She was taking a nap when Santana heard a knocking on her door and she painstakingly dragged her bones towards the rasping sound. "Just a sec," she mumbled, clearly annoyed at the repeating sound. It was more of a grumble and a mumble and she finally opened her door.

"Hi," it was Quinn. It was Brittany's little blonde roommate.

"Hi," Santana said awkwardly. "Get in."

"Thanks," Quinn answered as she walked past Santana and roamed her eyes around the room. She seated on the not-so-messy side of the settee that Santana had in the living room.

"Sorry, it's a little messy," Santana said. "I really had a...a hard time cleaning up because I was busy," Santana said, following Quinn's gaze around her place.

"That doesn't matter," Quinn replied softly and turned her head towards Santana. "I only came here to talk about something."

"Okay, what is it?" Santana sat across Quinn.

"Okay, I'll cut to the chase, Santana. What are you, actually?"

"What am I actually?" Santana retorted. "What am I actually, Quinn Fabray. You tell me."

"Look, Santana, I don't want to pry in your life or judge you, okay? But Brittany is my friend and your name is screaming capital D-A-N-G-E-R to her. So if you'll just hurt her at the end, save it for someone else," Quinn declared.

"I don't get it," Santana scoffed. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Remember the first time you were introduced by Sam? I saw you, Santana."

"What do you mean you saw me, Quinn?" Santana tried to hide the distaste in her voice.

"Your eyes. You looked as if you're ready to skin him alive and feed him to your dogs. Then I saw you watching the glass. And it broke. No one even touched it. Then, Sam, he wasn't even a feet away from the broken glass, but when you averted your gaze to his right arm, he had a cut. Then, you excused yourself and never came back. Now, tell what are those things, Santana."

"What? Are you telling me I was the cause of all those things that happened?" Santana let out a high-pitched laugh. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Maybe, maybe not. I have to go now. I'm sorry for the bother. Just remember this, Santana. Don't hurt Brittany. If you can't like what she is doing, stay away from her," Quinn rose up and left for the door.

A few moments later, Santana heard a click, telling her that Quinn has left her apartment already.

Quinn knew about her.

Santana leaned on her sink as she ran the water for a relaxing bath. She can't afford to let anyone know who she really is And I Brittany will know about her, probably the blonde will be running away because of what she is.

She stepped into the tub, still thinking of how she would make Quinn shut up. She was leaning her head when her phone rang on a wooden vanity beside her tub.

It was Brittany's voice.

"Hello?" she answered the call.

"Hey, Santana. How are you?"

"I'm good, you?"

"I'm great. Just taking a bath," Santana mumbled.

Brittany blushed in the other line, and there was that incessant throbbing between her legs. She mentally slapped herself or doing it, bur she can't shake the thought of Santana in a soapy tub, buck naked.

"Can...can I come...come over this afternoon? Quinn's going to a party and...and I kind of don't feel like going to it," Brittany whimpered on the other line.

"Oh-kay," Santana answered, actually with lesser heart strength.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I am," the Latina firmly said again, trying to put a foundation on her voice.

"Okay, I'll be there in like, twenty minutes, okay? Don't bother cooking, I'll bring food," with that, Brittany disconnected the call.

While waiting for Brittany, Santana opted to give her flat a make-over and herself a pep talk. It wasn't just her usual mantra of "don't trust them" and "no, don't tell her that". It was more than what she had played for all those years.

She can't let the blonde into her life because she's damn scared that she's going to break it all out on her. She doesn't hate Brittany. She just can't trust her.

Or maybe she's scared to trust her.

Yes, definitely, she is scared trust her.

She jolted a little when she heard a knock on her front door that afternoon. She was in the middle of her inner dilemma and now her real dilemma has arrived.

It was Brittany.

She opened up, and she was met by the most warm smile she had ever seen. Santana had to struggle hard to reciprocate the smile back.

"Hi, I brought pizza," Brittany smiled. "Thanks for letting me come over."

"Thanks," Santana wrung the hem of her shirt. "Umm...for the pizza. Uhh, sit?" she said as she awkwardly motioned for the settee.

Brittany plopped on the couch before Santana could even finish her sentence. The blonde then quickly kicked off her shoes as she neatly stacked it beside the couch. "So, Santana, what are we gonna do?"

"Do?" Santana quirked her eyebrows. She doesn't have any idea.

Or maybe her brain just shut down. Or what.

"Okay," Brittany said evenly. "Since you don't seem to have a lot to do how about we ju-"

"No, we can do-" Santana blurted out. "Something."

"Okay, what?" Brittany grinned.

"Umm..." Santana gazed her eyes around her room and unfortunately, there is nothing that could seem to interest the blonde.

"Do you like..." Santana hesitated as she looked at Brittany, who was leaning over the couch to free her tangled shoe laces.

"Do you like...ducks?" she asked.

The blonde's head shot up, then it was followed by Brittany's signature mega-watt smile. "I love them!"

"Come on, let's go," Santana smiled as she tossed a brown leather jacket along Brittany's way.

"Ugh, I have to wear my shoes back?" Brittany wailed.

"I guess so, yeah, just stop complaining and go on," Santana quipped.

In five minutes, they were leaving Santana's apartment. They wound up through the busy streets, up and down the block, until they came to Central Park's duck pond.

"Hang on in there, okay? I've got to get something," Santana said.

She came back a few minutes later, carrying with her a bag of bread crumbs. She handed it to Brittany and Brittany tossed the crumbs to the ducks.

They stood there, silently feeding the ducks.

"Why do you like ducks?" Santana blurted out. It was a question that was actually out of the blue, and Santana had just said it because she felt like a twerp that was standing beside Brittany.

"They remind me of my mom and me when I was younger. Life here in New York sucks," Brittany said.

"Mhm? You bet?"

"Yeah. I hate to grow up. Right now, I feel so stressed out. I mean, it's not that I am a lazy student. You see, I have to act like I am a proper eighteen-year old and I don't get to try new things anymore..."

"I see," Santana half-smiled.

"What about you? Don't you miss your parents?" Brittany retorted a question herself.

"I miss them, of course. It's just that, you know...it's kind of hard to explain it," Santana said.

"Okay," Brittany said, not even bothering to hide the demeanor in her voice.

"My mom is dead," Santana said. "She died earlier this year."

"I'm so-"

"No, don't be," the voice in Santana was kind of harsh and Brittany winced at the Latin's words.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's alright!" Santana was becoming more and more unaware of her loud voice.

"Santana...Santana..." Brittany tried to hold Santana's stiff, tensed hands. "You're crying!"

By then, people were watching them already and Santana couldn't take it. The knot in her chest was getting tighter and tighter, her vision was starting to get darker and darker, her breathing heavier than her usual, and she feels as if she's plunging back into the darkness again.

She dashed to the first line of trees of the small pocket forest.