Chapter 25
To say that Tobias Spencer was having a bad day would be an understatement.
The office was buzzing about the good mood the office's most feared member of upper management had been in for the last couple of months. She was actually smiling in the mornings when she came in, even before her morning coffee. She hadn't sent anyone home in tears or drove an intern to quit due to a near mental breakdown trying to keep up with her in weeks. The other day she had actually laughed at a joke that didn't involve tearing someone down.
And, possibly the worst of all, the rumors were crediting her assistant - that entirely vexing widow and mother, Rachel St James - with the pleasant change in her demeanor.
He couldn't stand it.
She was his. His wife. That intolerable woman did not have any claim on her. He had married her. He was the one who made her writhe when he made love to her. That St James bitch had nothing for her that she couldn't get from him.
And he'd make her understand that.
Slamming open the door of her office, he stormed in and smacked his hands down on her desk, glaring at her. "What is the meaning of these rumors that you are involved with your assistant, Santi? You aren't actually fucking that bloody slut, are you?"
Santana jumped, her head snapping up from the screen of her laptop as she heard the crass hollering of her ex husband. Sure, he always had a temper, but so did she. But she had never seem him look at her like that.
"Tobias?" she stumbled, moving to stand, "why are you screaming? What the fuck is going on?" she asked as she cautiously moved closer to him.
"Rachel?" Now she was really confused. She hadn't told anyone, she didn't talk to anyone about her personal life. But... was Rachel that cautious? "Tobias, you know better than to listen to gossip. Why are you even listening to the employees?" she said drumming up on his hate for everyone who was non-executive level.
He sneered at her, "Don't expect me to believe your lines, Santi babe. Remember who knows you. Intimately," he reached over the desk to stroke a finger along her jaw. "You think she can do anything for you? That she has any idea about your needs, my kinky girl?"
Santana was just getting more and more confused. "Don't touch me," she sneered pushing his hand away, "you don't know me anymore. For your information - not that you deserve or need to know - I'm not sleeping with Rachel. Back off, T."
"Good. Because I know you're aware of our company's policy of interoffice romance, Santi." He smirked at her, his eyes cold, "You wouldn't want your little toy to lose her job, now would you? But, since you're not fucking the slut, how about you and I go get a drink tonight? Relieve some..." his smirk grew positively lustful, "tension? I know you don't like to go too long without attention, my little Spanish Harlem harlot."
"How many times am I going to have to explain to you that I'm no longer interested? That I divorced your ass and that means you don't get to touch me anymore." she spat, sitting down and drinking her coffee.
He chuckled, "You certainly didn't think that the day they planted the slut's husband. God, Santi, you were insatiable. Couldn't get enough of my dick, could you." Tobias leered at her, letting his hand drift over the crotch of his pants, "Missed getting fucked by your husband, didn't you."
"Stop, okay?" She said, "She's not anything near a slut and the only reason that happened was that I was upset, and really drunk. I don't even remember it, okay?" She sighed, trying to focus on working.
"Not anything near a slut?" He laughed, "You have to be kidding me. Her husband died and she was was shacking up with you within a couple of months. Now there's all this talk about the two of you getting together? Open your damn eyes, Santi. She's just gold mining. Moving right on up the ladder now her meal ticket cashed in. And you're just letting her and her little parasites feed on you. She'll drain you dry and drop you in the ground same as she did her man, Santi."
"Fuck you," she spat as she looked at him, "just go jack off somewhere else and leave me and her alone."
"What a lovely offer, Santi." He let out a dark chuckle, coming around the desk and leaning over to kiss her roughly before dancing back out of the way of her angry response, "But I'll have to pass for now. You'll come to your senses eventually and come back to me, little girl. And if you are going to fuck your little slut, do try and keep it out of the office. That's a good girl."
Santana growled and lunged at him. "get the fuck out!"
He grabbed his crotch and winked at her as he backed out of the door with a leer and a wink, "You wish, Santi baby. All you gotta do is say the word and I'll take you over that pretty little desk of yours. Remember who you belong to. It's not that little slut of yours." Then, he was gone, out the door and down the hall to his office, leaving a fuming Santana behind him.
Santana yelled after him in Spanish before resting her head on her arm and whimpering. She hated who he had become. And she knew he was going to take his anger out on her and Rachel.
It had taken a few days to decide on what he liked to consider the perfect plan of attack. Obviously Santana was too accustomed - and far too aggressive - for his typical methods to work, but Rachel was still innocent to the tacks he could take to get what he wanted. And what he wanted was Santana back in his bed and that annoying St James woman out of the picture.
He'd had to send away for the copies to be made, not wanting any unfortunate questions to be raised, but when they'd arrived in his mail last night he hadn't been able to help the laugh that swelled in his throat. Or the bulge that swelled in his pants as he flipped through the prints, selecting his favorites for special attention. He loved taking pictures and video of - memorializing - his love making with the fiery Latina, had for years as evidenced by the suitcase of carefully organized photo albums and folio of DVDs carefully labeled from the seven wonderful years he'd shared with his wife.
These though. These photos were from a special night.
He'd found her in the bar, swirling her ice in her glass, all maudlin and vulnerable. It was his favorite look on her. He'd signalled for another of what she was drinking, carefully slipping the little packet of powder that always put her into the mood and carefully swirling it around to mix it in. He'd offered it to her with a consoling smile, expressing sympathy and a mocked grief for the loss of her friend's husband.
She'd drank. She always drank. Because she wanted him. He'd smiled and reassured the bartender that she was his wife and he'd just take her home when she slumped against him. Oh he'd enjoyed that night. She'd been up for anything he wanted. And after four years of divorce and being forced to find other outlets, he'd wanted everything.
He'd been grateful he'd taken his medication that night because it had taken hours before she was sated. Of course, she'd gone right back to her arrogant refusal of having anything to do with him in the morning, leaving him to stroke off the erection he'd been playing with when she woke up on his own. But he didn't mind. He'd felt completely drained but fully sated after that night. She'd always been the best at fulfilling his needs and she still was.
Now, the photos of her spread before him on the bed were spread out on his desk for his appreciative eyes to drink in. He hated the grainy greenish tint of night photography - the work of amateurs in his opinion - and always kept the bright lights on in the room as he made love to his wife. So the ivory cream of his semen spreading over the tanned skin of her full breasts and stomach in one shot, or dripping from the luscious globes of her ass in another, or - and this was his favorite - splashed over her cheeks and dripping from her chin as he pulled her off his erupting cock with his hand fisted in her hair. He loved the self-timer feature on his camera that let him get such wonderful shots.
He loved seeing her covered in his cum, loved how she let him roll her over and take her in the ass. He slid the photo of his dick disappearing into her anus out from under one of him taking her in her dripping pussy with a pleased smirk. His favorite part was that she never insisted he wear a condom like those professional women did and she always let him take her in all her holes like a proper wife should do.
The knock on his office door distracted him from the bulge he was stroking in his pants as he looked at the pictures. He glanced up to see Rachel standing in the door of his office with a decided look of apprehension. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Spencer?"
"Yes, come in." He smirked at her, "Do close the door and have a seat."
With a glance to the clear glass of his office walls, Rachel let the door click shut behind her and came over to sit down with no little hesitation at the chair across from him. She hated that his height and bald head made her think of her father Leroy, but that was as far as the resemblance went - a fact she was supremely grateful as the man generally made her feel entirely unpleasant. "What can I help you with, sir?"
"Well, first," He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes only leaving her to flick down to the photos on his desk, "you could tell me what your intentions are regarding my wife."
Her eyes narrowed, a slight tic in the corner of her lips showing her irritation at being hit was this immediately, "First, as if I need to remind you again, sir, you and she are divorced and she is not your wife. Secondly, we are friends."
"Friends," he chuckled, "Yes, that is rather what your sort of thing is being call lately isn't it. Friends. So much less crude than the terms applied to two men, isn't it."
Rachel stood up abruptly, "I sincerely don't know what you're referring to, Mr. Spencer, but this conversation is highly unprofessional and I believe this should conclude this meeting before you venture into an area which might be regarded as sexual harassment in which case I will have no choice but to involve the authorities. Good day to you."
She turned towards the door, but he stopped her short with his next, "I really would stay and listen to what I say, Mrs. St James. After all, if you are becoming involved with my wife," he raised a brow, daring her to contradict him again, "then you truly should be aware of the fact that she's just using you because she's being petulant. Santana has needs, Mrs. St James. Needs which only I and my," his hand disappeared under his desk with an indulgent smirk, much to Rachel's disgust, "special friend can fill. That's why she keeps coming back to me and why every time she does the sex lasts all night. She's insatiable in her lust for my cock."
Rachel's expression twisted with disgust, "You are a vile man, Mr. Spencer. How dare you talk about her in such a fashion? Santana is not like that!"
"She's not? She's not?" He laughed, "Oh my dear God, she has you fooled, Mrs. St. James! Did you know the night your husband was buried, I was burying my cock into every hole she had? Cunt, mouth, ass." He grinned at the horrifed look on Rachel's face, "Oh yes, she especially likes it when I shove my big dick into her tight little ass. When I pound her into the mattress. She just begs me for it, begs me to cum all over her hot little body."
Rachel shook her head, "You're lying. Santana is not like that. And you're a disgusting man to even say such things."
"Lying?" He laughed, "I'm hardly lying. I have proof of how much she likes to drink from my cock, see?" He picked up the picture of Santana with her jaw hanging open and semen splashing all over her cheeks, chin and closed eyes, dripping from her full lips and tossed it at Rachel.
The woman barely caught it and had to stare at it for a moment before it sunk in what she was looking at. She could barely keep her hands from trembling as she looked up at him, "W-what is this?"
"That, my dear, is one of the many things your precious Santana got up to the night you were crying into your tea over your poor dead husband being buried." He tilted his head back, hands folded behind his head as he gazed up at the ceiling with a fond smirk, "Don't get me wrong, I certainly enjoyed it. Santana is quite the kinky girl after all." He rolled his eyes down to look at her gaping in shock at the photo in her hands, "Don't be so surprised, Mrs. St James. That's hardly the only photo. She does love the camera. If you get what I mean." He waggled his brows at her with a leering grin.
"This... This is disgusting. You are disgusting, Mr. Spencer." Rachel looked for a moment like she was going to fling the photo in the man's face, "How dare you take vile photos like this? If she was with you that night, then she trusted you and... and you treated her like this?"
"Oh, like I said, there's more, Mrs St James," he smirked, straightening up and pushing the scattered photos into a rough piles before handing them across to her. "Here. Do enjoy."
Rachel's hands shook as she flipped through the photos, her face paling more and more. "You're sick." The words came out whispered, "You are sick, Tobias Spencer. I thought I thought little of you before now, but..." she shook her head, swallowing against the feeling of vomit urging up her throat. "You are a vile and disgusting man and I hope you rot."
She spun on her heel, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her, but not before he got a final word in. "Don't forget she loves it really rough, Mrs St James. Slap her around or she'll never get off, and don't forget she likes it especially up the ass."
Rachel's frustrated scream of disgust was almost audible through the door of his soundproofed office as the painting behind him shivered and fell from the wall from the force his door was slammed. He just sat back and watched her storm away as he unfastened his pants and stroked himself under the desk with an amused smirk. Eventually he bored of his hand and leaned forward to press the intercom button on his phone. "Ms. Smith? Could you come in here? I find I have need of your services."
By the time she got down the hall and was standing outside the door into Santana's office, her disgust and outrage and died down leaving her feeling far more nervous than wrathful any more. She looked down at the top of the stack of photos still clutched in her hands - an awkward shot of her splayed on a bed, thick cum splashed over her abs and breasts, sliding in ropy trails down her body - and back at the door, swallowing hard. She wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or vomit every time her eyes flicked over the photos.
The night Jesse was buried. She'd gone to him when Rachel's heart was being torn out of her chest and buried in the cold ground. Gone to him for sex.
She understood - logically at least - that the day had been terribly emotional for everyone involved and Santana was hardly an exception. She also knew that there was no way she would have been capable of giving her girlfriend the sort of physical comfort she'd apparently craved. But that didn't stop her heart from aching or stop her from wishing she had come to the grieving newly made widow.
Finally, she took a deep breath and lifted a hand to knock hesitantly on the door of Santana's office before opening it. She stepped in with the door, but lingered in the opening. It was unlike her but she felt so much trepidation ever since the photos had entered her hands. She wasn't sure if Tobias had truly been lying or not. If she was just a distraction from him or if she and her children actually meant something to the other woman.
"Santana?" Her voice was soft, uncertain. Worried.
Santana looked up and all the stress from her day drained from her face. She smiled at the other woman waving her. She struggled to swallow her mouthful of coffee to speak.
"Hi, babe," she beamed, her lips curling into a smile. "I missed you," she said as she stood up and walked to the woman. "Today has sucked and I just want to go home and snuggle with you."
"Do you?" Rachel couldn't keep the trepidation from her voice as she folded the stack of photos against her chest, "Are you certain I'm not just a distraction?" Her words were soft and far more hurt than she usually directed towards the woman, especially lately. She didn't want to feel so hurt, but she couldn't deny that Tobias's words had struck her hard - especially when combined with the photos in her hands.
"Huh?" Santana asked, her head had been hurting since she saw Tobias and she waited until she could see her family tonight. "What are you... Rachel? What's going on? Did you suddenly decide you don't want to be my girlfriend?" she asked, hurt to even think that she screwed things up already. "You know perfectly well that all I ever want to do is come home to you and the kids."
Rachel shook her head, practically curling into herself around the photos, not able to bring herself to meet Santana's eyes - afraid that she'd see truth in Tobias's words there. "No, of course not. Being your girlfriend is... is one of the few things that makes me happy anymore since Jesse died. But," she swallowed against the thickness in her throat and blinked back the sting in her eyes, "do you really want me? Or are you just being with me out of some sort of misguided pity or something?"
The pain in her chest seemed to grow with every word pouring out of her lips, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She felt like she was tearing herself apart asking the questions. The stack of photos almost felt like they were burning her where she clutched them against herself. He'd said she wanted them, that she knew about them. If she knew, she had to want them, right? Just the thought made her want to break down and sob.
Santana moved to hug the woman. "What are you saying? You know I'd never think that." she reached out to stroke the young mother's face. "I care about you so much."
Then she figured it out. "Oh my god. Fucking Tobias got you too? He came in here bitching about hearing we were together! I told him to go to hell. Baby... I hate him. Please don't let him get to you."
"Get to me?" Rachel pulled away, looking hurt, her voice pained, "Why would he get to me when he has you?"
"The fuck? He doesn't have me... I haven't even spoken to him outside of work for over a year. I don't even recognize him anymore!" Santana was upset and pulling away. "Why are you saying this?"
The smaller woman shook her head and shrugged, "Normally, I wouldn't give any credence to anything that came out of that man's mouth, but... there's photos, Santana. And they are exceedingly telling." She could feel the tears starting to trickle down her cheeks to splash on her arms where they were folded over the photos and she yelled at herself mentally for crying.
"The night he was buried, Santana? I know you are a passionate and highly sexual woman, but the night my husband was buried?" She bowed her head sinking down on the sofa. "I wish you could have come to me," she whispered, dropping the photos to scatter about her lap as she clutched at her arms, digging her nails into the skin of her upper arms to try and use the pain to help her regain some measure of control over her emotions.
Santana was beyond confused. "Photos?" she whispered, "I don't understand, Rachel. Please don't cry." she wasn't even understanding what was happening she ignored the photos to care for her girl.
"I... I didn't look for him. Evidently he found me... I was in a bar. I don't remember anything. I'm so sorry... Rachel, I didn't mean to do anything..."
Then she saw them. Trembling fingers picked up photos. All she saw was skin and depraved acts at first. Then she saw her face. Santana grabbed her stomach and vomited into the garbage.
"He..." Rachel gasped through her quiet sobs, ignoring that she was digging her nails into her arms so hard thin rivulets of blood were coming down from a couple of the indentions, "he said you wanted it. That... that you begged him. That," she looked like she wanted to be sick, her features twisted with nausea and her skin pale behind her normal olive complexion, "that you begged him to... to take you from behind."
"Santana..." her voice was thin and wavering, "Santana, why? You're not like that... I know you're not..."
"I never! I didn't! That's not me! I swear to go I would never do that! I don't remember... I never knew... When did he?" She said softly after picking up the photos trying to understand.
"Not even when we were married... I don't like sex like that." All she could remember was how much she hurt the next day, she never... "I didn't want him. Why does he have pictures?" she looked up vulnerable and scared.
"I don't know," Rachel finally looked up at her, the pain in her eyes at someone doing those sorts of things to her girlfriend mirroring the ache of her heart. "I don't know why or how... but he does. I just..." she shook her head, biting her lip, unclenching her hands from her arms with a wince and reaching for Santana, "oh God, Santana, I've never hated anyone as much as I do him right now..."
Santana sat silently, staring at the photos. At her body, having things she'd never let him do to her be done. She was stunned, tears running down her cheeks. She felt violated.
"Santana?" Rachel whispered softly. She wanted to pull the other woman into her arms, wanted to offer some comfort, but she didn't know if it would be welcome so she just reached out and carefully let her fingers rest gently on her shoulder. She was crying, she knew she was, but she couldn't stop. Her fears that Tobias had been telling the truth had been eliminated only to be replaced with something much worse. "Tell me what I can do? Please, sweetheart..."
"I never..." she said softly. "I didn't think I drank that much..." she whispered looking at her own lifeless face. "why did he think this was okay?"
"I don't know." It was all she could think to say, her heart breaking for the woman beside her who was slowly starting to fill the aching void left by Jesse's death. She carefully wrapped an arm around Santana's shoulders, pulling her close. "I don't know but you didn't deserve it, sweetheart." She placed a soft kiss against Santana's hair, "This isn't you... this is him being a terrible person. He should," she swallowed, gathering her words, "Santana, he should be arrested for this..."
"If he said I said it was okay... I mean if I was drunk I still said it," she curled into herself. "I think... I wanna go home. Please I need to go home." She felt dirty the need to shower over coming her body and making her want to rip her skin off.
"I'll take you home, Santana, of course I will, but..." Rachel swallowed, pressing another kiss to Santana's hair, blinking back further tears, "Sweetheart, he lies. Do you understand me? He lies. He told me you wanted him. That I was just a distraction. If he... could he be lying about this too?"
Santana picked up the dozen or so pictures and held them close to her as she gathered her things. She didn't speak. She just followed silently behind her girlfriend. They passed Tobias' office, his shades drawn and door closed. Santana just looked down and headed outside. She didn't bother calling Ajay just silently hailing a cab.
Rachel felt terrible about her role in the entire situation. She just kept her arm around her girlfriend's waist as they waited for the cab to take them home, paying him when they arrived and escorted the broken woman into their home. Ajay's wife came out asking if everything was okay, but she requested that she stay for a little longer as Santana had just received some bad news that she was trying to cope with. She lead the other woman into her bedroom, closing the door behind them and sitting down with her on the sofa.
"Santana... you're scaring me," she whispered finally, after a long moment with no talking, "please talk to me..."
"I need to shower." she stated, quickly putting down her bag and pictures onto her bed and walking into the bathroom. She turned on the water as hot as it would go and got in. She scrubbed herself, everywhere the photos showed his come, she scrubbed her face red as she did she remained passive. Silent.
Rachel felt more than a little trepidation as she followed the other woman into the bathroom. She hadn't responded to anything she was doing or saying. It was as if she didn't exist to the other woman right then. But when she saw her girlfriend scrubbing her skin raw, she ignored all of that and climbed into the scalding hot shower still fully clothed, wrapping her arms around the taller woman and doing her best to keep her from scrubbing any further.
"Santana, stop it! Stop it!" She hissed the words, her lips by the other woman's ear as they struggled, "Stop! You're hurting yourself! Just stop!"
"Wanna get it off." She stated struggling for a moment before giving up and slumping in Rachel's arm. "I.. I don't remember." She cried, letting the weight of what was going on finally hit her. She started sobbing against Rachel. She felt violated, used and degraded. She didn't know if someone else was there, if Tobias was planning on using the photo's as blackmail... she just didn't know.
"I know, sweetheart, I know," Rachel just kept repeating it over and over as they sank to the floor, the hot water continuing to pelt their heads and shoulders. She wrapped her arms protectively around the taller woman, not caring that the water stung her arms where she'd gouged herself with her nails or soaked into her clothes. All she wanted to do right then was make things better in whatever way she could for her sad broken girlfriend, "He won't hurt you again, sweetheart. I won't let him near you..."
"I just don't understand." Santana whimpered as she buried her head into Rachel's neck. "Why? Why would he do that? Why would he tell you that... or show you those photos..." She started to feel numb again and reached behind her and turned off the water. "I just don't get it... He... he asked if he could... when we first got together but I said I didn't want too... I told him I wasn't into that."
"Obviously he decided to ignore your wishes," Rachel was trembling as she held Santana, but she wasn't certain if it was from the relative coldness in the bathroom now that the water was no longer pouring down on them or the sheer amount of anger she was feeling towards Santana's ex-husband in that moment. "I think, maybe... He wanted to drive us apart..."
Santana sighed, standing up and grabbing a towel and handing Rachel one too. "You're gonna catch a cold." She whispered as she carefully dried off Rachel's face. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this." She whispered, she was going to kiss her but then pulled away feeling dirty still. "We should get dressed."
"Santana Lopez, if you think for one moment that I care about my well-being even a fraction when you're in such a state of obvious distress, then I am not entirely certain you know me at all." She took the towel from the woman and wrapped it around her before wrapping her arms back around her and hugging her tight. "What he did to you was terrible, but it does not and will not define you. You are an amazing woman, one whom I am proud to call my girlfriend and share my life and that of my children with."
She licked her lips then leaned up and gently kissed the other woman. "We won't let him get away with this, sweetheart. I promise you."
"Okay." She whispered. She nodded, not a hundred percent sure that she knew how to overcome this. "Can we get dressed." She stated, her lips shivering. When Rachel nodded, she took the woman's hand and went back into her bedroom. She pulled on a large sweatshirt and black leggings and held a similar outfit for Rachel to wear. As her girlfriend got dressed she sat on the bed and put out the pictures one by one. She memorised each, trying to jog her memory about what happened that night. She looked and saw her body defiled and she blinked her eyes to keep off the tears.
"I look dead." She choked, her eyes fixated on a particular one that depicted Tobias's penis in mid orgasm painting her face and chest. She ignored everything else, she just fixated on her face. She looked like she hadn't moved in hours, her eyes looked glued shut, and her jaw was slackened. "I look like a CSI case."
As she peeled out of her soaked garments to change into the clothes Santana had offered her, Rachel watched Santana. Finally she asked the question that had been troubling her since she first saw her girlfriend's panicked reaction. "Is it... Santana, is it possible that you're... drugged? That he gave you something? To, I don't know, knock you out or otherwise incapacitate you? Like," her voice was muffled for a second as she struggled to pull her head through the neck hole of the sweater, "Rohypnol or some other date rape drug?"
"No." Santana said quickly, "That's too evil even for him... You can't rape someone you were with for 8 years, Rachel. I was drunk..." She stated, not at all even willing to think about the only person she had ever really trusted with her body who said he loved her, the man who fathered her child, would help make her dreams come true of being in the music industry.
"That's absurd, Santana. Anyone can be raped and by anyone." Rachel frowned, unhappy with the direction her girlfriend was taking, "It doesn't matter at all how long you've been together or even if you were together. Being with someone doesn't make these sorts of actions excusable!"
"It was my fault... I was drunk." She said again, trying to convince herself that it was her fault that she was taunting him too much, teasing him and not setting boundaries in their professional relationship since the divorce. "He's my ex-husband, Rachel..."
"He may be your ex-husband, but this," Rachel came over and snatched up the photo showing Santana completely out of it being splashed with semen, "is not you drunk, Santana. I've seen you drunk, remember? I know how you appear. If this was caused purely by alcohol, you should be dead, sweetheart, and we both know that's true."
Santana just kept her head down and didn't look at the photo. After a few minutes she pushed all the photo's off her bed and grumbled in Spanish. "I just wanna forgot I ever saw this. I don't remember it... it never happened."
"Okay," Rachel murmured, letting the photo fall from her grasp to flutter to the floor as she crawled onto the bed to wrap her arms around the other woman. "We can try that if you want. We can do whatever you want or need to do. Okay? I'm still going to hate him though."
She kissed the side of Santana's head, squeezing her tight, "Now, do you feel up to dinner with the children? I'm sure they're fretting terribly about you. But if you just wish to rest, that is acceptable as well. However, I feel obliged to warn you that I do not intend on allowing you to sleep alone tonight and whatever your decision, I would very much like to have your permission to hold you tonight."
"I... I think I'm gonna just stay in here." She stammered, "I don't want them to see me like this. Just tell them I have a headache okay?" She hated not even wanting to see the kids, but she couldn't find it in herself to be okay for anyone right now. She nodded, "Please. I... I don't wanna be alone tonight... just.. come in okay?" she whispered, looking up with sad eyes. "Just... please?"
"Okay, sweetheart. I'll tell them you aren't feeling well. Do you want me to bring you in a plate after I get them tucked in?" She combed her fingers through Santana's hair gently as she spoke.
"Absolutely. I'll be here. Whenever you want my company in your bed at night," she leaned down and kissed her lips with a soft smile, "all you have to do is ask me. You know that."
Santana nodded and sniffled, "I know that." She repeated, "I don't want anything... my stomach hurts. But, don't tell them I'm sick okay? Cale gets scared... He just.. he gets scared. Just tell them i'm taking a nap or whatever..." She gulped hating the feeling that she knew Cale would be scared if Rachel said she was sick.
She picked up the photos and tucked them in her drawer, out of sight but still close before she quickly curled into her bed and watched Rachel walk out of the room.