She looked me right in the eyes. "It reminded me of myself."

I snorted. "Arrogant, much?"

She shook her head. "I'm not trying to pick a fight. When I was pregnant, I changed. I was still me, but I knew that it wasn't all about me. That there's something more important right now then cheerleading and insults. Her. Beth. I'm assuming that's what's happening to you."

I closed my eyes, bowing my head. "Yeah," I whisper. My hand wraps around the hair tie.

"But I was still nicer than I really was. I had to bite back all of my insults so I wouldn't get so stressed," she continued.

"What are you saying?" I ask.

"Don't change completely. I know there's still some tough Santana in there. Let's get her out and plan some revenge," Quinn says.

I smile.

"Rachel Berry, prepare to meet Santana Lopez."