SANTANA POV

Getting all hot and bothered right before my shower probably wasn't smart. Quinn is all I can think about. The feeling of our skin touching, the entanglement of our tongues, her slight hair pulling that made me crazy. And turned me on. Before I knew it, my hand had a mind of its own and it made its way in between my legs. I knew I wasn't quite ready for sex with Quinn, and not because I don't want it. I've never wanted anything more. But that's exactly why it's not a good idea yet...It has really only been 2 days since she showed up. I can't stop thinking about what exactly made her come and find me; specifically that random Friday.

I've never been the girlfriend type. Brittany was the only one I've ever had. I have barely been able to keep myself on the right track, and truthfully, I never wanted to drag anybody down with me. I always just visualized myself following on a downward spiral until it finally swallowed me whole. Until Quinn. I was knocking on deaths door and basically begging for it to answer. Yeah, I still went to therapy and tried medication and all that bullshit, but my brain is fucked. It always has been. Even though I'm very aware that this isn't how treating mental illness works, but I swear this woman is a miracle on earth and I wouldn't be shocked if she's my walking, talking, Xanax. She would probably hate being called that, note to self: that thought stays locked in my brain.

But then like clockwork, my fucked up brain switches gears; and I wonder if this feeling is even going to last. I have diagnosed mental illnesses so it is medically impossible for Quinn to be my answer to life. What if I'm only kidding myself? What if I get Quinn excited about a future with me only for me to drag her down into my miserable existence? She's a light in the world that deserves to shine. What if I break her down too much? What if she regrets finding me one day in the future? I can't just dump all of my problems on this girl. I'm not worth it. I'm just not. She is too good for me. But now that she is here, it is impossible to see my future without her. All these thoughts swimming around in my head is making me hazy. Or maybe it is just the steam in the shower. Either way, I start to feel like I can't breathe. I try and take in a long deep breath to calm myself but instead it catches in the back of my throat and I feel myself almost choking on air. My heart is racing and I feel my eyes go spotty. I knew I was having a panic attack. This is exactly what I was talking about. I'm a burden and I attract bad things. Quinn doesn't need me, she never has. I'm so not worth it.

I feel tears escaping my eyes as I try to steady my breathing, but of course it only gets worse. I begin hyperventilating and almost immediately my eyes darken and I feel my legs go numb. Next thing I know I'm sliding down the shower wall and then forcefully onto the shower floor.

QUINN POV

I'm embarrassed to admit how much daydreaming I've been doing since I came to New York. I want everything with this woman, whatever she will give me. I've already made a promise to myself to be here for Santana and to never hold her illness against her. She deserves that much. She deserves unconditional love and support. I was brainstorming ways that I can show her how serious I am about helping her when I hear a loud thud coming from down the hall. I can only assume it was Santana in the shower; probably just dropped a bottle of shampoo. I didn't think much of it until I looked at the time and realized she has been in there for almost an hour. I decide that I should probably check on her, so I put down my laptop and made my way to Santana's en suite bathroom.

I knock softly, "San, are you okay in there?" I hear the water still running but no response. "Hey I'm coming in okay?" I open the door to a completely steamed up bathroom. I hurry over to the shower curtain and open it. SHIT. "SANTANA!"

She's laying there with a giant gash on her hairline to the side of her forehead. I immediately turn off the water and grab towels; one to cover her up and the other to try and stop the bleeding. "Santana, hey wake up baby we have to go get some stitches." I'm trying to remain calm but I'm freaking out inside. I'm about to get in and help pull her out of the tub so I can properly dry her off and get help but she begins stirring out of her slumber before I can. "San, oh my god are you okay?" I try and help pull her up but she's pretty disoriented. I decide to just get in the tub and wrap my arms around her for a minute. I wanted her to feel my presence and know that I'm here for her.

Finally, she began to speak, and she barely spit out "I'm sorry Q," before beginning to sob. I'm still holding a towel to her cut and holding her as tight as I can. I want to take this pain away from her.

I turn my head to look at her "no no you have nothing to apologize for. But I need you to let me take you somewhere to get this nasty cut fixed up okay?" she nodded slightly into my neck as she continued to let tears flow. She was shaking now, whether it was from simply being cold or if its anxiety, I'm not sure. I hand the towel stopping the bleeding over to Santana to hold in place while I guide her out of the shower. I sit her on the ledge and begin drying her off before I put a fresh set of clothes on her. My mind is racing with fears and worries but I know my only job is to take care of her in this moment. I can't let her see me freak out.

She didn't say a word on the cab ride to Urgent care. She stared straight ahead and held a stoic demeanor the whole time. I watched and discovered a nervous tick I have never seen from her before. She's using her right thumb and rubbing back and forth on the skin of her middle finger, the area between the two finger knuckles. It's getting red and raw from the repeated abuse Santana is giving it. I'm already holding her left hand in mine, but whatever she is doing to herself looks a whole lot like self-harm to me, so I reach over and grab her right hand instead. I bring it up to my mouth and plant a soft kiss on the skin she has rubbed a giant blister into. I try to catch her gaze but she can't seem to face me. I'm dying to know what she is thinking, but I decide not to push until we get back to her apartment. We have to get the physical stuff healed and taken care of before I can tackle whatever darkness enveloped her in the past hour. I just sat next to her in the cab and held her hands for dear life.

While I waited for the Doc's to finish up with her, my mind wandered. I was thinking of worst possible explanations for what happened. I can't help it; in the two days I've been back in her life, its blatantly obvious that I have plenty to be worried about with her. I hope the doctors didn't give her any pain killers. Shit. Is that my responsibility to rely that information? Is Santana strong enough to refuse the meds if they were offered? Great, now I'm freaking out that Santana is going to come out high as a kite, along with the whole other set of issues we haven't unraveled yet.

She ended up needing six stitches to sew up the gash on her head. Santana refused pain killers and opted for Tylenol, most likely resulting in a relatively painful experience. I silently thank God that a relapse isn't something else I have to add to the long list of obstacles we have to hurdle. When we finally get back to the apartment, it's about 4 am on Sunday. I know I won't be able to sleep until we talk, but it's not my feelings that are important right now.

Instead of going to bed right away, Santana heads towards the living room couch and plops down on her back. She gestures me over and then slides towards the back rest and to give me room in front of her to lay. It feels like I should be the one holding her in my arms comforting her, not the other way around. We lay in silence for who knows how long. I know neither of us will fall asleep until we talk, but I know it won't do any good to push her. I want her to work through whatever she has to in her head so that she's comfortable talking it out with me. So I really don't mind the delayed start to the conversation. She needs to be ready to talk, not me.

"I had a panic attack in the shower." Are the first words Santana has said to me in hours. I turn so that I'm facing her on the couch and swiping her hair out of her face. "I panicked and I saw spots and then I just blacked out. I'm really sorry I worried you Q."

I may not understand completely what Santana deals with on a daily basis with her mental illness, but I have had panic attacks before. Mine have always been triggered by something though, and I can't help but wonder if I triggered her. She saw the guilt plastered on my face, "Q it wasn't your fault, my brain is hardwired to overthink things." She quickly tried to make me feel better but all it really did was confirm that I was the reason she had a panic attack.

"San, am I making it worse for you? Is me being here too confusing?" I was being completely serious, but Santana lets out a chuckle. I narrow my eyes in confusion, and she keeps a straight face and stares are me intently.

"I was in the shower thinking about what kind of life I'm going to give you and if I can make you happy. Nobody has made me as happy as you have this weekend, but I'm fucking terrified that I'm just simply not capable of returning it. I don't want our lives to be you picking up my pieces every time I fall apart. So I'm laughing because the irony is that I blacked out panicking about you having to fix me…and then you had to do just that."

"Is that what you think? That because you have a little bit of baggage that you can't make me happy?" I sigh and move so that she's flush against my side and I'm holding her in my arms with her head resting on my chest. I give her a squeeze and plant a kiss on her forehead. "I've got my own baggage too you know; trauma you don't know about. I will never judge you for what you are going through. I just want the chance to be alongside you while you work on healing. Let's just say that if I had someone like that, life would have been a hell of a lot more bearable."

At my admission, Santana lifted her head to look at me. She gave me a stare of inquisition, like she had as many questions as I did the night I found her. I really planned on never talking about this ever again. I locked it up and threw away the key. I guess Santana and I are similar in that regard. I dealt with my trauma freshman year of college almost completely alone. I told no one at first mostly out of utter shame, but also because it felt like history repeating itself and I was so angry with my life. I lived a destitute lifestyle for weeks after it happened; skipping classes, not eating, contemplating my worth, only to find out a month later that my nightmare was nowhere near finished. It took a lot to crawl out of rock bottom, but I did it. Rachel knows about a lot of what happened in college but I never told her the details. I had only called her out of sheer desperation when I was at my worst.

Finally Santana spoke, "so are you going to share the meaning behind your ominous word choice?"

I sigh deeply, "It's only fair that I share my shit with you since I'm pushing you to talk to me, but just so you know, I've literally never spoken about this to anyone except but one time with Rachel when I hit my rock bottom."

Santana sat up, probably assuming the that with the mention of 'rock bottom', that whatever I am going to admit is going to be bad. She wouldn't be wrong in thinking that, of course. I have just always felt that my own problems were too much of a burden to put on anyone else. However, I jump at the chance to help someone with theirs. So what does that say about me?

"Talk to me Q, you shouldn't keep it bottled up." I started getting nervous at the idea of talking about this again. My hands are clammy and I begin to rack my brain for the right way to get this out.

"okay so, when I left for Yale I had this whole image of college life built up into my head about the freedom and the fun I could have. Well that bubble busted on the first fucking night." I paused for a deep breath intake. "my roommate and I had learned that we had a lot in common as far as coming from a Christian background and having insane parents. We decided that we would go out that night as a a kind of 'fuck you' yo our parents. When we got to the party, we were quickly handed drinks and hit on by a group of fraternity members. Eventually my roommate disappeared with some guy and I went off on my own to find another drink. That's when I made the mistake of accepting another drink from a guy, thinking that it was fine the first time so why would this time be any different? Well, that beer was drugged and long story short, I woke up hours later in an empty bed in an empty house completely naked. Didn't take many more clues to realize I had been uh—I was ra—sorry I still haven't been able to say the word, but I think you understand." I finally finished as a tears start falling down my face. I couldn't say the word, but I got the story out so that has to mean something.

SANTANA POV

I swear to god if I had known Quinn was raped her first night at college, I would be on trial for murder right now. That scum doesn't deserve to fucking live for what he did. Quinn began to cry and I lifted my thumb to her cheek to wipe the wetness away. I pulled her into a tight hug hoping to show her some comfort. I may have traded sex acts for drugs, but I have never been drugged and raped and I can't even begin to understand how hard that was for her to heal from.

Quinn pulls away and exhales loudly as she looks at the ceiling to try and stop the tears.

But then she continues, "I wish I could tell you that is the end of the story." My breathing hitched and my stomach suddenly dropped. How much worse than that could it get? "I lost myself after that night. I went into a seriously dangerous depressive state and barely even functioned. If it weren't for the fact that my roommate and I shared a close to identical schedule, I probably would've failed out. She was nice enough to help me, even if she had no idea what happened. But then all hell broke loose when I missed my period the next month."

I literally gasped. Quinn already dealt with teen pregnancy, is she telling me that she also dealt with rape pregnancy? "Quinn oh my god are you serious?"

She shook her head, "yup, I was 19 years old and pregnant with my second child, this time being even more traumatic than Beth, because I ended it."

Santana's eyes widened, "I'm shocked you did that, but I definitely don't blame you for making that decision, I probably would have done the same thing in that situation."

"yeah well, I was raised to believe that abortion is murder. I spent a long time hating myself for it, but couldn't imagine giving two children up for adoption before I got out of my teens. Also couldn't imagine raising one. I was ashamed."

"Quinn, you deserve to have children when YOU are ready. The burden should all be on that sick prick who did that to you."

Quinn gives me the sweetest smile at my words. I gently reach and cup her cheek, my thumb grazing her perfect cheek bones. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch. "come on," Quinn says, "it's literally morning and you just got stitches in your head. All I want to do is hold you and sleep all day."

I grab her hand and move to stand up, "there is nothing I would love more." I lead Quinn to the bedroom and we crawl into bed after changing into more comfortable clothes. I have to lay on the opposite side of my head that I would normally sleep on…head injury and all…so if I were alone, I probably wouldn't be able to fall asleep. But when I feel Quinn's body slide towards my back and wrap her arms around me, I realized I could not be more comfortable in any other position. I haven't had anybody in my bed like this in years. Any person I've slept with since Brittany was a drugged out hookup I barely remember. This intimacy, specifically with Quinn, is an experience I never thought I would have and I want it to last forever. Everything about touching her is making my nerve endings sensitive and hyperaware. Even her soft breath on the back of my neck is giving me goosebumps all the way to my toes. I've decided that this is heaven.